by Jason Jauron
DRIVEN TO TEARS
by
Jason Alex Jauron
Book One of the Darby Trilogy
This book is dedicated to my son Christian, and my daughter Kate, who always offered words of encouragement, bribes.
But mostly, this book is dedicated to my wife Annette, for whom there are no words.
This is a work of fiction. Any part of this book that in any way resembles a person, place, or part of the real world is pure coincidence. Let’s leave it at that.
“Love is the most pain I’ve ever lived through…
“A lifetime together is too good to be true.”
Jed Darby, 1988
There are no words that could have saved the boy…
His tormentor was ready, a life to destroy…
The boy fought bravely, sought help from above…
In those last few moments, he was buoyed by love…
Love healed him, shaped him, inspired a plan…
But love was no match for the demolition man.
November 5, 1986
11:30pm
After trying to fall asleep for nearly an hour, Jed Darby got out of bed and went into the bathroom. He did not drink that much at the bar, but he still had some alcohol in his system. And his light beer buzz illuminated his senses, aroused his id.
Every cheap hotel is the same, he concluded. He spun the roll of abrasive toilet paper, tore off quite a handful.
As he lay back down in bed, his right hand slid under the covers and underneath his underwear. He closed his eyes, remembered.
***
He and Patty had just gotten home from barhopping around the large college campus. They shared a small house with four other students.
“Be quiet Patty, we don’t want to wake our roommates,” whispered Jed.
It was 2 a.m. and Patty was drunk.
And horny.
As soon as they climbed the stairs to their room, Jed closed the door behind them, locking it. It had been a muggy September evening, and he just wanted to sit down, enjoy the air conditioning.
But Patty started kissing him, nudging him back against the door. As the intensity of her kisses noticeably increased, her hands effortlessly, expertly, worked the belt and button on his khaki shorts.
Then.
She went down.
The ferocity of her attack left Jed momentarily breathless. She sucked so hard, so deep.
Three minutes later, she backed away, took her shirt off.
“Wanna fuck my pussy Jed?” she teased.
He nodded.
Several times.
As she wiggled out of her cut-off jean shorts, (Daisy Dukes, Jed likes to call them) his penis actually got harder.
He looked down at it.
The classic broom handle impersonation, mused Jed.
He glanced back at Patty; his eyes went down on her.
She had the sexiest pussy. Just one little line led to the promised land.
The sex was fast and furious.
Missionary, doggy, rodeo - Oh My!
Patty had come twice; now it was time for Jed.
As she lay underneath, she blurted, “Are you going to come?”
“Not yet.”
“Damnit Jed you pull out before you come,” stammered Patty before she lost her breath.
Three furious minutes later, he pulled out, leaned back on his knees.
Patty quickly sat up, leaned forward, took his cock in her mouth, and swallowed.
“Jed, you taste bitter tonight,” she giggled.
***
I know what I had Patty. And there is still a part of us inside me.
Jed took the toilet paper from underneath the covers, folded it three times, and threw it on the floor.
Less than two minutes later, he was sound asleep.
1.
“Stupid people shouldn’t breed.”
One of two messages written on Jed’s dorm door.
Jed laughed at both; his father was not amused.
November 6, 1986
5pm
Jed did not understand why some of those people were here. What could possibly be the reasoning behind that decision? he wondered, nervously fidgeting with the knot of his silk Spider Man tie. God, I hope nobody gives me any shit about the tie, he thought as he washed his hands. Patty loved this tie, it was her absolute favorite. He examined the complexion of his reflection in the mirror. He started with his chin.
Damn, another zit. Why the hell now? God-damnit.
Jed backed away from the sink; he deliberately glanced about the bathroom, but he already knew the answer.
He was alone.
And he had convinced himself months ago that these panic attacks over his complexion would never happen again. He told himself that he was not that person anymore.
Go for it, cried out an old familiar voice.
Look at your face!
Pop the zits!
Look at your face!
There are zits everywhere!
Jed glanced down at the sink.
Mister?
His gaze was locked on a small section of white porcelain next to the cold-water knob. That was the usual spot where Mister lay neatly wrapped, bundled.
But Mister was not there.
Jed’s pulse was now racing; his forehead felt warm, moist. But the adrenaline rush, though once welcomed, was now despised.
He turned, opened one of the stalls. He got in, closed the door, sat on the toilet. His head fell into his hands.
I’m not that person anymore. I don’t act this way anymore.
But the desire to pick at his face was taking hold of Jed. And he knew his body wasn’t going to feel right, feel normal, if he didn’t splatter that mirror with pus.
He was on edge.
The attack will be over with soon enough, he told himself. We know the drill, just wait. The feeling will pass. We are not going to stick our face in that mirror and start picking at what isn’t there.
Three minutes would pass.
Three minutes of controlled breathing, muscle relaxation, and two decades of the Joyful Mysteries.
The loud metallic click the lock made as the door to the bathroom opened woke Jed out of his trance like a splash of cold water. As the stranger’s footsteps got closer, old habits sprang to action.
Hurry up, for crying out loud, the voice inside his head commanded. Flush the toilet. Force yourself to produce some type of fart. Spin the toilet paper roll a few times and clear your throat. Wait a few seconds. Spin the roll again and flush. That should convince the stranger you are done with your business. Then get the hell out of the bathroom!
With the ritual complete, Jed got to his feet, cursed his situation again, and left the restroom.
He had not walked more than a few feet before he stopped, surveyed those in attendance. As he looked over each person carefully, sparks of anger got his adrenaline flowing again. The pure rage he felt toward those people was becoming harder to suppress. Jed was going to have to focus, be on his best behavior.
Of course what had happened to Patty had been conveniently labeled a tragedy. Another sad statistic on some bullshit government chart.
But Jed knew better.
He knew the truth.
The truth about Patty.
The truth about everything, everyone.
Hell, he had seen the bitter truth with his own eyes.
But the truth was of little consolation to him.
The truth gave no closure.
The truth offered no comfort.
The truth simply hurt.
Jed had tried to drown the truth in tears.
Jed had tried to dilu
te the pain of the truth with alcohol.
But alcohol had not worked, and the pain he felt in his heart at this exact moment was a testament to just how deeply he had loved Patty.
As Jed shuffled his way into the line, he could sense those people staring at him. They know I know, he concluded. And they’re mocking me. With the pain they caused Patty. They’re all mocking me.
He spent the next minute or so trying to gather his composure, his thoughts. He just looked down at his feet, shuffled forward when it was time.
Time went by so fast that before he knew it, he was just a few feet from her casket. He summoned the courage, looked up, and stared at her from over the shoulder of an elderly woman that he did not recognize.
He swallowed hard.
She was so damn beautiful.
So beautiful that if you did not know Patty personally you would naturally conclude she had the world at her feet.
His breathing stopped; his eyes watered.
If only she could wake up from death, he reasoned, as the older woman walked away. Just stop holding your last breath and climb out of the casket.
He was now standing beside her.
It was time to speak from the heart.
But the cat had his tongue; tears streaked down his cheeks.
How did we get so lost upon our way Patty?
2.
November 6, 5:20pm
“Son, will you please move on,” called out a voice from behind.
Fuck you!
Jed was visibly upset, and for the briefest of moments, he envisioned potential options, outcomes. He then just turned, walked away.
Just a few months ago she was my fiancé you cocksucker. Do you know what that means? Exactly. So of all the people, why the fuck was I on the clock? And just who the fuck does something like that? Tells somebody at a wake to move the fuck on. Like there’s some huge fucking line here. Like you people ever cared about Patty. And this so-called tragedy being a horrible accident is just bullshit. Explain to me folks, he wanted to ask the three people near the main entrance who were giving him dirty looks, how drinking damn near a whole bottle of tequila and swallowing a bottle of sleeping pills is an accident? Just like falling off a ladder I suppose, he mused. It was suicide motherfuckers. The police know. I know. But you fuckers would rather play make believe. This church ain’t Mister Roger’s fucking neighborhood. And I don’t see the trolley either dumb fucks.
Jed was now officially pissed.
He coughed. The hazy fog of Liz Claiborne and Old Spice seemed to be robbing his brain of oxygen. He needed to go.
As he walked out of the small Iowa Baptist church, he welcomed the cold, fresh air. His mind was racing now; every significant memory of their time together seemed to momentarily flash before his eyes.
Just a few steps from his car, he paused. He knew in his gut Patty’s suicide was inevitable.
Inevitable for two reasons.
She had been abused as a child in every possible way. Pair that traumatic shitty childhood with their recent painful breakup, and her fate was sealed. It was just a matter of time.
But damn it Patty, I had no choice. We both the fuck know what happened. And not a fucking day goes by when I don’t relapse. Fuck Patty. I see it over and over again. But I still can’t believe.
“And now our life together has taken a turn…
“Not by my hand, it’s your deed that has us burn…
“An act of betrayal erases all our past…
“Patty’s love was an aberration, never meant to last.”
Jed Darby, 1989
November 6, 5:30pm
As Jed leaned against the trunk of his car - an old Ford Taurus that was a hand-me-down from his mother - thoughts of his parents and what they must be thinking and discussing, momentarily occupied his thoughts.
Jed knew they would worry about him.
He opened the driver’s side door, slumped into the seat. He thought of his mom, and their phone conversation several days ago.
***
When Jed picked up the phone, he was a little apprehensive. It was five minutes until his tiny cubicle, one of a thousand inside the enormous insurance building, closed up shop for the day. It was last call for phone calls. And he did not want to get suckered into talking to another clueless agent too far past closing time.
“Hello, this is Jed Darby in Marketing, how can I be of assistance today?”
“Jed, it’s mom,” said Jill Darby before clearing her throat. “Do you have a few minutes to talk? It’s important.”
Jed grimaced, gently set the phone down.
Do I have a few fucking minutes? Damn, why the hell did I give her my direct line?
He took a long, quiet breath and lifted the receiver to his ear.
“Yes, I have a few minutes to talk mom. What is it?”
Here it comes. The fucking lecture. The god-damn fucking lecture. Let me guess. Our conversation will sound something like:
[“No, I’m not drinking heavily on the weekends anymore mom. Yes, mom, I’m not thinking about Patty as much lately. But she is still the one I’m thinking about when I am beating my meat, mom. But don’t worry mom. I am over her. Thanks for asking. No, my face has not been a problem. No major breakouts since the breakup. No cysts. No blackheads. Nope. Can’t even see the scars either. Thanks for jinxing me though. Just kidding mom. You can’t jinx me. But acne vulgaris is fucking hereditary mom. And yes, work is fine. Didn’t think it would be this fucking monotonous though. I know I’ll find someone else. It just takes time. Right. And I haven’t given myself enough time. Yep. Ok mom. See you later. Yes, I’ll go to church this weekend. I mean, look how the good Lord has blessed me these past few years. Bye. No, I can’t make it home this weekend. Maybe next weekend. Four hours is a long time to be in a car. Love you. I know. Patty was a good person. She just wasn’t the one for me. Thanks for mentioning her name again. Just kidding mom. Love you. Bye.”]
“Jed, this is not easy for me,” blurted his mom.
What?
What the hell isn’t easy?
“What isn’t easy mom?” he said in a controlled tone. “Just tell me.”
“It’s Patty,” his mother began. “Something has...”
“Mom, how many times do I have to tell you,” he interrupted. “That Patty and I are done. It’s been six months. I just can’t see us getting back together. Hell, she never even graduated. She just dropped out.”
He stopped to steady himself. He was frustrated. Uptight. And he was being rude to his mother. He just felt like hanging up. He was trying to get on with his life. It just seemed like he was the only one. His mother had been calling him almost every single day since graduation. Jed felt as if he was living under some sort of microscope. He was having a hard time convincing his mother he was over Patty, which he wasn’t, and that his outlook, his emotions, were positive and controllable, which they weren’t.
But Jed also knew why his mother was so persistent. His first few years of college had damaged him. Nearly destroyed him. Permanently changed him. He was no longer the happy-go-lucky boy she had raised. Jill Darby had spent more than her fair share of evenings in prayer while Jed was away.
And as she paused to gather her thoughts, Mrs. Jill Darby realized the enormity of the cross her son was still carrying; she wondered how much longer he could manage the load.
“Jed I believe you. That’s not why I’m calling you,” she said meekly.
“Then...just what is it mom?” He did not disguise his frustration.
“Jed, I’m so sorry,” she continued, starting to cry. “I’m so sorry you have to hear this.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Patty took her own life two days ago.”
“What?”
“How?”
“When her father called us, all he would tell us was the funeral information. It was your father who made a few calls. He said the best he could find out was that she died from an overdose. That is all we
know. Well, there is also a letter. We just got it. It was mailed to you at our address.”
“What?”
“It’s her handwriting Jed.”
Jill Darby was now crying.
“We haven’t opened it. Your father called in a favor. An officer will hand deliver the letter to you at the funeral.”
“Dad did that?”
“Oh yes. And it was not easy for your father to ask for a favor. But a state patrolman will meet you at the church the day of the funeral and give you the letter.
“Your father loves you Jed. But though he may not say it, you have to know he’s always been proud of you.”
There was a long pause.
“What do I do mom?
“The funeral is in two days.”
Silence.
“Can you get those days off Jed?”
He leaned back, brushed away the tears.
“Son.”
“I think so mom.”
As she gave him directions, his body went numb. The conversation lasted for another five minutes or so before he hung up the phone, stumbled out of his chair.
3.
November 6th, 5:43pm
How am I going to get through this mom?
He exhaled slowly, watching the peculiar wisp his breath made.
Why the fuck didn’t I bring a coat?
He decided to go back into the church; he wanted his last moments with Patty to be more intimate. He needed one last, long look at the only love he’s ever known. The only face he knew he could never replace.
As he got to his feet and locked the car, he saw it.
“I’ll be damned,” he muttered. Wiped his nose.
