My childhood was picture-perfect as far as childhoods go. I have a loving mother, a great stepfather who raised me as his own, a brother, and two sisters, who are funny and kind. They have never made me feel like I’m not one of them.
Outside of that circle is an extended family who love me, who I love, and who loved a man I was never able to meet. Through them, I learned of their memories. Through me, they get to keep a piece of Tommy Lane.
In high school, I was a star basketball player, like my father. I excelled at football, like my father. I was tall and built, like my father. In essence, I used to be a constant reminder of the young man who was some kind of wonderful. In reality, I was, and still am, no such man.
The months preceding graduation, I felt lost. I felt like a child who had held the hand of a man who was always there, but I knew he hadn’t been. I also knew I outgrew him, my father. One simple statement meant to provoke thought and encouragement, instead incited anger.
I was angry at myself for never stepping out from the shadow of a ghost. Angry at all the people who never gave me the opportunity to grow outside of who he was and into my own person. Therefore, I joined the military, something I heard my father had planned to do but was never given the opportunity. He, too, lived in a shadow of sorts. He also died in that shadow.
I was going to honor my father in my own way and grow beyond his shadow, leaving behind those who held the both of us back. It was a wonderful plan and, when executed, I became a man. I found myself, and in finding myself, I got to serve my country, and she served me.
Home was a great place to visit, but not a place I ever wanted to plant roots, until a little girl I could never say no to grew into a woman.
Ava Links, the daughter of my father’s best friend, the man whose shadow my father lived in until his dying breath. One night inside of her, hovering over her, her calling out to God, to me, she was in my shadow. At least, that was what I always told myself the morning after.
Seven years later, she was still at my mercy.
My. Mercy.
Then she told me she loved me, and my fucking world imploded.