Rip - Becoming Whole

It's worth a shot, I suppose

After Jacob's Goodbye, Rip would have preferred to spend the rest of the day alone in his room, he didn't feel 'sociable', but Mr Dutton insisted for the boy to join them downstairs for lunch. Bernard of course served stew. 'What else?' thought Rip.

"I am not hungry," Rip protested when he saw the bowl on the table, but as usual Mr Dutton was having none of it and when Rip wouldn't ladle himself some into his bowl, Mr Dutton did it for him. Rip just sat there, hands in his lap and looking at the food in front of him. "Eat Rip," Mr Dutton said sternly, "it's only a small amount for god sake!" But the boy did not move, he was glaring at the food in front of him trying not to remember how the stew had run down the walls after his father had fired the pot across their kitchen. "I'm not eating this shit, and you can't make me," he snapped, got up off his chair and made for the front door as quickly as he could without running.

Mr Dutton sighed, "Christ, every time the same, one step forward, two steps back, as if he is trying to punish me for getting too close," Mr Dutton said, exasperated. He threw the napkin he had lifted of his lap onto the table beside his plate as he was motioning to go after the boy. Robert however, gestured for him to wait. "He's not punishing you. He's punishing himself for letting you get too close. Leave him be. Give him a minute. I think he is taking Jacob's leaving pretty hard." The father looked at his son with respect and quietly nodded.

Mr Dutton finished his own food and waited all but another ten minutes before he went looking for Rip. He found him, sitting with his back against the wall, knees pulled up and arms around his legs, hiding in an empty horse stall in one of the stables.

"What was all that about?" Mr Dutton asked Rip, as he looked down at the brooding boy. Rip looked up at him and when he saw his uncle's soft eyes his demeanour changed a little. He was surprised. He had expected to be in real trouble, and not just because of how he spoke to his uncle at the dinner table.

"You know I hate stew. It makes me want to puke", he said quietly. "Oh, come on. It's not that bad. I only gave you a tiny amount. You can't always get what you want," Mr Dutton countered somewhat impatiently. Rip looked up at his uncle challengingly, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips, but decided not to even acknowledge what his uncle had said with a reply. 'Was he really suggesting he was a spoilt brat? Seriously?' He wanted to walk away but Mr Dutton blocked the only exit, leaning across the bottom half of the closed door into the stall, so he stayed sitting down but hid his face in the gap between his knees and his chest.

Mr Dutton instructed the boy to get up and go back into the house. He waited for him to respond but Rip chose to ignore him, so that eventually the old man opened the stall door and walked into it, pulling the boy up into a standing position by his bicep. The boy's uncooperative stance was making him mad and he had to stop himself from pulling Rip up by the ear. He had expected Rip to fight back or mouth off at least a little, but Rip obediently came along, head bowed down and without protest. Mr Dutton walked him all the way back to the house and to their dinner table, where he pulled out Rip's chair and only let go of the boy's arm as he sat him down in front of his, at this stage, cold dinner.

"You're not to get up until you've eaten this", he told the boy and walked away. With tears in his eyes and listening to his mother's wails and brother's screams, Rip ate the few spoonsful of stew in his bowl. It was at least an hour later when Mr Dutton checked on him and found him still sitting in front of the empty plate, cheeks stained with dried up tears, and staring towards the mountains in the distance through the window opposite him.

"Rip, are you alright?" Mr Dutton asked, pulling the boy out of his daydream. Rip just looked at him blankly at first and then said "Yes. Sorry, Papa, I was miles away. Can I go back to bed? I feel a bit funny", Rip asked. "Of course, you can son. I'll check on you later", Mr Dutton told him and then watched uneasily as Rip walked up the stairs to his bedroom. He sighed. It wasn't the first time that he had found him like this, dazed and in his own world, with red eyes and obvious signs that he had been crying. He didn't like it. He was wondering if he preferred the angry Rip. He remembered that he had meant to ring Samuel about a therapist. He had pushed the idea of it to the back of his mind as soon as Rip had gotten him to agree to go as well. He wished he hadn't. He was glad when he heard the boy's guitar playing coming from his bedroom a few minutes later.