Survivor Stories

by J P Barnaby

  [Aaron] Hey, we are out front in an orange Mustang.

  [Jordan] On my way down.

  “He says he’s on his way down,” Aaron relayed.

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t slip on a crack pipe or something.”

  “Not everyone was born into the white middle class, Allen,” Aaron said. The sentiment would have made his econ teacher from last semester very proud. The front door of the building opened, and Jordan stepped out. He high-fived one of the guys sitting on the low steps and stopped to say something to another before strolling to the car. Aaron wondered if he faked the casualness or if he was truly unconcerned with his surroundings.

  “Hey,” he said as he crawled into the back after Allen unlocked the doors with reluctance. “Thank you.”

  “Hi. Jordan, this is my brother, Allen,” Aaron said, and Allen gave him a quick half nod and “Hey,” while Jordan thanked him again for the ride.

  “My mom had the car, so it’s probably been impounded. I’m glad I can walk to work.”

  “You walk in this neighborhood?” Allen asked, sounding more impressed than incredulous, which surprised Aaron.

  “Yeah, mostly. Mommy and Daddy don’t generally buy us cars around here, sport.”

  Aaron hated the defensive note in Jordan’s voice but snorted at the way he put Allen in his place. Allen’s stiff posture didn’t change as they found their way back to the main road with the help of their GPS computer girlfriend. No one spoke. As they passed, the landscape changed from boarded-up buildings to strip malls and gated subdivisions.

  “Hey, my dad took off, and Mom and I do what we can,” Jordan said, still defensive.

  “I’m not judging you,” Aaron said as he turned to look over the seat.

  “Maybe not, but he is.” Jordan indicated Allen with a jerk of his head. “Life kind of goes to shit when your brother is murdered, man.”

  “Oh, really? You want to exchange brother horror stories?” Allen yelled, and in the confines of the closed car, the sound reverberated off the walls and hurt Aaron’s ears.

  “No, no we don’t. Can we just go back home, Allen? Bad shit happens, and we are all trying to deal with it.” Aaron rubbed his forehead, trying to stem the headache he could feel coming. They pulled up to the curb in front of the house, and Allen climbed out without another word, slamming the car door behind him.

  Great.

  Allen’s first weekend home from college, and Aaron fucked that up too. He got out of the car, and Jordan walked beside him to the front door.

  “Look, if this is going to be a problem, man, it’s not like I haven’t been alone for Thanksgiving before. And seriously, I don’t even remember what turkey looks like.”

  “He’ll get over it. I had just told him about Anthony and the drugs right before we picked you up. He has some things he needs to work through right now.”

  “Story of my life,” Jordan said with a sigh.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  IT TURNED out to be the longest weekend of Aaron’s life, but it took his mind off the trial, even if just for a few days. Because all the beds were occupied, his mother set Jordan up on the couch in the family room, where Allen and Anthony decided to play video games until two in the morning. In retaliation, Jordan slipped the word “farm” into any conversation for which Anthony or Allen happened to be within earshot. Aaron thought things would come to blows when Allen attempted to point out Jordan’s building on Grand Theft Auto in a part of the virtual town covered in graffiti.

  Things came to a head Saturday night when Aaron’s parents went out for a quiet evening alone, something they hadn’t had in quite some time. The four boys sat in the family room, Anthony and Allen playing a video game while Jordan and Aaron watched.

  “Have you heard anything about what’s happening with your mom?” Aaron asked as Anthony shoved Allen over after he won yet another game. Under the cover of Allen’s laughter, Jordan answered.

  “Her lawyer said they’ll probably have a bail hearing on Monday. I’ll have to see if I can get my dad to bail her out or something. I have no idea what’s going to happen. There’s enough in her checking account to cover the rent for December, but….” Jordan shrugged and looked away. Aaron noticed the silence and glanced over toward the television to see his brothers watching them. Anthony’s mouth gaped open, and Allen laughed silently behind his hand.

  “You think it’s funny?” Jordan asked, standing up. “Your mother’s son was injured, and it sucked, no doubt. My mom? She lost her whole fucking family in one horrifying afternoon. One son with his chest blown open, the other too fucked up to function, scared of his own shadow, with PTSD triggers for loud noises, blood, and probably shit I don’t even know yet. And then, on top of everything else, her husband can’t hack life and moves out, leaving her to deal with the aftermath alone. So yeah, she drinks. Hell, I do too. And you,” he said, jerking his head at Anthony, “you know how I knew you were pharming? That’s how I fucking got through high school, because we didn’t have the money to pay for a fancy shrink to medicate me. You want to laugh at me? Well, fuck you.” He stood up, ignoring Aaron’s restraining hand, strode over to the stairs, and went up them.

  Aaron stared at his brothers, who stared back at him.

  “We didn’t know,” Allen said quietly, by way of apology.

  “I met Jordan on a support group for PTSD survivors, Allen. That didn’t clue you in to the fact that something horrible happened to him? He survived a school shooting, where he watched his brother, his twin brother, bleed out in front of him. Neither of you can possibly know what it’s like to watch someone you love die right in front of you.” Aaron growled at his brothers, angry on Jordan’s behalf. Not just because they’d hurt Jordan, but because he knew what it was like to have people give you shit for things in your life you couldn’t control.

  “We’ll apologize,” Allen said, pulling himself up off the floor while Anthony did the same.

  “Wait a minute,” Aaron said, not standing but just looking up at his younger brothers, who both took a step back. He stared right at Anthony and asked, “Is he right?”

  “About what?”

  “Don’t play stupid, Anthony.”

  Anthony didn’t say anything, but his expression spoke volumes: guilt, regret, and shame showed from every part of his face.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? Mom doesn’t have enough shit to worry about without you risking your life doing stupid shit?” Aaron’s scathing rebuke made his youngest brother cringe, and he didn’t respond. “I’m going upstairs to get Jordan. Why don’t you try talking some sense into him?” he asked Allen and left the room without another word.

  Jordan sat on the far edge of the bed, staring out of the window overlooking the backyard. Aaron covered the room in a few steps and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Without moving or taking his eyes off the window, Jordan sighed.

  “We had a house like this once, with a nice backyard. The bank took it. We’ve been at the apartment for almost three years. It sucks, yeah, but I’m not on the street, and she does the best she can.”

  “I’m not judging you, and they won’t be anymore either. They didn’t know about seeing your brother’s death. I didn’t feel it was my place to tell them, especially over Thanksgiving dinner.” Aaron sat down on the bed and slid up against the headboard. “You were right about Anthony. Allen is downstairs talking to him about it now. We’ll talk about it later, but with all the shit my mom has going on right now, unless we think he’s in trouble, Allen will make him stop. He listens to Allen more than anyone else. Our family dynamic is a little fucked up too.”

  “Whose isn’t?”

  “Amen. You want to stay up here or go back down with them?” Aaron asked. He pulled out his phone and checked the display, hoping to see a text or e-mail from Spencer. But he seemed to be taking their separation seriously. And if Spencer had been asking Dr. Thomas how he was doing, no one mentioned it to him. He hated it. Things weren’t less stressf
ul without Spencer. In fact, he’d started having trouble sleeping. But he couldn’t stand the imagined look on Spencer’s face as he listened to all of the horrible things he’d had to do that night. All the horrible things they did to him. Spencer knew about it in the abstract, but listening to all of the unvarnished details could mean the end of their relationship.

  “I guess.” Jordan didn’t look convinced.

  “Will Chinese food make it better? My treat.” Aaron smiled at him and grabbed his wallet off the dresser. “Come on, we’ll order all kinds of different things and share.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Jordan followed him to the stairs, but even before they reached the halfway landing that spiraled down into the hallway, they heard Allen yelling.

  “I only got my older brother back, Anthony. I can’t lose my little brother too. If you can’t stop or you won’t stop, we’re going to have to let Mom deal with it.”

  “No, I don’t do it all the time. I won’t go anymore, Allen, I promise. Just don’t tell Mom,” Anthony begged. “I don’t really even like how it makes me feel. I don’t know why I kept going.”

  “You think he means it?” Jordan asked as they reached the first floor and stopped in the hall, waiting for the yelling to stop.

  “He promised Allen he wouldn’t drink anymore, and he doesn’t. At least, I don’t think he does. So I think he means it.”

  “Jesus, alcohol and pills, all before he’s even old enough to drive.”

  “Yeah, maybe we should tell Mom so they can get him into therapy before he ends up picking people off from rooftops.”

  “Yeah, that’s really not funny.” Jordan’s low, irritated voice carried, so Aaron began moving toward the family room again so his brothers didn’t think they were spying.

  “Sorry,” he told Jordan over his shoulder. “I wasn’t making light.”

  “I know.”

  His brothers were all for ordering Chinese, so after grabbing menus from the takeout drawer he grabbed a pen and took down what everyone wanted. Allen called it in, using Aaron’s debit card to pay. The conversation died in the wake of Anthony’s confession while they waited for the food.

  Aaron spent the rest of dinner, and indeed the rest of the night, trying to decide what to do about Anthony.

  HIS PHONE rang just as they backed out of the driveway to take Jordan home the next day, and it surprised Aaron to see Dr. Thomas’s name on the display.

  “Is it Mom?” Allen asked as he put the car in drive and started out of the subdivision.

  “No, hang on,” he told Allen and then answered the phone.

  “Hi, Aaron, just wanted to make sure you remembered about the start of the conference tomorrow.”

  Aaron stared out of the car window, fighting the fog and trying to figure out what Dr. Thomas was talking about.

  “Conference? Does it have something to do with the trial? We weren’t supposed to have to deal with that until next week.” Panic made Aaron’s voice rise, and Jordan put a hand on his shoulder from the backseat to steady him. They said he still had a week. He couldn’t deal with it, not yet.

  “No, it’s just a gathering of other PTSD survivors to get strategies for coping. You don’t have to go. I just thought it would be good for you. We talked about this at the beginning of the summer. You don’t remember?”

  “I don’t remember much these days. You really want me to go?” A long, slow exhalation of breath accompanied his question. God, it hurt to even think about. He didn’t want to spend the day surrounded by people, especially strangers he’d never seen.

  “I think it would help, yes. There is a special breakout session on testifying and coping with those stresses. We could sit through it if you want.”

  “You won’t leave me?”

  “I have to speak at a couple of the sessions, but you can go with me if you want.”

  “Can Jordan go with me?”

  “I suppose, but Spencer will be there.”

  “Spencer?”

  “He’s arranged to work longer hours the rest of the week so he can attend with you. It’s important to him, so I didn’t think you would mind,” Dr. Thomas said, like they were discussing lunch rather than spending time with Spencer a week before the trial. God, he felt so awful, and he hadn’t even spoken to Spencer in almost two weeks. Things would be all kinds of awkward.

  “Are you picking me up?” Resignation filled his tone. He didn’t want to go, but if Dr. Thomas thought it might help him get through the trial the following week, he had to try.

  “Yes, we will pick you up at seven and then drive downtown. The conference will be at the Hyatt.”

  Fuck.

  Sixteen

  THE GRAND ballroom of the hotel overflowed with an abundance of isolated people. Islands of pairs sat with gaps between them on the chairs placed in rows which would have made even the staunchest of drill sergeants proud. As they entered, Aaron’s instincts shoved him closer to Spencer, who put an arm around his shoulders. They hadn’t talked much on the drive downtown, but Spencer had smiled at him, a sweet, amazing smile that told Aaron he wasn’t angry. The smile, more than anything else, gave Aaron hope.

  Dr. Thomas led them into a room and over to a woman in a crisp black suit. It surprised Aaron when she gave Dr. Thomas a light kiss. This must be the woman Spencer said he’d been dating. The sides of her long, dark brown hair were pulled up and secured with a barrette, but the rest hung in free, unhindered curls down her back. Black square-rimmed glasses framed her kind brown eyes, and a few freckles were sprinkled over her nose and the tops of her cheeks. Aaron liked her immediately because she didn’t stare at his scar.

  “Spencer, Aaron, this is my friend Stephanie Harper. She’s a clinical psychiatrist at Northwestern. This conference is her brainchild.” Dr. Thomas moved to stand behind the woman, almost deferentially. She shook Spencer’s hand and then held her hand out again for Aaron to shake, but he just shook his head.

  “I don’t like to be touched.”

  “Of course, I feel like I know you as much and as well, as Henry speaks of you, both of you.” Her smile was kind, and it made Aaron feel like maybe today wouldn’t be a complete disaster for him. Spencer would take care of him. Spencer always took care of him.

  “So, how does it work?” Aaron asked.

  “Well, this first meeting is kind of an orientation, and then the group will break up into different tracks, based on interest. Some of the attendees will go to talks for survivors, and some will go to talks for industry professionals to share techniques. A few of the survivor talks are actually led by patients.” She looked rather excited by the idea. Spencer’s hand slid into his, and Aaron squeezed it.

  “Once we get through this, the first session for survivors will be in that room. I’ll be giving a talk a few doors down. Spencer can go to that session with you, and then we’ll meet up afterward, or you guys can go with me.” Dr. Thomas was already half turned to follow his girlfriend by the time Aaron said okay.

  “Let’s. Find. Seats.,” Spencer said, pulling a little on Aaron’s hand to get him to follow. “If. Things. Get. Bad., We. Will. Duck. Out. And. Go. Outside… We. Do. Not. Have. To. Stay. In. Here….”

  Aaron let Spencer lead him to a space in the back with lots of open chairs. Aaron took the one on the end, and Spencer sat right next to him. As he looked around the open space, Aaron saw that most of the end seats were taken and wondered if maybe he wasn’t the only one with a problem being near strangers. It comforted him in a way, but he couldn’t say why.

  “Dad said you took a leave from school,” Spencer signed as he turned slightly in his seat to face Aaron.

  “Yeah, I just could not do it right now. The trial feels like some kind of eclipse, blocking out everything else in my life. I will not be able to move forward and do anything else until it is over. Maybe not even then.”

  “Did you ever think that maybe the trial will help put some demons to rest?” Spencer’s hand came down to rest on Aaron’s leg, and Aaro
n closed his eyes for only a moment, feeling the warmth through his jeans and on his skin. He’d been so cold without Spencer.

  Aaron nodded. He’d thought of little else.

  A tall figure went up onto the stage, and the assembled crowd mumbled itself into silence. He looked too young to be a shrink: maybe twenty-five and dressed in jeans with a checkered button-down. His shirt fluttered at the bottom, untucked, as he climbed the few steps and stood before a podium. Rolling his sleeves up beyond his elbows, he exposed lean forearms and then tossed a stack of papers near the microphone. He lowered his head and gripped the sides of the lectern. For a long moment, it looked like he might have been praying, but then he lifted his head again and looked out over the sea of faces.

  “I… uh… I’m not a public speaker. I don’t like crowds or groups of people or even talking that much. But my doctor says that this will help my recovery, though I don’t know how.” The speaker ran fingers through shaggy black hair, and his dark eyes flitted around the room, wary and alert. Aaron got what that felt like. It could have been him in front of the room, had he been able to function.

  “My name, well, my name is Zach Tyler, and a little over ten years ago, I was kidnapped in a South American jungle and taken hostage. I was there to visit an aunt stationed on a research project, and, God, I was a stupid little shit. Had I kept my mouth shut, I might have been okay. But I didn’t. I mouthed off to the leader of some crazy military group and spent the next five years in a cage being tortured and raped. I’d long forgotten how to live.”

  Aaron shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the guy’s horrifyingly frank story. He wanted to hide behind Spencer, to get away from it, to tell Spencer they had to go. The imagery of the man locked in a cage enduring what Aaron himself had gone through hurt to hear, but then he said something that made Aaron wait.