Harry Jones
J.B. Snodgrass
1 Harry repeatedly told himself that one day, it would all make sense. The jig would be up, and he’d find out what jokester had been put in charge of his life, because despite all the evidence to the contrary, Harry couldn’t stop thinking of everything that had happened to him as one big joke. It was impossible that he was deserving of all he was given.
2 Harry’s parents had never gone to college—they had eked out a living on their farm before his father saw an ad in the paper calling for healthy young men to enlist in the army. Mr. Jones kissed his sweetheart goodbye, gave his young son a pat on the head, and headed off to war. He left whistling, certain he was securing a better future for himself and his family.
3 Mr. Jones never came home. At least,the man who returned was not the husband his wife remembered or the father his now five-year-old son needed. He had become like a feral cat, abandoned in some back-alley dumpster; he flinched at the slightest noise and woke up screaming in the middle of the night. His paranoia was so extreme that he once aimed his rifle at his beloved next-door neighbor Fred and accused him of stealing his chickens in the middle of the night.
4 The one benefit that came from Mr. Jones’s harrowing experience was his son’s college fund. The Jones family now had the money to hire a farmhand so Harry could go to school, and he would have enough to attend college. Harry liked school well enough, if only because it got him out of the house and away from his father’s unpredictability, so when the school’s theater group had auditions, Harry decided to go. This prospect thrilled his mother, who spent her free time glued to the works of old Hollywood icons. She said they reminded her of simpler times.
5 By the time Harry reached high school, he was performing starring roles and had decided to become an actor—and in that goal, he succeeded. He moved to Hollywood and became a star, an A-list celebrity, a household name; he was able to give his now widowed mother money to retire comfortably.
6 But in every paparazzi camera flash, he saw bombs exploding, images of the war his father had endured—something he would never have to experience. Nothing Harry had done could possibly measure up to that, nothing he did deserved the recognition he received for it, not any more than his father deserved recognition and help he had never gotten.
7 For five years after his mother passed away, Harry could not bring himself to return home and sort through her things. When he finally plucked up the courage to do so, he did not know what he would be returning to, but when he pulled into the long driveway, he saw the house at the end, just as it had always been, not a shingle out of place—the bushes were trimmed, the lawn mowed, and no paint was peeling. He carefully unlocked the door and walked into a clean, dusted living room with a note on the table. It said to go next door to see Fred, the neighbor. Harry’s hands trembled a little as he folded the note and slipped it into his shirt pocket. Then, with just a few steps, he walked over to Fred’s house and knocked on the door.
8 It opened a crack, then all the way, and a large man in overalls with a beard to rival that of Santa Claus scooped Harry into a hug and pulled him inside. Harry sat on the sofa while Fred explained that he had kept up the house and grounds after Harry’s mother died. She had not wanted to sell the property, but she wanted Harry to keep pursuing his career in acting, so she had asked Fred to take care of things in secret. She knew Harry would come back eventually, Fred said, and had given him a letter to give to her son when he returned. At this, Fred pulled out an envelope with his mother’s rounded cursive snaking across it.
9 My sweet boy,
Now that I’m gone, I want you to know a few things. You are the most talented, kind, brilliant son I could’ve asked for. I can tell sometimes that you feel like you don’t deserve what you’ve earned in this world, but believe me when I say you deserve every bit of success and joy you’ve had. I know you feel guilty for having so much when your father worked his whole life long and was never given credit for it, but he never held that against you. Harry, you were Bobby’s pride and joy. He had a hard time expressing it sometimes because of his sickness, but you were what kept him here. Don’t ever think you’re any less of a man than he was, because you’re exactly who we wanted you to be. You just keep right on doing what you were made to do, and I’m proud of you. All my love,
Momma
10 Harry gently slid the letter back into its envelope and began to sob; these were exactly the words he needed to hear, and he would never think of his life as a joke ever again.