Never marry Mary.

When he was probably about 15 or 16, John fell in love. It appears to have been of the obsessive variety. Her name was Mary. She was pretty. I have seen pictures of her. She had long, straight (probably ironed) dark hair, a full figure and amazingly white teeth. It was also around this time that he started drinking.

He was the youngest of four, and by this time, his older brothers had moved away and started their own lives. His sister was getting ready to enter college. He was still at home, both inside and outside.

He loved Mary. She wanted to be prom queen. There was an election table. The candidates had little setups- their picture presented creatively. I remember John spending large amounts of time building a castle out of wood. It had a drawbridge that came down. There was a little room behind, where Mary's picture went. He painted it light blue and covered it in blue glitter. I was enthralled. It was promised to me after the prom.

He also took her picture. He was very involved with photography, and had some real talent. But at the time, I didn't care about this. I wanted that castle. I wanted it. And at that age, I pretty much got what I wanted.

Prom came. John went with Mary. I don't think she won. She left with someone else. He got fuckered up and torched the castle. And took pictures of it burning.

I cried and cried when I heard that I couldn't have the castle. It is probably the first instance of a broken promise that mattered in my life. I also found the negatives of it burning after he died. I am told that he harbored the guilt of denying me my castle for the rest of his life. I am told that he harbored the pain of Mary's rejection for the rest of his life. I know for a fact that he carried plenty of emotional burdens to his grave. And now that I'm older than 4, I can understand, empathize and not hold the burning castle against him.