All lies and jests, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.
The Boxer by Paul Simon
It was all lies and jests.
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.
I wanted to deny it, but that was the way of it with my youngest son and me. I knew he was lying to me. The sound of his voice in the darkness betrayed his words. The fact he was trying to make a joke told me more than he could possibly know. I knew that despite his words, he was anything but okay. I also knew there was nothing I could do about it.
So my son lied to me.
To protect me.
When had the shift begun from protector to protected? I had missed it somehow. For so many years my boy had needed his father and brothers to protect him and save him from himself. He was born with his mother's high spirits and wilfulness and both had caused him a measure of grief that seemed out of proportion to his seventeen years. I'd lost count of how many trips we had taken into the doctor's office over the years to have him patched up. I didn't want to think of how many other times Paul had been summonsed to us because my son could not make the trip to him.
What I wouldn't give for my friend to be here right now. To have him tell me that my boy was young and strong and as tough as an ox and twice as stubborn as a mule! My son needed Paul more than he needed me and I was a poor substitute. Still, if I could keep him talking to me, I knew that at least he was still breathing on the other side of that rock fall.
My hands were bleeding more and more as I pulled at the rocks, but I was beyond caring. I needed to reach my son. I knew my other sons would be working on the far side of me, trying frantically to reach us, but I had just one goal in mind. In the darkness, I could not see the wall that blocked us, but I could feel it. I could feel it with my hands and with my heart. It was like a dark chasm that lay between us, forcing us apart.
"Joe?"
I called again, well aware that Joe hadn't spoken for several minutes.
"I'm still here, Pa. Ain't goin' nowhere."
The words were tinged with pain and yet they sounded beautiful to my ears. I choked back a comment and kept moving rocks. As if reading my thoughts, Joe tried to comfort me again.
"I'm fine, Pa."
"Of course you are. As fine as …"
"Frog's hair."
My boy finished my thought with his brother's joke.
"I'll have you out of there in no time, Son."
Now it was my turn to lie. I might not be able to see the wall of rock, but I knew what I was up against. So did Joe.
"Sure, Pa."