The Anatomy of Perception

by AJ Rose

  The sting in my nose had nothing to do with cold, and tears welled up in my eyes, spilling over quicker than I could stop them. It was true. My brother had held the two of us together when we’d lost our beloved mother, and it touched me that Sherrilyn had honored that despite what it had cost Dylan. He’d never left this town for more than a few days at a time, tied to a family he’d held together on sheer determination, ignoring his own ambition. And just when he’d found a new start of his own, it had been yanked from him by the same liquid demon that had stolen our father.

  It gave me a bitter satisfaction that Sherrilyn had buried Dylan in the plot meant for my father, cutting him off from his wife, for whom he’d never stopped mourning. The area around my mother was occupied, so they would be forever separated, and there was justice there, a punishment he’d never served. If my brother had been robbed of his place in life by my father, it was right my father be robbed of his place in death by my brother.

  I crouched at the foot of both their graves and sniffed, trying not to succumb to anger at the unfairness of the short lives of my family. I wasn’t there to be pissed. I was there to let it all go.

  “Dylan, you bastard,” I whispered, my chin quivering, and I had to hold my breath to keep from losing it. “You were too good a man for him. He didn’t deserve your loyalty, and look where we are now.” But even if I believed that, I wasn’t going to blame Dylan. “We both grew up to be too good for him, which says something about the kind of person Mom was, if we turned out mostly okay in spite of Dad.”

  Well, I was healing, anyway, if not okay.

  I stood and put the bouquet of flowers on Mom’s side of the headstone, not blocking any of the words. For a long moment, I had too much to say to settle on one subject, but then decided all the regret and wishes weren’t going to help. Missed moments with them sucked, but there was little point in what might have been. Looking off in the distance, I got myself under control again, shoving my hands in my pockets.

  “You both would like Craig, I think. He’s all the light and meaning in the world when we’ve only seen the dark and destruction. He’s the reason I even have hope. Dylan, I think Sherrilyn was yours. She’s a sparkplug, that’s for sure. I don’t think you’ll mind me keeping an eye on her for you. She’s got family here, but she and I both think keeping your memory going is a big deal. So we’re going to get to know each other, if only so you aren’t gone for good. Because I only have a few memories of Mom, and they’re more about how I felt in her presence than actually knowing what she sounded or looked like, and now that you’re gone, I’m the only one to preserve her since Dad pickled all of his memories. I kind of hate that, because when I’m gone, there really will be nothing left. So Sherrilyn and I aren’t going to let that happen to you, okay? We’re going to tell each other about you, and we’ll tell Craig, too. And when she finds someone else to take care of her in the dark, when she’s lonely, maybe we can tell him too, if he’s worthy.”

  I took a deep breath to try and keep the tide of emotion under control. “But you two, I think you would really be proud of me. Because I’ve always, always been proud of you. And now Craig. He’s family, too.”

  I turned and beckoned him, and Craig joined me, looping his arm around my waist when I wrapped mine over his shoulders, needing him close. We said nothing more, me because I was spent, and him out of respect for those who’d gone before that he hadn’t had a chance to know. But it didn’t matter, because in the silence, we found a tentative peace.

  “You’re sure about this?” Craig asked later that afternoon. He’d just pulled into a parking spot at a squat slab of a building in Pennsboro, West Virginia, a forty-five-minute drive west of Bridgeport. The landscape attempted to be less obvious about what that building housed, but there was no mistaking the barbed wire fencing along the top, or the lights and heavy security the building oozed.

  “Yes,” I lied. “Or, I want to be sure. Won’t know until I get there.”

  “Okay, are you sure you want me with you, or would you be better off if I’m not?”

  It was a legitimate question, given we weren’t sure what my father’s reaction would be to Craig beside me.

  “Yes, that part I am sure of. He can’t hurt me through a video.”

  “The hell he can’t,” Craig argued. “That man’s words have caused you more pain and psychological damage than anything else on the planet.”

  “I kinda think that pistol-whipping was pretty bad,” I said conversationally. “Since that was what triggered the PTSD in the first place.”

  “But without this man’s abuse, your soil wouldn’t have been quite so rich for the PTSD to plant in.”

  I stared at him, then burst out laughing. “Nice analogy.” But I noticed the edge of hysteria to my laughter, and I quickly shut it down. “Look, if the worst happens and I end up in a flashback in this video room, I’m counting on you to get me out of there so he sees as little of it as possible. That’s enough for me to need you there, not to mention….” My voice trailed off.

  “What?”

  I looked at him, completely sincere. “You’re part of this. I need you there because you’re important to me, and I’m not hiding from him anymore.”

  He stared at me, then grabbed my head and yanked me toward him. I flailed and smacked my knuckles on the dashboard, but his fierce kiss made me forget the pain. When we broke apart, we were both breathing heavily.

  “Okay,” he said, straightening his shirt where I’d grabbed it beneath his coat to hold on during the brief manhandling.

  Entering the prison was about as scary as one would imagine, though the reception and waiting areas were less industrial than I would have pictured. It felt more like a doctor’s office than a prison, which of course eased me, though probably not so much for Craig. Because I’d called ahead and scheduled the time, and because we had all the appropriate paperwork for proof of identity, we were taken through to the visitation consoles within fifteen minutes of our arrival. The hall was stark, tiled within an inch of its life, and broken only by steel doors with pneumatic arms that wheezed before the slam reverberated up and down the hall.

  “You’re allotted thirty minutes for this visit,” explained a security guard, a short man with the uniform and utility belt of the West Virginia Regional Jail Authority. He had a kind face, but he was all business as he led us to our door and held it open. “Should you need to exit the room earlier, please make sure you fully hang up your phone handset, as that is what will signal the visit is finished and electronically darken the viewing screen. The room is large enough for both of you, but please do not stand and move around, because the camera will not pick up your entire image, and your pacing might agitate the inmate. If he terminates the visit at any time, that will be it for the day. There will be no ringing back through, and you will need to make another appointment for a future visit if your business today is not concluded. Any questions?”

  “No,” I said, meek and not making eye contact. My insides were a mess, as though I’d eaten a slab of Jell-o and gotten on a roller coaster.

  “Yeah, if Dane has a medical condition which can be exacerbated by stress, and I need to get him out quickly, is there a quiet room somewhere with a couple chairs and maybe a drink machine so he can take medicine?”

  The guard eyed us. “Was this noted in your paperwork?”

  I nodded, my skin clammy. I was embarrassed Craig brought it up, but grateful he wasn’t letting my pride keep us from getting help should we need it. “It’s all there, plus the note from my doctor approving this visit.”

  “You know what? I’ll stay in the hall for a few minutes while your visit gets underway. If you need anything, I’ll be right out here, and I can take you to a lounge where you can have a little privacy if necessary. I can’t stay the whole half hour, so if you come out and I’m not here, just head that way,” he pointed in the direction from which we’d come. “Go through that door and take the first left. It’ll take you right back t
o reception and they can help you find what you need.”

  “Thank you,” Craig said, and then pulled me away from the gaping maw of the doorway, putting both hands on my shoulders. “You got this, okay?”

  I smiled woodenly. “See? I knew you had to come with me.”

  He gave me a few moments to get myself under control, and then we entered the room, which was a little bigger than a supply closet, with four chairs around a twenty-inch monitor bolted to the wall. There was a shiny black phone handset, like the kind in old payphone booths, hanging on the wall with a long cord that had been stretched to the point where the coil had become a spiral.

  “Don’t lift the handset until the face of your inmate comes on the screen. Each face will be up for five seconds, and when you pick up the phone, your time begins.” The guard pushed a button on the wall, followed by a six-digit code, which called the monitor to life.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be right outside for a bit,” he said, shutting the heavy door and leaving us facing the screen.

  The monitor cycled through a handful of haggard-looking men before the unmistakable image of my father blinked up. I blinked back, not sure I was ready to do this, but five seconds wasn’t a long time to decide. I picked up the phone just as the picture was about to change. My father moved to lift his own receiver, and presumably, my image appeared before him.

  His bland expression turned to one of surprise and, dare I say, happiness. Davis Perry had, at one time, been a handsome man, but his hair was white with stray strands of black shot through it. His skin hung sallow and he had a yellow cast that I knew was not a product of bad color on the monitor. His blue eyes were different, clearer than I’d ever seen. Gone was the glassy, unfocused gaze that had landed on me time and again before delivering a scathing comment on my demeanor, my lack of worth, or making a demand for me to bring him another one.

  “Dane!” he exclaimed, his voice tinny through the speaker I hadn’t quite gotten to my ear yet. “Wow, I never thought I’d see you again.”

  I couldn’t speak, and I shuffled the earpiece between Craig and me, tilting it so he could hear as well.

  “I never thought you would either,” I rasped, finally finding my words.

  “God, you look good, son. All grown up and… wow. You look real good.”

  “Thanks,” I gave a halfhearted smile, all the words I’d rehearsed flying out of my head and leaving behind a blank wall. There was nothing, and for a long moment, Davis and I just stared at each other, the only two Perrys left.

  “So, uh, what’cha been doing with yourself since you left?” He was clearly trying not to be awkward, and I couldn’t help noticing the way his eyes kept flickering to Craig and back to me, though he said nothing to relay his curiosity.

  Something in my chest cracked. There was no sound to it, but a constriction eased just a little, and I took a deep breath, words trickling into my blank brain a few at a time.

  “Mostly, I had to get away from you. I spent a lot of time hiding, keeping myself from getting to know anyone, making sure there wouldn’t be a way for you to trace my address or location, since you swore the day I left for good you’d find me. Because no one gets away from you, do they, Dad?”

  He dropped his eyes and his gnarled, nicotine-stained finger traced a pattern on the gray surface in front of him. “Now, I said a lot of things over the years I wish I could take back, son—”

  “Like telling me you’d like to beat my faggot face in so I didn’t look so much like Mom?”

  His shoulders slumped, and he said nothing, just tightened his grip on the phone like he was prepared to take everything I could dish out.

  “Like how it was my fault you drank, since I looked so much like her? I was four, Dad. And I’d lost her, too.” To my horror, my chin started to quiver.

  “Son,” Davis croaked, finally looking up so I could see his face and the anguish painted there. “I am not a good man, and you deserved a better father.”

  “I deserved any father!” I spat.

  He swallowed and nodded. “I can’t change what I done. But if you’ll let me, I’d like to say I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” I demanded. “Sorry that you have taken everything from me?”

  But that wasn’t true. Yes, this man had stolen so much from me, but not everything. I had Holly, my best friend since childhood. I had accomplishments, even though the odds hadn’t been in my favor without a solid support system. I had been a doctor and had been respected. That had nothing to do with my dad, and everything to do with me.

  And Craig.

  I had Craig, who I loved so much I’d ripped myself in half to set him free, almost sacrificing him to the aftermath my dad had left for me to wade through. But I hadn’t lost him. Craig sat here now.

  And really, look at me. I’d pulled myself up from the pit of Hell and had gotten my life back. I had overcome so much just to survive, then lost everything only to survive again. This man may have been responsible for my short stick in life, but it had made me stronger. I knew it, and I wouldn’t give him back any of the progress I’d made by devaluing the life I’d scratched back now.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m glad you’re sorry,” I said in a much calmer tone. Craig put his hand on my knee and squeezed, and I didn’t flinch. Apparently, the cameras didn’t pan down that far. My dad looked up, not suspicious of us, but agonized and resigned to my hatred.

  Which I no longer had the energy to give.

  “You broke me, but I’ll tell you something, Dad. I made something of myself anyway, and while I don’t give a damn if you ever cared about me anymore, I do want you to know I’m not the nothing you promised I’d be. I became a doctor. I help heal people who are injured and sick.” A bit of a stretch now, but at least the injured part was true. I wouldn’t minimize my years as a surgeon just because I couldn’t be one anymore. “I did everything I set out to do, despite you. So maybe, in your cell at night, you can think about that, how you’ve got nothing, and you ruined our family, but you didn’t ruin me.”

  He held my gaze for a long moment, clearly emotional and fighting it. He squared his shoulders and looked the camera in the lens directly. “I’m glad, son. That’s good. I been sober now for most of the last two years, and there been some long nights where I got nothing to hold on to. You bein’ a doctor, well, maybe that’s something to hold on to.” He held up a hand when I glared. “Not that anyone besides you deserves credit for it, but maybe I can hold on to it so I know I didn’t totally destroy everything.”

  For a moment, I was speechless. For a moment, I saw things from his perspective, suddenly sober after a lifetime of horrific living, being forced by incarceration to do nothing all day but think, and having nothing to think about but the lives he’d ruined. He was yellowed because of the drink, but perhaps he was haggard because of the memories, the burdens he’d shouldered, knowing he deserved to die in a prison cell because he was too cowardly to face life in the wake of loss. And in doing so, had lost it all.

  Maybe.

  I almost startled at the voice peeping ever so softly in the back of my mind. It angered me that it was there at all, but like Dr. Rodriguez had said over and over, if something induces strong emotion, it needs examining.

  “There’s something else,” I said. For the first time, I acknowledged Craig beside me, overcome with love for him, his constant support, and his willingness to put himself beside me in this most difficult of situations. I was pretty sure a sappy smile began to tug at my lips. “This is Craig, Dad.”

  Dad’s eyes passed over my boyfriend curiously, but with no malice. “Nice to meet’cha.”

  Craig nodded politely, but said nothing.

  “Craig is my boyfriend.”

  I watched the bomb detonate. Dad’s eyes flew wide and he coughed, then he glared at us both for a moment, but took a deep breath, dropping his chin to his chest. When he lifted his face again a moment later, he was blank.

  “Well, I hope you
are happy together.”

  The effort to say that, even only sincere enough to keep the disgust from his words, didn’t go unnoticed, and that was the one and only thing that made me say what I did next.

  “You’ve killed everyone in our family. I’m all you have left. So decide, Dad. Right now, this second. If you can’t handle a gay son and his partner for family, then I will walk out of this room and never return, and you can consider me dead, too.”

  The silence stretched for miles, Davis Perry blinking owlishly while he considered his internal barometer.

  “If I decide I can handle it?” he asked with naked hope.

  I swallowed, not sure I could say it. But if my dad, the biggest bigoted asshole who ever ruined anyone’s life in the history of ever, could swallow his decimated pride and wish us happiness, I could choke this out.

  “Then you and I talk. Maybe in letters, maybe in visits now and then. Maybe you can get to know the son you hated and find out that despite the gay, I’m worth knowing. And maybe I can try to wrap my head around the fact that maybe without the booze, you’re worth knowing.”

  Davis let out a breath that barely suppressed a sob, and he hung his head.

  “What’s it going to be, Dad? A gay family or no family?”

  I hadn’t meant to do this. I hadn’t come here to keep any doors open. I just wanted to get my closure and go. But now, everything hinged on this second and the next words from his lips. I held my breath.

  “I can handle it,” he whispered into the phone, then looked up once more, the shine in his eyes unmistakable. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to get to know you some before I die.”

  “Okay,” I said quietly, my hands beginning to shake. “Okay. But at first, it’s going to have to be letters. This is a long drive, and I don’t know how often I can come back.”