by Jerilee Wei

Created on: May 17, 2008

"I suppose I'll never know the truth," he told his son. Those eight words stung my heart because after thirty-six years, he deserved the truth. Truth, however, has lived inside a Shreveport, Louisiana closet for more than fifty-five years. All these years later, I'm not sure I have the key to unlock the door.

As I fumble for the right key, I accept the undeniable fact that what happened in the closet all those years ago, was not my fault. However, at the same time, I also accept the bigger incontestable fact, that the absence of truth since then, was, is, and always will be, my fault. Truth is always a choice.

This is a multi-keyed lock that begins in 1949, when I was born and she had just turned fifteen. From the beginning, ours had been a strained relationship. At birth, and for the first two years of my life, she refused to hold me, feed me, or care for me in any way. So, my beginning truth became unconsciously knowing, that I was unacceptable in her eyes, without ever understanding why.

My father assumed all childcare responsibilities, until the day my beloved grandmother came for a permanent visit. Perhaps, in part to compensate for the love I was denied, he overachieved in this endeavor. This did not further endear me to her. It made her even madder, for she wanted his sole attention.

When I was two, a second child was added to this ill-fated union. Even as a toddler, I was quick to understand, that she both accepted him and adored him. His birth signaled a change in our relationship though, because now at times, she tolerated my presence.

My father was in the Air Force. Weekends were spent on duty away from the family. He left on Friday afternoons and did not return until late Sunday nights. Oh, how I dreaded those absences, for then, she was in charge. Today, I think this is where I lost the first key.

The house was a double-barrel shotgun cottage, consisting of two houses sharing a central wall. In our half, it was no more than twelve feet wide, five rooms in a row with no hallway, and doors at each end. The house was raised almost three feet off the ground on cement pillars, in case of flooding. Built entirely of wood in the early 1900s, there were many places in the walls and floor, where daylight, darkness, mosquitoes, and spiders passed freely, in and out.

The rooms were lined up, one behind the other, the kitchen being the last room in the house. The kitchen had a side addition - a squared closet, measuring about four by four feet. The upper portion

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