The Guilt of Knowing

Untitled Part 1

                                                                            The Guilt of Knowing

In the end the guilt of knowing was all to much to bare. For years John Stroller had harbored the secrets of the 1960 Remorse High Summer Camp on the outskirts of Albany, and now that the last of the grieving parents had passed, in his mind the story must be told. As he sat in the waiting room of the Boston Police Dept on Main Street he knew that who ever came to interview him and hear his version of events would have no idea what the hell he was talking about and he had every reason to believe that he would be labelled a crank, a time waster and asked to leave. To that end he decided to look up old news reports of the time in question and along with his story, present them to the investigating officer and hope to be taken seriously. Over the years he had walked passed this building,  both the old and the newly modernized version reliving the countless interviews he had sat through in the heat of that sixties summer. The feeling of reverse gravity pulling him in, but always releasing him at the foot of the eight steps which led to the front door. They had become known to him as the eight steps to redemption.                                                                

 "Hi, Mr Stroller I presume, I am Officer Grady" said a young man, nae a child standing in front of him wearing a smile from a fifties movie, "You wish to have a chat, move over the bench a little we can do this right here" 

John Stroller's legs were moving towards the open door but his mind convinced them to stay. For sixty years he had imagined this conversation in so many way's with a varied assortment of outcomes, but never sitting in the foyer of the 34th Precinct on a bench with a Tab Hunter lookalike, a pencil and a book of yellow stick-its. He shuffled in his carrier bag for the old news paper clippings he had photo copied from the Town archives.His hands were shaking, sweat ran from his forehead washing over his eyes, he began to stutter. John had been in rehearsals for this moment but even now the guilt of knowing was to overwhelming.

"Would you like a glass of water? asked the young officer, surmising that the now over crowded waiting area had become too claustrophobic for the elderly gentleman.

"I must leave" said John pushing his now squashed papers back into his bag. "It has been a mistake"

"Are you sure? asked officer Grady, "We can go somewhere more private, what did you want to discuss, was it important?

"June 1960" replied John with tears now accompanying the sweat running down his face. He rose from the bench, fumbled his way through the oblivious crowd down the eight steps to redemption and was once again on the side walk in front of the 34th. He turned left and counted 150 steps as he always did before turning right and crossing busy Maine Street where directly in front of him stood Craigton Towers the Apartment block where he had lived for the past fifty years forty of which were spent with his wife Gloria and his two sons Ben and Gabriel. Gloria had been taken from him ten years previous with the cancer, whereas his sons had both married and moved on. But there was no moving on for John Stroller, every day for fifty years he had looked from his lounge window across the street to the 34th Precinct visualizing the events that had just taken place, but now he was back to square one all alone on the twenty second floor with his now all to frequent bottle of the Famous Grouse.

Once again day turned to day, day turned to night, weeks passed by. The chair at the window with the never ending view of the 34th was now torn and threadbare. John had taken at the age of seventy seven to only leaving his apartment for essentials such as food and this in itself was becoming less and less frequent The guilt of knowing for all of these years was overwhelming, even though the glances and occasional sarcastic comments back then almost on a daily basis had long since gone away with the passing of those who remembered. He ate, slept and watched from that old chair rising only for a store visit or to relieve himself and the knowing that someday he would die there.

And then there was a knock at the door;