The Pale-Faced Lie

by David Crow

Secretly, I hoped the police would catch us and take Sam and me away. I’d dream that we were sent to live with a nice couple who couldn’t have children. Our new family might get mad at us sometimes, but no one would get beaten, and we’d make up. Most of the time everyone would be happy. Our new parents would want Lonnie and Sally too. In the morning, I’d wake to the cold reality of the Crow household.

I blew out each candle, wishing to be anyone but David Crow. Dad had taken me for a drive to bully me into helping him get rid of Mom while she set up this wonderful surprise—it was the meanest trick he had ever played on me. I hated him almost as much as I hated myself for not sticking up for her. I didn’t deserve the cake or the gifts.

With Dad, fun was always mixed with pain and suffering. All allegiance had to be to him alone.

On my way to the door, I tugged on her ponytail for the second time that day, and she stuck out her tongue again. That’s how I knew she liked me, maybe even more than she liked Joey.

Our destruction knew no bounds. Sam and I ramped up our pranks all over Gallup. Somehow, hurting other people made me hurt less.

We were doing more than breaking Mom. We were destroying any sense of civility and decency the four of us still had.

I didn’t understand, but I knew Dad was pushing her to do things no kid should ever have to do.

Dad always had more compassion for animals than he did for humans. I was almost jealous of that poor coyote. Why couldn’t he show the same kindness toward his four children and their mom?

He loved violence as much as he loved knowledge, as if they went hand in hand.

If the eyes are windows to the soul, his had descended into hell long ago.

Getting revenge was the only thing I excelled in.

I realized how far off Dad’s sense of right and wrong was from the civilized world.

We had people fighting over us like we were property, but none of them had our best interests in mind.

For the millionth time, I wished he wasn’t my father.

Still, I somehow knew that despite my physical limitations and all the shit I’d been through—or maybe because of it—I could do better.

Choking on guilt, struggling to inhale, I vowed never to let anyone get close enough to hurt me again.

Her definition of love was obligation and guilt. It was the only love the Crow family had to offer.

After running from pursuers a good part of my life, I was used to hiding in the shadows. But now, I was trying to save myself from the ultimate bully, my murderous father.

Jolting awake for the fourth or fifth time, I wondered if all sons of murderers faced being murdered for not following their fathers’ codes.

“You can’t change your childhood, but you can let it go,” he said.