Kat's Fall Page 13
It ran a month ago, but the letters to the editor continue to trickle in. It turns out that the community is forgiving after all. I’m stunned by the support, actually. Who would have guessed? People recognize me on the street and say hi and then ask me how I’m doing. I’m even told that I’ve become something of a local hero for coming forward publicly with my confession. Word of my SI reached a bunch of local organizations and I’ve been asked to write personal experience pieces for some journals and even to speak at events. It’s flattering, but I’ve turned them all down. It’s not something I want to be considered an expert on.
I almost got an ulcer worrying that Kat would hate me when she found out the truth. I should have known better. She pointed out that when I did the horrible thing I was the same age Sammy is now, and that has helped me begin to forgive myself. Fouryear-olds really can’t be held responsible for all their actions. Besides, I think she finds it a relief to know that her mom didn’t do it.
At first Mom was ticked right off by my newspaper-letter confession. She didn’t want to be seen as a martyr, but now that she knows how much it’s helped me deal with my guilt, she’s come around to seeing why I had to do it. She takes it upon herself to do a weekly arm check on me. I let her, partly because I know it makes her feel like she’s being a responsible parent (I consider it my contribution to her ongoing therapy) and partly because I like the feeling of having a mom, even if it is a little late in the game. So far she hasn’t spotted any new cuts, but I’m not making any promises. I haven’t felt that overwhelming need to cut lately, but if I do, you never know. Maybe I’ve done what The Rose suggested—found other coping devices. I guess that acknowledging the truth was the biggie, and maybe I no longer feel the need to punish myself.
Speaking of Mom, she’s now working at Kat’s school as a secretary. I think it was knowing sign language that landed her the job, and having me clear her name publicly didn’t hurt either. Aside from the arm checks, we don’t get together often, but when we do, we get along okay. I realize now how much she must have loved me all those years ago. Accepting that prison term for something she didn’t do proves it. I might never have understood the significance of that if I didn’t now know firsthand the rage of injustice at being falsely accused of something.
Kat still spends weekends with Mom and, of course, sees her every day at school. She’s made it clear that she sees this as a permanent arrangement. I don’t think you can say my sister’s chosen Star over Mom, but she’s found this to be a compromise that works for everyone, even Dad, or so it seems. Gosh, maybe this family is finding some kind of order after all. What do you think of that, Mr. Confucius? Today my family, tomorrow the world!
GEM AND I STOPPED by the Kippensteins’ after school today to play with Sammy, but Sam made it perfectly clear that who she really wanted to see was Star. Gem offered to go get her, but when she returned she was short one dog.
“You forgot something,” I told her.
“I got there too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“Your dad took off with her.”
“He did? In his car?” My heart flip-flopped in my chest. Could he have decided to return her after all this time? He’s always complaining about the cost of feeding her, the vet bills, the hair on the carpet. It wouldn’t take much for him to suddenly lose it—a puddle of piddle on the floor maybe, or a chewed corner on the couch—and he’d haul her back where she came from.
“No,” Gem assured me. “Not in his car. He took her for a walk.”
“Dad’s walking Star?”
Gem nods.
“Huh.” Imagine that. Dad walking Star. The world is full of surprises.
And then it hits me. Star’s a chick-magnet. Dad’s not so stupid after all.
Maybe hope does spring daily.
Hope Springs Daily, Friday April 23, 2004
THE TRUTH ABOUT SHERRI MURPHY
BY DARCY MURPHY FRASER
Sherri Murphy, the woman convicted of dropping her baby daughter off the balcony of her fifth floor apartment, didn’t do it. I did. I am her son.
No, this is not a joke. I was just four years old at the time, but I do remember the day. I remember thinking that because my sister’s name was Kat, she should land on her feet, but of course that is not what happened.
I am writing this letter because I can no longer sit back and watch my mom take the blame for something she didn’t do. She went to prison to protect my innocence. She has never intentionally hurt anyone—except herself—but I have. I hurt my whole family by dropping Kat off that balcony, and I’ve continued to inflict injury on myself. My hope is that by facing the truth of my actions, I too will be able to heal.
Thank you.
Shelley Hrdlitschka’s last teen novel, Dancing Naked, was an ALA Quick Pick and an ALA Best Book nominee, a finalist for the CLA YA Book Award and winner the OLA White Pine award. Shelley lives in North Vancouver, British Columbia.