Quiet Sorrow and Secret Nightmares

July 29th

Except for the night of the funeral when he peeled his dad off the living room floor, he'd picked him up from the bar every night. He'd wait for the call from the bartender then walk the three blocks and drag him off a bar stool with a 'thanks Clifton, I've got him.'

He was kind and compassionate every time, his dad was an ass but he was in pain. His mom was the love of his life and she was gone. So he buried his own pain for that reason. But also, on the selfish side, he hoped the kindness, the comfort, might be reciprocated.

Trying to share good memories of her only to have his dad rage and forbid him from talking about the one person he was desperate to talk about, crushed him.

After that he didn't talk about his mom or Will. He just tried to make sure his dad was comfortable and kept his thoughts to himself.

He made him food he didn't eat, cleaned the house, mowed the lawn, anything he could think of to help his grieving dad. He silently watched TV with him so his dad wouldn't feel alone even though he knew he would be ignored. He just wanted to help and maybe in doing so, he would be helped in return.

X

The day in question, the 29th, his dad was more cruel than usual.

He had picked his dad up from the bar and stumbled home with him, bearing most of his weight while he mumbled angrily the entire way. He thought Pat was bitching about getting kicked out of the bar but the night air cleared the old man's head a bit and by the time he got him home, he realized his dad was telling him exactly what he thought of him. Nothing new, but this time his dad spewed those thoughts as if they came out of his mom's mouth.

'You know we used to talk about you. How embarrassed she was that you chose to be a killer, sanctioned murder in the name of the country...even stopped going to church, couldn't handle the judgment thrown her way.

'You were always difficult, didn't listen, didn't toe the line. She wished you could have been more like Will...he wasn't a headache.'

'She wanted Will to come home, was disappointed it was you. You wouldn't be able to do anything to save her, make her comfortable.'

Their nightly routine usually consisted of getting his dad to the bedroom, sit him on the bed, get him undressed and give him some water. Then Jay would tuck him in like a child, watch him sleep for a bit, and say 'I love you Dad' in his head.

He wasn't sure he believed what his mind whispered, so he no longer gave volume to it after his dad came back at him the night of the funeral with a slurred, "well I don't love you.'

This night though, the cruelty had tipped him over the edge and instead of sitting his dad on the bed he dropped him and left him sprawled on the floor like the drunk that he was.

He went to his room and paced loops upon loops around the small oval rug there, bawling his eyes out over his dad's unkind words to him until what he had done to his dad broke though his sadness and hit him in the gut.

Running down the stairs, afraid he might have hurt or killed his dad, he slammed into his bedroom to find him right where he dropped him, sleeping like a baby but snoring like a drunk.

He bit his cheek and tried to stem the tears but they still rolled. Picking up his dad, he sat him on the bed and undressed him. His apology was more than likely unheard as he finally tucked in his unconscious dad but he still stood there another moment to see if he would be forgiven but only snores left his dad's lips.

Tucking his dad in a bit tighter, he told him he loved him with a hint of volume. Because true or not in the moment, at one point he had loved his dad. He repeated the sentiment a little louder, kissed his forehead and not bothering to wipe his tears off his dad's face, went to his room.

X

He stared at his ceiling all night, swimming in remorse for how he had treated a grief stricken man.

Tears unrelenting, he thought about his mom and whispered to her in the dark sharing his fears and regret. He quietly choked out his sadness about his dad and brother and tossed around the thought of losing something he wasn't sure he ever had. The crushing loneliness of the notion had him sobbing into his pillow.

At some point he had fallen asleep taking his loneliness with him to fester in his dreams. He woke sometime later with an ache in his heart and an idea born of anger and despair.

He would go back to the sandbox and get himself KIA. The idea was a fuck you to his dad and brother. He would stay in his perch too long, draw fire while his unit bugged out and get himself shot or blown up by a RPG. Maybe they would be sad, or better yet feel guilty because of how they treated him and because of their coldheartedness he didn't have his head on straight when he went back to the bombs and guns of war. He'd be dead and fuck them.

But then he thought of his mom, and though she was in heaven, he knew she would be disappointed in him if he committed suicide, even if it was by someone else's, a terrorist's, hand.

In his mind she was already disappointed in him for even having that thought and the shame of it shattered him.

He didn't sleep for the rest of that night and most of the nights to come. He spent his remaining time at home taking care of his dad, saying 'I love you' out loud and trying to mean it no matter what he got back in the hope of make his mom proud again.