TWO SILENT TEARS
CHAPTER 2
SUMMARY: While in hospital in the Counteragent episode, an unpleasant Christmas memory leads Vaughn to question his identity.
Each year, at the start of December, I would start crossing off the days until Christmas on my calendar. I always used to look forward to Christmas. My whole family would get together and we'd all open presents and sing carols and eat a large, warm and very fulfilling Christmas lunch and dinner.
My mother spent every second day in December shopping for presents, decorations and food. She preferred to save her money, and was always telling me to do the same. At Christmas time though, neither of us could resist the urge to spend. I liked to buy the latest action figures. I had a big collection of action figures and was always making up crazy stories. My mother said I had a good imagination.
My father was always so tense and so serious. His job required him to work hard so I couldn't blame him. That's why Christmas was so beneficial for my father's sake. During December, he was so much more light-hearted and so much more happier. He would make these really lame Christmas jokes but I would laugh anyway. My father said I had a contagious laugh, so when I laughed, he'd start laughing and then the world seemed a much merrier place.
One year, I got really sick. About two weeks before Christmas. I got some virus, which led to a really high fever that wouldn't break. So in the middle of the night, I was rushed to hospital.
I was really scared. I'd only ever been to the hospital once before. I hated it then and I hated it now. There were so many strangers, so many machines and though everywhere I looked, there was white, I remember thinking it was the most depressing place on earth.
I would drift in and out of consciousness. I don't really remember anything during my hospital stay. Faces were just a blur and words were all inaudible mumbles. When I was much older, my mother told me I nearly died.
I was allowed to go home on Christmas Eve. When my mother picked me up, she wasn't smiling. In fact, she had been crying. When she saw me looking at her red eyes, she put on a brave face and smiled. I could tell she was faking it because fresh tears were welling in her eyes. I knew something was wrong but it was late and I was too tired to make any sense of it. I just wanted to get home and sleep in my own bed.
On Christmas Day, I woke up feeling refreshed. I had finally got a decent night's sleep. I ran into my parent's room, ready to start the annual tradition of dragging my parents to the Christmas tree. I found my mother sitting on the edge of the bed, crying again. My father was nowhere to be seen. At first I thought that maybe he had had to go to work. Very unfortunate, but it had happened once before, a couple of years ago. Then I realised my mother wouldn't be crying over something like that.
I picked up the courage to ask my mother what was wrong but she didn't reply. I assumed that she and my father had had a fight. I'd seen these sort of scenarios on TV before. So I asked her. She stood up, turned so she was facing me, got down on her knees and looked me straight in the eyes.
"Michael," she said, "I have some bad news. When I tell you what it is, you will wish I had never have told you. But I've always been honest with you and I'm not going to lie now. While you were in hospital, I received a call. These are the exact words the man on the other end said. He said, 'Ma'am, I'm afraid I have some terrible news. I don't know how else to say this so I'll be blunt. We have received confirmation that your husband was murdered last night, along with some of his fellow workmates. Please take comfort in the fact that he died defending this country. I'm...sorry ma'am.' "
I asked my mother if she was telling me that my father was dead. She could only nod her head in confirmation. I asked her if there was any chance at all that he would be home for Christmas. She just stared at me, with a blank look on her face. I took that as a no. My mother was about to say something, but I kicked her in the leg and ran off to my room.
I stared at my calendar. It was the 25th of December but it wasn't Christmas. I ripped off my calendar and tore it into a thousand pieces. One word kept swirling in my mind...dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. My mother knocked on the door. I went and locked it before she could enter.
I wanted to be alone. No-one could possibly understand what I was going through. Most little boys looked up their fathers as role models, as heroes. I was no exception. Who was I going to look up to now? Our father and son bond had been shattered.
I stared at my clock, thinking about how different everything had been only ten minutes before. How perfect it had been. My vision began to blur.
I stared out the window and saw shapes dancing outside in the snow and heard laughter and singing. It all seemed so unnatural. There was no sign of life at my house though. Everything was still and this false sense of peace lulled me to sleep.
When I woke up, I was back in hospital. It took me awhile to realise that I had only been recalling a distant memory. As distant as it was, it seemed like only yesterday that I had lived through the experience in reality. And as old as the memory was, it didn't make the grief any less painful than the first time I had to experience it.
I felt groggy and disorientated. It took a few minutes for my vision to focus, and when it did, I laid my eyes on Sydney. She was sitting by my side, with tear-stained cheeks, and had her eyes closed and hands clasped together, as if she was praying.
I started to remember why I was here in the first place. I remembered seeing blood seeping through my fingernails and realising that it was the first symptom of the virus that Sydney and I had been exposed to in Taipei.
My thoughts were interrupted when Sydney realised I was awake. Her face broke into the most beautiful smile, but I couldn't bring myself to smile back. The memory had been so realistic and it just wouldn't go away. Sydney left the room, saying something about informing the doctors that I was okay but promising to be really quick, which gave me more time to think.
I came to realise the similarities between me and my father. We both worked for the CIA and we were both dedicated to our jobs. That dedication had killed my father, and had almost killed me. But I had survived. However, the possibility of following the same fate as my father scared me. I didn't want to be like him. I didn't want to die.
The more I reflected about myself, the more I realised I had in common with my father. Certain parts of the memory came back to me. I had thought that my father was always tense and serious. I thought about myself. I had turned into the same tense and serious man.
I heard my mother's voice in my head, saying what a good imagination I had. I heard my father's voice in my head, saying what a contagious laugh I had. Those two attributes were long gone. When was the last time I had done something creative? When was the last time I had had a really good, long laugh? When was the last time I had made a really funny joke? I couldn't remember.
I couldn't cry openly. What if Sydney walked in? I could never live down the shame. But I couldn't help shedding two silent tears. One for the boy I had been. One for the man I had become.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: What do you guys think? I've got ideas for most of the other characters, so is there any character in particular that I should do next? Or should I just end here? Feedback is GREATLY appreciated.