by J P Barnaby
Summoning all the strength he had left, he forced down the self-loathing and the thoughts of suicide, back into the place where he kept them locked away. These were things he couldn’t let his mother see; she had so much else to worry about. So, after baring as much of his soul as he could stand to this empty patch of grass, he was finally ready to leave. Standing slowly, he brushed the grass off his knees, feeling suddenly guilty for the new stains it had left on his jeans. Aaron looked around slowly, noticing that the sounds of the mower were now gone, and bent to straighten the flowers on Juliette’s grave.
“Happy birthday, Juliette,” he said quietly, and then turned to go.
AS SPENCER flipped through the first couple chapters of his new programming book, he sighed. He’d learned most of the stuff in high school and had figured the rest out on his own. More than anything, he needed a challenge, something to keep his mind off the other shit going on in his life. While he was excited about starting college, his father’s drinking worried him. Dad was the only person in his life he could really count on. At eighteen, he couldn’t carry the weight of college and his father’s worsening alcoholism. It had gotten better for a while, until one of his partners became involved in a lawsuit that wrecked their entire psychiatric practice. Rather than putting up a new shingle, he’d retired at forty-five to explore his other options. The only other option he’d found was in a bottle.
His phone buzzed, so he pulled it out of his pocket. Spencer didn’t have many friends, so more often than not the texts came from his father.
DAD: I don’t feel like cooking tonight. You want pizza or Chinese?
Spencer had expected the text. His father hadn’t gotten out of bed until about two in the afternoon, and even then he looked like hell. He thought about offering to cook, but didn’t feel much like it either. That kid at the college had scared the fuck out of him. One minute, he was tapping the guy on the shoulder, the next he was watching in horror as the boy freaked out on the ground. Spencer hadn’t meant to scare him like that. He just wanted to find all his classes before Monday. Dealing with the interpreter that the school forced on him was enough; he didn’t want to get lost and have to ask for directions.
SPENCER: Chinese
DAD: Orange chicken or fried rice?
Texting each other from the same damned house seemed ridiculous to Spencer, so he marked his page in the textbook, got up off the couch, and went in search of his father. The kitchen, spartan in its décor, was empty except for a lonely pitcher of ice tea Spencer had made earlier, which sat on the breakfast bar. The fifty-inch flat-panel on the wall of the living room was dark, and the room appeared equally empty. It took him several minutes and a few more rooms, but finally he saw his father in his office. A quiet room lined with books, it was rich with dark wood and supple leather. His father sat on the leather couch that dominated the back wall. The desk, a perfectly crafted walnut office desk with fancy bronze drawer handles and a black leather blotter, sat unused along the western wall. For all the effort his father put into managing his life the last few months, the desk could have had an inch of dust on it.
“Menu.?” Spencer asked, and his father looked up from the book in his hands. He didn’t mind talking in front of his dad, because he’d been doing it all his life. His father, along with Aunt Nelle, had taught him to speak. It took forever, especially since neither of them had any experience dealing with deaf children. But somehow, between the three of them, they managed. That was years ago, however, while he still held his father’s complete focus. As he got older and became more self-sufficient, his father sank deeper into a depression that imploded with his forced retirement.
I think there is a menu on the desk, his father signed after setting his book on the couch next to him. It showed just how far their relationship had deteriorated in the last few years that they were both sitting in the house reading, in different rooms, with absolutely no communication between them. He walked over to the desk and rummaged through the drawers until he found a file of menus. It reminded him of how organized his father used to be. From the top drawer, he pulled out a pad of paper and pen.
After scanning the menu, he wrote his order on the pad and handed it to his father. Just one more thing his father had to do for him. One day soon, restaurants would start taking advantage of online ordering, and he couldn’t wait. They already used online ordering for their groceries because neither of them wanted the bother of going to the grocery store. After a cursory look through the menu, his father picked up his cell phone from the couch arm and called in their order. While Spencer couldn’t hear what he said, he could read his father’s lips and discern the weary sound of his voice from the way his body sagged on the couch.
They said about twenty minutes, he signed after tossing the phone back onto the couch. His father looked older than Spencer had ever seen him. Bags hung low beneath his eyes, which had once been bright and full of life. Growing up, his father had always been there for him, looking out for him, teaching him how to negotiate the hearing world, but lately, he watched as his greatest ally slipped farther and farther away.
Did you get everything you need for school? I saw the charge come through for the laptop.
His heart slowed just a bit with the concern in his father’s expression. Maybe he wasn’t as far away as Spencer had imagined.
Yes. I got my books yesterday. I even started reading them, Spencer answered with a tentative smile. For the first time in his life, he felt unbalanced in their relationship. They’d always been a team before—just the two of them against the world, but all that had changed recently, and Spencer didn’t know how to get it back. His father picked up the discarded book and opened it back to his page.
The silence weighed on him, heavy and awkward as he stood watching his father read.
“My. College. Career. Started. With. A. Bang. The. Other. Day.,” he told his father in a desperate attempt to keep his attention. He’d wanted to talk to him about it when he got home, but his dad had been in no shape for a conversation. They hadn’t really talked in weeks, and Spencer missed their easy way with each other. His friends in high school fought constantly with their parents, but he and his father rarely argued. Lately, his dad had been locked away in his office or his bedroom while the empties piled up in the garbage.
What do you mean? His father’s signing was clipped and halfhearted, almost like he couldn’t stand another complication right then.
I tapped a boy on the shoulder to ask him for directions, and he freaked out. Even just the memory of it bothered Spencer.
Freaked out how? He did not hurt you? His father’s eyes took a quick inventory of Spencer, who smiled ruefully and dropped into the big leather office chair. Whenever he sat here, in his father’s chair, he felt like a little kid at the adult table.
No, he did not hurt me. He fell down with his hands over his head and begged me not to touch him. It scared me at first, but then I felt sad for him. The boy’s scarred face haunted him. He couldn’t imagine what had happened to force such a reaction from a simple touch, but he knew what it was like to be afraid and in pain. He knew what it was to be alone.
Sounds like he had a flashback or a reaction to some kind of trauma. What happened to him? His father sat up straighter on the couch, his interest obviously engaged. As a clinical psychologist, someone having an episode in the middle of the quad would be of interest.
A woman, I think it was his mom, came and helped him. I would not have left him alone. It was really awful. I had no idea what to do. Guess that is why I did not go into psychology, Spencer reasoned with a shrug. His insides felt like ice as he thought about how scared the boy had looked.
Seeing someone in pain is not something you ever get used to. At least, I never did.
Spencer’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Looking away from his father, he checked the display and saw that someone had rung the doorbell. It didn’t seem like twenty minutes, but Spencer had no idea what time his father had called. He too
k the money that his father held out and went downstairs to pay the delivery man.
They sat in silence at the dining room table and ate mediocre Chinese food, his father’s attention lost amid soy sauce and fortune cookies.
Later, as he stared at the ceiling and tried to find sleep within its textured surface, his nerves were out of control. In high school, he had spent most of his time dodging bullies who loved to slam him into lockers, trip him in the cafeteria, or spit disgusting projectiles at him. His heart thudded in his chest as he wondered if college could be the same, or his career after college. Would he always have to fight so hard just to be like everyone else?
The kid’s face came unbidden once again to his mind, and sleep eluded him.
THE SUN hurt Spencer’s eyes when they opened through the crust which glued them closed, just a few hours after he’d finally fallen asleep. A dull pain in the base of his neck warned of a pending headache, and he rolled onto his side with a groan. Searching under his pillow for his phone, placed where the vibrations would eventually wake him, he hit the button to see the time. Monday, ten minutes before the alarm was set to go off. He tossed the phone onto the nightstand, rolled onto his stomach, and buried his face in the pillow. The stretch in his back and arms helped to relieve the tension mounting into a headache, but he knew he’d have to take something once he got out of bed.
His father would still be in bed when he left. It was his first day of college, and his father would miss it to nurse his hangover. The pain crept slowly toward his temples, threatening to block out the sun with its intensity. His stomach lurched with the pain, and he kicked back the blanket. The floor was cold under his feet as he moved quietly into the bathroom. The migraine meds sat in the medicine cabinet as they always did, but he resented having to take them right then. They made him feel slow and sluggish, not the best choice for his first day. Without them, however, the stabbing pain behind his eyes would only get worse.
His throat closed up around the pill even as the water from the tap washed it down. Shutting his eyes against the throbbing in his head, he wet a washrag and pressed the cool cloth to his forehead. The last thing he needed right then was to be incapacitated by a headache. Crawling back into bed, he decided to wait fifteen minutes, until the meds kicked in, before attempting to shower. Spencer reset his alarm and closed his eyes behind the cool press of fabric. Please, just let it go away.
The screaming pain had dulled into an incessant throb by the time the alarm went off under his pillow. Tight muscles in his shoulders cramped as he rolled to his side and checked the time on his phone. Spencer needed to be in the shower right then in order to make it to school in time to meet his interpreter. It took all his strength to make it into the bathroom and even more to turn on the shower. Rubbing shampoo into his scalp felt far better than the needle jabbed behind his eye.
By the time he was dressed, Spencer had just enough time for a quick bowl of cereal in the kitchen before he had to leave. The smell of pancakes and sausage made his mouth water as he came down the stairs. He stared, open-mouthed, as his father stood in the kitchen making breakfast for them both. His father turned, plate in hand, and smiled when he saw Spencer in the doorway. He set the plate on the table.
I could not send you off to your first day in college without a good breakfast, he signed and turned to walk back to the stove. Spencer stood frozen in the doorway another moment longer. His father had been so considerate. Pulling the milk from the refrigerator, Spencer poured two glasses without being asked and sat down at the table with a warm glow in his stomach.
He didn’t give a fuck about being late anymore.
I am taking Psychology this semester, Spencer signed after they were both sitting at the table with piles of pancakes and heaps of sausage stacked on their plates. It was one of the breakfasts he’d always loved growing up. Anything in the world could be cured with either pancakes or ice cream—even college jitters.
At least I will be good for something, his father replied with a shrug and dumped syrup over his fluffy, buttered pancakes. Spencer hated the depression and sadness he saw in his father’s eyes.
“You. Are. Good. For. Lots. Of. Other. Things. Too.. You. Could. Still. Practice. If. You. Wanted. To.,” Spencer reasoned, but his dad just nodded once without comment. They lost the moment to awkward silence.
Spencer drove to school a while later, feeling lonelier than he had in a very long time.
Six
AARON DIDN’T want to open his eyes the next morning when his mother called through the door that it was time to get up. It had been years since he’d used an alarm clock; the evil jarring noise made his heart leap into his throat. Even when it was set to music, it startled him so badly that it put him on edge for the rest of the day. So his mom woke him up, and her voice soothed rather than scared him. It was just one more thing that she did for him to help him cope with the fact that he barely functioned. Sometimes, as he lay staring up at the blank ceiling above his head, he wondered if maybe his mother did too much for him. She was enabling him by not pushing or challenging him so that the status quo could be maintained. Even after two years, he still felt like an infant or some kind of invalid because he hadn’t made any progress. He was still that weak, scared little boy they’d found nearly dead on the oil-stained floor.
He didn’t have time to lie there and dissect the issue of his abnormal psychosis right then, however. At that moment, he needed to open his eyes and get into the shower in order to start his day—his first day of college. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes to see a perfectly blue, cloudless sky. Maybe it would be a good day.
He rushed through his shower and the rest of his morning routine, and then grabbed his laptop bag and headed downstairs. He felt bad about making his mother worry after visiting Juliette on Saturday. He had been very quiet, introspective, when they’d gotten home. Seeing her name carved into the tombstone like that really brought it home for him. It wasn’t just some horrifying nightmare. She wasn’t on vacation with her family. Juliette had been raped and murdered less than ten feet from him. Before the men had stabbed him, before they had cut his face and his arms and tried to kill him, they had made him watch as they cut her throat. They had made him watch, knowing that it was going to happen to him too just as soon as they were done with her. He could still feel the cold concrete pressed under his mostly naked body, smell the putrid odor of sweat and gasoline as the boot dug into his cheek as the man held him still. The blood had poured from her as the knife slid with little resistance across her soft skin, soaking her torn sweater and finally pooling on the filthy floor.
Aaron hadn’t wanted to talk about any of this, least of all with his mother. She did so much for him already, there was no way he would plant those images in her head. Those images, and other images that to him were just as horrifying, would stay locked inside him. At no time that he could imagine would he burden someone else with his nightmares.
As he walked into the kitchen, Aaron promised himself that he would eat whatever his mother put in front of him. It was the least he could do for her, not causing her any more worry than was absolutely necessary. He had already done enough. Allen passed him on his way out to school as Aaron settled into a kitchen chair. Since Allen was old enough to drive both himself and Anthony to school in the beat-up Ford Mustang that his parents had bought for them, he could afford to leave a little bit later. The two miles to the combination junior/senior high school took much less time in their day-glo orange beater.
“I hope you have a great first day, man,” Allen said, and then he shoved a cereal bar whole into his mouth and grabbed his bag.
“Thanks,” Aaron replied as his mother placed a plate of blueberry pancakes in front of him. Allen said something unintelligible with the cereal bar taking up most of the space in his mouth, and ran for the front door.
“If you rolled out of bed more than five minutes before you had to leave, I’d make them for you too,” his mother called after Allen wi
th a laugh. Aaron looked up at her, the guilt eating at his stomach as he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. It was obvious that she hadn’t slept well last night either. He must have really scared her yesterday.
“Mom, are you busy?” Aaron asked, the words out of his mouth before he really decided to speak.
“I’m never too busy for my boys,” his mother said with a smile and sat down in the empty seat across from him. Strangely pleased that she had brought pancakes for herself as well, he thought it would be really nice to just sit here at the table and eat alone with his mom.
“I’m sorry I was so… quiet. I know that it worried you. I just…. I can’t….” Aaron started, but had really no idea how to finish.
I can’t tell you about all the horrible things I see in my head.
I can’t clearly articulate what it’s like to die inside.
I can’t describe what it’s like to want to scream every minute of every day.
He had no idea what the hell he was supposed to tell her. Even during the hundreds of wasted hours of useless therapy, he’d never talked about it. The humiliation, the shame were only the tip of the psychiatric iceberg. So the shrinks pumped him full of pills and moved on to someone they could help.
“You don’t need to apologize, Aaron. I knew it would be hard for you. To tell you the truth, I would have been more worried if you hadn’t been upset by it, and I’m really proud of you for going. You walked alone across the grass, and you made it through. The Aaron we brought home two years ago wouldn’t have been able to do that. I hope you can see how far you’ve come. Things are getting better, honey, slowly.” It was such a lovely sentiment Aaron didn’t have the heart to contradict her, so he remained silent. Soon after they finished their breakfast, she drove him to school.
