Dad has to live with the fact that he was the one behind the wheel when it happened.But I need to live with the fact that I lied to the police.That he never did time because I stayed silent when Dad opened the glove box, pulled out his stash of vodka and smashed it over the dashboard.Making it look like the smell of alcohol was from the accident.
Becca had gone flying out of the car.
We’d survived because we were in the front seats with airbags.
Becca hadn’t wanted to go to the store and refused to put her seatbelt on.I’d done nothing but sit sulking in the front seat, annoyed by my drunken father forcing us to go with him.
It was a perfect storm.
The other driverwasalso drunk.
He was the one who was charged with manslaughter.My father was never tested becauseIlied.
I told the police I was holding the bottle, and it smashed.
Correction: Dad said that’s what happened, and the cop asked me if that was true.
“Yes, sir.”
That was my lie.
From that day on, the motherfucker has gone out every night drinking and driving.It’s only a matter of time before he kills someone again.Which is why when Mom calls, I get in the car and find him.Then drive him home.
I have to live with the guilt and shame.I won’t have another life on my conscience.
If I’d spoken up (which I could have, I was fourteen, old enough to have made Dad stop and wait for Becca to put her seat belt on) she would still be alive.
Christ, the nightmares I’ve had over the years.The sound of the brakes screeching, the metal grinding, the glass smashing.
Her scream.
The blood.
Seeing her little body lying off in the distance.
I threw up that day, and I’ve done it many times since remembering the scene of the crime.
I don’t want Caylee to know any of this.I don’t want anyone to know.I want it to go away.
I want my father to fucking die.
And ask any son how it must feel to think that about his father.It’s soul destroying.
I love him.
I just don’t love his behavior.
It’s destroyed so much.Our family.Our relation.The lives we could have lived.
All because he fucking drinks.
I will never forgive myself for not doingsomething, anythingdifferently to change the outcome.
I lost Becca.
Every day I wonder what she would look like now, if she had lived.I doubt she’d be wearing her bright pink butterfly necklace still, but whenever I see one, I think of her.
She always made me play GI Joe with her dumb dolls while she dressed up Barbies in tissue paper wedding dresses.I told her it was stupid, but I still did it, holdingJoeat the altar while Becca said all the vows.
