The Soul of IT Short Story by Terrace Stephens I heard heavy steps leading to my doorway; whispered conversation and then a long pause, “knock, knock, knock.” I looked out the door through the peep hole and could make out a uniform and badge. They entered so diplomatically. He took off his hat. She was with Victim Services (which was written on the front and back of her jacket). He asked if my father’s name was Bleak Johnson. That was the first time in many years I had heard someone call him by his real name, “Bleak”. Who would name their son Bleak unless they wanted him to bring misery to the world, or maybe she didn’t want him to but she just knew he would. As they sat there on the sofa he gave details of the accident but I couldn’t help but think, “He’s finally gone!” The victim services lady kept looking at me, I guess to see how I was taking it, if I would need a hug or a glass of water or something. “Did he suffer?” I wanted to break the silence and try to wrap it up. When he told me that my father more than likely suffered before his demise I glanced up at him and mistakenly smiled. I didn’t mean it, it just happened. Although it wasn’t my wish or hope or dream, it was a surprise, something unexpected that I didn’t know I needed to hear. I’m glad I didn’t laugh though…sometimes I start laughing at sad things and I can’t stop. As he sat there reciting his tattered speech which he used on all grief-stricken survivors of loved ones, I remembered how my father always acted like he wanted me gone, but now he’s gone. I always thought I’d be sad at the news, at least a little; but I wasn’t. This officer went on and on in sympathy, struggling to say it just right. He had no idea how I had to salvage my ragged pieces, all that I could take with me without further destruction. Some I had to leave… bon voyage…to my childhood. My father just always took the soul of everything. I remember the day he took us out of school early and we drove so far from anything we had known. I slept and awoke so many times in silence until we got to this house where about ten people lived. It was a very big two-story house and I couldn’t really understand until later that it was a boarding house that my grandfather owned and managed. I asked, “Why are we here?” My father slapped me and said “You ought to be glad you’re anywhere! You ain’t gone be nothing no way” As if he had thought about disposing of us but out of the goodness of his heart, he dumped us off on our grandparents. He had green eyes and I hated when he looked at me. But that’s ok, because I laughed at him when he told us one day about how he slipped

on the stairs in the snow back in New York….I laughed so hard on the inside that day. I was hoping he broke something. I think the sun opened up and started laughing too at that minute. Then we found out he was ok. I’m glad he didn’t know what I was thinking. He would’ve cut that joke short…He had a habit of taking the soul of everything, even the things that I didn’t even know had a soul; laughter, happiness, joy, dreams; but he would always find it - and snip it - and feed it to the souls of hate, envy, selfishness, greed, nightmares… “I’m sorry, you were asking about his last known address?” I shuffled to my bedroom and scrambled for my old address book which had been updated a few times but kept in case of something like this. “The one that I have is 5-3-0 Sunrise Terrace…” And no one ever forgot what they said he did to that little boy. I think that’s why we moved. That boy wouldn’t lie about something like that. He wanted to be in the military like my father but after that, he didn’t seem to want to be anything. . He’ll probably never be what he was supposed to be. He liked my father because my father taught him how to play basketball; mother said that my father would give him money sometimes. He never gave us money That was so many years ago I’ve forgotten the details, but I bet my father will remember till the day he dies…oh that’s right, he is dead. The officer was explaining to me that I needed to identify the body. I guess they couldn’t find my mother. Mother left after the rumors started about my father molesting my sister and I heard him tell someone “one day I’m gone get that pretty little thing, too!” He was talking about me. He said I’m pretty. He had always called me ugly and stupid but I was happy when he said that I was pretty. They gave me a box with some of his things from the car. I pulled his wallet from the box and flipped through it as officer explained how they were lucky to retrieve the things they did because the car was so crushed and burned. There were no pictures in his wallet but no money either. I think someone stole the money but what would they want with pictures? He probably just never carried our pictures in his wallet. Sometimes I wish my sister was still here but then sometimes I don’t because she would just be sad. She could identify the body better than I could. I was six when we went to live with grandfather, she was thirteen. I at least wish she was here to do this because I really don’t give a damn. My sister was always quieter than I was and tried to keep the peace. She just did whatever my father told her to do and she was always just kinda sad, something like that boy was right before those rumors started. Mother left shortly after that and she

didn’t say goodbye or where she was going. She was probably just trying to save her life, not realizing that she was leaving her soul right there in that house. My grandparents were on mother’s side. They didn’t like my father from the beginning because before he married mother, he dated my aunt. He only married mother because she was pregnant and then he went into the military. My grandparents tried to help us as much as they could when we moved with them but they were just too old and country. My sister hung herself in my grandparent’s attic. When I saw her dead, that was the first time I started laughing. I was so sad and angry. My father didn’t even come to the funeral. The officer said, “…and I’m sorry for your loss.” I said, “Thank you.” It’s just one less soul on this earth – taking the souls of everything else.

04/21/2007 Dear Diary: I turned 25 today. I went to identify the body and I went prepared for battle. I could just see him peering into my eyes to taunt me and belittle me one last time. I was ready to give him a piece of my mind. He was not gonna talk to me like that anymore ‘cause I’m grown and if he wasn’t already dead I was gonna kill him. But when I walked into the room, his eyes were closed. I never thought of him that way. He was so frail and scorched. Someone had pulled him from the burning car. He had deep frown lines all through his face – like the roads his life must have taken over the years. His mouth was open; he could have been crying for help.

The room was quiet. Mother says the highest things happen in the quiet. He looked so empty; the other souls must be finally free.