Then There Was You by Melanie Dawn Page B

took us to a theme park. It was the only time I’ve ever been to one in my life. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was ten. He talked me into riding the Howler, this huge roller coaster that flipped upside down twice and barrel-rolled three times.” Greg used hand gestures to emphasize the size and structure of the ride. “I don’t know how he talked me into getting on it, but he did. And I loved it! We rode it two more times after that until my little sister cried. She and my mom were waiting for us at the exit because she was too short to ride it with us. I guess she got tired of waiting. Anyway, my dad bought us cotton candy and funnel cakes that day. And we got to play all these arcade games. It was a great day!” Just then, Greg got quiet. A somber look crossed his face.
    “What happened, Greg?” I prodded.
    “I just remembered,” he grumbled. “It was the last weekend he spent with us before he took off and never came back… Maybe it isn’t such a great memory after all.” He slumped in his chair, his eyes glossing over as he stared at a spot on the floor.
    I remembered the day my dad never came back, and my heart broke for Greg. “Thank you for sharing it with us, Greg. It’s always nice to remember the fun times we had in life, even despite the tough times.”
    I don’t know what possessed me to say it, but I did. After all, this wasn’t my therapy session, but I’d found that sometimes sharing my own life experiences helped others cope with their own.
    “My dad died when I was five,” I told the group. A few sets of eyes grew wide and several of the guys leaned in, listening. Others continued to slouch in their chairs as if they weren’t listening. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember him. I was so young. He traveled a lot for work. I remember the night my mom found out about the plane crash. I saw pictures of the wreckage on the news, but I didn’t quite understand. All I knew was that my daddy was gone, and he was never coming back.”
    Tears threatened to form, but I willed them away. “One time, when I was in third grade, my teacher held a parent night. All the parents gathered in the classroom while students were asked to share their favorite memories. My mom came and sat down at my desk. I was so happy. I’d worked for weeks on my speech. I was nervous to stand up in front of all those parents and speak, but I was excited to share my most favorite memory of me and my daddy with the class. I told them about the time my dad took me to Italy with him when I was five… how we walked to the top of the Leaning Tower of Pisa… how we sat on the sidewalk eating ‘gelato,’ that’s what my dad said Italians called ice cream.” I smiled, remembering how excited I was to try it.
    “Anyway, I told them about the little Italian restaurant where we ate, and how the ravioli was the best I’d ever eaten, even if it did have little green specks in it. I told them about my dad reading me the menu and how I laughed that the Salmon was named Carlos. A few parents chuckled about that part. My mom never cracked a smile. She just sat at my desk, completely stoic. After everyone’s speeches, I saw her whispering to the teacher at her desk. I thought I’d made her so proud of me that night.”
    My voice wavered, but I continued, “But, I didn’t make her proud. On the way home that night my mom barely spoke to me. I asked her if she liked my speech. She gripped the steering wheel tightly and started crying. Instead of telling me how proud she was, she asked me why I lied to everyone. I’ll never forget the tone of her voice. ‘You’ve never been to Italy, Salem,’ she said angrily. I didn’t understand. I didn’t lie. I still remember that day with my father like it was yesterday. It was one of the last memories I had of me and my dad before he died. She insisted it was just a dream, but I knew it wasn’t.” I looked around the room at the boys’ faces staring at me. As if I were trying