Fragments (20 page)

A: Okay, thanks.

I placed my phone on my bedside table and got into bed. Tomorrow was going to be a terrible day. I knew that he harboured a lot of resentment towards his father, and I only hoped it wasn’t eating away at him.

“
Zero
”

Smashing Pumpkins

Alex

              The occasional sniffle distracted me from the casket. Why were people so sad? Didn't they realise what a worthless arsehole he was? My collar felt tight; was it hot in here? Pulling on my collar, I shook my head and rolled back my shoulders. I couldn’t seem to sit still. This suit made me feel imprisoned, like I was in a cage. With beads of sweat pouring down my back, I couldn’t wait until we got home so I could rip this fuckin’ monkey suit off.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to hone in my tension before my mother noticed. Not like she’d care too much, anyway; I’m sure the Valium that the doctor gave her to calm down had her seeing clouds in the church. After another exhale, I looked towards the front again and stared numbly at the casket adorned with flowers; a colourful assortment of lilies, fuchsias, and gerberas. All much too colourful for what he deserved. I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts before I uttered them aloud.
I’ve been quiet about him for this long; what’s another half an hour?

My mother sat by me, clutching one of my hands in hers, plus my sister’s hand on her other side. Lily rarely came home. It surprised me that she even came here, but when I looked over the top of Mum's head at her, I was surprised once more to see her expression as tears rolled down her cheeks. The fuck? Did she not remember anything? I quietly grunted and turned away. This show of emotion was testing my nerves. Part of me wondered for a moment if it was all an act, if she wanted the world to think she gave a shit, but the sincere look in her eyes told me it was real. Yep, I was being an arsehole. I was the only emotionless git here and I was his son. 

My mother had asked me to say a few words but I’d refused. There was no way that I could speak today without launching into a tirade so bitter and full of hatred that these parishioners would gasp, a confession where my mother's dismissal of me would show even more. Nope, into the facade I go. Instead, my uncle offered to speak, which was fuckin’ fine by me. Poor Uncle Brad had lost his drinking buddy.

While Uncle Brad began talking about what a kind and loving father Dad was, I couldn't help but stiffen. I tried not to dredge up any memories, but I felt the anger curling itself around me. My mother squeezed my hand, and I realised I'd clutched onto hers. I unclasped it quickly and brought my own hands back to me, folding them into my lap. As Brad talked about Dad as a kid, I couldn’t help but remember the family holidays we would go on when I was a child. How Dad would take us to a beach somewhere every holiday and we would practise throwing and kicking the football to each other. How each holiday would start so well, with Dad being happy, and then after a drink, he’d turn into the bastard who couldn’t be tamed.

Anytime I thought of the beach, I remembered being disappointed. How could something so beautiful and calm on the surface, have the capacity to sweep your legs away from underneath you? Had Dad ever loved us? I was sure he had. Had he ever felt guilt? Of course. But did I want to foster a bond with him now that it was too late? Not a chance. No guilt there. This, “
piece of shit”,
according to him, was moving on.

I’d stopped listening to Brad’s bullshit eulogy after phrases including “doting husband” and “loving father” attacked my ears. His Google search for eulogies had sure paid off.

I began counting the petals on the casket. Anything to distract me from the web of lies our father had managed to weave around our community. I thought the anger I felt would disappear, but it hadn't. Words left unsaid, forgiveness never uttered left blowing in the wind, out of my grasp.

While I continued counting the petals, I subconsciously picked up on my and my sister's name, causing me to flinch each and every time. It spurred me on to deepen my concentration on the petals and my resolve to not shed one tear. Who knew what memories Lily was thinking about? I didn’t want to be inside her mind right now. I had enough going on in my own.

Once the eulogy was complete, my uncle left the podium to sit down. The congregation was silent while they took a moment and the soft piano chords of Eric Clapton’s
“Tears in Heaven” began to play. My resolve to stay calm was instantly threatened. Why did Mum choose a song about a father mourning the accidental loss of his son for a piece-of-shit drunk who beat up his family? My need to count petals was outweighed by the anger that I felt. What type of son was I?

As the service concluded, the priest told the congregation to offer their condolences at the cemetery. We stood and robotically made our way to the hearse, and a cold drive to the cemetery took place. Thoughts of what I should have, could have said ran through my head on repeat, trapping me in my guilt. Was it obvious that I wasn’t sad? Did I need to cry?

Remorse swirled in my mind while the rest of the service took place. Luckily, the conclusion to the service was short. We buried him in a grave near a tranquil hill, which seemed ironic, considering how much noise he’d made in our lives. Watching his casket descend, I couldn’t help but berate him in my mind. Flashes of his temper continued to assault me. Him kicking me in the ribs. The coffin descended one inch. His punch assaulting my face. Two inches. His grip, choking me. Three inches. Once the coffin had reached the bottom, I stood quickly to check that he was there. To check that the coffin would remain sealed shut and that he would never, ever come for me again.   

The parishioners began to stand and come towards us to offer condolences. I felt too stiff to acknowledge them so I nodded, unclenched my fists, and shook hands while remaining seated. I could barely make eye contact. My mother's sobs began to deepen and while the right thing to do would have been to put my arm around her, I couldn't. I felt trapped, like a caged animal. 

One by one, more people offered their condolences, and I realised that living away for almost two years had shown that not much had changed. I was at war with myself. I took a moment to run my hands through my hair, begging for this moment to end. The sooner we got through the crowd, the sooner we could go. I needed to go for a run or something to calm the fuck down. 

Finally, my heart began to unfreeze when the Vera family came closer. I stood for them only. Robbie embraced me in a tight bro-hug and a wordless slap to the back, followed by a solid handshake from his father. Felicia, though, pulled me to her chest in a nurturing hug. Our unspoken conversation of
"Are you all right?" "No, I'm fucking not"
was held in our embrace.

She stepped to the side and I looked up to see Bea standing there. My breath momentarily caught in my throat—it had been a while since I’d seen her, and she was still living up to her nickname. 

A sense of calm began to drift down my spine as I stared at her. Bea stepped forward and as she went to shake my hand, I pulled her tear-stained cheeks towards me and clutched her close. She gasped rubbing my back in soothing circular motions. I was instantly the calmest that I had been for a long time. Against me, we were bound by this moment. Her lips grazed my cheek towards my ear and I heard a gentle, “I'm so sorry Alex."

I closed my eyes and held her closer. Those four words broke me. She was sorry, and it rendered my heart in jagged pieces. I whispered, "Thank you for being here." My voice was barely recognisable as it broke with emotion.

I let her go and watched her walk away. I was aware of other people standing there, but I wanted to hold onto this feeling of calm—I knew that as soon as I was home, I would feel anything but.

My mother sniffed next to me, and I was drawn back into the present. As the congregation continued to offer their condolences, I felt less angry. I shook hands and received kisses on my cheeks, while managing to not clench my fists. Before too long, we were on our way home. 

*              *              *              *              *

I clasped Lily’s hand as we made our way to the front door. She had barely spoken about Dad’s death, but her hand squeezed mine tightly.  We followed Mum in and stopped dead in our tracks. Every photo or memory was out for all to see. She’d opened up all her photo albums and had scattered them around the lounge and dining room in an eerie tribute to Dad.  Wherever I looked, his malevolent face grinned back at me.

“What the fuck is going on?” I gestured at the room. “You out of your fucking mind?”

My mother sobbed as she clasped their wedding photo to her chest.

“He was all I had. I need to remember the good times.” She gazed down, staining the photo in her hands.

Next to me, Lily turned into my side and wrapped her arms around me. “No,” she sobbed, “I can’t deal with this, Alex. I can’t see his face.”

I pulled Lily to my room and away from our mother. She had chosen to turn the house into a museum of the dead.

“Alex.” Lily’s eyes were pained as she glanced up at me. “I don’t want to remember him. How can she forget? I just ... want it all gone.”

“She was never there when he hurt us, Lily. She huddled in the corner and lived in her little world of denial.” I held her close and rubbed up and down her back. The door burst open and in came our mother, carrying another image.

“Oh, look!” She smiled, actually
smiled
, “Here’s a photo of your father and I when we were

dating. Look how carefree we look there. He was rescuing injured native animals and bringing them into the vet. It was so romantic!” 

My grip tightened on Lily. I could barely look at my mother. The husband she described seemed so distant from the father we knew. Part of me wondered if it was the grief talking, or if the story was even real.

“He was a wonderful man,” she gushed as she left my room.

“Fuck, she has lost it,” I mumbled. “
Wonderful man?
Is she talking about someone else?”

“I think that I’ll be hiding in my room until we leave, Al. Or I’ll set all those photos on fire,” Lily whispered.  She was not wrong.

She left for her room, leaving me to tear my suit off. Seeing all those photos in our living room made my collar feel tighter. Tearing off the suit, I felt the air enter my lungs again.

I was still tense; I needed to go for a run or something. Clenching my eyes shut, I blocked out his face. Why was I not sad? My breathing began to escalate so I dug around my drawers until I found something to run in. After finding a pair of shorts and an old T-shirt, I threw them on, tied up my laces on my Vans, and headed to the door, clutching my MP3 player. Lily was by the kitchen bench, making a cup of tea while texting on her phone. She looked up and saw me, offering me a weak grimace. I walked up to her, and instantly, she folded herself into my arms again. We had lost so much time together. She’d left for university and barely came to visit. We stood there for a moment, leaning into each other before I stepped back and patted her shoulder, turning towards the door. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I just needed to get the fuck out of here. I needed … Bea. 

Shaking my head, I plugged my MP3 player into my ears and ran until my lungs couldn’t take anymore. Anything to feel something other than anger. The pain was welcome as it gave me something else to focus on.  I leant against the large gum tree and looked out to the river. Before I could stop myself, I was drawn back to a memory of when I was younger.

“
Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he yelled. “You can’t get away from me, you little shit; the river is in the way.”

Panicked, I looked behind me and he was right. He was going to get me again. All because I accidentally dropped his beer bottle and refused to get him another one because he was already wasted.

His steps gained on me as I continued running towards the river, and I was winded from the stress. I felt scared, weak, and helpless. As he continued to get closer, I made a gut decision to jump into the river and start swimming for the other side. I’d been swimming in this river since I was a kid, and I didn’t look behind me as I dove in and glided under the water until my lungs could no longer take it. I’d gotten good at holding my breath while under. Waterlogged tree trunks were protruding up, so I held onto one and I hoped he had given up and turned away. I didn’t have the energy to swim back from the other side. I waited a moment longer and then slowly broke through the surface. He stumbled away, clearly bored by the chase. I trod water for a moment longer before swimming back to the shoreline. Sitting on the bank, I put my head on my knees and cried. 

Shaking those thoughts away, I tilted my head back and head butted the tree to rid myself of the memories.
He’s gone now
, I told myself.
But why am I still frightened?
Disappointment filled my mind as I considered that even though I had started defending myself, I’d never been able to stop him properly. I needed to get back to Melbourne before I really lost my shit. 

Later that night, as I lay on my bed with my arms behind my head, rain was lightly falling against the windowpane and my foot tapped with the beat of the raindrops. I was restless, and I needed to get out. I picked up my phone and before I could stop myself, began texting the one person who I knew could centre my tension. I was momentarily afraid that she would ignore me because I’d been such a dick, but I hoped that after today she wouldn’t. I was an arsehole, I knew that, but I needed her.