Oswald (Wozwald)

Ch. 1 The Criminal

Life just stirs up the dust that you'll eventually turn into. This is what has been stuck in my mind since what happened to my father. Actually, nobody knows what actually happened to him let alone who did what they did to him. According to several people, his death did a number on me and affected me the most in terms of mental health. I'm not going to lie, it did, it really did. Nobody was telling me what happened to him, they just informed me that my father was dead, end of story. That alone was enough to make my fingers quiver as I held the telephone. It was bad enough my father died but they couldn't have told me in person? This kind of news was better to be heard in person not on the goddam telephone.

At first I was angry and irritated by the fact they decided they were too busy to inform about my father's death in person. You would think that I'd be crying and in disbelief, I began to be later on when I heard the words more. Over and over again the telephone conversation I had with whoever seems to be the coroner played out. I remember my knees buckled and I nearly damn fell on the ground. They didn't even sugarcoat anything or mask what they were really trying to tell me. Straight up, they just said, your father has died. As soon as I told them that yes I was his son they didn't hesitate at all.

The woman on the telephone did seem quite cold-hearted. Her voice was raspy as if she had been making phone calls all day. I think she stopped to drink a glass of water in the middle of our talk to hydrate herself. It was obvious she wasn't even trying to comfort in the slightest. I remember after school sitting down after having made my father and I dinner waiting for him to come home. I figured he'd been working late after all, being a carnival owner wasn't the most laidback job, far from it.

I had slumped over on the table and my elbows were stained with curry. I quickly wiped it off with a washcloth nearby. I noticed it was already 8am but it was a Saturday there was no school so I wasn't concerned about sleeping in. What I was beginning to get concerned about was my father who never was late to dinner. After having dressed up hastily, I scurried over to the police station.

As soon as I walked in the smell of coffee and ink from the fax machine filled my nostrils. I tried my best to walk confidently towards the front desk to ask them.

" Excuse me but, my father has gone missing since last night. He usually returns at 10pm but, he didn't last night. I was wondering if you could look for him?" My words were awfully rushed as I gripped the counter in front of me. I hoped nothing bad happened to him. Maybe I was just worrying for no reason. I tapped my nails on the plastic surface of the counter. The policeman noticed my jittery fingers and seemed annoyed.

" Please sit down while you wait, you're a minor correct? Then you wait here so that your father will be able to pick you up," He escorted me towards a waiting room that seemed very crowded with chairs that were all dark in color. They weren't colorful in the slightest. How close the chairs were next to each other were such a damn nuisance I could barely squeeze myself into one. After I managed to sit down, I noticed a small table also dark in color with several magazines stacked on top of it. I grabbed the pile to examine all the articles. There were fashion magazines, music, art, photography, cars architecture, aviation, sports you name it. They probably spend more money on magazines then equipment for the police force I joked in my head.

You could say I was skeptical about police because a friend of mines got involved with a corrupt policeman which nearly took her life. She was a close friend so I was infuriated when I found out that she was nearly killed just trying to get help. That's what bothered me the most, the people you're supposed to trust sometimes even trust your whole life to, can also be the people that completely screw your life and it'll be over in an instant. They have big responsibilities that they can't even handle sometimes, it's beyond their abilities. So that in part was why I despise the officers and anyone in law enforcement. The only reason I decided to come to the police first was because it was what my father taught me to do.

If I could I would just solve everything on my own, fix everything on my own. I also didn't have my key ring with all my keys on it including the ones to the carnival, my dad borrowed it while he was getting new keys because he said he lost his key ring. I think that somebody stole it probably one of his employees but who knows he really might've actually lost it, a carnival's a large space.

" Young man, this phone is for you." He took me back to the opening of the police station where he gestured his hands to the telephone after he handed it to me.

" Hello?" I answered timidly, I hope it's about my father. I was twisting my hand around the telephone cord waiting for someone on the other line to respond, I hope it was my dad. I really really hoped that it was my dad that answered the phone.

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It's been a few weeks after the death of my old man when I really started to question what really happened to him. I wasn't even asked to come back into the police station for a questioning. It was like they weren't even trying to figure out what happened to him. I had to take matters into my own hands after all I've become a carnival owner at the age of 16, after my father's death. Everyone will be suspicious of me for killing him even the police seemed to be looking at me weirdly but they didn't pursue me at all. 2 weeks ago I took back my father's key ring and mine's. The old man making keys wouldn't shut up about how sorry he was for me that I had to live all on my own having lost both parents. I just wanted him to stop talking about it, to stop reminding me about that.

I was sitting at the bench for the bus stop. It was 47 degrees outside and I wasn't used to this weather. I don't think anyone could get used to this weather, it's been cold for way too long and it's February already. It started getting colder last year in November and it just keeps getting colder. My fingertips were about to snap off like a withering black skinny branch off of a bleeding willow tree.

My toes were curling in my boots trying to keep warm though to no avail. When's the damn bus getting here? It's about time. I reluctantly rolled up my sleeve so that I could check the time, it read 12:38. The bus is over 30 minutes late what could've been stopping it from arriving. Now this is just frustrating, I needed all the time available for my investigation. Especially since I plan to go back home before it gets too dark, I admit the carnival looks so damn creepy at night and someone might sneak up on me.

I guess the bus driver didn't care about my trembling body especially my arms they were shaking as if I'd been tased by the police like some delinquent trafficking drugs. The trees around the area looked just about as dead as I was, they looked like lifeless carcasses after the vultures have done away with it. Anyways I hoped the time would pass by faster until the bus comes. In the meantime, I'll take a smoke. I slipped a finger in my pocket and pulled out a cigarette. I lit it as quickly as I had pulled it out nearly dropping the whole damn cigarette box onto the pavement. Yes I kept a lighter with me at all times, you never know when you might need it to either smoke or something else. I recall once that I accidentally lit it inside my pants and my jeans were temporarily on fire. The denim was left slightly charred but, I still kept the damn thing because I don't have enough money to buy new ones.

Well I did but, I didn't bother because I didn't mind having charred out jeans. If I'd met my mother I'd imagine that she'd be nagging me to get rid of the jeans and tell me to get a new pair or she'd get me a new pair herself. I don't know what my mother was like since she died giving birth to me. You would think my father would blame me for the death of the love of his life but he didn't. He cherished what little left he had of his late wife. He'd even sometimes see her when he was looking into my eyes, saying how much I looked like my mom. I knew that he didn't mean that I had a feminine face, at least I hope that wasn't what he meant. He most likely didn't, he wouldn't insult his only son.

I took a deep inhale out of my cigarette as I felt it get lighter in my hands. I held it in before letting it blend with the frigid winter air. It's supposed to get warmer since it's passed Christmas but it's still the same if not then colder than it was on Christmas. I breathed it out simultaneously closing my eyes along with the motion. It was better if smoking was done my way, I felt that it was more satisfying.

After several minutes that seemed to never cease, the bus finally lurched up to the bus stop.

I hoped to get something out of spending my day not enjoying being at the carnival like find substantial information any at all, about my father who I probably actually knew little about.