Pick up the pieces

"Don't you think it's better if we'd take him to the hospital?" My wife asks me, after we managed to get Ryan to bed. He never had fought us that badly. He had kicked and screamed things at us I never want to have to listen to again.

"He's fine Kirsten." We both know he's far from fine. We had to deal several times with a drunken Ryan, but he never before had reacted like a wounded animal.

"Sandy, the whole bottle was empty. I only want to be sure he hasn't inflicted an alcoholic intoxication to himself." My wife says. Her worry is written all over her face.

"If he had, he wouldn't have been semi conscious. He's okay." He's not. He's awfully hurt, and I can't help him – we can't help him.

"What happened to him?" My wife asks me and I shrug my shoulders, but I have a slight idea who's responsible for this mess. I go and get the phone, but then the door-bell rings and I have to open the door.

"Exactly the man, I want to talk to." I say, when Mr. Atwood is standing on my doorstep.

"Hi, I…I wanted to ask, whether Ryan is with you? I need to talk to him." He looked stressed.

"Yes he is, but he's in no current state to talk to anyone." I say cold. I have the feeling as if Ryan's outburst is referred to his father.

"He doesn't want to talk to me?"

"I don't know whether he wants to or not. He's too drunk to pronounce his wish." I answer.

"I should have known this throws him into a downward spiral." He says.

"Would you like to explain what you're talking about?" I ask him and let him in. We enter the kitchen. My wife anxious watches the pool house. She can't cope with the situation. She can't handle what Ryan had said, although she knows it's the truth. Maybe this is the reason why she can't cope with it.

"The only thing we know is that he wanted to meet you and when he didn't come back, we went out to look for him. We found him drunk at the beach, once again. What means there must have happened something between you and him." I make my position clear. He should not even start to lie to us.

"I…I should have known that he doesn't take it well, when I tell him." He starts.

"What didn't he take well?" My wife asks.

"I…I told him about me job…at the Army. I…I told him that I'm based in Iraq." I'm stunned.

"He's a kid. Of course he's not taking it well, when his father goes to war." My wife states. In her voice I can hear her discomposure. I don't feel well at this idea. What if something happens? The boy never will be able to cope with the loss of his last family member – not now.

"Of course not…it's…not the first time I go and…the first time when I came back…I was really messed up…I…I didn't figure that he already then noticed that…that this had been the reason… for…for a lot…maybe all our problems." Now I understand. The boy had once watched how war destroyed his family and he's afraid of that happen again.

"He's a smart boy." I answer.

"A little too smart." He answers. I sigh. How are we able to fix this again? I have no answer to this question.

"You mess it up and my husband and I can pick up the pieces. Very friendly." My wife snaps and then leaves us. I can understand her. She's so busy with helping Ryan. Every step he makes forward is one more reason for her to smile a day. And now this might have destroyed all progress the boy had made – progress he needs if he doesn't want to fall apart.

"I'm sorry for that."

"Did you at least waste one thought what this might mean to your son?" I ask him. I don't understand his decision. But he hasn't seen what we have. He hasn't seen how hard this hits the boy.

"I have to do this. You have to understand that after ten years in prison it's hard to be free again."

"I asked whether you were thinking about Ryan, especially after you know what had happened the first time." I, I, I. The boy has had enough people who only had been concerned about their own wellbeing.

"I…I can't handle him okay?! I just can't. I can't be a father for him! You can't even imagine how bad that hurts, but I can't change it. I need to go, for his sake."

"Damn it! You're his only family. You can't go like that. Don't you think he's afraid you might not come back again? He already had lost his mother and his brother. Losing his father…will kill him!" I shout at him.

"For that I needed to be a father for him. I never was and I never will. Just promise me to take care of him. You're really nice people and you know how to handle him. He's looking up to both of you, he's listening to you and he trusts you. I never could ask him for that." The speech of a despaired man, who has no clue what a kid he's leaving behind.

"And that's it?"

"That's it. Ryan needs someone who can care for him – handle his past. I'm not the right person for that. Maybe…you can be the family he needs – he deserves." He's honest. But nevertheless this is doing a lot of damage to the boy.

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow early morning."

"You should say goodbye."

"No, it's better if I just leave. I never should have come for him." And with these words he leaves our house. My thoughts swirl through my head. Of course I'll – we'll – care for Ryan. We never would have stopped so not even if his father had taken him away from us. I look out the window and see the lights in the pool house are switched on. I go and see my wife sitting on the edge of the boy's bed, stroking through his hair.

"At least we know what had caused this outburst." I say. She looks at me and nods. "He wants us to take care of Ryan."

"Did he think we'll kick him out after everything that happened?" She gets up. She's upset. Me either.

"I rather doubt he was thinking at all." I answer. My wife paces up and down.

"And what now?"

"We'll see how he deals with it tomorrow and then … I have no idea. I…wish his father had never appeared at our front door."

"At least he can't take him away from us." She says and sits down again. I see how she's wrapping one arm around him. She's all mother for him. And I? I want to be his father, but I doubt he'll see me that way one day.

"Shhh, is okay honey." She says. When I get a little closer I see tears streaming down his cheek. Tears he never would cry in front of us.

"He's crying in his sleep Sandy. He…He's broke." My wife says and goes on soothing him. I watch her, taking place in one of the basket chairs.

I don't leave him. Not this night. I'm too afraid of what might happen when I leave. Kirsten went to bed a few hours ago. It's all too much for her. Ryan's sleep is restless. This time I won't let him draw back – not this time. We have to work it out. I swear to myself I would do everything to get the kid through this.

I'm woken by a door slamming. The sun shines bright into the pool house. The boy's bed is empty and before I can ask myself where he's gone I hear the toilet flush. I walk to the bathroom.

"Everything okay in there?" I ask, but get no answer. I decide to enter the room and I find him kneeling on the floor, retching violently. I kneel beside him, rubbing his back. He flinches.

"Is okay, it's only me." I say. He's sweating and shaking and I can say: he has a really bad hangover this time. It hurts to see what torture he inflicts to himself only … to not bother us. His father says he trusts us? I don't think so. Why else does he never come to us? Kirsten had said he needs to learn to let others help him. Maybe he really doesn't know how family works.

He tries to get onto his feet again. He has trouble with his balance. I can catch him, before he falls onto the floor. He turns on the water-tap and washes his face.

"Should stop drinking, hu?" He asks me.

"I would save you a lot of ugly mornings." I answer.

"Can…can I…take a shower…before…our conversation?" He asks me shyly. He always knows that he had acted wrong. When he knows that, why can't he stop it? Why?

"Of course. Do you need any help?" I ask.

"No…thanks." He says. I leave him and go into the kitchen. Kirsten's already awake and drinks coffee.

"How is he?" She asks.

"Badly hangover, but meek." She nods.

"You wanna talk to him?"

"Yep, but I guess he's already preparing himself for that."

"Don't be too hard on him." She says. I take two mugs and go back to the pool house. I don't have to wait for too long and the boy steps out of the bathroom.

"Here." I hand him one of the mugs. He sits down on the foot of the bed. He doesn't dare looking at me. I already know this game. He had messed it up, he expects the punishment. He always expects a punishment, even when he hadn't done anything wrong.

"Your father was here last night and told us, what had caused your outburst and I don't want to blame you for that. Nobody would have taken it well, when one's father declares he goes into the Iraq war. I only want to know, why you didn't come to us." I have to wait for an answer. He chooses his words carefully. He's too afraid to let out too much – too afraid of giving us an insight into his inner world.

"I…I just was angry. I don't think a lot, I guess." I see he's trembling. He's thinking and I feel that there is coming more and I give him the space he needs for his talk.

"I haven't seen him for ten years…then he just appears and…things went well. Shit, after these few weeks I really thought he would stay. Stupid what?" He smirks. I don't think that this was stupid.

"And when he told me he goes back into war…I just was so pissed off. He's leaving me again. As if a few weeks can fix ten years. Despite I know what a wreck he was, when he came back the first time…he's…he's just…it's not good for him and he knows that." He tells me a lot. I didn't expect that. He never was talking to me about things like that.

"I can understand that this must feel awful, but why didn't you come to us?" I push him a little further, carefully not to make him draw back again.

"Dunno." I don't buy this answer.

"Really?"

"Shit. You're doing so much for me…how fucked up does it look when I come to you, crying because my daddy pisses off – someone who doesn't give a shit about me? I…just didn't want to hurt your feelings." With every word that comes, his voice becomes lower. My heart clenched when he states that he doesn't want to hurt us. I sit down next to him. He's still focusing the floor.

"You don't hurt us, when you tell us things like that. Ryan, we know we can't replace your family. But we can be another one." His discomfort is affecting me either.

"I…don't know whether I can handle losing him too." He whispers. This sentence is the most emotional I ever received from him. I put my arms around him. I need to make him aware of me – of us. He needs to feel that he's not alone – that he hasn't to come to terms with it on his own.

"We're there for you to help you. You only need to let us and not everyone who…goes into the Iraq never comes back again." I say to him. I feel his body shiver. His nerves are on the edge.

"I…just have…a bad feeling about this." He whispers. He's too tired to talk aloud.

"We're there, we care for you."

"And how long?" This question brings me back to reality. He still is suspicious about his situation. He still questions how long he can stay, how long we'll be there.

"As long as you let us."

"That's not how it works. Someday you'll be tired of…something like me and then? I have to deal with that on my own. I'm the only one I can rely on." My heart clenches when he says things like that. These words are the mirror of his soul and his past. He can't deal with any of these two parts.

"That's not true." I want to convince him. I want to slap his face to make him realize what bullshit he was talking. But I know he just can't feel different. He follows some kind of mechanism.

"Just leave it with that. I…already told you too much. I shouldn't bother you with that." If he only could see how proud I am that he has said all these things to me.

"Ryan, stop…"

"I'm really sorry for what I've done, if you still can believe me this. So, do whatever you think is necessary for me to learn my lesson." He gets up and makes a distance between him and me. The gap that seemed to close slowly has cracked open again.

"Okay, I talk to Kirsten." I say and leave.