Age 23
Bobby stood up the second the plane came to a halt. Opening the overhead bin, he grabbed his bag and headed for the front of the plane. Other passengers were already crowding the isle, with hasty apologies, Bobby squeezed past them. He hadn't changed out of his Army fatigues, and the uniform, plus the determined look in his eye squashed any arguments that might have been forthcoming from the other passengers. When he got past the first class cabin, the door was still shut, and Bobby had to restrain himself from pushing the fight attendant aside and opening it himself.
All the way from Germany he'd flown with a single thought in his head. His mother needed him. Her doctor had sent him a telegram, it was time, the doctor said. She needed to be hospialitized, and Bobby was the only one who could talk to her, get through. If worse came to worse, Bobby, being her next of kin, would need to institutionalize her himself. The doctor hadn't offered any details, but he didn't need to. Bobby's knowledge and imagination filled in the blank spaces. His entire trip, he pictured his mother alone in a dark room, speaking to people who weren't there. Crying jags that would leave her depleted, lying in bed in the fetal position. In his mind, he heard her calling out for him over and over.
The plane door finally opened and Bobby ducked through it quickly and ran down the gateway. When he burst through the gate and into the terminal, the shocked, scared stares of the people in the terminal reminded him how he was dressed, that he was still in uniform. Forcing himself in to a rushed walk/jog pace and headed for the airport exit.
He heard his name several times before it registered that someone was calling him. He turned sharply to find the source of the voice, the bag on his shoulder swung out fiercely with the movement. His eyes searched the crowd, wondering who it was calling him. And then suddenly he made eye contact with the owner of the voice. "What the hell?" Bobby muttered to himself as he watched his father stride toward him.
George Goren stopped a foot away from his son, already feeling the tension radiating between them. "Dr. Black called me this morning, told me when you'd be arriving." He explained. He took the last step toward Bobby, as if to hug him, but sensing his fathers' intentions, and not wanting to waste anymore time, Bobby turned and began walking to the exit again. A moment later, Goren Sr. fell in to step beside him.
George glanced over at his son, not liking what he saw. His fatigues were rumpled and it looked as if he hadn't shaved in days. Bobby's face was gaunt, his eyes sunken with worry, exhaustion and fear. "Were you able to get any sleep on the plane?" Bobby answered with a noise that was half grunt, half snort. The elder Goren dropped the subject, and they continued their hike to the exit in silence.
Traffic brought their cab to a stand still. Impatient, Bobby pounded his fist on the headrest of the seat in front of him, "Damn it." He shouted.
The cab driver turned quickly in his seat, "Hey! Keep that up, and I'll throw your ass out right here."
George knew his son was ready to blow, and he didn't want the driver to get in the way. He pushed himself up in the seat, so his face was between the driver and Bobby. "I'm sorry, sir. My son and I are going through a family emergency. Please, understand, he didn't mean any harm."
"Well. . ." the driver paused, secretly relieved he didn't have fight a man as big as Bobby ". . . ok." He turned back in his seat, facing traffic again.
"You shouldn't have done that." Bobby glared at his father.
George didn't answer. Instead he calmly sat back, in the corner of the back seat, folded his arms, and waited.
"You shouldn't've . . ." All of Bobby's worry, panic, guilt, exhaustion welled up inside of him, filling his chest so that his heart felt about to erupt. The backs of his eyes were like a dam holding back an ocean. Every muscle flexed to near breaking point. "You shouldn't've. . ." Bobby repeated and harshly rubbed his eyes with one hand. George stayed still, waiting. Bobby's mind could no longer fight his body. Everything gave all at once. His whole body, no longer able to withstand so much pressure, let go. The weight on his chest burst, sending a torrent of long held back tears. Bobby buried his face in his hands, his back hunched over his knees racked with sobs.
In the corner of the back seat, George Goren sat silently watching his son, and thanked God for Bobby finally being able to let go. Uncrossing his arms, he reached over to his son, hooking his right arm around Bobby's neck, pulling him in so his head lay on his shoulder and circled his other arm around Bobby, holding him tightly against his chest and let Bobby cry.
Bobby stood up the second the plane came to a halt. Opening the overhead bin, he grabbed his bag and headed for the front of the plane. Other passengers were already crowding the isle, with hasty apologies, Bobby squeezed past them. He hadn't changed out of his Army fatigues, and the uniform, plus the determined look in his eye squashed any arguments that might have been forthcoming from the other passengers. When he got past the first class cabin, the door was still shut, and Bobby had to restrain himself from pushing the fight attendant aside and opening it himself.
All the way from Germany he'd flown with a single thought in his head. His mother needed him. Her doctor had sent him a telegram, it was time, the doctor said. She needed to be hospialitized, and Bobby was the only one who could talk to her, get through. If worse came to worse, Bobby, being her next of kin, would need to institutionalize her himself. The doctor hadn't offered any details, but he didn't need to. Bobby's knowledge and imagination filled in the blank spaces. His entire trip, he pictured his mother alone in a dark room, speaking to people who weren't there. Crying jags that would leave her depleted, lying in bed in the fetal position. In his mind, he heard her calling out for him over and over.
The plane door finally opened and Bobby ducked through it quickly and ran down the gateway. When he burst through the gate and into the terminal, the shocked, scared stares of the people in the terminal reminded him how he was dressed, that he was still in uniform. Forcing himself in to a rushed walk/jog pace and headed for the airport exit.
He heard his name several times before it registered that someone was calling him. He turned sharply to find the source of the voice, the bag on his shoulder swung out fiercely with the movement. His eyes searched the crowd, wondering who it was calling him. And then suddenly he made eye contact with the owner of the voice. "What the hell?" Bobby muttered to himself as he watched his father stride toward him.
George Goren stopped a foot away from his son, already feeling the tension radiating between them. "Dr. Black called me this morning, told me when you'd be arriving." He explained. He took the last step toward Bobby, as if to hug him, but sensing his fathers' intentions, and not wanting to waste anymore time, Bobby turned and began walking to the exit again. A moment later, Goren Sr. fell in to step beside him.
George glanced over at his son, not liking what he saw. His fatigues were rumpled and it looked as if he hadn't shaved in days. Bobby's face was gaunt, his eyes sunken with worry, exhaustion and fear. "Were you able to get any sleep on the plane?" Bobby answered with a noise that was half grunt, half snort. The elder Goren dropped the subject, and they continued their hike to the exit in silence.
Traffic brought their cab to a stand still. Impatient, Bobby pounded his fist on the headrest of the seat in front of him, "Damn it." He shouted.
The cab driver turned quickly in his seat, "Hey! Keep that up, and I'll throw your ass out right here."
George knew his son was ready to blow, and he didn't want the driver to get in the way. He pushed himself up in the seat, so his face was between the driver and Bobby. "I'm sorry, sir. My son and I are going through a family emergency. Please, understand, he didn't mean any harm."
"Well. . ." the driver paused, secretly relieved he didn't have fight a man as big as Bobby ". . . ok." He turned back in his seat, facing traffic again.
"You shouldn't have done that." Bobby glared at his father.
George didn't answer. Instead he calmly sat back, in the corner of the back seat, folded his arms, and waited.
"You shouldn't've . . ." All of Bobby's worry, panic, guilt, exhaustion welled up inside of him, filling his chest so that his heart felt about to erupt. The backs of his eyes were like a dam holding back an ocean. Every muscle flexed to near breaking point. "You shouldn't've. . ." Bobby repeated and harshly rubbed his eyes with one hand. George stayed still, waiting. Bobby's mind could no longer fight his body. Everything gave all at once. His whole body, no longer able to withstand so much pressure, let go. The weight on his chest burst, sending a torrent of long held back tears. Bobby buried his face in his hands, his back hunched over his knees racked with sobs.
In the corner of the back seat, George Goren sat silently watching his son, and thanked God for Bobby finally being able to let go. Uncrossing his arms, he reached over to his son, hooking his right arm around Bobby's neck, pulling him in so his head lay on his shoulder and circled his other arm around Bobby, holding him tightly against his chest and let Bobby cry.