[Not] family history time! Let’s meet Todd, grandma, and Duncan among others—maybe learn a little about masks and how even an identical face can hide very different secrets. Grandma moved over from England after the Second World War with Grandpa W.
From eldest Susan to compassionate second Mary to enigmatic Jolene and adventurous first son Grant to younger twin Duncan, it was a full family but unfortunately, Grandpa W passed away at a young age due to a heart ailment. Understandably, this would have had deep impacts on the family, including the two little boys who would no doubt be aware of the absence of their father at the dinner table. In conjunction with being twins and in spite of their insistence that they not be identified as a unified entity, a powerful codependence seems to have developed between the twins that led to their success in young life: two(three?) properties before thirty, nice cars, etc.
This would have been after widower Grandpa J had entered the picture and married widowed Grandma J; despite descriptions by Todd of being, well, more than a little proud to be that Cartman asshole with, “You’re not my dad!” Grandpa J looked after him and even taught him “everything he knew about investing” so that Todd could “be rich, not just look rich.” In fact, Grandpa J offered him the chance to purchase a government bond with a high rate of return (during the Reagan administration, I believe) that would’ve made them both millionaires. Todd, naturally, knew he could do better on his own investment strategy, so he proceeded to go out and not do that.
Now, there’s a lot in the interim here, but we’ve gotta truncate and telescope; fast forward several years.
After Todd has married Milady and brought children Lenny and Ratched into the family, all is well and they get married (Lenny even sold shit at the reception and took home a tidy profit!) and then at some point along the line, someone got a little too horny a little too soon after a vasectomy and, thanks to a personal opposition to abortion, yours truly entered the picture.
(Note: while this is denied today, it's a double whammy: growing up I was told about the vasectomy and it was common for the epilogue to be "so I got my tubes tied and now it can't happen again!")
I guess maybe that means we’re gonna be, like, super close—oh, no, cool, him and mom found pictures of Lenny molesting me with Ratched’s help, I’m sure this is going to be stopped annnnnd—oh, wait, they’re talking about what if the police find out, how they’d afford that, and whether to do this now or later and, uh, wait, why am I on the back porch being told this is my fault while those pictures go into a fire? I want to ask someone, but I guess if I do I’ll just make even bigger trouble, mom says the police will come and take everyone apart and I’ll never see anyone I know again.
Shit, I really must’ve fucked up. (In an interesting note: where Lenny’s sexual predation of children came from, I don’t know, but by the time he was getting me, he had an established MO involving tying me to the bed spread-eagle and muffling me: this is pretty advanced sociopathic behavior for that age; anyway, I’m not saying Todd ever did anything to him, but I do know Todd’s got some weird attitudes on kids—he used to check out my class photos and school yearbooks in elementary school to see who he thought would be “hot”—it took me some time to realize just how fucked up this is, and to this day I don’t think it’s really sunk in just how much that sickens me. Then, I guess, if I use the term “cute” for anyone under like 20, I mean it in the same way as when I say my pets are “cute”—ie, I don’t want to have my penis around them)
Duncan, well, he struggled too, though his was with the bottle—a struggle I myself have dealt with. These struggles, of course, are seen by my [fictional lol] family as a perfect reason to attack my credibility and say I’m “delusional” instead of that, say, the drinking was a symptom of the depression and anxiety stemming from abuse. Who knows? Weird psychobabble shit, same kind of dumb shit that got Duncan to drink and those soft-hearted grandparents to want to support him. See, Duncan needed a place to stay and one of the shared properties was a condo—it seemed only natural for him to go there.
No deal, says Todd, but wait, perhaps. Their current McMansion, known by various friends and acquaintances and friends as “empty,” “hollow,” “creepy,” “sterile,” “that house on the hill,” and other such flattering terms, originally was a parcel of land belonging to Grandpa J. In exchange for it, Todd agreed begrudgingly to let Duncan move into the rental unit he had (it was a hassle, anyway).
As Grandpa’s Alzheimer’s progressed (Duncan's fault, of course: if he wasn’t helping Duncan move stuff around, he wouldn’t have slipped and hurt his shoulder, and that was when “it all went downhill”), ultimately steps were taken to ensure he became both Power of Attorney and Guardian Ad Litem for them. Now, if you remember Todd turning a blind eye to child sexual abuse, I’m sure it’ll come as no surprise that he was diligent in ensuring there was no elder—yeah, I’m not even going to jokingly finish that.
Costs were cut to the bone: instead of a nurse to care for them, Duncan was hired. A great man, but also a struggling alcoholic who had no business looking after his elderly parents with debilitating physical conditions. Things got so bad that he had to bathe them (which my parents were happy to point to as some sign of Duncan being perverse) but those purse strings remained cinched shut. So much so that after Grandma passed away first and it was revealed to me that Todd had visited Grandpa on his birthday and found him on a shit-stained mattress (but done nothing), I reported it for a wellness check.
Grandpa and I had birthdays really close together. He’d visited Grandpa for his birthday and gave me a similarly thoughtful gift: an earful on the phone about how he’d ruin my life and send me to prison (if anyone remembers my high school hijinks, I had at one point at like 16 stolen a road sign that said ‘Speed Hump’ and still had it; I had to get rid of it before he could try to get me in jail. For trying to get my Grandpa off of poop) because “the government doesn’t belong in my business!” (I imagine this is why he skims on his taxes and illegally dumps his waste from [lawn company removed] all over town instead of in a designated spot—yard waste in that quantity can be harmful to the environment, there’s a reason it’s illegal to just dump it like that).
I suppose this is small potatoes at this point, but just because you gotta maximize that ROI: when Grandma died, Ratched and Milady went to great lengths to filch a necklace/heirloom of hers so that others in the family couldn’t have this. Considering the high degree of animosity Milady showed toward Grandma over the years, seems pretty fucked up to steal this instead of leaving it to one of her then-living daughters, but what do I know?
After Grandpa, after they saw the benefits of their “frugality,” Todd told Milady he was happy about their financial stresses being lifted—cause look on the bright side, we can keep at least $10k in both savings and checking at all times now.”
Anyway, I suppose that’s a bit of my piece. After a lifetime of them refusing to talk about it when I try to clear the air or get answers, I went from ignored to written off as delusional to disowned and now am sitting at legal threats and me consistently mocking them and telling them to do it because then they’ll have to go tell the police the truth or risk opening up perjury charges—and I’ll then print off any court records I can get and make sure all their employers, family, and social networks know. Their crimes might’ve allowed them to avoid a Sex Offender Registry, but I can still speak the truth (absolute defense) and let people know who and what they are and that their neighbors should be wary and on the lookout for strange, eye-raising behavior (Lenny’s had plenty of it as an adult, from Ratched complaining about him dressing up his video game characters in loli gear and upskirt screenshots to the always-shifting story of what happened with a young nephew (recently changed to not be in a closed bedroom) that made her kick Lenny out of her house when he was living with her while ducking bankruptcy.
An alleged “victim” who gives her alleged “abuser” unfettered access to her children and home and later boasts proudly to another of his victims about how her kids’ll grow up with him as their only uncle: I mean, I’ve been told I have no place o question a mother’s opinion because mother’s always right, but I feel like if I was to go hit up a mom’s group and present this as a hypothetical and ask what they’d do, there’s be a lot of earrings hitting the ground and moms ready to throw hands rather than allow their children anywhere near their abuser. I know I’ve told at least one ex if we ever had kids and I found out Lenny expressed interest in seeing them, she’d have o explain why dad’s in prison for shooting first and asking questions later
For anyone still here, I would say that there are valuable lessons to be learned here. My family’s big into motivational speakers and the like—when he takes a break from cranking to himself in the mirror, Tony Robbins might be the only bigger fan of Tony Robbins than Todd and you better believe he’s a big fan of Dale Carnegie’s ‘Sociopath Training Manual’’ (er, sorry, I mean ‘How to Win Friends and Influence People') just like Milady looks in the mirror on tough days and says to herself, “You are a good, strong, valuable person.”
Empty self-praise and “I’m so great” is actively destructive to us and those around us. Without reflection, they don’t see anything wrong with their actions—and reflection is “being stuck in the past.” So you forget it and allow yourself to do the same all over again, like a Catholic going to confession with the intention of walking out the door and repeating the sin he just was absolved for.
I’ll end on a poignant note: Todd chose the song ‘Say We’ll Meet Again’ by Lindsey Buckingham for Duncan’s service; this was, presumably, for the title. As someone who often mocks people for not paying attention to lyrics (both Todd and I, frankly), I found it astonishing he ignored the first verse: “Everyone sees the tear in the seam, but talks about the weather…”
The last time he saw Duncan alive, he was bad. I know, I was the one driving him around for groceries and I’d seen him deteriorate (Todd encouraged me to charge him as much as I could)—but that day was BAD. It wasn’t the gradual change I’d seen, it was drastic: water retention so severe he couldn’t even get his slip-ons on, sweating almost straight rum, bloating had just shot up overnight, and I panicked. I had to go through a lot of effort to dig up ol’ Todd and ultimately, by some chance combination of enough diligence and pestering my mom’s phone, managed to (mostly-by-chance; she always hated Duncan and there’s no question she dragged her feet here) I found him by Seaview Elementary, mowing a little lawn he’d done for years and years. Talked to Duncan maybe a minute, asked if he’d heard any new music, then turned and left. Next time I heard about Duncan, he’d fallen asleep with a cigarette, burned down his apartment building, and the coroner identified him by dental records.
Losing his beloved twin was too much for him, so I got sent to do the walkthrough of his uni and see how he was living.
But fear not! None of this is real, I didn’t turn to drinking for stress and depression, these are all just delusions—after all, as my half-sister was so kind to remind me while letting me know they’d go full Walpurga Black and erase me from the family history: there’s no need for mourning, it was done when I died years ago. (I must say: I have personally found the news about my own death greatly exaggerated and, given the temps here the last week, am surprised one of the neighbors hasn’t called in my zombie ass, cause I’ve gotta smell wretched if I’ve been dead and rotting this long).
End of the day, I gotta say: $4 million bucks ain't much for selling your soul, but then, I imagine a soul as deformed and ugly as Todd's is a pretty cheap commodity in hell.
And our real protagonist has been rewarded for all his hard work and saving: one property worth $1.7 million, another worth ~$650k (likely higher if they'd gone through the proper permitting processes to get their basement mostly finished) and a nice, tidy set of investments that are, per the last time I spoke to him, north of $1 million more. And a life insurance policy, just to make sure his pedophile step-son has enough money to turn that lake house into Neverland Valley 2.0, naturally. I don't see that being out of his style: after all, my old man used to enjoy looking through my elementary and middle school class pictures, or later yearbooks, to point out which little girls he thought would grow up to be "hot." He also keeps a running tally, last I was aware, of how he'd rank even his own extended family on a scale of 1-10, which is some weird shit to hear coming home from he family Christmas party that's not in Alabama.
When your soul is shit, you don't command a high price
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