Chapter 1
My father was in the United States Navy. He was a kind man, maybe even gentle in some ways, but always distant. Growing up in our small government issued housing unit with my brother, we were often left to our own devices with our mother. Sure, we would see him during holidays and weekends, but what little I remember he was never truly there. I remember always asking my mother where daddy was, and it was always “hes working sweetheart” with that sad, dejected look in her eyes.
One day, I remember sneaking into my fathers work area. His IRAIU-7 rig was housed in its own small room in the back of the house, and usually the door was locked to prevent us from stumbling inside. I mean, if you have kids, they get into everything, right? I don’t have kids… not yet. One day I’d like some.
Anyways, this particular day the door was cracked a smidge. I was six at the time, and I remember distinctly the feeling of seeing the door cracked. Its like when your parents tell you not to touch something, but you do it anyway. Some dark, special secret that if only I saw what was inside I would understand why my father was never there. Like it would fill that hole inside me, that longing.
Little me crept up to the cracked door and there was a dull light shining from inside. As my small hand touched the door, it creaked, causing me to pause. The last thing I wanted was my mother to hear the noise. I waited a moment, listening for the sounds of my mom stomping around the corner, or her yelling my name. When it didn’t come, I saw that as a sign to press forward.
The one thing that sticks with me vividly is the small of a rig room. Its like a freshly sterilized hospital room combined with week old sewage, if you can believe it. But the sight as well… its like Frankenstein's laboratory cranked to twelve.
The pungent smell hit my nostrils, causing me to gag and plug my nose. Curiosity had its grasp on me though, and a simple smell wouldn’t deter me from my mission - I had already gone too far, if I was going to get a smack I was making it worth my while. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light I tried to understand what I was seeing.
My father stood on a small, concave dome made of what looked like smooth glass. What looked like a soft, cloth harness held him firmly to several attaching point in the ceiling, and at the time it looked like he was adjusting some knobs or something in the air. Each of his hands wore gloves, with a myriad of wires running from them down his arms and up into what looked like some sort of box on his back. On his head was a webbed harness of what looked like hundreds of sensors, with some thin glasses covering his eyes.
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Around the periphery of the room were various monitors, displaying what I now realize were vital signs, nutrition levels, calorie count, humidity, and more items involving his personal and environmental well being.
But the horrifying part was that my father was hooked to dozens of hoses coming from these various machines. They carried a variety of colored liquids, one looked like blood, and from what I could determine, there was even a house attached to my fathers “diaper” which carried what I could only assume was waste from his body. Other than the diaper, my father was otherwise covered in a clear “mesh” that left little to the imagination, and I could see ports all over my fathers body where the hoses attached.
I stood in awe, my mouth gaping, and holding my nose. I’d argue I was gaping because I needed to breathe, but I now realize I was shocked. This is where father was always? How did this not hurt? It looked like some sort of torture device to my small mind. Before I knew it, I choked out the words “Daddy?”
He didn’t respond. He continued fiddling with… whatever it was I could not see. I realized he couldn’t hear me, so maybe if I tried to touch him, would he know I was there?
I tiptoed slowly through the room, avoiding the various wires and conduits that ran all over the place, inching slowly closer to my father. Suddenly behind me I heard a sharp cry behind me.
There stood my brother at the end of the hallway, his eyes wide looking at our father and shrieking only the way a scared 3 year old could. I knew the jig was up, and mother would be there any minute.
Yet father continued… whatever he was doing. I saw him take what looked like a step inside the dome at his feet and I realized as his foot touched down, it “glided” back to the center so that he was standing straight up again. I could not compute how this magic occurred, but I didn’t have any more time, so turned tail to get out of the room when my foot caught… something. A wire? Maybe a cord?
Next thing I know, I was face down on the ground, having ripped whatever cord I tripped over out of… My father. He began screaming, as some sort of greenish liquid began leaking on the floor. I looked behind me in horror as he started unhooking things from himself, but I managed to scramble outside and get to Christopher, grabbing his hand and trying to tug him behind me. I knew mother would be mad, and a smack was coming, but now… now father would be angry as well, and he never smacked us.
This is the first memory I have as a child, and also the beginning of this nightmare I find myself involved in. You would think these memories would have a lesson. They were a warning, to be sure, and one I foolishly did not heed.