Chapter 4
SATURDAY, 20:49
The two contrasting figures sat in the golden sand, one broad and strong looking, the other smaller, almost frail in appearance. Father and son had walked slowly along the waters edge before returning to this spot, just in front of their home. Their conversation had been sporadic; there'd been long pauses which Mark had tried his hardest not to view as a blank canvas which just had to be filled. Steve had spoken about Jesse and Amanda a lot, and it was obvious to Mark that Steve found their mutual friends a great source of comfort as he did himself.
Steve turned to look at his father, who was intently watching a pair of surfers a little way down the beach, trying to catch their last waves of the day. He looked at his face, he looked old, but he wasn't, not really Steve thought. He tried to compare his features to the young man who'd given him piggyback rides in the back yard and tended to his scraped knees. Steve let out a small laugh.
"What's the joke?" Mark asked, smiling at his son.
"Ah nothing" Steve replied. Then he saw the look of disappointment on his fathers face. "No really, noting important" he added, "just, ah, thinking how you used to fix me up after a fall, when I was a kid. You probably never guessed you'd still be doing it today".
Mark chuckled "No, maybe not, but that's what I'm here for. Bloodied knees, bumped heads, poison ivy. Must admit the broken bones and bullet wounds have been a little harder on the stomach. Seems like you've been hanging out with the big boys lately."
Steve nodded "yeah, there's some unpleasant people out there. And their rules are a little harder to understand. When you're a kid, it's pretty simple, what's right and wrong, where you can go, how late you can stay out, roads you can't cross without someone to hold your hand". There was a pause as Steve jabbed a stick into the soft sand, and Mark looked on, waiting for him to start again.
"It was gone so quickly" Steve continued "we were kids one minute, your enemy was the guy who got your place on the team. 'Tidy your room' was a command. Being_grounded_for_a_week was an eternity. Everything was so small, so safe, there were rules we all knew and the back door was always open if you needed to run home."
Mark could feel lump in his throat, his stomach was tight. He hoped there were no tears in his eyes, for Steves sake. He wanted to be strong for him. Steve was in flow now, as though he talked like this every day. The words he were saying, they weren't planned, not the speech he'd rehearsed time and time again in his head, but he didn't feel like stopping. He wasn't sure what he was going to say next, so he just kept talking, and listening as if hearing these thoughts for the first time himself.
"It was just such a jump, from the school yard to that. And the cause and effect thing I was telling you about, that I talked to Amanda about. I know you can relate to that too. But the lines are so blurred. The rules, the rules…." Steve trailed off again. His thoughts hadn't been that well structured, he'd jumped around within a few themes but Mark didn't care. His son had opened up to him. He was relieved in some ways, he'd been preparing himself for a more graphical account of his experiences, maybe a single incident recounted in great detail and played out in his nightmares. But what Steve was talking about, well they were feelings. Like a scrapbook full of little emotions rolled together at different times, triggering different memories.
Steve let a handful of sand trickle through his fingers. "Desertion. Men shot for being in shock, can you believe that? Some of them had served for years then they're branded cowards 'cos they can't take any more. It's about discipline of course, let one run off you might have a mutiny on your hands." He paused again. "You'd get the rumours, we're pulling out, or we're winning, it'll all be over in a month. But you can't think about next month, you could be dead in five minutes. Maybe that's how you learn to kill, life's so fragile, so temporary that killing seems almost….almost, I don't know. It's a game, kill as many of them as you can before they kill you. Kill! You were a doctor, mom couldn't even swat a fly and there I was programmed to murder on a daily basis all in the name of humanity. I'd think about going home. Not deserting, not in reality, just dreaming I guess. I'd walk in and mom would be fussing and you'd be telling her to give me some space, and then we'd close the door. We'd be safe again."
Mark waited for Steve to start again, but he just sat silently, staring at the sand as he let it trickle through his fingers. He'd opened up so much this evening, and Mark wanted to let him know he appreciated it, that he knew how hard it had been for him. His last statement played over again in his head 'we'd be safe again', not 'me', not 'I'd be safe', 'we'd be safe'. Interesting choice of words Mark thought.
"Steve" he started, speaking softly "you don't know how long I've waited to hear you talk like that" Steve glanced up at his father. "Now, if it's OK with you, there's some things I'd like to say". Steve didn't speak, but after a moments thought he nodded slowly "I guess it's a fair trade".
Mark had tried to talk in much the same way Steve had at first, off the cuff, but he was frustrated that he wasn't really getting his point across. He'd said that and Steve admitted he felt the same about his earlier ramblings. Mark concentrated more now, Steve could see it in his face, he was treading carefully, thinking about each individual word he spoke.
"Can I tell you something?" Mark continued "Something that really hurt". He looked towards his son, whose eyes were focused somewhere out to sea. "I'm not saying this to hurt you, or blame you, I hope you understand that. But when you'd say you were a disappointment to me, that hurt. Because you weren't, you never could be. I don't know what I did to make you think it in the first place, but I'm telling you now" he paused "I have always been proud of you, of what you've done, and of the man you are". Steve turned to face his father.
"The man I am. How about the boy I was, off killing while you were saving lives"?
Mark was utterly taken aback, he hadn't expected such a response, didn't know how to answer. Steve hadn't sounded angry, just curious. He let out a sigh and rubbed his temple. "Did you honestly think I was disappointed when you signed up?" Mark asked, truly shocked.
"Well you told me so, so what else was I to think"?
The response this time had more venom. Silence followed.
"I was worried, I didn't want you to go. You had a future ahead of you I just couldn't understand why you'd do it. I said so many things in the days before you left. But I wasn't ashamed, Steve, I don't know how to put that right, I'm sorry".
Steve could tell his dad was distressed, without looking at him, he reached out and gripped his arm. "I know what you think of me now, and I know the person I was then. Two different things, here and now we are OK, so lets forget about it" Steve smiled "time for dinner". He pushed himself to his feet and turned towards the house.
"No" snapped Mark "No Steve, lets not forget about it, let's not cover it up and wait for next time" Mark stood glaring at his son who he'd clearly caught off guard.
"Look dad, this has been good but let's drop it for now" Steve replied sternly. But Mark knew he had the chance now to get to the bottom of this. Or drive a wedge between them, but that was a risk he was going to take.
"I lied for you" Mark spat "I looked your mother in the eye and told her you were going to get better, that it wouldn't be like that forever. And here we are, it's not better. I'm not saying it ever will be, not completely but don't keep shutting me out".
Steve looked furious and for a moment Mark thought he was going to knock him out flat. He breathed heavily through his nose, almost snorting as he tried to regulate his breathing, kerb his anger. "And I lied for you, dad. Every day since I signed up to go to that damn place I've lied for you. I lied about why I signed up. I wanted to make you proud, to show you I had dedication, compassion even, not that you'd understand. You just told me it was mindless destruction and that I'd come home in a body bag, break mom's heart. Not yours, never mentioned that. I went there to make you proud, you'd told me I'd got it wrong before I was even out the door. And did you think when I came back that I was OK? Did you believe that because I told you so? Or did you believe it because it was easier than hearing the truth? You'd come home from the hospital, after a day of playing the good doctor and tell mom about all the broken people you'd fixed. What was I supposed to do? Tell you about all the people I broke and expect you to console me. I was out killing while you were saving lives. Mom adored you, worshipped you. How could she even look at me knowing what I'd done? All I could do was pretend it had never happened, hope she'd accept me again. And she did". Steve smiled for a second, but his eyes saddened as he began to remember.
"And she made me good square meals to get me back up to strength. She told me all about the goings on in the neighbourhood, who'd married who and what kind of car the Robinson's had bought. She did everything she could, everything I wanted her to do. Because if she'd ever stopped and looked me in the eye, or asked me to tell her what I was thinking, I..I…" Steve began to choke "I think I'd have curled up and cried and I might never have stopped".
Mark looked at his son, standing before him, shoulders slumped, shaking in the cooling night breeze. Just as Mark moved towards him, Steve started to speak again, softly.
"I see it all in my brain, like a million images in one frame. And the noises too, the noises and the smell and the heat. And sometimes I can switch it off and other times it's just there, playing in the background. I've gone months without dreams, then they start again, and that place" he paused "Vietnam, was only half of it. Coming home was the other half. And I still get days…..when I don't think I'm gonna survive this part. I've thought in the past, how much easier it would have been to come back in a body bag. Or if I'd jumped off McKinnley bridge that first Christmas Eve instead of facing the family. Or if this morning I'd just got up and walked out of your life, so I'd never have to face telling you how much this still hurts."
Suicide. Mark felt his stomach lurch, his son was standing in front of him talking about suicide. How had he never picked up on it all those years ago? Had Steve hidden it that well, or had he himself been looking the other way? "Oh god" he thought, did Steve think he'd known about it yet ignored it?
Mark closed his eyes tight, still determined not to cry for Steve's sake. "I just kept thinking how quickly it had all gone". The voice still hushed. "We'd never go out back and shoot hoops again, I'd never spend Saturday nights just cruising around with the guys. We'd never argue over curfews or chores or allowance. The world wasn't safe and small any more dad. It wasn't like quitting military school as a kid. I didn't understand the rules and I couldn't run home anymore. Someone locked the door."
Mark had turned to face the ocean again. He shook his head. Steve stood motionless behind him and for a while they just stood like that, not knowing what to say or do next. Mark tried to comprehend this, the last phrase had torn right through him. His own flesh and blood, his precious son had felt locked out of his own family. Mark couldn't think of a single word to say.
"I'm sorry dad" Steve started after a moment, slumping to the ground, head resting in his hands. Mark was startled by the weakness of his voice. "I'm not angry, please don't think I'm angry, I..I..I wanted to tell you, but not like this. I don't blame you, it's not that. You helped me, you help me every day by being here and mom too, she was perfect. I was screwed up, am screwed up, please don't think I blame you, dad please, I don't want to hurt you by talking about all this stuff, please."
Marks heart bled with the tone of Steves voice and the pleas for acceptance. A child apologising for a baseball through the window. "Ah Steve" he said, crouching beside him and grabbing his son by the arms "just talk, and keep talking if it's gonna help. And if you want to curl up and cry and keep crying then do that too. And don't worry about hurting me, because you can't, not if you're involving me, letting me help. You spent too long protecting your mother and I, and we spent too long letting you. You lost a lot Steve. You lost friends and faith, and you lost your youth. I can't bring those back now, but look at what you've become, look how far you've moved on. You are a remarkable person, and I am so proud of you." As Steve began to gently sob Mark pulled him close. "Just keep going" he whispered "don't stop it now".
SUNDAY, 08:36
Mark stood at the foot of the stairs smiling. On the couch Steve lay peacefully asleep, blanket covering him. It didn't look like he'd moved a muscle the whole night, and Mark certainly hadn't heard him stir. He'd no doubt be a little embarrassed this morning, Steve wasn't somebody who'd show his true emotions that often, let alone cry. Mark himself had been in tears by the time he got to bed last night, and had talked silently to Katherine for hours before he drifted off to sleep.
As he quietly made his way around the kitchen fixing breakfast snippets of conversation replayed in his mind.
"Mom adored you, worshipped you. How could she even look at me knowing what I'd done?" Jealousy? Fear of rejection. Being a disappointment.
He filled the kettle.
"We'd close the door. We'd be safe again". We, us, family.
Reaching a mug down from the cupboard.
"I couldn't run home anymore. Someone locked the door." Nowhere safe, alienation.
Taking a spoon from the drawer.
"I think I'd have curled up and cried and I might never have stopped". Longing to talk, to bring it all out into the open. Wanting to ask for help but afraid to. Afraid of rejection? Afraid of feelings so strong they maybe couldn't be controlled.
Kettle billowing steam.
"if I'd jumped off McKinnley bridge that first Christmas Eve instead of facing the family".
Mark stopped, closed his eyes and steadied himself on the kitchen table.
Suicide. So specific, not 'do something drastic', not even 'a bridge' or 'sometime'. McKinnley bridge, Christmas Eve. He'd actually planned to…Mark stopped himself, took a deep breath.
As he poured the coffee his memory kept flicking back to that Christmas. Katherine had cried as they sat at the dinner table; excused herself and spent almost a half-hour holed up in the kitchen. Steve hadn't been festive but he really hadn't seemed that withdrawn as far as Mark could remember. He'd even agreed to pose for a photo with Carol. She'd flung her arms around his shoulders as they stood beside the tree; he was wearing a dark shirt and pants, Carol's smart little skirt suit was hidden beneath a huge navy sweatshirt, red stripe down the sleeves. It looked ridiculous but Steve had bought it for her, whether she genuinely liked it or was simply being polite he never quite figured out. "Since when's your little sister been a 'large?'" Mark had asked, "Since it was the only one left in the store" Steve'd replied. Mark had made some remark about him leaving his gift shopping to the last minute.
Last minute shopping, big mall just outside of town. Christmas Eve. "Why did you go all the way out there?" he'd asked. Steve mentioned something about being out that way, "driving and thinking". Driving over McKinnley bridge.
Was that the plan, no need to buy Christmas gifts because he didn't plan on being around? Got out there and changed his mind, carried on to the mall and bought stuff, pretended nothing had happened? Or was it the reverse, last minute shopping, thinking about Christmas spirit and happy families? Crossing the bridge and realising how quickly it would all be over?
Mark almost jumped out his skin as Steve placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You alright dad?" the groggy voice asked "you don't look so good, here sit down". Steve pulled out a chair and helped Mark ease into it.
Mark just nodded as he caught his breath, Steve had given him a shock, but he knew he'd be croaky if he talked now. Steve handed him a glass of water and crouched by his side obviously worried by his father's appearance.
Mark smiled as Steve placed a protective arm around his shoulder "you scared the living daylights out of me!" he muttered.
Steve chuckled "Sorry", and pulled a chair up close to his father. They sat with shoulders almost touching. "It looks like you were the one who didn't sleep last night" he quipped noting the bags under Marks eyes. Again a nod of the head was the only response. Marks eyes started to redden, Steve lent across, and resting his chin on Marks shoulder, draped a protective arm around him again.
"Dad" he whispered "Don't be sad. Please. I don't like you being upset. I know you say it doesn't matter, I can tell you anything, but I won't, not if it's going to make you feel like this. The same goes for Amanda, I think I've taken advantage of her kindness. She doesn't need to deal with this and either do you."
Mark was about to butt in but Steve continued "Some stuff, sure, I want to tell you, want your opinion on, but other stuff…I think you were right dad, maybe I should talk to someone." He paused "Someone I don't know, someone who knows about these kinds of things. Can you put me in touch with somebody like that?"
Mark again nodded wearily but his eyes were brighter "If that's what you want, sure I can. But don't let me force you Steve, and don't worry about me, I'm here for you whatever you have to say."