EXCERPT FROM IAN BY M.WARREN ASKINS

One of the first lessons my father taught me, at least one that had stuck with me my entire life, was that people will hate you for simply existing. For no reason at all.

                “Because of the way I look?” I had asked, looking up at him from the passenger seat in the family pick-up truck. His eyes were fixed forward on the road, but he flicked them in my direction when he replied, “Yes.”

                He resumed his vigilant gaze on the winding tree-shrouded country road. Deer and moose, or cows and sheep, or raccoon and possum could leap out onto the road at any moment. The front end of the truck had sustained several batteries from forest creatures attempting to cross the road, all of which had caused merely cosmetic damage. But the family could not afford to lose its only vehicle. I think we were running errands that Saturday morning. I don’t really remember. My sister, as usual, had no interest when my father had asked us over our bowls of mouth destroying Cap’n Crunch which one of us wanted to come with him to town.  

                “And for a whole lot of other reasons,” he had continued as we rode together in the truck. “Some will hate you for what you fundamentally believe.”

                “Like what?”

                “Take your sister for example.” He had leaned over on the steering wheel, resting his arms as the road straightened. “Some folk don’t take too kindly to her knowing how to read.”

                My eyebrows must have furrowed at that. “That’s stupid,” was probably my reply.

                “Yep.” My father nodded and reached for his sunglasses in the visor over his head. We were out of the forest and the bright morning sun was blinding. “I don’t know if you’ll ever run into those kinds of people, but I’m just using that as an example. There are thousands of cultures all over the planet, each with its own set of rules.”

                “And some of them don’t want girls to read?”

                “Among other things. But keep in mind, Mal, not all cultures are cruel or mean, or whatever. I just want you to grow to become fair and kind. Don’t let hatred cloud your judgment, no matter how mean someone is to you. You got it?”

                I nodded, thinking of playground quarrels, or disputes with my sister. Even some of the confrontations I had seen in a cartoon.

                He reached over the console to ruffle my hair as I sat in contemplation. “Don’t let hate overcome you, Mal. Be that one kid who apologizes, even if the other kid wronged you first. Be the bigger man. Okay?”

                “Even if they did something really bad?”

                I saw his eyes harden from under the side of his sunglasses. “Even if they kill your best friend.”

The words in that statement echoed from the distant past and brushed my cheek on the passing breeze. A calm reminder under a brewing storm thrumming in my core. I stared down at the unaltered gravestone jutting straight and true from the hillside graveyard, in stark contrast to the other decaying and cracked markers around it. Hers was the newest on the hill, by far.

HERE LIES

GENEVIEVE MIRA EVANS

LOVING MOTHER AND DEVOTED WIFE

TAKEN FAR TOO SOON

                Loving mother. I wonder why I decided on those words?

                Grief makes you stupid, I suppose.

                “I’m trying my best,” I confessed to my wife’s bones, “but I’m still failing to deliver on my promise, and you knew… I’ll bet you knew as much. You won’t be too disappointed in your husband.”

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