Twenty-Three
Twenty-Three
On the day of Thomas’s father’s funeral, my stomach is in knots, and I can’t stop chewing on my lip.
I want to ask Thomas how he’s doing, but it’s obvious that he’s not okay.
I want to ask him if he needs something, anything, but I’m afraid he won’t answer me.
Ever since he walked out of that hospital room, he’s been cold toward me.
“This is all wrong,” he told me, and the words haven’t stopped echoing in my head ever since.
He never brought it up again. I tried, but Thomas wouldn’t allow it.
He barely acknowledges me now. And sometimes, I even get the feeling that he’s irritated by my presence.
I spent the last two days with Leila and Lauren, while Thomas was always out who knows where and doing who knows what.
I talked with his mother and sister, and did my best to help them with the arrangements.
Lauren also finally confided in Leila and me.
She told me that, after her children left, she contacted them as seldom as possible to make sure that they didn’t try to return to their hellish home.
She always tried to soothe Leila with lies, saying that her husband had stopped raising his hand to her in the hopes of giving her daughter the chance to start a new life in Corvallis.
To let her be free the way that Lauren had never been.
It was only when her husband got sick that she gave in to her desperate desire to see her children again.
She asked Robert to intercede and convince them to come back with yet another lie.
But I can’t find it in my heart to condemn her; the suffering she’s experienced is too vast, too horrendous.
She did what she thought was right. She told me about her depressive episodes and about having found the strength to heal in the love she had for her children.
And I know that she and Leila are going to do a lot of rebuilding now. Because they both care.
Although none of us particularly felt like going, Lauren asked us to attend the funeral. She doesn’t want to attract attention and cause weird rumors to spread. Leila and I agreed to the charade because now Lauren really does have a chance to start over, free from that monster.
***
When we arrive in front of the church, Thomas refuses to go inside.
I don’t press him about it. I don’t know where he hides out during the service, but I get a pretty good idea when he comes to the burial in the cemetery.
He shows up dead drunk, face twisted into an angry expression and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in one hand.
His misery has transmuted into rage, and anyone can see in his eyes that it’s hurting him.
I break away from Leila and her mother before they spot Thomas and go over to him. “What are you doing here? I thought you decided not to come,” I whisper once I’m standing in front of him.
Thomas runs a hand through his disheveled hair, swallowing. “Before they put him in that hole next to his son, thought I ought to give him a noteworthy send-off… You know, for the last time,” he says sarcastically, raising his chin and swaying.
He tries to get past me, but I block him, putting my hands against his chest. He gives me a spiteful look.
“You can’t even stand up straight… I don’t think this is a good idea.”
He emits a defiant snort. “You think you can stop me?” He uncorks the bottle with slow, clumsy movements, attracting the attention of some of the other people present.
“How rude.”
“He showed up drunk to his father’s funeral?”
“So disrespectful.”
“He’s always been a lowlife.”
I can hear them whispering behind us. I try to stay calm because it seems like the only sensible thing to do.
“There are a lot of people here, okay? Your mother and your sister are here…and it is still a funeral, Thomas. You don’t want to embarrass them in front of everyone like this.
I know you don’t want that. I get what you’re feeling, trust me; I’m not trying to belittle it.
I’m just trying to keep you from making a mistake. ”
He sneers derisively at me again and takes another drink. “You should really stop.”
“Stop what?” I ask, confused.
He gives me a scornful stare as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Stop thinking that I’m going to listen to what you say just because you’re the one saying it.” He grabs the neck of the bottle and pushes it into my chest, forcing me to fall back. “Your words don’t mean shit to me.”
He shoulders past me carelessly, leaving me staring speechless into the distance at the cars parked around the entrance to the cemetery.
I am hurt, of course, but what’s even sadder is that I’m learning to get used to this feeling.
Because this is the version of Thomas that I’ve been dealing with ever since the night his father died.
When I turn, I see him heading right for the circle of people around the closed coffin.
I immediately spot alarm in his mother’s and sister’s eyes when they see that he’s arrived.
They both attempt to hold him back, but he dodges them.
I run to help them, but all that does is inflame Thomas’s anger further.
Thomas, under the indignant eyes of all those present, launches into a rant, dredging up every horrible thing his father inflicted upon him and the rest of his family.
He vents his fury at how his father had the pure dumb luck to leave this earth without ever paying for a single one of his sins.
I helplessly watch him pour what remains of the bottle onto the coffin, amidst the shouts and protests of the assembled mourners.
It’s only then that his uncle Robert grabs him, trapping his arms against his body and physically dragging him away, though not without considerable effort.
He takes him all the way back to the car, and I follow in total silence, Leila and Lauren sobbing behind us.
I’m so incredibly ashamed of what he’s just done, but I also feel deeply sorry for Thomas.
Rob manages to wrestle the car keys away from Thomas. “I think it’s time for you to go home,” he suggests after shutting his nephew into the passenger seat. I nod, red in the face, my eyes still glittering as I grab the door handle of the SUV with a trembling hand.
“I–I’m so s-sorry…”
“Don’t be sorry. He’s going through a hard time…
And we’re in no position to judge him.” He tugs on the knot of his tie, loosening it.
“Now more than ever, he needs someone to be with him. I’m sure that once he gets back home, away from this place, he’ll get better.
” He shoots a sympathetic look through the window at Thomas, who has closed his eyes and is resting his head against the glass.
I can see the anguish on Robert’s face, but I need to believe that he’s right.
I need to believe that everything will be back to normal soon.
And that Thomas will turn back into my Thomas.
Moody and irascible, yes, but also caring and sweet in his own way, and then this version of him will just be a distant bad memory.
***
I drive south for almost two hours in total silence, with Thomas collapsed in the seat next to me.
It’s late by the time we get to campus, so after cutting the engine and taking the keys out of the ignition, I jingle them slightly.
“Do you…do you want to stay at my place?” I venture as his eyelids slowly open.
I would imagine that after a day like this, it would be better for him to have someone by his side.
Someone to hold him, to fall asleep with, someone who can take care of him.
And I don’t care about what happened at the funeral or that he hasn’t spoken to me.
The only thing I care about is him. I don’t want to leave him alone right now.
Thomas, apparently, does not feel the same way because he hisses an emphatic, “No.” He gets out of the car with difficulty, clinging to the door.
He wobbles, and as he attempts to get his cigarettes out of the back pocket of his jeans, the pack falls to the ground.
He bends over to pick it up but almost tumbles over onto the asphalt.
Feeling bitter, I immediately get out of the car and pick it up for him. “Here, take it.” I put the pack in the palm of his hand. “Lean on me; I’ll get you home. Where would you rather go? The dorm or the frat house?” I ask him softly, looping an arm around his waist to support him.
But he jerks away from me, irritated. “Go home. You’ve got better things to do; don’t waste your time with this bullshit.”
Disappointment makes my voice break as I mutter, “You…you’re not bullshit.” How can he even think that?
“Well, that says a lot about your judgment.” I can hear the thread of mockery in his voice. In fact, I’m sure that’s exactly what he intends. He wants to taunt me. Ridicule my concern for him to make me feel stupid.
“Don’t do that. Don’t talk to me like I’m dumb. You’re in pain…and I…I just want to be near you. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
He shakes his head as if trying to belittle my words, as if they mean less than nothing to him. And then, without saying anything, he waves me away and leaves me standing there watching him swaying as he goes.
***
I don’t hear from him the next day. I call him in the morning when I don’t see him in class.
No answer. At lunch, he isn’t in the cafeteria.
By afternoon, his prolonged absence is really starting to worry me.
But, in the end, I tell myself that he just needs more time.
He needs time alone to digest all the horrific things that have happened.