Tabula Rasa

It had simultaneously been the longest and most rapid three days of his existence to date. Conversations blended into a constant stream of dialogue - one in which he was barely a participant - and the only marker of the passing day was the eternally reliable rise and fall of the summer moon. Since the test, he had positioned himself within a very tight radius of the letterbox - at a minimum within perfect earshot, but occasionally he would allow himself to move further away, at all times keeping one eye on that metal flap to the outside world that could change his life in the most profound way. Once standard working hours had passed, he exhaled with a deep disappointment and left his position, raring to take up the spot again once the morning sun replaced the moon. He couldn’t say for certain what had made him take the test, one day he simply woke up with the knowledge that this was the day he would do it. He believed it to be a feeling, something in his gut - or his third eye - that told him things were not as they seemed. There was always a distance between them that he didn’t feel with any of the others, but his first real notion of doubt crept in one day at the barbers. Usually monthly regulars of old faithful Ray at Eddie’s Barbers just down the street, on this visit a trainee stepped up to His chair and ten words passed this trainee’s lips that tilted his world a couple of degrees off centre. “My God, he’s so blonde. Are you sure he’s yours?” Sure, there was more to it than hair colour, which he knew did not dictate a familial bond, but he himself lived with a very specific undertone of copper, and shared that tone with all but one of his children. He had never really taken notice, until this fateful trip to Eddie’s Barbers. His longing for old faithful Ray, who would never make such a casual observation, was palpable. “Yes, thank you, I am sure.” The lack of conviction in his words reddened his cheeks and he spent the rest of their visit in a mortified silence, mulling over the trainee’s flippant remark. It took weeks to banish the thought from his mind, but unfortunately as the Boy grew, so did his doubt. Of their three children, He had always been the most defiant. He and his Wife had originally put it down to middle child syndrome, but as the years painfully dragged on, he started to suspect it was something that bordered on malignant. After a while he could not deny that there was an underlying intention of destruction. For his eldest son’s tenth birthday they had hired a bouncy castle - it had taken up almost every square inch of their back garden, but had brought him so much joy. Halfway through the afternoon, he realised they hadn’t seen Him in a while, and that unanswerable knot in his stomach tightened. Bolting inside, he found Him hiding behind the sofa, twisting a girl’s arm behind her back. “Let go!” He barked. “What on Earth do you think you’re doing?” Even with all of the rage behind the delivery of these words, He didn’t flinch. “We’re just playing. Aren’t we?” The little girl nodded through teary eyes as He released her from His grip. Looking at his son in this moment, he couldn’t quite believe the measure of disdain and fear he felt towards Him. While waiting for his letter to arrive, he found himself constantly thinking back to moments like these, moments where he felt absolutely certain that this Boy was not formed from his genes. Kindness, empathy, and an unwavering desire to help those less fortunate were the self-proclaimed best qualities that he possessed. But the malice, the ease at which He caused others pain, these traits could not have come from him. During a painful daydream on the third day, as 13:10 hit and the letterbox eased open at its chrome hinge, he noticed an envelope thicker than the average correspondence. “It’s here.” He said aloud. “It’s finally here.” He hadn’t meant to say anything of note, not wanting to alert the household to his 72-hour mission, but the anticipation overrode his cautiousness and the mask slipped. “What’s here?” His Wife asked, though he barely registered the noise making its way towards him as he swiftly moved away from her. With each step towards the front door, his rising heartbeat became more and more audible, and he was sure he could physically see a tremor in his chest. “Oh, nothing.” That familiar lack of conviction once more. “I think it’s the car insurance renewal.” He snatched the envelope from the pile on the floor and ran upstairs, ripping it open as he closed his bedroom door behind him. As the severity of the situation hit him, within a few seconds he lost his vision, a dizzying blur taking over from the periphery that caused him to stumble into the wall. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, trying to force his heartbeat back to a regular rhythm. Several minutes passed before he dared open his eyes, his brow now covered with a gentle layer of perspiration. Only when he was sure his vision had sufficiently returned, he finished prising open the envelope and started to scan the letter - ‘Dear Mr-’; ‘Thank you for-’; ‘Having tested both-’. Then, there it was, the line he was looking for perfectly printed in solid block capitals, a black darker than black, using a typeface that emoted neither warmth nor sadness. The word itself, however, could only muster one over the other. ‘NEGATIVE.’ He was, as suspected, not the Boy’s father. With one debilitating question answered, he then realised with a blow that three far more crippling questions immediately took its place. Who was She? What had She done? How could he ever think about talking to Her now?