Hey there everyone...I just wanted to let you know that I would love some feedback on this story, and if you want to let me know your opinion you can find me at samuraisupremo@hotmail.com. So e-mail me with your thoughts!
Pale September
The last thing that Brian Givens felt like waking up to on a Saturday morning was the whir of a lawnmower outside his bedroom window. The morning sunshine had barely started peeking through the blinds, and it certainly wasn't bright enough to rest on his eyelids and stir him out of his long awaited weekend slumber. Yet there was the terrible noise, seemingly loud and grating enough to wake up an entire neighborhood of fifteen-year old boys thankful that the school week had finally ended.
WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
Could the incessant grinding of the motor really be getting louder, or was he just floating further away from the realm of sleep and relaxation? The latter was the obvious answer.
"Daaaaaaaaad, what time is it?" Brian muttered to himself, reluctantly turning over and gazing at the glaringly red digital clock. "6:30? No one should be mowing anything at 6:30 in the morning."
For someone who was a culinary teacher at a local vocational high school, William Givens seemed to have a terrible work ethic, at least according to his son. The way that Brian saw it, anyone who spends Monday through Friday trapped in the unpredictably hellish halls of an American learning institute, whether it be teacher or student, earns their weekend of rest, relaxation, and couch potato glory.
His father didn't seem to agree.
Watching day long Andy Griffith marathons was an activity located at the bottom of his priority list, and he instead felt that the weekend represented a time to start projects and do chores. Chores! Whether it be mowing the lawn, painting the backyard fence, sweeping the pool, or rearranging his tool chest, time must not be wasted. Every minute counts. The early bird gets the worm. Brian had been listening to his father extolling the virtues of manual labor for the past fifteen years, and he still couldn't bring himself to rise out of bed before ten on any given Saturday.
The shirt, shorts and pair of tennis shoes seemed to put themselves on once Brian rubbed his eyes and removed himself from the comforts of his covers. He opened his bedroom door, slipped down the hallway past his sleeping mother's room, and jaunted out the sliding glass door to find his father pushing the lawnmower back and forth along the length of the backyard. Even though Brian had never touched the annoyingly loud chopper, and really had no desire to, he did find the smell and look of the freshly cut grass to be rather splendid. The perfectly parallel rows, the overall look of neatness and organization. He remembered his mother's haphazard attempt at the mowing duties one week when his father was out of town, where the lawn had ended up looking like a drunken man drove a steamroller over it. It was obviously a task that took more care and caution than the finished product hinted to.
The motor sputtered to a stop as his father saw him standing there.
"Nice of you to get up so early son. Come to help your old dad out?"
"Oh, you know me dad," Brian stated sarcastically, "I'm always the first one to get up and mow the lawn on the weekend. I just came out here because I was so crushed that you beat me to it."
"I figured as much," his father laughed. "Don't worry, I haven't milked the cows or slaughtered the pigs yet today, so you'll still have plenty to do."
"Oh, thankee for dat pa! Kin I go collect dem chicken eggs for breakfast too?" Brian put on his best farm boy accent, hiking up his invisible pair of suspenders as he said this.
"You're a goofball, that definitely comes from your mother's side of the family," he joked. "You know Bri, you are a freshman in high school now, I hope you don't think you'll make it to graduation without me teaching you how to work a lawnmower."
"I'm holding out as long as I can. After all, I'm going to have to be a working man until I'm at least sixty five, I should be entitled to fifteen or sixteen years where I don't lift a finger."
"Are you sure you're my son?" his father laughed, removing the overflowing bag from the electric mower and dumping it in a nearby trashcan.
"The one and only," Brian smiled. "So do you think we can go to the video store later? I need something to do while you're building tool sheds and planting redwoods out here."
"Yeah, we can go once I finish up. What time do they open? Nine?"
"I think so."
"Well, why don't you go get in the shower and we'll leave in a bit."
"Alright, thanks."
Brian turned and pulled back the sliding glass door, putting all of his strength into yanking it open and pushing it shut again. No matter how many sliding doors he came in contact with, none of them ever seemed to open quite as easily as they closed. Theirs, of course, was no exception.
"Honey, do you want any breakfast?" his mother called from the kitchen. Her voice never seemed to have that scratchy, early morning tone that most people have to shake off when they first wake up. She was alert from the instant she opened her eyes, and always more than ready to whip up a meal or start some housework.
"Sure, what's on the menu this morning?" Brian asked, taking a seat at the countertop.
"The usual Saturday fare...eggs, pancakes, sausage. What are you doing up so early anyway?"
"Do you hear that noise out there? That's what I'm doing up." Brian glanced out the window, noticing that his father had quickly gotten back to creating his perfectly rectangular lawn patterns.
"Oh, you know your father. The early bird..."
"Gets the worm," he finished for her. "So I've heard."
"Your father is pushing fifty you know, it won't be long before you have to get out there and do that for him." She spoke while bustling around the kitchen, cracking eggs and whipping pancake batter at the same time.
"As much as he says he wants me to, I think I'd have to wrestle that mower out of his hands. He loves being out there."
"I know," she smiled, the batter pouring into the freshly buttered frying pan. "I know."
"HIT THE BRAKE! Christ Brian, you have to watch the taillights of the car in front of you! How many times have I told you to pay closer attention?"
"I WAS watching dad," Brian snapped back, exasperated. "I was just about to stop. The video store is like three miles away, just chill out. I swear I can't drive with you, you make me a nervous wreck."
"Look who's talking."
Driver's Ed started next semester, and William Givens was determined that his son be an excellent driver before he ever had to sit in a simulator. Brian had officially passed his written test and been granted his driver's permit about two months ago, and since then he had been stuck in backseat driver hell with his father. He always seemed to stop too late, signal too early, go too slowly on the freeway, speed too quickly through the school zones, play the radio too loudly, and park at the wrong angle. He was just thankful he didn't have to learn a stick shift.
"Remember that your mother and I have that party to go to at the Hanson's tonight." He took his hands slowly off the dashboard in front of him, no longer bracing for sudden impact.
"I remember. What time are you leaving?" The evening festivities must be planned.
"Probably around six. Will you be alright by yourself?"
"Yes father," he answered with a drone. "I'm all grown up now remember?"
"Just not grown up to mow the lawn right?" he laughed.
"Right, just not old enough for manual labor."
"So where is David at this weekend? Are you guys going to hang out?"
"No, he's visiting his dad on the other side of town. He stays with him every other Saturday."
"Ah, that's right. Now start braking slowly here," he said, changing the subject. "Just tap it lightly."
"I know," Brian sighed. "Thank god we're almost there, you get to drive us home."
Thelma and Louise, Thelma and Louise, Brian thought to himself as he scoured the shelves of the video store. Would it be in drama or action? You never know around here.
He had been obsessed with renting the movie ever since he had seen the People magazine his mother slapped down on the kitchen counter one afternoon. On the cover was a picture of the most amazing looking man Brian had ever laid eyes on, and right next to him was the caption: "Brad Pitt- The Sexiest Man Alive." It was love, or lust, at first sight. There was a feeling throughout his body that he swore he had never felt before. Some sort of internal surge. His mission was now to rent any film that had the man in it, and he figured it wouldn't hurt to start with the one where he would be half naked most of the time.
"Drama! I knew it." He grabbed the single copy from the shelf and went to find his dad on the other side of the store.
"Dad, I'm ready to go."
"What'd you get?" he asked, taking the video from his son's hands. "Thelma and Louise? Brian, you know I don't like you to rent R rated movies."
"Dad, come on," Brian pleaded, knowing this was going to happen. "I'm fifteen, it's nothing that I can't handle."
"Yeah, and R rated movies are for the seventeen and up crowd, put it back." He handed his son the video and went back to glancing over the new releases.
"Please dad, I really want to see this." He wished that he could promise to fast forward through all of the violence and go straight to the shirtless Brad shots, but he figured his dad probably wouldn't be too appeased with that explanation.
"Put it back. I'm not going to argue with you about this."
Brian rolled his eyes and stomped back to the drama section, wondering how he was going to spend his evening now that this unforeseen hurdle had come up. He poured over the stacks of movies for at least five more minutes before settling on Meet Joe Black. He didn't know if Brad would be shirtless in it, but at least it was three hours of the man, which just might make up for it. And it was rated PG-13 to boot.
The ride home seemed much longer than the trip there, mainly because it was done in silence. Between the nagging he had experienced due to his driving skills and the R rated lecture his dad had given him at the video store, Brian didn't feel much like talking. He figured he would stay in his room and continue the silent treatment until his parents went out for the evening, then he'd have a grand old time watching his movie for the rest of the night. All he needed to improve upon the day was some quality time alone with the VCR.
There wasn't a knock on the bedroom door for hours after he had gotten home, allowing Brian to pass the rest of the sunlight away in a video game haze. Slaying monsters, playing pro basketball and driving racecars was all in a day's work. He glanced over at the clock at around a quarter to six, and realizing that the house would soon be his, decided to change into the boxers and tee shirt he normally wore to bed.
Knock knock knock. It finally came.
"Come in," Brian answered in a monotone, making sure to get the point across that he was still pissed about the events earlier in the day.
His father's head peeked in through the open door.
"Your mother and I are leaving for the Hanson's. We should be home around eleven or so."
"Alright," he responded coldly.
"Don't blow the place up or anything. Love you."
"Yep." Just go away, Brian thought, staring at the video game and not giving the open door a second glance.
"Brian..." his father trailed off.
"Yeah?"
He hesitated for a moment. "Nothing. I'll talk to you in the morning kiddo."
"Alright, bye." He kept his focus on the television screen, expertly swerving his vehicle around the other cars while he heard his parents starting their own car in the garage.
Maybe I was too harsh with him. I should have at least looked at him when he was talking to me.
Brian could hear the vehicle pull out of the garage through the hinged screen door that separated that area from the rest of the house. Once he could no longer make out the running of his parent's motor, he turned off the video game and lunged for his copy of Meet Joe Black, ready to let the excitement of the evening begin. He glanced out his window, noticing that the sun was starting to set behind the mountains, turning the sky into a canvas of reds and oranges. A beautiful finale to a less than perfect day.
That's when he heard it.
The sound stopped him cold in the middle of the bedroom. At first he couldn't make out what it was...it was like a loud cry, coming from somewhere outside. A scream? A woman's scream, and it was getting closer.
Is there some crazy lady running around outside? Brian asked himself. Maybe I should go shut the garage door.
Suddenly the wail drifted even nearer than before, causing him to edge closer to the hallway. There was a sudden, loud banging on the screen door just outside of the bedroom...the woman must have been pounding her fist against it.
"Help me! Please help me!"
She sounds like she's in one of those movies where she's being chased by a hockey mask wearing psycho killer. She runs from house to house, screaming and knocking on everyone's door...but no one ever answers. No one wants to get in the way of a psychopath.
He finally took a deep breath, clearing the crazy thoughts from his mind and taking a step into the hallway. He turned toward the screen door, facing it down, ready to find out who this mystery woman was and what she needed. But no one was there. The screaming had stopped.
That's when he heard the front door open.
Is she breaking into the house?
He turned and ran down the hallway, bolting into the living room determined to figure out what was going on. He stopped cold in his tracks, a look of confusion forming on his face as he saw her standing in the living room, telephone in hand. She was dressed in her nicest evening gown, but the look of horror on her face was enough to tarnish her otherwise lavish appearance. It was as if she had been getting ready to go to a party, only to be sidelined when something terrible had happened. Something unexpected.
"Mom, what's wrong?" Brian asked as he slowly approached her, noticing that her makeup was streaking down her face.
"Your father! I'm calling 911."
"What happened?" His heart began to race, thumping in his chest as his breathing became more hurried. "Mom?"
That's why I didn't recognize her. I'd never heard her scream like that before.
His mother no longer seemed to notice him once she started rambling into the phone. She wouldn't answer his questions. Why wasn't she answering the question?
Brian gave up, running out of the house and into the front yard, which is where he paused. His father's car was parked at the end of the driveway, half of it in the street, as if it had been stopped suddenly. Both the passenger's side and the driver's side door had been opened. His first thought was that there had been some sort of accident...maybe another vehicle had slammed into them as they were pulling out. But that wasn't it. The car didn't appear to have a scratch on it.
This can't be happening.
He hurried to the driver's side of the car, looking inside the open door and seeing his father sitting there in front of the steering wheel. His eyes were closed, but the look about him wasn't peaceful, not like he was asleep. He was twitching slightly, his eyelids fluttering and his breaths shooting out in short, frantic puffs. His skin had gone a sickly shade of pale white. It almost looked like he was having some sort of seizure.
"Dad! Oh my god...oh my god..." Brian reached into the car, placing his hands on his father's shoulders and attempting to shake him into coherence. All he succeeded in doing was knocking the older man's glasses from his face and on to the passenger seat of the car.
"Dad, please wake up. Please! Jesus...oh jesus...oh god...can you hear me? Can you hear me dad?"
Brian swallowed hard, though he could no longer feel his body. He wasn't there.
If he can hear me, I can get him to wake up. He'll wake up if he hears me. I have to talk to him.
"Dad, please wake up. WAKE UP! I...oh my god...I'm so sorry. I love you. I want you to know that I really love you, even though I didn't say it before you got in the car. I should have said it. I meant to say it. I was acting like such an idiot. Can you hear me? Dad?"
"Brian! The ambulance is on its way." His mother ran down the driveway, tears streaking her face as she grabbed him by the forearm. "I want you to go next door and grab Mr. Davis, see if he knows CPR. He used to be in the military, I think they teach things like that in the military."
I can't go next door, I don't want to go next door. I'm in my boxers and a tee shirt. What will they think? What am I supposed to say? My dad is dying, can you help? Sorry I'm in my pajamas here, but I thought I'd be sitting in my room watching a movie right about now. No. No, no, no. I'm not going.
He turned and ran inside, his mother calling after him, screaming at him to go get Mr. Davis. Not to leave her.
Not to leave her all alone with him.
The sirens could be heard in the distance, getting ever closer as Brian went into the kitchen. The kitchen was where he went anytime he needed to think, anytime he had been nervous and had to pace back and forth. It was where he had gone when he realized he had a crush on David, his best friend since Kindergarten. The night before he took his written driving test, he stood on this same tile. He had come here the night before he started high school, wringing his hands and walking back and forth, horror stories about bullying seniors running through his head. And now here he was again.
This can't be happening this isn't happening to me. I don't want to be one of those people one of those cliches who has to tell people that he lost his father at a young age. "Oh my dad died when I was pretty young right after I started high school" and the response would always be "Oh I'm so sorry" and my response will be "Oh don't be sorry these things happen." These things happen. My mother never recovered after it she kind of died inside the burning and hunger that had been in her eyes was extinguished on that September evening. Oh I do just fine I didn't really even know my dad that well fifteen years isn't a very long time. No I'm an only child my father's legacy the only one who can carry on the family name. And here's the kicker...I think I'm gay! Sorry dad no grandchildren no beautiful overpriced weddings no rice being thrown. No extension of the family tree it's just me. Just me. Disappointing isn't it?
The sirens finally reached a heightened pitch and then came to a stop all together. The ambulance had arrived.
God they're causing such a scene out there it'll give the neighbors something to talk about for weeks. "Did you hear that Mr. Givens passed away he was only forty nine! Oh his poor son and his wife they live in that big house all by themselves now maybe we should bring them something a gift basket maybe." Maybe I should go outside and see what the paramedics are doing but I can't what if they have a crash cart? What if they shock him and it's like something on ER? No I'm going to stay here. Dear God I know I haven't been very religious but I've always believed in you and if you let my father make it through this I swear I'll do anything I'll right all my wrongs I'll do charity work I'll be nice to every single person I come in contact with I'll go to church every Sunday and I'll pray every night. Please don't let him die don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me.
"Brian, we have to go to the hospital." His mother rushed in frantically, wiping streaked, runny makeup from her cheeks. "They loaded your father into the ambulance and want us to follow them there. Hurry and put some clothes on."
How long had he been pacing? Five minutes? An hour? At least she was sounding much more calm than she had when he had heard her shrieking earlier, and it appeared like she had stopped crying, at least momentarily. Brian rushed to his bedroom and threw on the clothes he had been wearing earlier in the day before meeting his mother in his father's car.
"Is he okay mom?"
"I don't know, they wouldn't tell me anything. They just told me to follow the ambulance to the hospital."
He noticed that his mother's hands were trembling as she turned the key in the ignition. The ambulance pulled away from the curb, idling slowly down the street and allowing their vehicle to follow close behind.
"It's going so slowly," his mother muttered, her voice raising. "Why aren't they speeding Brian? Why aren't the sirens on?"
"I don't know." But I think I do know. "Maybe he's okay and they don't need to rush to get to the hospital." Brian offered up a small smile as his mother looked over at him.
"I'm sure that's what it is," she said, fresh tears forming in her eyes. "That must be it."
The instant they arrived in the waiting area of the hospital, the desk clerk directed them to a private room down the hall. Not the type of room that you go in when you're getting a check up or need a tetanus shot, but a nice, off white painted chamber with a few couches, chairs and random artwork hanging on the walls. The entire area was painfully quiet and frighteningly cozy, as if it was specifically designed to calm people down. Brian didn't like the look of it.
He sat next to his mother on the couch, staring at a painting on the opposite wall while she squeezed his hand tightly. They were the only two in there, which was no surprise to him. He figured they probably had a dozen rooms exactly like this one, created simply for the purpose of bringing people news they didn't want to hear. It certainly wouldn't make the hospital look good if people were having emotional breakdowns in the bustling, patient packed lobby.
The painting was a simple sort of watercolor fiasco that had a rugged old fisherman floating in a calm sea, pole in hand. The sky was a pleasant light blue, with the water being slightly darker, though certainly not dark enough to be anything less than uplifting. There was only one thought that kept running through Brian's mind as they waited for what seemed like an eternity.
I wonder if the fisherman has had any luck today.
A few moments later a man came in, sitting down on the couch next to them introducing himself as Dr. Eggers. He was short in stature but muscular, bald, with thin glasses covering a pair of deep blue eyes. Most likely in his fifties, Brian suspected.
"Mrs. Givens," he began, the measured, mannered tone in his voice unsettling both of them. "Your husband suffered a very serious heart attack. Our EMTs did all they could for him when they arrived at the scene, but his heart had already stopped."
The doctor's voice lowered to a whisper while Brian's mother stared into his eyes, a look of horror on her face. Brian was listening to every word while sitting next to them, staring off at the pleasant, cheerily colored fisherman.
"I'm afraid there's nothing we could do."
The cry that escaped from his mother's throat explained to Brian why they placed them in the "quiet room." He kept his eyes glued to the wall as he felt his hand getting clenched by his mother's trembling fingers. She broke down into tears, with Dr. Eggers attempting to console her.
"I hate to mention this, but if either you or your son would like to see him, you're welcome to. I just have to warn you of what you might see. He's not going to look like he normally would. There are tubes that he is still hooked up to and his skin has turned a bluish hue."
He said all of this as if it was a perfectly normal occurrence. People's fathers have heart attacks every day, they get rushed in, we tube them, bag them, roll out the crash cart, shock them, sometimes we crack their chests, do internal compressions, and if none of it works, well then, they might take on a bluish hue.
I don't want to wake up in the dead of night when I'm thirty in a cold sweat because I have the image of my dead father floating in my dreams tubes sticking out of him respirators nearby a sheet covering him and all of it tinted in blue. Blue.
"I don't want to see him," Brian uttered.
His mother shook her head.
"Neither do I."
The house felt unnaturally quiet and empty when they returned to it a couple of hours later, the moon now full in the sky. Flipping all the light switches on didn't seem to help, nor did turning on the television and the radio. There was a void so large that it nearly seemed tangible, as if it could literally be filled with sound, images or light.
Brian's mother went into her bedroom, sitting in the dark on the king size bed and crying for what seemed an endless amount of time, a box of tissues next to her hand. Brian went to his own room, tears far from welling up in his eyes as he reached for the phone and dialed the number of David's dad's house. An instant later someone picked up on the other end of the line.
"Hello."
"David?" Brian asked, consciously making sure that his voice sounded completely unaffected.
"Oh hey Bri, what's up?"
"Can you come over tonight?" He needed someone there. He needed something to take his mind off of the surreal events of the past few hours.
"You know I can't man. I'm not going to be home until the morning. Is something wrong?" He had a tone in his voice that made it obvious that he expected the answer would be no. Of course it would be. Wasn't the answer to such a question always no?
"No." Brian hesitated for a moment. "Yeah, something's wrong. I need you here."
"What is it?" David sounded worried. "You're making me nervous here."
How do I say this? I can't say the words "my dad died." I haven't even had any practice with it yet.
"My dad..." he paused, breathing in deeply as he looked down at his hand. It was trembling. "My dad had to go to the hospital."
"The hospital?" David was in shock. Brian's dad had hardly been sick a day in the past ten years, and that was something his culinary students would certainly attest to. "What for? Is he going to be alright?"
"No, he's not going to be alright." Brian's face felt flushed, his hands shaking more violently. I can't say it. "Please, I need you to come over."
"Oh my god." David didn't know what to say, but he knew. He could read it in his friend's voice. "Are you serious?"
"Yes. Please."
"Give me an hour, I'll be there."
"Thank you."
David made it to the house at around nine thirty that evening, sleeping bag and overnight supplies in tow. Awkward silence and even more awkward small talk marred their initial moments together. Neither of them dared to talk about the events surrounding the day, though David's mind was raging with curiosity concerning exactly what had transpired. He eventually resigned himself to the fact that his friend would explain things when he was ready, and they instead decided to spend the next few hours in silence, watching Brad Pitt fall in love in Meet Joe Black. It took Brian out of his surrounding reality for the time being, and even the cruel irony of Brad playing Death and the fact that there was no nudity (though the shirtless love scene was a treat) didn't bring him down.
By the time the credits rolled on the two tape epic Brian had drifted off to sleep, feeling equal parts relief and sadness that his Sunday morning slumber wouldn't be interrupted by the chopping of a lawnmower.
The ridges that the plaster of the ceiling created seemed to come in an endless variety of shapes and sizes. He laid there, staring upwards as the sunlight drifted through the small cracks of the blinds, pointing out everything from the continent of Africa to the outline of George Washington's head. There was Texas on the left, and Alfred Hitchcock's famous outline on the right. He didn't remember how long he'd been staring, but he knew he hadn't moved since he had awoken to the horrible realization that the tragedy of the previous day had not been a dream. David was still dozing in his sleeping bag on the floor of the bedroom, despite the fact that he should have been across town that weekend, and his mother's sobs could still be heard through the thin walls that separated his room from the master bedroom.
Brian pulled back the covers, breaking his gaze away from the fascinating puzzle of the ceiling and stepping over David to make his way out to the hallway. His mother's bedroom door was open, but the room, with the exception of the early morning sunlight, was still shrouded in darkness. He could see her outline as she sat on the side of the bed. On her side of the bed.
"Mom?" Brian flicked the light on, immediately noticing that his mother was still dressed in the clothes that she had worn to the hospital the previous evening. She glanced up at him slowly, her face a swollen wreck of tears and smeared makeup.
"Oh Brian, come here." Her voice was small, timid, broken.
He walked over to the edge of the bed, taking a seat and looking into her eyes. He didn't even feel like he knew this woman that was sitting next to him. She seemed so frail, so weak, and so overwhelmingly sad. He felt exactly how she looked.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked, leaning in closer to his face.
"What do you mean?"
"You don't even look like you've been crying. And look at me, I'm a mess." She managed a small chuckle after this line, though anything that could be categorized as an actual laugh was far out of her reach.
"I haven't been. I didn't even realize..."
"You'll let it out when you're ready. It still doesn't feel real does it?"
He shook his head, glancing down as his mother twisted a used tissue with both of her hands. Her nails had been freshly painted dark red yesterday afternoon.
"I met your father in high school, you knew that. Home economics class. I remember how all of his friends would make fun of him for taking home ec, for wanting to learn how to cook. They all played football, baseball, soccer...but not your father. He was the lone boy in our entire class. We ended up dating...getting married right after high school, which really pissed all four of your grandparents off. But we were happy."
She began to wring the tissue with even more strength, slowly shredding it to pieces that drifted to the carpet below.
"I've never known life without him Brian. My only friends were almost always his friends first. The teachers that he worked with, even our neighbors on this street. He was always the one who wanted to chitchat with everybody, to get to know every stranger. 'You've got to get to know folks Julie', that's always what he would say to me. You've got to get to know folks."
"You'll be fine mom." He turned toward her, wrapping his arms around her back as she released a fresh batch of tears on his shirtsleeve. Her entire body seemed to be shaking with her sobs.
"Oh god Brian, what are we going to do? What are we going to do?" She broke down again, grasping his shoulders and holding on tightly for at least five more minutes.
I'm not going to cry. I'm going to stay strong, that way all the friends of the family can say "Did you see how well Brian is holding up? Such a strong boy, especially with all he's been through."
"We'll make it up as we go along I guess." He managed a slight smile.
"He didn't even finish with the lawn. He was going to do the front yard this morning. You know how he loved to get out there, just before the sun would rise. Now the grass is going to get overgrown, and who knows what the neighbors will think." She was staring straight ahead now, apparently focusing on some undistinguished spot on the wall.
"Mom, I think that's the least of our worries. Did you talk to Aunt Jill or Grandma Dorothy yet?"
"Yes, your aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and anyone else they can round up should be flying in tomorrow. I think the funeral is going to be on Wednesday, I still have to get the exact arrangements in order. And I'll call your school tomorrow morning, let them know you'll need some time off." She smiled, breaking her stare with the wall and looking at him. "I may be a mess Brian, but I can still get things together around here."
Brian nodded his head, squeezing her hand tightly before standing up and silently walking out of the room.
David was wide awake, his hands working a control pad while some sort of street fighting action occurred on the TV.
"Alright! You're going down dumb ass." He muttered to the television as Brian walked into the room, closing the door behind him.
"Finally beating Reptile into submission huh?" He gestured to the action on the screen.
"Yeah, he didn't stand a chance. How'd you sleep?" David reached over, shutting the game off as Brian sat next to him on the bed.
"Pretty good, all things considering."
"How's your mom?"
"She's..." he hesitated for a moment. "I don't know. I've never seen her like this before."
"It's hard to believe this is even happening." David stared off, looking down at the carpet. "Do you remember that time your dad took us to the water park?" he asked with a laugh. "The two of us had to harass you for the entire day just to get you to go down that one water slide."
"I know, I can specifically recall some of the taunts and rhymes that you made up to break down my will. And dad wasn't much help either." Brian smiled.
"But you did it. You got up the courage and you did it." He paused for a moment. "And that's when I knew."
"Knew what?"
"That you could get through anything if you were determined enough." David looked up at him. "Even this."
"This is a lot harder than going down the Blue Niagra though."
"Yeah, but you'll get up the courage and get through it just the same."
"Thanks." Brian smiled, looking at David for a moment while the silence surrounded them. "He died of a heart attack in the driveway."
David looked at him, feeling speechless for a moment. He knew that the last thing he wanted to say was "I'm sorry." It was always the standard response after someone passed away, and he knew that Brian would be hearing more than enough of those two words over the rest of his lifetime, much less the next few days. Instead, he gave him a simple nod.
"I was pissed at him yesterday because we had some stupid argument on the way to the video store. I thought that giving him the silent treatment would really get him back ya know?" He was mindlessly fiddling with his fingernails, looking down at his hands as he went on.
"So right before he left with my mom to go to the Hanson's, he came in my room to say goodbye and tell me that he loved me." He hesitated for a moment, still picking at his fingernails before he went on. "I didn't say it back, and that was the last time I talked to him. Just like that and he was gone."
"Brian, he knew." David reached over, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You know that he knew, whether you said it or not."
"But why didn't I say it?" He shook is head back in forth in disbelief. "I can't believe that's the last conversation I'll ever have with my dad."
They let the silence overtake the room for a few moments.
"I don't really know what to say. I've never had anyone close to me die before...or pass away, or whatever."
"You can say die," Brian smiled. "I think, if anything, I've realized something really important."
"Which is?"
"That people should say what they really mean. No one honestly thinks that their dad or their best friend or that person they have a crush on is really going to be gone just like that. But they can be." He looked up from his hands. "Just. Like. That."
David nodded in agreement.
"Sounds like smart advice to me."
"So let me do it," Brian replied.
"Do what?"
"Say what I really want to." His heart started racing at the prospect of what he was about to do, but life was too short not to go for broke.
"You're my best friend man, you know you can tell me anything. Hell, I already thought you did tell me everything."
"Well, not everything." He looked straight into David's eyes, trying to pull up the strength, courage, and vocabulary to express exactly what he was feeling. "I think I'm gay. No, that's not right. I am gay. I'm gay." He let out a long breath. "Jesus, I just said it." A smile formed across his face.
"You don't think I figured that out by now?" David responded with a laugh. "The day you called me up to rant about Brad Pitt sort of cemented it, but I had some thoughts even before then."
"Really?" Brian was shocked, he didn't know this fascination of his had been so obvious. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"Well, we weren't in the business of saying everything at the time. And what was I going to say anyway? I figured if you were you'd come out with it sometime."
"Damn, and I was trying to drop a big bombshell here," Brian laughed.
"Maybe next time," he said with a smile. "Anything else you want to get off your chest while we're at it?"
I love you? I'm in love with you. I think I'm in love with you. Just say it. Say it. It'd be hypocritical of you to tell him that you should say what you really feel and then not say it.
"I'm...I think..." he hesitated, glancing down at his hands again. "I think that's it for now."
"Well good, is it my turn then?"
"Your turn for what?"
"For this little bombshell dropping thing we've got going on."
"Oh god, what is it?" Brian suddenly felt nervous. It was perfectly fine if there were things that he was keeping locked away in his mind, but what could David possibly have to say?
"Well..." he took a deep breath, pausing for a moment. "I love you. I'm not sure how really...if it's as a best friend, like a brother, or if it's something more than that. But I know I've felt close to you since the day we met in Kindergarten, and the feeling has only gotten stronger since then. There," he smiled, "I said it."
Brian was shocked speechless. It was as if David had stolen the words straight out of his psyche. "So do you mean you're...you know..." he prodded.
"Gay? I don't really know...I can't just come out and say that like you can. I just know I feel things, but I need time to figure out exactly what those feelings are. Does that make any sense?"
"Yeah, of course." He couldn't help but smile, and for one brief, beautiful moment, the death of his father was the furthest thing from his mind. "Just for the record, I love you too."
"Good," he said with a grin. "I guess this saying what we really feel thing was a pretty good idea after all."
"I told you it would be. So now what do we do?"
David shrugged. "I think we should just figure it out as we go along. Who knows where we'll end up right?"
Brian nodded in agreement. "So before we end this cute little Hallmark moment we've been having, is there anything else we want to say?"
"I do have a question...about your dad, if you don't mind me asking."
"Go for it."
"I was just wondering exactly what happened yesterday." David paused for a moment before continuing, unsure if this was a path he should be going down. "You said he had a heart attack, but was he in the car...was your mom with him?"
"That's a memory I'm going to keep to myself for now. I'll tell you the details someday though. Hell," a slight smile crept on to his face, "maybe I'll even write a story about it for you."
The next few days passed in a haze of random relatives, gift baskets, visits from neighbors they didn't even know they had, condolences, floral bouquets, "sorry for your loss" cards, and phone calls from friends who hadn't been around for ages. Everyone wanted to bring over some sort of food, and Mrs. Wilson from across the street even brought over boxes of Slim-Fast, to the amusement of Brian and his mother. They appreciated the gesture, even though it appeared the little old lady was afraid they'd be sitting around the house every day, mourning and getting fat.
All of the outings with his aunts, uncles and grandparents kept Brian's mind off of the impending funeral, but Wednesday afternoon finally came, and facing it was inevitable. He got dressed in the fanciest thing he could dig out of his closet, which basically consisted of a pair of fancy jeans, some not too scuffed up tennis shoes, and a decent button up shirt. Hs uncle told him that he'd be disgracing his father's memory dressing in such a manner, but his mother didn't seem to mind. William Givens had never been the formal type anyway...the plan was to bury him in a pair of blue jeans and a tee shirt bearing the face of Homer Simpson.
The services, which were held inside of a local funeral home, easily drew about one hundred and fifty people. There was the mass of relatives from both sides of the family, friends of his parents, students his father had taught over the years, the principal of his father's high school, fellow teachers...and most importantly, David, his family, and a few other random friends from Brian's school.
The priest got up to speak first, giving the typical speech about how William would be blessed and how the angels of Heaven would welcome him with open arms. Brian spaced out during most of this, staring at his father's open casket from his choice spot in the front row. He was sandwiched between his mother and his aunt, each of them holding one of his hands as the festivities continued.
This is the last time I'm going to get to see my father. After this he'll be nothing but a memory. A picture that I point to in my scrapbook just before I give people the story about how he died when I was a teenager. Who are all these people here? I know maybe twenty of them. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, Mr. Davis, David and his family...how did my dad get to know so many people? What if I didn't really know him as well as I thought I did?
Next up were the eulogies, which were at least slightly less routine than the motions the priest had been through earlier. First up were a couple of the culinary students, followed by his father's sister. Both Brian and his mother had been asked to speak, but chose not to share their feelings with the masses.
I feel like the most popular person in the audience. Out of the hundred and something people sitting in this room, I'm the only son of the deceased. I'm the one that they were all whispering about as I walked in and took my front row seat. I'm the one that his coworkers come up to, eager to shake my hand because "William told us so much about you." Am I everything you expected? Do I have his eyes, his sense of humor, his stellar social skills? Everyone wants to meet me, but where will they be in a week? Where will they be when it's just my mother and I living in a suddenly oversized house? When she's sleeping in a king size bed by herself and the front lawn is overgrown to embarrassing proportions. Will they come see me graduate from high school in four years, or help me with my math homework after I've had a hard day? Will they stick around to see their flower arrangements dry up, or to witness the endless stacks of condolence cards falling from the mantle?
The ceremony came to an end about forty-five minutes after it began, and he still hadn't shed a tear. His family was practically in hysterics around him, boxes upon boxes of tissues being used up and tossed out. Earlier they had sat around and discussed how worried they were about his behavior. "I haven't seen Brian shed a tear in all the days since we've been here! Have you looked into getting the boy counseling Julie?" They thought he couldn't hear them simply because his bedroom door was closed.
As the ceremony came to a close, a line formed to walk past the coffin and out the door, so people could say their final goodbyes. It began with the people in the back of the room, with most just walking by, giving one last glance at the open casket and saying a few parting words. Brian smiled as David passed by, giving him a small wave.
Then it was his turn.
This is the last time I'll ever see my father. This is it.
His feet shuffled up toward the casket, and his eyes gazed upon the man inside. His father lay there, hands folded, eyes closed, his head lying on a pastel, lace colored pillow. His cheeks were a lively, rosy color. He looked like he was sleeping, except slightly different...more still.
He looks so peaceful. Isn't that what people always say?
Brian slowly reached out his hand, placing it on his father's arm. He was surprised by the sensation that ran throughout his palm and fingers. It wasn't like placing his hand on an actual arm, but more like a stone with a cloth over it. He felt stiff. He wasn't sleeping.
Some of the passing friends had given him a kiss on the cheek before they walked out the door, but Brian couldn't get up the nerve to do that. He was afraid the cheek would be like ice. Even keeping his hand on his father's arm for a few moments was a chore he was having a tough time handling.
"I love you dad," he whispered under his breath, just loud enough for the two of them to hear. He turned, pulling his hand away and walking out the exit door, into the bright sunlight that marked the outside. He didn't look back.
By the time next Saturday came some of the flowers had already begun to wilt, and the relatives had gone back to their home states to resume their normal, every day lives. The gift baskets had been picked through and seemed to be sitting in just about every crevice of the household, while the Slim-Fast had run out a few days back. So much for the free food, it looked like even those in mourning had to do their own grocery shopping at some point.
Brian's mother still cried at all points of the day and night, especially now that her friends and family weren't constantly around to distract her from the reality of the situation. She worried about her son's health, asking him why he hadn't cried, if he thought getting some form of grief counseling was a wise idea. He told her he just dealt with things differently than she did, and that a counselor wasn't going to change that fact.
He was beginning to wonder himself why he hadn't shed any tears in the week that had passed. He missed his father terribly, but no matter how much he meditated on the pain, the gates wouldn't open. Maybe his family was right...maybe something was wrong.
The buzzing of the alarm went off promptly at six thirty that Saturday, rousing Brian from his dreamless slumber. He quickly put on a pair of shorts, a tee shirt and some sturdy tennis shoes before making his way outside to the crisp, cool morning air. He took a glance at the overgrown front lawn, where it looked like the green grass and weeds were ready to stage a mutiny. It had gotten completely out of control in the past week.
He walked around to the garage, pulling the lawnmower from it's resting spot and dragging it to the edge of the miniature forest that was growing in front of the house. He was ready for battle.
"Alright, I've just got to start this thing."
He leaned over, grabbing the end of the pull string that needed to be yanked to get the motor started. He wrapped his hand around it and pulled, causing a short chug to come from somewhere inside the mower. It didn't start. He pulled again, putting more strength into it, but he was greeted with the same small chug.
"Come on, don't do this to me. Start goddammit."
He tried again. The chug got a little louder this time, but still died before the loud roar of the blades began.
"Come on! Start, fucker!" He yelled, pulling it one last time, only to be greeted with the same sound of defeat.
"God..." he sat down in the overgrown patch of grass, burying his head in his hands. His face felt flushed, his ears unnaturally warm.
"Why can't I do this? Why can't I do this?" He pressed his hands against his face, feeling the familiar lump in his throat that had been plaguing him for the past week. He had held it back at the hospital, through the reminiscing sessions with the family, and even through the funeral. But this time something happened. The tears welled up in his eyes, spilling down his face and hands as he sat there, trembling on the lawn.
"I can't do this dad. I can't do this without you." A wave of relief washed over him as his vision clouded up, the lump in his throat nearly choking him. "I miss you so much. How am I supposed to do this?"
"I don't know how to be strong. I don't know how to make you proud of me. I'm so scared that I'm not going to live my life how you thought I should."
He laid down in the grass, letting the tears pour until there was simply nothing left to come out of him. The questions and fears continued to come from his lips, even though he knew there would be no response to any of them. Soon he was resting in complete silence.
His hands moved back to his face, wiping away tears as he stood up and leaned once again over the lawnmower.
"I can do this," he muttered to himself, closing his eyes as he wrapped his fingers around the pull cord. "I don't know how, but I'm going to do this."
He yanked his arm back, hearing the same chug that had escaped from the motor earlier. But this time it was followed by another noise. Something louder.
WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
A smile lit up across his face as he let out a long, deep sigh of relief. The damn thing had actually started. He pushed the mower into the overgrown tumble of greenery, the blades chopping in a perfectly straight line, back and forth across the lawn. Then he did another one, exactly parallel to the first.
He wiped his hands across his face one more time, making sure all of the dried tears had disappeared. He focused on the task in front of him, being extra cautious about creating a straight, even line with each push of the mower.
"I guess I'll just make it up as I go along," he whispered, nodding his head. The smile wouldn't leave his lips as the sun began to rise over the mountains behind him.