The Happiness Equation
It was only a baseball but it
meant so much more to me. It was always looked at, never played with. A
lifetime on a shelf, neglected, always wishing to connect with a bat. The
baseball was my father’s and something he had promised to me since the day I
had first seen it. The ball however never belonged to me. It had been cast away
to my sister the moment she had asked for it. Whatever she wanted, she got. It
was felt like I had been shoved on a shelf. The only inkling that I was my parents
son was a photo. I was neglected, always wishing to connect with my parents.
Just like my baseball.
My unhappiness had begun the
moment my sister was born. My parents cooed when she made the slightest noise.
This always made me feel sick. Some people called it jealousy. I called it
cruelty. As she grew older I expected the attention would become more evenly
spread, but nothing happened.
By the time my sister was a
toddler the situation had grown worse. Even at this tender age her hate
campaign had begun. Don’t be fooled by clouds of ringlets. These curls had
ensnared my parents, wrapping them up, focusing their attention on ‘their Angel.’
I even began to start playing
up at school. I wanted my parents to notice me. The poison injected at school
was however neutralised by the antidote that was my good reputation. My
teachers saw me as the ‘perfect pupil’ and any wrongdoings were put down to ‘a
phase’ or ignored completely. I was always an ‘exceptional pupil’ the teachers
therefore allowed ‘momentary lapses’ to go unpunished. My parents and I grew
more distant still until one night when I knew something had to be done. I had
been waiting for them at college for a meeting with my teachers to discuss my
‘sociability issues.’ My parents never turned up. I was left standing outside
in the dark on an October night. When I had walked the 3 miles back to my ‘home’,
despite the fact that home is where the heart is, my parents were dismissive.
Reassuring me that they never knew anything of a meeting, and that ‘the angel’
was ill so they couldn’t have made it anyway. The calendar however told a
different story.
I came upon my plan whilst
trying to get at my baseball. It was on a shelf so high that I had to stand on
my Father’s desk to get at it. Whilst clambering up on to his desk however I
knocked some papers, they fell to the floor scattering everywhere. I hopped off
the desk, realising that if my Father found anything out of place there would
be hell to pay. I picked up the papers, intending to put them back on his desk.
Something caught my eye, however. ‘Scott and Simon Solicitors.’ The letter was
headed, it looked official. I began reading the first page. It was a renewal of
insurance form. My Father had just updated the life insurance. This is when my
plan began to bubble in my soul, bursting upwards, hurtling towards my brain.
Thousands of schemes entered my head. I was dizzy. One question still rang
true. How much was my happiness worth?
Over the following nights I
calculated my plan. Working out, as I had dubbed it, ‘The Happiness Equation.’
I knew I could play innocent. I had done it many times before and besides,
no-one ever suspected poor innocent Lowell
I looked right into their
eyes. In that last glance into my family’s soul I saw only fear, no love or
compassion, just a fear of a son who had become more distant as their love had
transferred. My parents pleaded with me to spare my sister in exchange for
their lives. I could not help wondering if they would do the same if the roles
were reversed, if my sister was holding the gun.
I shot all three. I topped my
father off in spectacular style the blood spreading, forming intricate patterns
on his shirt. It has only occurred to me now that I finally got the recognition
I craved. It came in the form of one word, a word I hadn’t heard my father say
in a very long time. With his last gasp I heard the faint sound of ‘Son?’ I
shot him for a final time. His acknowledgement had come too late. His last word
would forever belong to me. I strolled out of the house, stopping only to pick
up my baseball.
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