1Before There Was Darkness

Part Sixteen

He wasn't entirely sure how much distance he'd put between himself and the car. The necessity to breathe, to clear his head and attempt to regain some semblance of control had carried him as far from there as possible. As in every other instance he could remember when faced with potential confrontation, he'd done as he always had; he'd run. This time, though, there was no escaping; confrontation was waiting for him, demanding that he revisit those memories he had long ago shoved to that place so deep within himself.

Standing in the unrelenting rain, his body convulsed with a violent bout of shivers, he was suddenly humbled by the realization of what had just transpired. Years of suppressed rage flooded through him, erupting finally to the surface where it manifested itself in unexpected, hot tears that seemed intent on flushing out every ounce of anger, frustration, disappointment and pride. It shocked him that they had come so easily, without warning; he hadn't felt them. Once begun, he wasn't sure he would be able to make them stop.

How was it that one man, a man who knew so little of his eldest son, could still, after all these years, so aptly define how that son perceived himself? Jim had resolved long ago that nothing of his relationship with that man would prevent him from taking pride in who he was and what he had accomplished. Yet, when confronted with a situation that might demand just that, a response to his own self-worth, he couldn't seem to journey past those feelings of abasement.

Today, she had told him to answer honestly, somehow expecting that he would address those questions about his past. It had overwhelmed him; he wasn't sure how or if he could. How could he share those memories with anyone, openly and freely, given that they made him feel so small, so unworthy of anything good? He'd never talked about them before, never shared them, not even with his mother. Those moments, the most hurtful moments were borne in silence; they were his and his alone.

He recognized that nothing could be solved standing here alone, in the pouring rain; he had to go back and face her, try to answer the questions he knew she would undoubtedly have. He drew the sleeves of his jacket across his eyes, attempting to eliminate any evidence of his brief loss of control. Pulling a long breath of cold air deep into his chest, he exhaled slowly, and repeated, in, out, once, twice and again until the shaking, like the anger, was all but gone, his composure almost intact.

He heard her calling his name, long before he could see her through the fog that still held the rest of the world in its steely grasp. "Jimmy? Where are you? Jimmy?"

Clearing his throat, hoping the rawness he felt there wouldn't betray him, he answered her call. "Yeah, here, Christie. I'm here."

He saw her approaching, her pale blue raincoat cinched tightly at her waist, the collar turned high on her neck, a colorful golf umbrella shielding her from the misery of the unforgiving rain. He smiled wryly. At least she'd had sense enough to come prepared for the elements. She reached out and touched him gently on the shoulder, imploring him to look at her. "Hey."

"Hey," he said absently, no hint of emotion in his voice. With the redness of her eyes and the tearstains that streaked her otherwise perfect make-up, it was undeniable that his had not been the only tears shed.

"Look at you, Jimmy. We need to get you to the car and get the heat going." She took his arm to lead him back.

He pulled away and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Please don't do that."

"What am I doing? I'm just trying to help you."

"Well don't, okay, I don't need your help. I'm fine."

"Oh, God, Jimmy, why do you have to be so damn stubborn? You are obviously not fine, you're wet and cold and if we don't get you out of this weather and into some dry clothes and some heat, you're going to spend the rest of this weekend sick in bed."

"Christie," he held up one hand, motioning for her to stop. "Don't do that." His tone was quiet but firm.

Exasperation filled her voice. "What now?"

"Don't stand there and act like nothing just happened."

"No, you're right, Jimmy, you're right. Something did happen and we need to talk about it. But not here, okay? Let's go; we can talk about it in the car." He turned and walked ahead, refusing her offer to shield him with the umbrella.

She'd already laid a change of dry clothes neatly across the backseat. He stripped out of the wet ones and slid into the comfort and warmth of a heavy sweatshirt and jeans. With the heat circulating through the car, and the change of clothes, he felt the chill slowly release him. He shuddered just once.

The silence between them was thick and uncomfortable, not like those other occasions when there was absolutely no need to say anything. This time something needed to be said yet neither of them seemed willing to break that silence. She was the first.

"I'd like to know what just happened, Jimmy."

He glanced at her, at the longing in her eyes, and still he couldn't bring himself to answer, not fully.

"I think you already do. Talking about it isn't going to change the way things are."

"I need you to tell me, Jimmy. You tell me how things are. Why did you run?"

"Christie, you have absolutely no idea. You can't even begin to understand."

"No, you're right. But it's not because I don't want to. It's because you won't let me in. I've asked, I've waited, and you keep closing that door, Jimmy. You leave me standing outside, looking in."

He turned to face her. She touched his cheek, her hand tenderly brushing his mouth. There was sadness in her eyes; he knew he was responsible for it.

Softly she said, "Try, please? I'd like to know and not because it's going to make any difference one way or the other, just that it might help me understand things, understand you, a little better than I do right now."

He sighed deeply. "This isn't easy."

"I know I know," she said soothingly, "but you have to start somewhere Jimmy. And I'm here, I'm not going anywhere." She laced his fingers with her own.

"I'm not sure I can explain how hard it was growing up with a father like that." He paused and laughed quietly, bitterly. "Jesus, who the hell am I trying to kid? He was never a father; he was a drunk."

He stopped and put his hand to his mouth, holding his finger tightly against his lip, trying to slow a tremble that hadn't yet begun. "I honestly thought I was done with him, that I'd buried those memories along with him a long time ago." He shrugged his shoulders. "But then something happens and he's right back in my head."

"Jimmy, he didn't beat you did he?"

He shook his head. "No, not like that."

His father had never actually hit him, but it hadn't taken physical violence to inflict the scars that Jim still bore half a lifetime later. The pain of the words, the depth of the hurt, the lasting effect it had on him was more than if those fists had flown. He often wished they had, that the man had hit him, so he could have fought back. His words were useless, meaningless, lost on ears that had shut him out a little more with each belt from the bottle.

He shook his head again. "He never laid a hand on me, Christie. He didn't need to; there was absolutely no way to fight back against the shame in his words or the disgust in his voice. He hated me, blamed me for everything that was wrong with his life. Whether the bottle was half empty or half full, it was all my fault."

She was quiet, contemplative, this admission seeming to take a minute to sink in fully. He watched a tear slip down her cheek; she brushed it away. "God, Jimmy, I had no idea. But you can't carry take with you. You need to find a way to leave it behind. That was a lifetime ago and you don't live in that one anymore."

He smiled faintly. "Oh, I wish it were that simple…."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Why isn't it? Why can't it be? He's not here anymore and you have to know that those words aren't true now. They weren't true then."

"But that's not the point, Christie. The point is that as soon as someone asks me a question about where I come from, it's all right there again. That's something I'll never be able to let go of. It's who I am."

"No, Jimmy, it's who he was. You may have the same last name but you're not him. If that's what it was like for you as a child, you have even more to be proud of. Look how far you've come." She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "You're not an easy man, Jimmy Dunbar. But it's easy to love you, faults and all, and I do; I always will."

"And..." he hesitated, "And what if your parents don't?"

"Is that what this is really all about? Because if it is, I need you to know that it doesn't matter. There is nothing they can say or do that's going to change my mind. If they love me, they'll accept you."

"Are you sure, Christie? Are you really willing to give up one for the other? Because that may be what it's going to take."

She tried to keep her frustration in check. "There you go again. You think you've already got it all figured out. But I'm asking you, please give them a chance to get to know you before you make up their minds for them?"

"I'll try, okay? That's the best I can do for now."

"Then that's just going to have to do. And I have no doubt, Jimmy, that when they see how important you are to me, they're going to love you, as much as I do." Her arms encircled him and she drew him as close as the bucket seats would allow. "Okay?"

With her reassurance came the realization that while it was true, perhaps, that she had held back a piece of information, key to his understanding of who she was and what kind of background she came from, it ultimately made no difference as to how he felt about her. It never would. More importantly, though, he realized that she had done absolutely nothing to deserve what he had thrown into her lap.

"Okay, then." He patted her leg and flashed her what he hoped was a confident smile. "Let's get this show back on the road."

He turned the key and wheeled the car back onto the freeway, just as the first finger of sun knifed its way through the dispersing fog.