Will You Do It?

"Wake up, baby! Wake up!" I heard my mother's urgent, quivering voice moments before opening my eyes and stretching.

I don't remember exactly how old I was the first time it happened, but it had to have been before the age of 5 because my little brother hadn't been born yet. I only know there were many more late night family meetings after that terrifying mid-night event.

Mom led my twin brother and I downstairs, sitting us at the table where my bare-chested dad waited. Through sleepy, curious eyes, I noticed a half-empty glass of amber liquid next to a tall bottle of whiskey. Next to that lay a black pistol...an ugly, gleaming, black pistol.

"Hi daddy," I whispered. He said nothing in return, his head hung low. The black hair on head was uncombed and his red mustache and beard were bushy and messy. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his glasses were resting on the end of his nose.

Looking for reassurance, my eyes turned to mom, watching as she pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the table and sat down and rested her nervously clenching hands on the table.

I remember being very cold. Shivering.

"Grace," he slurred, his bloodshot, glassy-eyed gaze rose to fix on my mom across the table. "Will you do it? Swear to me you'll do it!"

My eyes filled with tears when I saw the tears falling from his eyes. Why was daddy crying? I looked at mom and she was crying, too. I started sobbing, my wails indistiguishable from my brother's.

"Grace!" he demanded loudly when she didn't immediately answer, his hand now clasping the gun where it lay on the table, his eyes never leaving my mom's.

"I swear, David," she responded, her wavering voice filled with emotion, "but please, David, please don't do it!"

"I just can't do this anymore," his pleaded with her. "God damnit! I need to know you'll pull that trigger after I do. Swear to me!"

"I swear, David. I swear!" she said in between sobs, pushing her chair back and rushing around the table to wrap her arms around him.

Time stood still. I don't remember what happened next. I don't even remember how I ended up back in bed. I do remember the feeling of fear, though... so tangible, dark and heavy. The seed of fear was planted deep in my soul that night, It grew and matured through years of nourishment supplied by my father, dying only in December of 2004 with his death.