Innocent until Persuaded Otherwise
My knuckles become whiter and whiter with each piece of vitriol that spills thoughtlessly out of his mouth. Grinding my teeth, I look over his shoulder and stare blankly at the beige wall behind him, while trying to keep the left side of my face from twitching. Pure disgust, embarrassment, nausea—all feelings his ignorant words bring to the surface of my consciousness. I can’t blame him, yet I cannot stand him. I leave, the sight of the padded walls behind his head too much for me. He deserves no comfort.
Father was never really my dad; he is my biological father, but I never felt any amity or caring between he and I, even before the “incident.” He was always negative. He refused to acknowledge the achievements …show more content…
My whole family knew that wasn’t the case. Caroline was so happy. She had friends, she was doing astonishingly well in school, she got along well with Mom. After looking at Caroline more closely, the police realized that her death was most likely a homicide. The cut on her neck wasn’t clean; it was jagged and excessively long. “As if she put up a fight, held the assailant’s arm back,” were the exact words of the police officer who suggested the theory. I vaguely remember the other officers nodding in agreement and a sense of panic washing over me. Caroline was killed? What am I to do? Deciding it best to go with the flow, I just stood by and did as I was told. The police started by interrogating everyone who knew Caroline: friends, family, and foes (not that she had any). I answered their questions and sat idly by while they interviewed the …show more content…
All I know is that I did not kill Caroline, and he seemed all too happy to show them the recording. Despite my testimony to the contrary, I was convicted of murder, while my father walked free. They locked me up—not behind bars, but behind padded walls and with Dixie cups filled with pills. They said that I had lost my wits, that I projected all negative aspects of myself onto my father. Severe denial and projection, my eye! It was him. Him! Not me. I swear . . . I didn’t do
My knuckles become whiter and whiter with each piece of vitriol that spills thoughtlessly out of his mouth. Grinding my teeth, I look over his shoulder and stare blankly at the beige wall behind him, while trying to keep the left side of my face from twitching. Pure disgust, embarrassment, nausea—all feelings his ignorant words bring to the surface of my consciousness. I can’t blame him, yet I cannot stand him. I leave, the sight of the padded walls behind his head too much for me. He deserves no comfort.
Father was never really my dad; he is my biological father, but I never felt any amity or caring between he and I, even before the “incident.” He was always negative. He refused to acknowledge the achievements …show more content…
My whole family knew that wasn’t the case. Caroline was so happy. She had friends, she was doing astonishingly well in school, she got along well with Mom. After looking at Caroline more closely, the police realized that her death was most likely a homicide. The cut on her neck wasn’t clean; it was jagged and excessively long. “As if she put up a fight, held the assailant’s arm back,” were the exact words of the police officer who suggested the theory. I vaguely remember the other officers nodding in agreement and a sense of panic washing over me. Caroline was killed? What am I to do? Deciding it best to go with the flow, I just stood by and did as I was told. The police started by interrogating everyone who knew Caroline: friends, family, and foes (not that she had any). I answered their questions and sat idly by while they interviewed the …show more content…
All I know is that I did not kill Caroline, and he seemed all too happy to show them the recording. Despite my testimony to the contrary, I was convicted of murder, while my father walked free. They locked me up—not behind bars, but behind padded walls and with Dixie cups filled with pills. They said that I had lost my wits, that I projected all negative aspects of myself onto my father. Severe denial and projection, my eye! It was him. Him! Not me. I swear . . . I didn’t do