Standing By

"Independence Day"

(Chance)

Exhausted beyond belief, I took one look at the bed I was using and flopped down in it.  The Morrises were being beyond kind, opening their house to Tim, to us, feeding us, just being there for Tim.  They were such good people.  Laying in the bed, I wondered if they'd accept monetary repayment. They'd already asked us what we wanted for breakfast tomorrow.  Tim had requested bacon and Austin had requested coffee and 'something sweet'.  I'd asked for toast and jelly with butter.  Mom had always done toast and jelly with butter for Dad, way back when I was growing up.  An ache in my heart, I flipped over onto my stomach.  Dad.  I never stopped missing him; don't know if I ever would.  He was burned on my heart as permanently as the ink of the tattoos on my skin.  I wondered what Dad would have to say about Tim, about his situation.  He'd always told me that, once I found the woman I loved and married, to give the marriage all I've got, to love her and to put her love and the relationship above all else.  To do everything I can to make it work.  But, Dad—what's the limit?  How much can—should—a man take from the woman?  For all practical purposes, it was verbal abuse she was dishing at him—verbal and emotional, forcing him to choose between longtime dreams and her.  Only giving love under her conditions.  No one should be forced to 'try to work things out' with an abusive spouse.  Much like—like I'd been taken away from my home, after my suicide attempt, after my surgery, after my family had stepped out when the psychiatrist had come in.  She'd introduced herself and sat down, made small talk, talking to me, trying to gain my trust, to get me to open up to her...

    "Adam," she said softly.  "Why?  Help me to understand, please.  Why do you want to die?"

    I rolled over to my side, away from her, still trying to keep it all inside, still trying to hide in myself. And clearly, I couldn't deny it.  I grunted a, " 'Cuz."

    Dr. Glass stood up and moved over to the side of my bed where I was trying to avoid her gaze.  "I know this is hard for you.  You try to avoid the pain you're feeling."

    "Well, wouldn't you?" I snapped, rolling over to the other side.

    "What would happen if you let yourself feel?" she asked, finally just allowing me to turn my back to her.

    I just shrugged, wishing she'd go away and leave me alone.

    "So let me in.  Let me help you with your burdens.  No one person is designed to carry and tolerate as much pain as you're trying to hold close.  Don't you want to take off some of the pain?"

    I couldn't.  It was all shoved inside me deep, too deep to peel off.

    "Adam, I know your dad and mom split," Dr. Glass said.

    "Yep," I said, gazing out the window at the Alabama sky, heavy with clouds.

    "How'd that make you feel, Adam?"

    I shrugged.  "I dunno."

    "Are you still in contact with your dad?"

    "Every other weekend," I muttered, sighing.

    "Do you like spending time with him?"

    "Uh-huh."  I adjusted my bandages, holding my hands, my wounded wrists, close to my body.

    "What do you do together?" Dr. Glass asked me.

    "Last time we went fishing," I said, wishing I was out on the lake with Dad catching fish right now.  "Time before that, we went bowling."  I smiled at the memory.  I'd actually beaten him and he really played it up for me, acting like he was so disappointed that he'd lost because I was "such a good bowler."  He knew how to build me up when nobody else did.  I felt my eyes start to sting. God.  Why wouldn't I live with him instead of with Mom and Jack?  I bit my lip.  Don't lose it, don't lose it, Adam, you  can't.