Page 45
Story: All I Have Left
Frankie leaves the room when Dad comes in and sits next to me. I roll my eyes. “Are you here to lecture me too?”
“I wouldn’t use the word lecture.”
No, he wouldn’t. My dad never lectures. He talks to you. It’s one of the things I love about my parents. They never tell youanything. They have a conversation and give you where they’re coming from and then let you decide.
Dad’s eyes move to the beer cans scattered across the coffee table next to the game controller and my cell phone in pieces next to it. I broke it when all my calls to Evie when unanswered. “How are you doing?”
“Awesome.” I wave my hand around the room that I’ve pulled the blinds shut on and tried to close myself off from the world. “Can’t ya tell?”
He cracks a smile, but it fades easily. It’s replaced with apprehension. I assume. I don’t fucking know what he’s thinking. “Are you still taking your medication?”
“Yeah.” I reach for the half-empty beer in front of me and finish it. “Sometimes.” I’m not though. I said I would to get my mom who checks on me every night off my case about it.
“You’re not supposed to drink with them,” he points out, angling his head in my direction.
“Whoops.”
“Are you dealing with it?”
“With what?”
“With what happened over there.”
I love how he says “over there” as if he’s not sure how to say it to me. As if the words Iraq, or war, or whatever else you want to call it will suddenly set me off. And you know, there’s probably some truth to that. It will set me off.
When I don’t say anything, he adds, “You need to deal with it.”
“Deal with it?” I snap, my eyes drifting to his. “I live it. Over and over again. I don’t need to talk about it.”
“You’re never gonna be able to move forward until you face the past. If you don’t, it’s going to control you and come out when you don’t want it to.”
How can he say that? He hasn’t been through this kind of shit. I want to yell, and say, “You’re an excavator. You haven’t watched a man die. You haven’t seen kids die at the hands ofyour enemy.” And until that happens, I can’t listen to him. That’s why I can’t understand these therapists trying to help. Until you’ve been there and experienced what it is you’re trying to teach someone, you will never understand what goes on in their mind. The scary parts that even they don’t want to face. The blackout moments when they know their battle is over and they must succumb to whatever it is happening to them.
Like I am now.
I think part of him can tell by the way my knee is bouncing and the tenseness of my body that I’m done with this conversation. He doesn’t let it go. “Grayson, you need to cope with the mental and physical reminders in a healthy way or you’re never going to be in a relationship with someone.”
That one earns him a snort. I lean forward, my elbows resting on my knees. My eyes drift to his. “I’m a fucking mess,” I grunt. “Being in a relationship is the last thing I need.”
My heart drops at his words though. Completely defeated already, I don’t want to hear this. It’s the truth. One I hadn’t considered until now. All I knew when I returned was what I thought I needed and assumed I’d find it in the one I left. But I hadn’t. Instead, I found more anger and confusion.
His hand meets my shoulder and squeezes. I want to pull away from his touch, but I don’t. “I want to see that you’re going to therapy.”
Fighting through emotions I can’t get a handle on, I nod, knowing if I don’t, he’s going to say something to Mom, and she’s the last person I want to piss off. She’s worse than Frankie.
He drops his hand to his thigh and stands. “Now go get dressed. You haven’t seen Aiden in years.”
“I’ll catch up with him another time,” I mumble, noticing Frankie in the kitchen behind him giving me the evil eye. “I don’t need to be at a party.”
Dad frowns, glances at Frankie and then back to me. “You need to go.”
“Why? What does it matter if I’m there or not?”
“Because he’s family.”
“And ifheshows up?” I don’t have to say Shane’s name for him to know who I’m referring to.
“Then we deal with it together.”
“I wouldn’t use the word lecture.”
No, he wouldn’t. My dad never lectures. He talks to you. It’s one of the things I love about my parents. They never tell youanything. They have a conversation and give you where they’re coming from and then let you decide.
Dad’s eyes move to the beer cans scattered across the coffee table next to the game controller and my cell phone in pieces next to it. I broke it when all my calls to Evie when unanswered. “How are you doing?”
“Awesome.” I wave my hand around the room that I’ve pulled the blinds shut on and tried to close myself off from the world. “Can’t ya tell?”
He cracks a smile, but it fades easily. It’s replaced with apprehension. I assume. I don’t fucking know what he’s thinking. “Are you still taking your medication?”
“Yeah.” I reach for the half-empty beer in front of me and finish it. “Sometimes.” I’m not though. I said I would to get my mom who checks on me every night off my case about it.
“You’re not supposed to drink with them,” he points out, angling his head in my direction.
“Whoops.”
“Are you dealing with it?”
“With what?”
“With what happened over there.”
I love how he says “over there” as if he’s not sure how to say it to me. As if the words Iraq, or war, or whatever else you want to call it will suddenly set me off. And you know, there’s probably some truth to that. It will set me off.
When I don’t say anything, he adds, “You need to deal with it.”
“Deal with it?” I snap, my eyes drifting to his. “I live it. Over and over again. I don’t need to talk about it.”
“You’re never gonna be able to move forward until you face the past. If you don’t, it’s going to control you and come out when you don’t want it to.”
How can he say that? He hasn’t been through this kind of shit. I want to yell, and say, “You’re an excavator. You haven’t watched a man die. You haven’t seen kids die at the hands ofyour enemy.” And until that happens, I can’t listen to him. That’s why I can’t understand these therapists trying to help. Until you’ve been there and experienced what it is you’re trying to teach someone, you will never understand what goes on in their mind. The scary parts that even they don’t want to face. The blackout moments when they know their battle is over and they must succumb to whatever it is happening to them.
Like I am now.
I think part of him can tell by the way my knee is bouncing and the tenseness of my body that I’m done with this conversation. He doesn’t let it go. “Grayson, you need to cope with the mental and physical reminders in a healthy way or you’re never going to be in a relationship with someone.”
That one earns him a snort. I lean forward, my elbows resting on my knees. My eyes drift to his. “I’m a fucking mess,” I grunt. “Being in a relationship is the last thing I need.”
My heart drops at his words though. Completely defeated already, I don’t want to hear this. It’s the truth. One I hadn’t considered until now. All I knew when I returned was what I thought I needed and assumed I’d find it in the one I left. But I hadn’t. Instead, I found more anger and confusion.
His hand meets my shoulder and squeezes. I want to pull away from his touch, but I don’t. “I want to see that you’re going to therapy.”
Fighting through emotions I can’t get a handle on, I nod, knowing if I don’t, he’s going to say something to Mom, and she’s the last person I want to piss off. She’s worse than Frankie.
He drops his hand to his thigh and stands. “Now go get dressed. You haven’t seen Aiden in years.”
“I’ll catch up with him another time,” I mumble, noticing Frankie in the kitchen behind him giving me the evil eye. “I don’t need to be at a party.”
Dad frowns, glances at Frankie and then back to me. “You need to go.”
“Why? What does it matter if I’m there or not?”
“Because he’s family.”
“And ifheshows up?” I don’t have to say Shane’s name for him to know who I’m referring to.
“Then we deal with it together.”
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