by Jaci Wheeler
“Why you do that?” he finally voices.
“Why do I do what?”
“Take other people problems? Don’t have your own so you have look for them?” I’m not caught up by his words but in them. His voice is beautiful. Sure, it’s not perfect, but it isn’t bad at all. He has a deep, raspy voice. Almost soulful and it’s precise and thought out.
“Sure, have enough of my problems. I don’t know why I do it, to be honest. Maybe focusing on other people’s problems helps me forget my own.” Barrett smiles and I give him a confused look.
“When you talk sign gets all messed up again.”
“Talk sign same time hard, same speaking two languages same time.”
“It is speaking two languages at once. I’m amazed how interpreters can think in English, process in English, yet output in ASL. I wasn’t making fun of you, Pres, just an observation.” I smile wide and now it’s his turn to look confused.
“You call me Pres.”
“And?”
“It’s just you don’t seem like N I C K N A M E type of guy. Speaking of, what your name sign? I don’t know.” His face turns sad and I regret asking.
“It’s B over your heart. My mom gave it to me because she said that’s where I belong.” I place my hand on his and smile briefly.
“Your mom wonderful woman.” He nods once.
“What’s your name sign?”
“Oh!” My face lights up in excitement. “My D.H.H. class gave me. P going up and down my left arm for music. I’m music therapist. Perfect for me.”
“You seem happy talking about your job. You like it?”
“Love job. It’s…well, it’s me. I found perfect fit.”
“Music is your racing?”
“Exactly.” I yawn and Barrett takes the ice cream and gets up to put it away. I grab my purse and get ready to leave, but when he comes back in the room and sees me, he frowns.
“You not staying?”
This really shouldn’t become a habit, but I remember when my grandma died the last thing I ever wanted to be was alone with my thoughts. I used to sneak into my nanny’s room without my parents knowing for months until the nanny slipped and said something and my mom started locking me in at night.
He climbs back in bed and then holds the blanket back for me in invitation. I climb in and look over at him.
“Light on off which?”
“I want to ask you something but don’t want make you uncomfortable.”
Oh God, please don’t ask me for sex. I can’t deal with that right now. He isn’t going to ask for comfort sex, is he? Oh Lord, he is. How do you turn down a grieving brother? A hot, grieving brother at that?
“What?” I sign, not looking at him at all.
“Could you…I mean, would it be okay if you sang to me?” My head snaps up and I look at him. He’s looking down sheepishly, but he raises his eyes to meet mine.
“Why sing if can’t hear you?”
“I can a little…if you let me put my head on your chest.” I look at him skeptically and he is quick to follow up, “I swear it’s not a line. My mom used to sing to me that way, and it’s been a while, so I was just curious if it would work with you.”
“Light on off which?” I repeat.
“I prefer low light, always on.” He flips off the main switch and turns on the nightstand light, which isn’t more than an amber glow.
I roll to my back and he places his head on my shoulder. I think about what song to sing. It’s not like it’s really going to matter much to him, but I never make a song choice without thought. Music is the sound track of life to me, so I decide something a little sad and soulful is in order. I pick ‘Hallelujah’ by Jeff Buckley. Singing while flat on your back with a person on top of you is no easy feat. I guess it doesn’t really matter what the sound is like as long as the vibration is there, so with that in mind, I keep my tone low and raspy. Luckily, I tend to feel right at home singing alto, so this works out pretty nicely.
I start off soft and low, and let the music build. He is tentative in the beginning, who am I kidding, we both are. This should be seriously awkward. We hardly know each other and we’re entering major bubble territory…yet there’s also something very innocent and pure about it. I can tell when he starts to relax and is more comfortable. I’m really letting go as well now and just singing from my soul. He moves to where his head is fully on my upper chest, right below my throat. By the third verse I stop worrying about how weird this might be and the beauty of the situation full on hits me. I’m able to give this man something that he’s never been able to give himself. Sharing the joy of music isn’t only a passion for me, it’s a need, so we are just two souls fulfilling a great need in each other.
His tears are completely silent as they slowly hit my exposed skin and pool in the hollow of my throat. They spark my own tears. The idea that I can touch him so deeply this way, giving him nothing but my voice, touches me deeply. Without thinking, I bring his arms around me and place his hands flat against my back so he isn’t only getting the sound vibrations from my chest, but he can also feel them from behind. It has its desired effect when he sighs out against my neck. The song ends but neither one of us move. To be honest, I have no words. In this type of communication words are useless. I close my eyes and go right into ‘Brightest’ by Copeland. Somewhere around ‘As my guitar gently weeps’ by the Beatles, I drift off.
CHAPTER 18
Barrett
I wake up and she’s gone. I can almost convince myself it was nothing but a dream, even though I know my imagination isn’t that good, there’s no way I came up with that. No, it wasn’t a dream and the light scent of lemon clinging to my pillow and two wrapped breakfast burritos on the desk prove it. I unwrap one and smile as the first bite explodes in my mouth. Who makes homemade breakfast burritos? The kind of girl who will sing a grown man to sleep, apparently.
“Hey, hey, look who’s up.” Randy greets as I walk into the kitchen. He is freshly showered and with his usual morning grin. Although recent events have dimmed him, he’s not someone who allows life to get the best of him. I’ve always admired him for that.
“Not working today?” I voice and Randy’s apparent shock at me speaking makes me chuckle. “I can talk, you know.”
“I know. I’m just not used to you doing it so freely.”
“Yeah…well, I’m not used to being so accepted, so we’re both in uncharted territory, aren’t we?” I try not to sound so bitter but I don’t have to be able to hear to know disdain drips from my words. Randy places a hand on my shoulder and waits until I make eye contact.
“I hungry you not have life. Hungry I do more you Codi. Boss me. Not mean can’t change. You live here now. You mine now. Different now.”
I don’t even care that he messed up most of that I’m so touched by so many things right now I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. It doesn’t take me long to translate his signs and put together that he meant “I wish you didn’t have the life you’ve had. I wish I did more for you and Codi. That was my fault, but that doesn’t mean I can’t change that now. You live here now and you are mine. Things will be different.” The concept that someone still wants me, with all my broken, non-working parts, that they think I haven’t been so emotionally damaged that there could still be redemption, almost brings me to my knees. I don’t know when I became such a cry baby…that’s a lie. The day my brother was taken from me was the day I stopped being myself. That man is gone now, but I can still make whoever is left worth something. I don’t bother responding, but grab Randy and hold him in a tight embrace. He hugs me back just as fiercely, then pulls back and smiles, but not before I see his own eyes suspiciously wet.
“Okay, tell me how bad did I mess that up?”
“It was perfect.”
“Oh God, that bad huh?” We laugh and for the first time in as long as I can remember I feel like this is how life should be. This is how Codi’s life should have been. Full of love and laughter, hugs in
the kitchen. Did I give him that? I look over to see that Randy has been chatting away, and I chide myself for becoming too wrapped up in my own thoughts that I’ve missed half of what he said. At least he doesn’t seem to notice, so I try and put together what I might have missed. It was obviously about the burrito or Presley, but most likely both.
“I mean, if I had known you came with your own personal chef I might have forced you to live with me sooner.” I smile and shake my head at him. I force myself to ask him the question I’ve been pretending not to want the answer to.
“Talk to Dad?” I finally rasp out. All the playfulness is instantly gone and he is now looking at his feet. I don’t usually ask questions to receive spoken answers. The words aren’t important, and most of the time I miss more than half of the words anyway. I ask questions for the reaction I receive. Facial expressions are so much easier to read than the answer. People don’t understand how much they give away without a single word. Sure, some people are more expressive than others, making it easier, but even those who hold their cards close to their chest give away so much just with their eyes when asked a simple question.
Randy doesn’t say a word, but since he is more expressive than most, he doesn’t have to. His eyes fill with guilt, anger, disgust, and they haven’t even met mine yet. I should have known better, it’s my dad after all, but it guts me more than it should. I just don’t have the strength in me to keep up pretense anymore that what he does isn’t hurting me. I nod my head once and slide down the counter to the floor. Randy just sits down beside me and doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. When he finally breaks the silence, it’s to sign, “Stop,” so adamantly that it shocks me out of my thoughts. I look up at him and he turns me so we’re fully facing each other.
“Whatever you are thinking, whatever you are blaming yourself for, you need to stop. I’ve known your father much longer than you have, Barrett. He wasn’t always the man he has become. He’s a hard, closed off man for sure, but that wasn’t the way he was…before.” He doesn’t have to explain before what. I know he means before my mom died. “Did you know that we were friends? Best friends, actually.”
What? There’s no way. I’ve never heard this before. My face must express exactly how I feel because Randy chuckles. “Yep. Fifth grade on we were joined at the hip. He’s actually who got me into racing. Your dad loved cars, how cars worked, how they looked, how he felt behind the wheel.”
“I’ve never seen man you are talking about.”
“No, I guess you haven’t,” Randy agrees sadly. “You are actually a lot like him, B. The him before he lost himself. Your mom and dad started dating when we were fifteen and well, you’ve heard the stories, they were inseparable. Your mom brought out all the good in him, but she also brought out his insecurities. Not only did he like who he was with her, but others liked who he became with her. His identity was now a them. He was lost.”
“Why tell me now? Why not before?” Randy rubs his chin and is quiet a moment.
“Maybe that was wrong of me to keep it. Your dad never said anything, so I didn’t feel it was my place. The reason I’m telling you now is because before you judge him, I think you need to know him. All of him, Barrett. He is the reason you drive; did you know that?”
“What? No. No, he isn’t, you are.”
“No, son, I’m not. He thought you needed an outlet as a boy. You hated sports and weren’t very social, so he talked your mom into letting you do G O-K A R T racing. He asked if I would help you out, show you the ropes a bit. Once your mom died, I saw the love you had for it and wanted to nurture that, but it was always your dad’s passion, not mine.”
My world feels like it’s exploding around me. Everything I ever thought I knew about my dad seems to have been wrong…yet even knowing these things doesn’t make him better. I say as much to Randy.
“You are right, it doesn’t excuse what he’s done, but it might explain it. When everything you are is so wrapped up in one person, when you lose them, you lose yourself. It’s one of the reasons I’ve always been a confirmed bachelor, I saw what that kind of love did to your dad and I’ve always kept woman at a distance, not wanting to go through that.”
“Why tell me?” I’m back to awkwardly signing with two fingers again, because the words have dried up in my throat.
“Because you need to know that your dad isn’t a bad person, Barrett. He’s a good person who lost who he was and started doing bad things. His father, your grandfather, was an abusive alcoholic.”
“Dad same,” I quickly add. “Abuse more than fists, R.”
“You’re right. It is. And the way he treated you boys was one hundred percent wrong. I’m not excusing what he did for a second, Barrett. I just think you are old enough to know this, and I want you to have the full story before you find him G U I L T Y. He is guilty, Barrett, for many things he’s guilty. But he loved your mother, and in his way, he loved you boys too…but once she was gone, I don’t think he felt he D E S E R V E D you.”
“But he had us. If he deserved us or not, Randy, he had us, and he should have done better by us.” I can’t hear how loud I am, but based on the strain in the back of my throat, I’m pretty sure I’m exceeding acceptable volume, but I can’t find it in me to care. How dare Randy drop this all on me now. This just isn’t about me understanding my dad and I know it. This is his backhanded way of warning me off Presley, and I won’t stand for this any longer. I go to stand up and his hand grips my shoulder tightly, keeping me in place.
“Hear me out, Barrett. I need to do this, and I might be going about it all wrong, but things need to be said. Finish me, leave you.” Randy is never forceful or this serious, so that in itself keeps me in place. “Like I said, your dad was a lot like you are. A good man, but quiet, and a little withdrawn. He was very guarded, and Maggie helped him take guard down. Your mom opened him in a way I never thought possible. Where you were like him, your brother was just same her. You both have her goodness, her ability to love, know that. But Codi’s easy going spirit and gentle nature, that comes from her.”
The idea of being like my dad rubs me to the core. But Randy is right about one thing, and that’s Codi just like Mom. It’s part of the reason why I loved him so much.
“When Mitch lost her, he truly felt he had died, too. The man he spent years becoming, the man she nurtured, died with her. I’ve never forgiven him for how he’s treated you boys, and I’m not excusing it now, but want you know his pain and behavior goes so much deeper than alcohol and N E G L E C T, Barrett. When Codi died, it was like the only piece of Maggie he had left died, too.” I’m not liking where this is going and I wish Randy would just get to the point.
“Where’s my dad, Randy? I know he’s not at the trailer, I had A.J. check.” Randy looks down, but not before guilt flashes across his face.
“He’s gone, B.”
“Gone where?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. He was pulling out as I was coming in to check on him. I said something out of anger and he told me he was done, that he couldn’t do it any longer, couldn’t pretend, and he drove off.”
It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t. I’m not surprised at all by it, I should expect nothing less of him, but it does. It hurts so bad. He hasn’t been a great dad, he hasn’t even really been a dad at all, but at least he’s always been there. It might not be love, but there was a dependability factor anyway. We knew he’d be there every day, even if he was passed out or void emotionally, he was at least always physically there. The loss of him physically hits so much harder than I would have thought. I don’t say anything, but Randy leans in to hug me and I push him off.
“It’s not like this is shock, Randy. You said yourself he only ever loved Mom, and once she gone, he kept us around for her. Codi was all that was left her, so makes sense he’s done now.”
I stand up and decide my voice has been through enough today. So has my heart, but I would never voice that. I don’t even bother to say a word
when I head back to the guest room and welcome oblivion. Maybe I can sleep this chapter of life away. Being conscious just means pain lately…I’m over it.
CHAPTER 19
Presley
I absolutely love my roommate, and it’s been amazing that she is so social because it’s really helped me come out of my shell. What isn’t amazing however, is this paper that is due in two days, and the fact that every ten minutes for the last hour a new person has crammed into our little room. I finally give up and slam my computer shut to glare over at the group.
“Panties in bunch, Sweet Pea?”
“Don’t concern yourself with my panties, Zeek.” I shove my laptop and a few other essentials into my bag and head for the door.
“Sorry, I guess things got a bit out of hand.” Jodi doesn’t look nearly as apologetic as she sounds, so I just give her a look that tells her I don’t buy it. For a double major, I have no clue when she actually studies.
“I don’t mind Musical Monday, Jodi, but these little get togethers you throw all the time are really starting to cut into my study time. I don’t want to feel like a stranger in my own room, I don’t have a house I can escape to like you.”
“I know, I’m sorry, girl. I’ll kick everyone out.”
“It’s fine, I’m just going to head to the library. I’ll be back later.”
“Love your face.”
“Love yours too,” I respond reluctantly, but I really can’t stay mad at her at all.
I leave our room and almost run smack dab right into Dee, who is standing in the hallway on her phone.
“I’m so sorry, Dee.”
“No worries, I was just talking to the boy before I went in there. You on your way out?”
“Yeah, I really need to get some studying in and write this paper. I’m glad I ran into you though. I actually have a racing question for you.”
“Racing, huh? Shoot.”
“I know this is going to sound silly, but what does it feel like when you’re driving? I mean, is there any other way to recreate the feeling without actually driving?” She thinks for a moment, eyeing me suspiciously.