The Accident Game

When I was little I wanted to be an actress. My mom tried to nudge me toward more ?practical? career paths but my dad told me one day I?d be on stage at the Oscars being handed a trophy. He even took me to parks on weekends when the weather was nice to practice my acting. He warned me not to tell my mom?she wouldn?t approve.
He came up with a way for me to test my acting skills (my ?chops,? he called them). We named it ?The Accident Game.? He would smear fake blood all over one of my knees, around the kneecap, and I would lie on my back near a tree and pretend I?d fallen out of it. I?d scream and fake-cry and bang my hands on the grass and shout things like ?help me, daddy! It hurts!?
Eventually a stranger would come over to see what was wrong?that?s when my dad would get to test out his ?chops.? He would look at the ground his voice would get all shaky and he would say things like, ?oh gosh, this is so embarrassing, I?m so sorry, I have no idea what to do. Her mother just passed away a few months ago and I don?t know if I can do this on my own.? The stranger would usually be sympathetic and try to help me as much as they could. At some point my dad would say something like, ?I?m so sorry, I know this is a lot to ask?would you mind coming to the hospital with me? It would really be nice to have someone else around.?
This was the key part: if they got in our car, I would get an ice cream cone afterward for my good acting. If not I would get a pat on the back and a ?better luck next time, champ.? I liked the ice cream more.
If they got in the car my dad would pretend to drive to the hospital, speeding a little more than he usually would. Then, about three-quarters of the way there, he would slow down and swerve a little bit and pretend we had a flat tire. He would pull into a side street (always the same one) and ask the stranger to come out and have a look with him. Then he would explain to them that it was all a game and give them money for an Uber home and a little extra, too, for their trouble.
At least, that?s what he told me he did. He always closed the car door so I couldn?t hear that part.
***
I?m having a sleepover at Sarah?s house (or, I was when I wrote this. Now I?m ?social distancing?). Her mom won?t let her walk home from school by herself because she says it?s dangerous. This is funny to me?I tell Sarah I?ve never seen any danger.
Sarah lowers her voice and motions me over to her laptop on her desk. We?re in her bedroom with the lights off. It?s a little past her bedtime, and we aren?t supposed to be on the computer.
?It?s real,? she says, half whining and half urgently. ?Don?t you know about all the people who went missing??
She?s sitting in her desk chair, opening up Google, and I shake my head and crouch down next to her. ?It was really bad like five years ago,? she continues. She pulls up an article on a local news site:
SEVENTH MISSING PERSON REPORTED. STUMPED POLICE SUSPECT SERIAL KILLER
Sarah scrolls down the article, through pictures of the missing people. But I know them. Every single one helped me win an ice cream cone.
We?re reading King Lear in school, and my English teacher made an off-hand comment last week that most children think their parents are perfect. I didn?t understand what he meant when he said it, but I think I get it a little more now. My dad must have been trying to save those people from something. I swear?that was my first thought.
Now I don?t know what to think.


Source.