On the night of his death, you were gone out on the town, and on everyone’s shoulders, especially mine. I had nowhere to go that day. You had no choices, or that’s what you said to me, at least. I had a hunch I wouldn’t believe you, and I don’t. I guess memories are the real ghosts.

On my sixteenth birthday, someone went out, on the town and on everyone’s shoulders, especially my father’s shoulders. The car was a 1996 Ford Taurus, slapped with burgundy and trailed in rust from the end of the rear bumper to the beginning of the front bumper. That person happened to have an over-joyous love of Heineken on the corner of Corby and Dundas. You used to tell me that beer was an acquired taste, made by certain people for certain people. You told me accidents happen, and the accident was just terrible, terrible, and everyone was so sorry for the loss. Do you think waking up is an acquired taste, mother?

On my sixteenth birthday, I had a hunch you liked Heineken and your secrecy owned a 1996 Ford Taurus. It was burgundy. There was rust eating away at the edge of the bumpers and all along the side-skits. I asked you if Heineken was your favorite beer, and you said no. You said burgundy was your favorite color, or did you? I just have a hunch. You said ‘till death do us part’, but you didn’t wait that long, did you? Maybe you sped things along, a little.

I’m close to seventeen, now, mother. You know what that means. I’ve been living with these hunches for almost the entire year. I’ve been thinking about it and contemplating it. I thought of driving my own Taurus down to that hops-and-bitter corner, just to see the memorial, one last time. You do know they put one on the corner in his name, right mother?

On the night of his death, you were gone out on the town, and on everyone’s shoulders, especially mine. Late last night, I had this terror of a dream. In it, you were baking a soufflé and mashing potatoes in a tall steel pot. You turned around and secrecy was standing behind you. He had an idea to help you get out of it all. I was in the living room, but you didn’t know. He looked nothing like my father, and his Taurus was burgundy. He told you that Heineken was your favorite beer. The bar on the corner was not make-shift. Secrecy drove away in his burgundy Taurus. I grabbed the curtain sash next to me and strangled you to death with it.

That was just a dream. Or was it?