else is too
painful: a constant reminder that I acknowledge his despair yet am unable to
remedy it. I try to detach myself completely, but I can’t forget the joy he is
capable of spreading. I love the part of him I grew up with that cherished and
supported me as a child, and took me on those imaginative adventures. More and
more, the drugs are ripping him apart, leaving a belligerent husk and
destroying the man I once revered. It’s almost too much to bear. Once the
father I love in my heart is gone, I’ll have no choice but to renounce my
paternal ties. Anything less would be detrimental to my own self-esteem and
future success.”
Following this revelation, Tate buries
his head in his hands and releases a bellowing sigh. The tension leaks out of
his pores as he lets go of the crushing burden he has been charged with.
Slowly, he raises his piercing eyes to mine, laden with expectancy.
“I don’t know what to say,” I stammer.
“Tate, no one deserves to go through that. I am so sorry, but I am here to help
you in any way. Let me lighten your load. I can handle it.”
I cross the space between us and secure
him against my chest, murmuring condolences into his cropped hair. After a long
period huddled together, the rain stops and we cautiously step outside the
cave. Before another torrent hits, we gather our belongings and hike back home
with heavy heads but lighter hearts.
Chapter 12
The rest of the evening passes rather
uneventfully. We all sit down for another meal of vibrant fruits, abrasive
clumps of grain, and limp vegetables. I am distracted the entire time, thinking
of the words exchanged between Tate and I in the cavern. Glancing across the
table, he seems so relaxed and effervescent. It is hard to believe that this
overly vivacious exterior is a façade, constructed to protect a vulnerable
individual that has been exposed to untold abuse and experienced crippling
emotional pains.
“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” my
mother inquires from my right. A concerned expression clouds her face, and she
reaches for my balled fist.
“Yeah. I’m just not that hungry,” I
respond with a weak assurance. “It has been a long day and I just want to sleep
it off.”
“Okay. Your father and I can do the
dishes if you want to head off to bed,” she offers.
“That would be great, mom. I think I just
need to recuperate from spending the afternoon in the rain. I’m sorry I can’t
be more helpful.”
“Nonsense. You just rest up and we will
see you in the morning.”
With this, I push back from the low table
and mumble a few hurried goodnights to the rest of the group. In a daze, I
tentatively ascend the spiraling staircase as conflicting thoughts swirl in my head.
How could I know so much about Tate and
yet be so blind as to the demons that plague him? How could we be such close
friends and yet it took him until now to trust me with this knowledge? What is
it like to be so tormented by the cyclical patterns of a belligerent addict?
What can I do to help him?
I finally make it to the bedroom at the
end of the tapering hall, and I prepare myself for slumber quickly before the
rest of the household retires. As I draw the scrappily patched comforter over
my gaunt shoulders, my mind hurtles at a breakneck pace through various plans
to assist Tate in carrying this crushing burden. Blowing out the flickering
candle with a sharp exhalation, I roll over to face the peeling wall.
Sleep eludes me as I grapple with this
disturbing information about my companion. After a few hours, I hear him
clamber into the top bunk and his breathing slows as he drifts to sleep.
Listening to his gentle snoring, I can’t help but speculate about the dreams
his unconscious is creating, fleshing them out with magnificent creatures and
splendid scenery.
When I finally awaken the next morning,
the sun is aloft in the pristine blue sky. Meadowlarks chirp in joy beyond the
puckered curtains, still drawn tightly shut. Tate is
painful: a constant reminder that I acknowledge his despair yet am unable to
remedy it. I try to detach myself completely, but I can’t forget the joy he is
capable of spreading. I love the part of him I grew up with that cherished and
supported me as a child, and took me on those imaginative adventures. More and
more, the drugs are ripping him apart, leaving a belligerent husk and
destroying the man I once revered. It’s almost too much to bear. Once the
father I love in my heart is gone, I’ll have no choice but to renounce my
paternal ties. Anything less would be detrimental to my own self-esteem and
future success.”
Following this revelation, Tate buries
his head in his hands and releases a bellowing sigh. The tension leaks out of
his pores as he lets go of the crushing burden he has been charged with.
Slowly, he raises his piercing eyes to mine, laden with expectancy.
“I don’t know what to say,” I stammer.
“Tate, no one deserves to go through that. I am so sorry, but I am here to help
you in any way. Let me lighten your load. I can handle it.”
I cross the space between us and secure
him against my chest, murmuring condolences into his cropped hair. After a long
period huddled together, the rain stops and we cautiously step outside the
cave. Before another torrent hits, we gather our belongings and hike back home
with heavy heads but lighter hearts.
Chapter 12
The rest of the evening passes rather
uneventfully. We all sit down for another meal of vibrant fruits, abrasive
clumps of grain, and limp vegetables. I am distracted the entire time, thinking
of the words exchanged between Tate and I in the cavern. Glancing across the
table, he seems so relaxed and effervescent. It is hard to believe that this
overly vivacious exterior is a façade, constructed to protect a vulnerable
individual that has been exposed to untold abuse and experienced crippling
emotional pains.
“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” my
mother inquires from my right. A concerned expression clouds her face, and she
reaches for my balled fist.
“Yeah. I’m just not that hungry,” I
respond with a weak assurance. “It has been a long day and I just want to sleep
it off.”
“Okay. Your father and I can do the
dishes if you want to head off to bed,” she offers.
“That would be great, mom. I think I just
need to recuperate from spending the afternoon in the rain. I’m sorry I can’t
be more helpful.”
“Nonsense. You just rest up and we will
see you in the morning.”
With this, I push back from the low table
and mumble a few hurried goodnights to the rest of the group. In a daze, I
tentatively ascend the spiraling staircase as conflicting thoughts swirl in my head.
How could I know so much about Tate and
yet be so blind as to the demons that plague him? How could we be such close
friends and yet it took him until now to trust me with this knowledge? What is
it like to be so tormented by the cyclical patterns of a belligerent addict?
What can I do to help him?
I finally make it to the bedroom at the
end of the tapering hall, and I prepare myself for slumber quickly before the
rest of the household retires. As I draw the scrappily patched comforter over
my gaunt shoulders, my mind hurtles at a breakneck pace through various plans
to assist Tate in carrying this crushing burden. Blowing out the flickering
candle with a sharp exhalation, I roll over to face the peeling wall.
Sleep eludes me as I grapple with this
disturbing information about my companion. After a few hours, I hear him
clamber into the top bunk and his breathing slows as he drifts to sleep.
Listening to his gentle snoring, I can’t help but speculate about the dreams
his unconscious is creating, fleshing them out with magnificent creatures and
splendid scenery.
When I finally awaken the next morning,
the sun is aloft in the pristine blue sky. Meadowlarks chirp in joy beyond the
puckered curtains, still drawn tightly shut. Tate is
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