Rip - Becoming Whole

Being Sorry is No Darn Use to Anyone

"What are you doing up here? Did you even have breakfast?" Robert asked Rip who was sitting behind his laptop, at the small kitchen table that was pushed against the wall in their shared apartment space. "I have a book report due Monday", Rip replied not looking at the man who had come up to check on him.

"You know he's waiting for you. That book report can wait. Don't make him come up here. You'll only make it worse for yourself! You want me to go with you", he offered and paused for a minute, but then left again when Rip just shook his head without even looking at him.

Rip knew well enough he should go downstairs and face the wrath of his uncle but just couldn't bring himself to get up. So he kept delaying, making excuses in his head, rereading what he had already re-written again and again, postponing the inevitable.

Eventually the door spun open and his uncle marched in, filling out the narrow space between the galley kitchen under the stairs and the wall with his wardrobe like frame. Rip's heart sank, as did his head onto his forearms which were resting in front of him on the table. He had left it too late.

He expected to feel the grip of his uncle's hand in his hair or on his ear, or the back of his neck, but the man just sat himself down beside him.

"You are in a whole lot of trouble, son, you know that, don't you?" his uncle asked him quietly with his deep and raspy voice. He could hear him breathing deeply, straining to stay calm. The boy nodded into his arms, not daring to lift his head he whispered, "Yes sir!" and then added, "I am sorry, Papa!"

His uncle sighed. "You're sorry. That's all I get from you these days. Your sorry is no darn use to anyone, boy. Do you even have the faintest idea of how much damage you caused last night?" he asked, disappointment in his tone of voice. The boy shook his head, still not lifting it off his arms and wondering how long his uncle would let him get away with this.

"I am sorry", he said again, "I wasn't thinking straight Papa, I was drunk!" he offered as an excuse, but this seemed to make the old man just more frustrated. "Drunk!? Seriously Rip!? You of all people should know that this is not an excuse for anything!" he gave out to him.

Rip started to feel the heat built up inside his guts, and tears started to form in his eyes. It was a question he had been asking himself. Was it an excuse? Why not? Not in a million years would he have gotten into the stolen car with his friends. Not in a million years would he have kept laughing when his friend who was driving, entered into a stop and go game with the good natured Donie, when he tried to approach their vehicle after he got them to pull over. Not in a million years would he have kept laughing right up until the moment they hit the tree, when Donie for a second time tried to get them to slow down and pull over. And not in a million years would he have lashed out at Donie, who he knew and liked because of his friendship to his uncle, had it not been for being drunk and stoned, he told himself.

"Rip, do you like it here?" his uncle asked him calmly. The question hurt like a hot poker on his skin making his guts turn inside out. He felt instantly nauseous as his blood started to boil with anger and hurt.

Rip slightly moved his head up so that instead of his forehead his mouth, that felt as dry as if it was lined with sandpaper inside was now resting on his forearms, before sitting up straight altogether and looking directly at his uncle with hateful eyes. "Yes, Mr Dutton. I do like it here!" he replied speaking slowly and pronouncing every syllable clearly.

His uncle matched his anger and tone, "Mr Dutton?! Do you want a slap, try that again, I dare you!" his uncle hissed back at him and as if to confirm the possibility he brought his right hand up letting it hover just above his left shoulder.

Although not unimpressed by his uncle's gesture, Rip was not prepared to let this go. He knew he was pushing things way past their boundaries, but he was sick of the constant implied threads his uncle made. At this stage, his head had started to want to believe that he could trust him, that he wouldn't hurt him again and he wouldn't send him away either, but his gut feeling wasn't quite there yet, and he felt his uncle knew this and was taking advantage of his fear. It hurt every time he made a similar insinuation and Rip fell into the trap each time without fail, fearfully asking him if he was going to be sent away, or pleading with him to let him stay, to which the old man then always replied he would never send him back, that he loved him and regarded him a son, no matter what he did. So why then was he always using his fear to get him to cooperate, it was not fair, and it hurt, he had wanted to challenge his uncle on this for some time now, he wanted a clear answer and was ready for it so here it was.

"Why? Did you not just ask me if I like it here, to point out that I can leave anytime I want to, and that it doesn't matter to you either way if I do. Did you not just remind me that if I want to stay, I have to obey you no matter what? And that if I don't, you can send me away anytime you feel like it. In a passive aggressive, like it or lump it, sort of a way? Would you ask me that question if you truly thought of me as your son?" he hissed.

He had expected to stun his uncle with what he had said, but no such luck. The old man's answer came like bullets fired out of a gun. "Passive aggressive? For god sake Rip, where do you even get those darn terms from. No, I was not saying anything of the sort", he said raising his voice but then managed to calm himself down a bit, "Sending you away?" he said in a sarcastic tone. "I fear them taking you away from me, son. Have you even stopped for a moment and thought about what would have happened had it not been Donie yesterday, who came across you guys?... Yeah, that's right, that wipes that cockiness off your face doesn't it. Any other cop wouldn't have bothered bringing you home to me at that time of the night. You would have spent the night sobering up in a cell and we all know what that is like for you, don't we, Rip? They wouldn't have given a rat's arse if your man pressed charges or not. I reckon I can bail you out and stop you from ending up in front of a judge most of the times but you are still a minor for another three years, and for that time being I still have to answer to social workers, who are a completely different kettle of fish. They expect me to stop this shit from happening in the first place. I am charged with keeping you safe, goddammit but I can't do that, when you sneak out in the middle of the night, and get drunk and act like a complete moron, that's on you. I can't protect you out there, but I can up here, and I intend to do just that, if you let me that is. So I ask you again, do you like it here, Rip, because if the answer is No, I might as well not bother, and we just keep plodding along until some cop or some social worker comes along and carts you away."

He paused waiting for Rip to say something who had bowed his head in shame, but who wasn't volunteering anything. "Well? Answer me boy, and this time think sharply how you are going to address me!" he barked at him.

"Yes, Papa, I do like it here. I am sorry.", the boy said quietly his voice quivering, defeated yet again. The man had a way of arguing that could convince anyone he was right no matter how wrong it felt. 

"Right then, so this is what is going to happen next. On Monday morning, you get up with Robert and me. We have breakfast together and you do your chores, before I bring you to school. In the afternoon, I collect you. When you get home you do proper work up here on the ranch until you paid me back the money that I am about to pay out to keep you and your buddies out of prison, bearing in mind that depending on the car that you jackasses totalled this could be months or even years. You do your homework after dinner and go to bed early. And that's going to be your life from now on until I tell you otherwise. For now, you do not leave this ranch without my say so, and every evening you bring me your shoes. Your nights of climbing down those trellis out there are over, son. Unless of course you don't like it here, in which case I don't bail you out and we can let a judge and some social worker decide your faith."

He paused again, giving Rip a chance to process what he just said before adding, "Look at me, Rip. Do you agree to those terms?" he barked.

The boy lifted his head and looked at his uncle. He had hoped to detect some wriggle room, some space to negotiate the terms in the man's eyes but he knew when his uncle meant business and when he had to concede defeat. "Yes, sir", he said quietly before placing his head on his arms again in resignation, after which Mr Dutton got up and walked out, leaving the boy hanging in his own thoughts.