One Hundred Letters for James

018

018:

Factories

Since before I was born, my Father had worked at that factory a few miles away from the school we went to. I don't remember what he made, just that the job paid the bills.

When we were in Grade Three, I remember that I had gotten called into the office during recess. As soon as I got there, I saw my mother, tears running down her face. She told me that the factory had collapsed, killing my father instantly. I went home immediately, and didn't leave my room until you came knocking.

"What do you want?" I whined, opening the door.

"Are you okay?" You asked, inviting yourself in.

"No. My dad died, of course I'm not okay." I snapped.

"You know, Kathleen, you don't have to be okay. It makes you human. If you were okay, I'd think that something was wrong. You don't have to be perfect to be strong." Even at that age, you were quite the preacher.

"Oh. Sorry for being harsh." You nodded.

"So he died in the factory, huh?"

"Yup."

"Well," You started. I could tell that you were about to say something that I wouldn't like by the glint in your eye. "Maybe your family is cursed or something. Maybe if anyone in your family goes in a factory, they'll die." It was a pretty far-fetched story, but maybe because I was in such a vulnerable state, the story really hit home.

I'm still scared to go into a factory.