![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Every time I tried to listen to them, however, I'd wake up. As the water closed over his head, I could hear the ice cream truck singing in the background, a slow, eerie song with words I could almost understand. My father had disappeared without a trace.įor months afterward, I had a recurring nightmare about standing at the top of that hill, looking down and seeing my father walk into the pond. ![]() They sent divers into the pond, but it was barely ten feet down, and they found nothing but branches and mud at the bottom. Later, when the police searched the area, they discovered his shoes at the edge of the water, but nothing else. When I begged my dad to get me a Creamsicle, he laughed, handed me a few bills, and sent me after the truck. We were at the edge of the pond, feeding the ducks, when I heard the jingle of an ice cream truck in the parking lot over the hill. It was a lonely little park in the middle of nowhere, with a running trail and a misty green pond surrounded by pine trees. On my sixth birthday, my father took me to the park, one of my favorite places to go at that time. There was no car crash, no body, no police mingling about the scene of a brutal murder. He also did not die, because we would've heard about it. Leaving would imply he was unhappy with Mom and me, or that he found a new love elsewhere. Leaving would imply suitcases and empty drawers, and late birthday cards with ten-dollar bills stuffed inside. Ten years ago, on my sixth birthday my father disappeared. ![]()
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