Life So Perfect

by Nathan Bassett

  “It’s not fair. It’s not right.” Steven said then jerked his head back, banging it against the wall.

  Sarah reached over and took Steven’s hand. “No it’s not. It’s not right at all.”

  Robert continued. “Your brother was beaten with a bat. Probably someone trying to get money.” He took a deep breath. “I’m afraid, he … he is in a coma.”

  “What’s that mean?” Amber asked.

  Joe wrapped a blanket of nothingness around him; the following words became murmurs that made no sense; words that had no purpose other than to defeat and destroy. He dare not listen and he dare not feel. No reason to have emotions; emotions would make it real, he couldn’t let it be real, couldn’t let the craziness touch him. The comforting warmth of unconsciousness was what he needed most of all; void of feeling, void of life. Nothingness seems so friendly, so right sometimes. No. No don’t be this way. Don’t give in. Don’t shut down. It’s okay to hurt, to morn, to hate, to fear. It’s okay to live, to feel, to be. “I want to go see him. Now.”

  “No.” Sarah said with an almost cruel certainty.

  “No Sarah. He needs to. I’ll take him.” Robert said and stood up.

  “I’m going too. I’m going.” Amber squealed.

  Robert held Amber’s cheek in his hand and said, “I’m sorry. You’re not allowed doll. You have to be fourteen. They’re very strict about that.”

  “Stupid. That’s stupid.” Amber said and then sat on Sarah’s lap.

  As Joe walked toward the ICU, he felt his father’s hand on his shoulder. With a hushed voice his dad said, “This will be hard Joe. Very hard. Just be ready.”

  “I’ll be okay, dad. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Joe, I’m … I’m sorry. Really sorry for all the years I lost with you, with all of you.”

  Joe’s response was quiet and solemn. “Me too. Me too.”

  “If I’d been around, this … well, it would have never happened. Joe, I know that. I’ll never forgive myself. And I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

  Joe stopped and looked at his father. He shook his head; the words that came out of his mouth surprised him. “Dad, no. We have to move on. We’re family, and we have to … to make it through this together. Don’t blame yourself. It’s that bastard’s fault. And … it’s my fault. I … created this. I ...”

  “No, Joe. Todd is an evil, crazy man. We just happened to get in his path. Joe, I’m proud of you. So proud.”

  He looked his father in the eyes. Braxton was right. His hatred had come so easy, his hatred had been so comforting – and so exhausting. But he had to hate – hate his father all these years. To love him, to care, to hope – had been too risky, too dangerous, too hard. What the hell. Do what’s hard, what’s right. Without daring to love, to care, to hope … well, that’s not really living. Joe embraced his father.

  ***

  When Joe stood and looked at his unrecognizable brother, his body jerked backwards – the swollen head; blue and purple, the size of a basketball, stitches on both sides of the face, hair shaven to the nap of the neck. Joe curled his lower lip under his teeth and shook his head. Suddenly Joe’s belly burst with rage, revenge, hatred; any other feelings became useless and unworthy. He took a step forward and gently rested his hand on Chuck’s shoulder. He leaned over and whispered in his brother’s enflamed and bruised ear, “He won’t get away with this. I’ll take care of it.” Joe stepped back and let suppressed tears have their way; tears releasing his guilt and rage, his fear and hatred, and an unnerving sense of hopelessness. Joe wiped the tears away, then turned around and walked past Robert into the cold and sterile hallway. He wanted to run – run from the horror he just saw. Hate, rage, revenge – he had no choice, no other emotions mattered, he had to embrace these emotions. His back stiffened and his stride quickened. He wanted this determination to soar, to fuel him, to guide him. How? How will I take care of this? He pulled out his phone and typed, “You’re the dead man now.” He hit send and prayed that Todd would dare show his face.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “Did you do your homework this time?” Marie asked as they walked up a gentle mountain trail.

  Majestic, rugged, beauty unparalleled in God’s great universe – The Rocky Mountains declare the unstoppable glory of nature, of creation. Maddie took in a slow deep breath, filling her lungs with the healing mountain air. A deep-seated joy, long absent, bolstered this child’s wounded spirit. “I did.” Maddie said with a cheeky grin. “So there.”

  “Well done. You got it?” Maddie nodded. “Get it out then. Let’s hear it.”

  They sat on a bench carved out of a fallen tree. She pulled the letter out of her coat pocket. Weeks ago, Maria had given the assignment; write a letter to your abuser, the perpetrator, the demon she had trusted. A so-called therapeutic activity meant to expose shameful garbage hidden in the depths of one’s rotting psyche. She thought it a ridiculous idea, a waste of time, a useless project. She finally completed the therapeutic homework, on the second day of her camping venture.

  Maddie’s voice was slow and deliberate as she began, but became angry and bitter as she continued. “Dear Uncle Billy, I trusted you. Trusted you with my life. You betrayed me. You ruined me. I feel so shamed, so embarrassed, that I really believed it was love, and couldn’t see it for what it really was – filthy ugly evil lust. I really believed when you held me, caressed me, when you were inside me, that you loved me. You made me feel special, loved, alive. I wanted you to love me. How stupid and naïve. So easy to see that now. You were, you are, evil. What you did was unspeakable and unthinkable and it has nearly destroyed me and my family It has lead me to hate myself, to doubt myself. What you did has changed my life, taken away my innocence; innocence that can never ever be returned. You damaged my soul, my heart, my whole being. You ruined the perfect life I had. You’ve made it so hard to trust the world, to trust myself. I hate you with a passion you cannot imagine and it became a hatred I turned on myself. But from this day on, I will no longer let you have that power over me. You damaged me, but you cannot destroy me. I know now, I am better than being your 12-year-old whore.

  “I have a question that I have to ask you. A question that has no good answer, but must be asked. Why? Why would you do that to a 12, 13, 14 year old child? Why would you pretend it was love, something real? How could you be so evil? Tell me that.

  “I am moving on, becoming a survivor and not your victim. Some say I need to forgive. To hell with them. I pray you burn in hell a million times over. Then maybe I’ll think about forgiving you. Some say God can forgive anything. Maybe so. I can’t help but pray that he will never forgive you. Shame on you. Shame on you for doing what you did to a young child. From this day on, I refuse to bare any shame and any guilt. You damaged me, but I am still beautiful, still amazing, still loving, still lovable, still worthy, still perfect, still me.

  “P.S. Go to hell dear uncle. Go to hell.”

  Marie clapped her gloved hands. “Great. Well done. So how did that feel?”

  “It feels like … like I’m starting to believe it. Like it’s something I can believe.”

  ***

  Joe grabbed Steven’s shoulder as he mounted his motorcycle. “You’re not going to do anything crazy are you? I’ll come with you if you want. Why don’t you let me come?”

  Steven pulled Joe’s hand off him. “Sometimes I need you to leave me alone. Just like sometimes you need me to leave you alone. And, there are times Nature wants me be to be with her. What you all don’t understand, is that Mother Nature needs us to embrace her, and we need to embrace her. That’s what I need to do right now. I’ll see you when I see. Your family needs you right now, Joe. Go be with them. I’ll be good. And I’ll be back.” Steven’s started his motorcycle and sped off waving his left hand as he raced down the street from Joe’s house.

  ***

  Steven barely recognized his old home. The yard had been cleared of all the junk his dad had collected over a li
fetime: machines and engines of all sorts he vowed to fix up and sell; scrap metal that never made it to the recycling plant. The doublewide trailer looked clean, fresh, livable, it looked like a home.

  Hidden spirits inside Steven’s heart and soul stirred; some had long ago lost any desire to thrive. Others refused to die and had been forcefully pushed down, chained – those spirits embodied unspeakable hurts and fears. As he stared at his old home, forgotten and suppressed memories flooded his mind and aroused confused and unsettling emotions. A small child laughing and wrestling with his father in piles of autumn leaves; he and his dad playing catch with a football with frayed laces; he, his mom and dad watching the fiery and glorious end of a summer’s day as the sun slid beyond the horizon. “There he goes again. Hiding from us. Why do you think the sun is afraid of us, Steven?” “I think the sun is afraid of the moon papa.” Then, the dark and ugly memories surfaced. The drunken parties filled with cruel and senseless laughter, laughter that inevitably turned to cursing and fighting, name-calling, destruction. A child beaten with extension cords until blood seeped through his shirt. The boy who could not understand why his father treated him worse than he treated his dogs. The father who declared hatred for his own existence and would dare to proclaim his child’s worthlessness. Intrusive memories so cruel and heartless, so damaging, so damning.

  Steven pulled his motorcycle behind some bushes and took his one-man tent and sleeping bag, and climbed across the chain link fence into the woods that had so often protected him, strengthened him, saved him.

  ***

  He sat in the clearing he and his grandfather had painstakingly carved out so long ago, hoping the Little People would make it their home. “Myths, legends, nonsense.” His father said after they cleared the ground and surrounded it with rocks. His grandfather patiently replied. “Legends tell us who we are and who we are to be. Legends guide us, strengthen us. Without our legends, we are not a people. You must know and believe. Legends are a sure glimpse into a world greater than we can understand.” Grandfather’s tears emerged, “My son you have forgotten who you are and who you can be.” “Myths, legends. Damn nonsense. Nothing but nonsense!” His dad replied and stomped off cursing under his breathe. Then his grandfather cupped his hand around Steven’s neck and looked deep into his eyes and heart, “You father is so full of hatred for the white’s man’s world and hatred for his own world. Your father has lost hope. He has drowned by the thirst that kills.” Grandfather allowed tears to fall freely down his hardened warrior’s face. He bent down and pushed his forehead against Steven’s. “Do not hate your father. Do not pity him. Pray for him. And never lose sight of who you are, who we are.”

  As these memories flooded Running Fox’s mind and soul, he burst into tears. He had let his grandfather down. He was lost. No, not lost, but running away, always running, refusing to be found – going in and out of hospitals, pushing away anyone who tried to help him, staying angry at the world. He thought he had to run … to protect himself. “You have a destiny you must run towards.” the Little People had told him. “Run fast, run swiftly.” Where? Where is it? I don’t know who am I? Why am I? Why bother? It’s too late. Doomed. Doomed to be my father’s son. Steven filled his lungs; a screeching and desperate primal scream erupted. “Failed. Eff’d it all up. Become what dad said I was, a useless piece of crap! Too late for anything.” A warm breeze touched his face as if trying to wipe his tears away.

  “Shame on you Running Fox. Such language indeed.” His grandfather’s gruff but gentle voice came from behind. “What kind of warrior gives up? You are my grandson. You are Running Fox. You are a warrior by blood. Be who you are.”

  Running Fox turned around, reached out his right hand and took his grandfather’s wrist and squeezed. “Hug me grandfather.” The strong arms of unfailing love held him tight. “Never leave me. Never leave me.”

  “We will never leave you. The Great Spirit will never forsake you. The Savior’s eyes will always be on you. Let us sit and tell me, about this family who have given you such a welcome.”

  As Running Fox talked about Joe and his family, a warmth born of joy and happiness enveloped his heart. “It’s like a home, a real home. Sometimes I feel I don’t deserve it. Sometimes it feels so … weird. I want it. But I’m scared grandfather. Scared they really don’t want me. Scared it won’t last. Scared they’ll get tired of me. And I’m scared I’ll ruin it, like I always do. Sometimes I just want to run before that happens.”

  “They have been a gift to you. You are a gift to them. Running Fox, you must be strong. I know they are in much danger. Be ready. Be strong for them.”

  “What’da mean? What kind of danger? Is it about the brother? Will he be okay? They won’t tell me noth’n. I know something more’s going on. Tell me. What is it?”

  “It’s time to sleep. Time for me to go.”

  “Nooo.”

  “Sleep. Go to sleep and find the strength that lays hidden in your heart.” His grandfather stood and began to walk into the night. He stopped and turned around and nodded. He smiled and said, “Running Fox. Your father. He is well. And he is very proud of you.” Grandfather was gone. Running Fox slipped into his sleeping bag. He tried to burn each word, each gesture into his long term memory bank, lest the visit with his grandfather fade into unreality, but sleep came swiftly as an uncanny peace and joy held his heart tight.

  ***

  Steven wormed his way out of his sleeping bag and popped his head out of his tent. The sun had just begun its ascent over the horizon. He slipped his coat on and went to welcome the sun give birth to a new day. The hoot of an owl sent his heart racing and his head spinning. He looked up; a large barn owl perched proudly in a tree to his left. He reached down and grabbed a stone and threw it at the creature. “Go away! Go away! You won’t take anyone else. No more dying. You go somewhere else.” The large bird batted his eyes, turned his head and flew away. As the bird disappeared behind distant trees, a second owl, pure white, swooped down and landed on a limb directly above Steven. As Steven looked up, the creature’s head swirled back and forth, then as he looked down, his huge eyes flickered. An odd sense of calm suddenly embraced Steven; he nodded and the bird flew away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Guilt – always ugly, always demanding, always relentless. There has to be guilt and this cruel monster can only be satisfied by one thing; sacrifice, the appeasement for the failure, the mistake … the sin. In September, Joe had pronounced his judgment. He had taken a life and taking his own was the only way to satisfy the monster that threatened to destroy him. But he only thought he had taken a life. That guilt and his failed attempt of appeasement were wasted, was foolish. However, now he had to accept a new pronouncement of guilt; his brother in the hospital, close to death, perhaps maimed forever.

  Joe sat by his bedroom window, staring out into a dark and lifeless street. It was two AM. His imagination created unwanted scenes of someone else he loved being hurt, murdered, dying a senseless and horrible death. He could feel the crippling grief others would have to endure, grief he would be responsible for. It’s up to me. I have to stop him. How? How? It’s like he knows everything. He’s trying to play God. How? How does he know? Joe leaned his forehead on the cold windowpane. He knows everything; my friends, Steven, Maddie. Knows where she is. Knows the police were called. Like he’s watching, everything. Everything. Nerves in Joe’s neck sent an electric shock down his spine causing his body to shudder. He stared out the window. He’s watching. He’s watching everything. Then it hit; the thought, the realization. His heart constricted. His chest felt heavy. He could barely breathe. He went to his computer and logged into to his sister’s Facebook account. There it was, in her private messages with her old school friend Jimmy; hundreds of messages, back and forth. Amber had told him everything. Everything he knows, it’s here. He’s been using Amber. Goddamn him. This is just a game to him. He sent a private message:

  u up? can’t sleep. worried about chuck.


  Joe waited for a reply as he again read the messages sent back and forth over the past three months. Subtle and sick flirtations to which his sister had replied to with more and more excited and heartfelt responses. The bastard.

  A reply came:

  Can’t sleep either. How’s your bro? They

  know who did it?

  Joe replied:

  about same. police dont kw nthing. joe think

  ex step dad did it. but he wouldn’t ever do that.

  The next came quickly.

  I remember him. He was okay. Hey did u find

  out when that gf of Joe is coming home?

  Joe’s jaw clenched tight as he continued the charade.

  he don’t know. why u wnt ta know?

  As Joe pressed send, he said to himself, “Nooo. Got to be more subtle.” A text came back:

  No reason. Just wondering. Sure it’s not his

  GF?

  don’t think so. He don’t tlk bout it w me.

  Think he likes her???

  Joe hesitated and shook his head:

  probably not. he never talks about her.

  You said he was always talking about her.

  Ran off with her Xmas day. Ruined your

  xmas.

  Joe typed in, “I lied.” No wait. Wait Joe hit the backspace and retyped his message:

  not since she went away. mom said we are

  going to have to go to a hotel. they don’t

  feel safe here. Must be something going on they

  won’t tell me. I think they’re afraid of my step

  dad. they crazy sometimes.

  The next text was slower in coming. It read: