28. Pride – lets us do things for the wrong reasons

S.

"Short speaking: you're my uncle, right?" I ask Ryan. I couldn't believe it when Ryan told me about his genetic and blood relation to my father. I couldn't have thought about people being more different than the two of them. They don't even look related to each other.

"Shut up Seth, I don't even want to think about this."

"Hey, I'm not the worse nephew you can have." I add. I need to talk about this as long as I have digested this news. My best friend and thought brother is in reality my uncle. Somehow, this sounds cool, because it means that we're related to each other for real and we don't have to pretend being a family anymore, because we are one.

"Well, then prove it and stop drawing a family tree. It's weird enough for me. I don't need to get reminded of it every second." He sounds grumpy. I should be able to imagine why but I can't. This cannot be still related to what happened between him and Dad, or?

"At least, the good thing about this is that my Dad is your brother and thus you gained the right to officially punch back. You know, like Romulus and Remus, Kayn and Abel."

"Yeah, great comparison. Brotherly hatred leading to fratricide. Not really desirable in my opinion."

"Dude, who told you to look solely on the negative side of the story? I mean, think positively…"

"I don't know what is positive about having a brother, who's twenty-nine years older and whom I didn't know about." Man, he's really a tough nut to crack. I don't think he's supposed to dwell in negativism. This can't be good for his health.

"Damn it Ryan. I mean, excluding the fight between you and my Dad, which by the way now has a complete different dimension, I'd say that my Dad isn't the worse brother to have." I try to convince him. Truth, this is not only about getting him to think positively about the whole thing, but also about stopping him from acting like my father is some kind of monster. He had made some mistakes - server mistakes, and I can understand that Ryan is hurt, but my father isn't a bad person from head to toe. He has had a bad phase, but he tries hard to make up for it and I think Ryan had been pouting enough. My father deserves another chance and Ryan has to stop acting like an annoying kid, throwing a tantrum. I just can't stand it any longer. Ryan has had his time for sulking.

"Know what? It's time for being a man and to stop being a sissy." I pronounce my former thought aloud, before I leave the diner. I really love Ryan like a brother, but I can't put up with his behaviour and he has to realise that he has overstepped the border between reasonableness and resentfulness.

"Seth! Wait." I hear him calling after me. I must have pressed the right button, when he thinks it's necessary to run after me for making his point clear. I don't answer him and I don't slow down. It's on him now to fight for a 'we' and 'us'. The silent treatment won't hurt him. The master of the silent treatment himself seems to have forgotten that the world is not only turning around him. And people consider me as being self-centred.

"Seth, could you please slow down!" He calls after me. Why would I? I turn around and watch him bended over his knees, struggling for breath. Shit. How could I've forgotten about that? I walk up to him. Great. I wanted to give him a bad conscience, but not to myself. This wasn't the plan.

"Sorry, didn't think about…you know. You okay?" I ask him. He nods.

"I can understand that you're upset about my behaviour, but you got the wrong end of the stick this time." He starts talking. We sit down on a bench, eyes locked onto the horizon and ocean.

"It's not that I don't want you father as brother. In fact, I couldn't think of a better brother than him. The thing is that I can't stop thinking about how my life would have been, if I'd known about your father earlier. If I'd known that I have such a brother with such a great family, who knows whether I would have been sleeping in the streets for so many nights, or whether Trey and I would have tried to steal that car. I mean, I can't stop thinking that then there might have been someone to turn to, who might have helped us and given us advice."

His honesty about his inner world keeps astonishing me. He never had seemed like someone being really thoughtful about these things, but he is.

"Why don't you tell my Dad this? He'd understand it."

"Cause it took some time for me to realise this."

"Man, you're really slow. Ever considered seeing a shrink?"

"Well, he calls it an impairment of my emotional self-reflection."

"No further questions asked." At least none that I can ask him. But I can't ignore the question which is racing through my head. How despaired must he have been, when he went voluntarily to see a shrink?

We enter the house. My parents are sitting in the den. They probably have been waiting for us. Their control fad is driving me crazy.

"There you are. Everything alright?" Mom asks us.

"Guess so." Ryan replies.

"Do you want anything to eat? We have some leftovers." She suggests.

"We ate at the diner." Ryan answer.

"I ate at the diner, this mister here for once, didn't eat anything at all." I interrupt him. He looks as if he could use something to eat. Kid Chino doesn't exist anymore, neither mentally or physically. The only thing left is a scrawny pale shell of what once had been an ideal for me: a fighter who didn't allow anyone or anything getting him down. Now he seems to back off into his corner at the slightest crisis. I'm disappointed. The Ryan my father brought home once would have punched someone into the face and done some heavy brooding, but then everything would have been solved. This Ryan seems to be worse than Newport's personal drama queen, also known as Marissa Cooper. Everything's a drama and nothing can be solved the easy way. Everything's a huge crisis he seems to collapse under.

"Ryan, you're eating less and less each day." Mom comments.

"I feel less like eating each day too."

"But do you think you could still manage to eat something?"

"I'll try." He sighs in defeat. This histrionic behaviour doesn't match Ryan at all.

R.

"I'll make you some apple rice." I know she means it in all the good ways one can mean this, but I'm sure it won't hurt to put a new choice on my diet plan.

"Dude, there's nothing that can disgust you, right?" Seth asks. I answer with my glare. A poor attempt, because I know that it doesn't have the same effect it had when I've been still healthy.

"It's the only thing that doesn't get thrown out by my stomach."

"Here you go." Kirsten says and hands me a bowl of piled rice. I can say I won't eat it all, because I never eat more than half of it, but Kirsten keeps preparing more. Just in case, as she says.

"So…did it help? I mean, did you find a way of coping with this …situation?" Sandy asks curious. I notice that he's still afraid of saying too much or pushing matters too hard. He's not behaving like the other guys who used to give me hell. He's different from them, too afraid that the little bond which has build between us again might be cut by one single word too much.

"I'm not sure, yet." I answer him. I don't want to get their hopes up too high. The slow process of understanding makes me realise that the only thing they want is to be a part of my life and play as such a big role, as they can. It also tells me that after all the effort they've put up with during the whole time some kind of frustration has built, because things didn't go as they wished them to. Although I know that it's not my entire fault, I can't deny a partial responsibility.

"Tell him, what you told me." Seth starts pushing me, something I can't stand at all.

"What did you tell Seth?" Sandy asks me now, and I wish I could kill Seth, just this one time and I promise I won't do it again. I open my mouth, but ended up shutting it again. I'm at a loss of words. I don't know why it annoys me. It's not that I never experienced this feeling before, but somehow it's awfully irritating when I want to talk truce to Sandy or Kirsten. I feel the urging pressure to fill them in, eventually giving them what they want – something I want too, but cannot admit to myself right now.

S.

"Ryan, c'mon. It's just words. Nothing I won't be able to put up with. You know I'm a lawyer. I'm used to harsh words. Believe me; I'll get the message, even if you think you didn't choose the right words or phrases to transmit it." This is what I've been waiting for. My father eventually manages to talk to Ryan the way someone needs to talk to Ryan: supportingly and encouragingly. Dad finally left his fear built shell and approaches Ryan in a proper warm-heartedly way. This is the best way for them to sort out what's standing between them, and hopefully this brings our lives back to normal. I can't take this chaos any longer.

"Ryan?" My Dad asks again and the expression on Ryan's face tells me that he won't find the right words today. But I can't wait for it longer. I want this to end, no matter how selfish this sounds.

"He has trouble dealing with the idea of what might have happened if he had found out earlier about your existence and that you are related to each other, whether things would still have turned out to be that bad."

R.

I'm not sure whether I'm grateful for Seth doing my job or whether I want to kill him right away – choking him.

"Is that true Ryan? Because if it was, I think you have all right to ask such questions. I, for my part, have been asking myself the same thing. If I'd known, would I've been able to help you and your brother earlier, or would the thing which stands between us have happened, or not? I'm asking myself these questions. The thing is, we'll never get the answer and we have to forget these questions and start to live with the new gained knowledge the best way we can. We probably have only to accept this fact and then go on with our lives." I get the message behind his words, but my brains can't process them. I put the bowl onto the table. I've lost my appetite months ago anyway, and I don't feel like eating any more of that either.

"Sorry, I need time to digest this. It's not so easy for me." I apologize and then get up, but a wave of dizziness forces me back down.

"You okay?" Sandy asks.

"Yeah, just got up too fast." I say and start a new attempt. My legs feel weak and I hear the blood circulating in my ears. I use the arm of the couch as support while I get up. My legs can't push my weight up by themselves. When I'm on my feet I need some time to regain some strength to actually move forward. Hell, I am sick of this. I witness how I become weaker and more dependent each day. Watching this is even worse than the treatments including their side effects.

"You sure, you don't need any help?" Sandy asks once again. I probably should say 'yes', but the remaining pride mixed with my confusion about how to behave in front of him now, where we're officially and biologically brothers, let me stay mute about this question. I slowly make my way out of the living room. It's only a short way. A short way, without any wall or furniture I could use as support. I beg for my legs not to let me down. It's awful if you can't trust your body. When I'm sure that I've managed it successfully into the entrance hall, invisible from the living room, I lean against the cold stony wall and slide down. My legs betrayed me. They don't listen to my commands anymore, and the fearful certainty that this isn't only a one-day-strike, crawls up my spine. With my legs' incapability to carry me from place to place, I've lost my last bit of independence I had left. I can't circumvent asking for help and the painful insecurity which comes with the need to trust those people around me. The few meters caused an unbearable exhaustion. Shit, I used to work constructions and now I even can't walk a few meters.

"Oh my God Ryan, is everything okay?" It's Sandy. He must have the seventh sense. How else does he always appear when someone needs help - any kind of help? I look at him, reluctant to answer that question.

S.

After my father's exclamation my Mom and I get hurriedly up to see what has happened. I watch Ryan sitting on the cold floor of the entrance hall and Dad kneeling beside me. I cast a glance at my mother next to me, who's covering her mouth with one hand, making her expression look even more shocked. This is it, I guess. This is the sign that Ryan really needs some help now. This is truth, no game. The extent of seriousness of his illness hits me like a sledgehammer. Ryan, a man who used to be stronger than the water polo team, and insensitive to any pain, now can't even walk anymore. All attributes making Ryan being Ryan are gone. He has no strength, power or energy left. Even his broodiness has vanished, and I have trouble to accept this Ryan as Ryan. But I need him. Who knows how bad things would have gotten, if he hadn't been there in Mom's alcoholic time. Who knows how badly Dad would have flipped, if Ryan hadn't tried to make him brace himself, day after day. He was the only one, helping me cope with the situation, staying by my side, telling me how to see things, and explaining me the meaning of what was going on. Even after he'd left, it was him who helped me through to this with his e-mails. He was the one telling me to carry on, forgiving my Mom and trying to understand my parents' view points. Without him, I probably would have gone nuts around here. I need him. He's my sheet anchor, and I'm a selfish little brat and self-centred bastard. How come, I think about me without him, whilst it should be about him?

R.

"Okay Ryan, do you need help to get up, or do you think you can do it on your own?" Sandy asks me carefully. He's still good in making you feel little more comfortable in situations of pure discomfort. From the angle of my eyes I watch Seth's horrified expression, and Kirsten's sad glances which she throws at Sandy. I can't admit that I need help and try myself to get up again, using the wall in my back as support. I'm half way up, when my knees start to buckle and I start sliding down again. It's Sandy's hands which grab me by my shoulder and arm, before I hit the floor.

S.

"Well, I take this as a 'no'." My father says when we watch Ryan struggling upright, but losing the fight. I'm torn. I want to help him, but I don't want to intrude his space of independence. I make a step forward, but my Mom's hand pulls me slightly back. I stay put and watch my father helping Ryan up – helping him with something, which is supposed to be a naturally thing.

R.

"Thanks." I reply quietly. I need to admit, but first I have to admit it to myself, but I can't. My pride is the only thing I have left, and I don't want to lose it too.

"Let's get you upstairs and to bed. I think that's the place for you to be." Sandy says, wraps one arm around my waist, while I put one arm around his shoulder. The evidence screams guilty in all charges. A plea of guilty could let the verdict turn out moderate. Shit, I should stop this.

We finally make it to the bedroom, and I let myself drop onto the bed, exhausted. I feel like I've been running a marathon: my heart's racing, my pulse beating violently against my neck and head and my breath goes fast.

"You know, you could safe your pride, if you'd actually admit that you need help. There's nothing dishonourable in that question."

S.

I try to talk some sense and especially some courage into the boy. He needs it. It hurts to watch him suffering silently like that. My mission is: getting him to trust us. That way he can ask fearlessly for help. He stays silent. I notice that I won't receive an answer and sit down next to him, closing the grudge.

"You know, everyone has to ask for help from time to time. Some have to ask for more help than others, but nobody can live without any sort of help. Look, you helped Seth for a very long time. I know he asked for it. He asked you to stay with him, because he knew he needed you to cope with the situation. You helped Kirsten and me as well. We might not have asked for this help, and this is which makes it feel awful. Not admitting that we needed help, and pretending nothing was wrong was the worse thing we could have done in that situation, because everything was wrong. Hurting those around you and hiding from the battle is dishonourable, because it does more damage than good. But facing the problem, trying to solve it and fighting your demons, is honourable." I have to get him out of his hole of wounded pride.

"Easier said than done."

"Wanna know what I guess, you're thinking about this situation? You're thinking of yourself as a nursing case, which is generally associated with old, demented people who are mainly treated like children and thus get robbed their last remaining dignity. You're afraid of ending up like that and being seen like that, right?" It feels good to have won back an access to him. I got his tacit permission to talk to him. Now I have to make use of it and show him that I'm there, no matter as what: as brother or father. I'm okay with both of it. It won't change my feelings for him anyway.

R.

The atmosphere between us is more comfortable now, where Sandy can talk freely around me and to me. This takes away the strain that had been lingering between us for a while. He still owns the ability to loosen the knots in my brains, hindering me from thinking and feeling clearly. He helps me to find another view point, or analysing my view point.

"Wouldn't you be afraid of that too?" I ask him. It's senseless pretending, after he rumbled me.

"No. I won't be afraid of that, because I know, as long as I have you, Kirsten, Seth, my Mom, damn even as long I have Caleb around, I won't have to be afraid of it. I can trust them that they won't let it happen to me, and you should trust us like that as well. As long as we are around nobody only dares treating you like a child-like nursing case. Got it?"

I nod, because I can't bring myself to say 'yes'. It's too early for admitting trust. Trust, I'm forced to have into them.

"Okay, when this is settled I suggest you getting some sleep. Things will be a lot clearer afterwards, so sleep tight." He says when he stands at the door.

"Sandy?"

"What's up?"

"You know that I'm no teenager anymore, do you?"

"That doesn't make you any less my little brother and my son."