Father and son talked on the porch. I’d wanted to listen in, because I know part of it was about me. Some of it, at least.
I’d started all of this, if you want to know the truth. I’d come between them, made them doubt things about each other. Made them think the other was lying.
That had never been my intention. I’d wanted them to reconcile. But then, well, things turned out differently. So here I am. There they are.
“Join the military,” the father said.
“No,” the son said.
After that exchange, I could only hear whispers. I knew this part –the whispering–was about me.