Unbecoming Darrell Matthews - 4. Chapter 4

When I opened my eyes again, sunlight was streaming through the half-closed curtains of my room. It took me a second to realize that it was, in fact, my room and not another hospital room. I was glad it wasn’t, really, although I did wonder if someone had slipped up – I’d been positive I’d gotten a concussion at some point. At least, the jackhammer in my head was telling me so. After a minute of contemplation I decided it must have been okay since I was awake.

I turned my head – despite the explosion of pain it caused – and looked toward the door which was standing open. That was a good sign. Since I’d come home, if I left my door open for even five minutes Dad would appear out of nowhere to close it. I’d caught on to that one pretty quickly and always shut the door when I came in. If it was still open, that meant he wasn’t home yet.

I saw Trent go by and called out to him. He did a quick about-turn and came into my room, his face breaking into a huge smile. “Hey, Darrell,” he said cheerfully. “How are you doing?”

“Shh…” I replied with a grimace. “Not so loud – head hurts.”

“Oh.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll go get you some Tylenol, alright? Be right back.” He disappeared, only to reappear a moment later with two white pills and a glass of water. “Here,” he said, handing me the pills. “Take these.”

I downed them with a mouthful of water and then lay back against the pillow. “How long have I been out of it?” I asked.

“It’s mid-afternoon,” Trent replied. “So about ten hours, give or take.” He sat down on the edge of my bed, putting the glass on the floor beside his feet.

“Where’s Mom?”

His expression clouded. “Down at the police station, giving a statement. She wouldn’t go until she was sure you’d be okay.”

I thought about that. “Was there any doubt?” I asked.

“Well…” Trent seemed to think it over. “A little, I guess. You’d hit your head three or four times, and then you passed out – I’d say we were a little worried.”

“How come no hospital?”

He frowned. “They took you in and got you checked out,” he said. “The doctor said you were okay to come home.” He cocked his head to one side. “Don’t you remember?”

I started to shake my head and then thought better of it. “No.”

“Well, you seemed okay – awake and everything,” he concluded. “So as long as someone kept waking you up every couple of hours, they said you could stay here.”

I looked up at the ceiling. I didn’t want to ask the next question, but I knew I had to. “Where’s Dad?”

“Behind bars, I hope.” I looked at Trent. There was no mistaking the bitter tone in his voice. “I hope they never let him out.”

“What?”

“After what he did to you?” he demanded. “To Mom? To me? I hope he rots there.”

“Trent!”

He stood abruptly. “How can you feel any kind of charity to that… that monster, Darrell?” he asked. “He shut you out for something you had no control over! What kind of a father would do that?”

I stared down at my blanket, picking at a loose thread. “A disappointed one,” I muttered.

“Bullshit!” Trent said explosively. “If you’re disappointed you’re depressed – not psychotic!” He bent down to pick up the glass. “He hit Mom, in case you’ve forgotten, and he almost dislocated my shoulder.” He stared at me for a moment. “Maybe it’s a little harder for you, since you were so close and all, but to me…” He shrugged. “He’s as good as dead.” He turned and walked out.

I knew what he’d said was true, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling that the whole ordeal was my fault. I didn’t feel any remorse for threatening my father after he hit Mom, but I couldn’t help thinking things would have been different if I hadn’t gone with Chuck and Tony that night. I’d known then that my father would have disapproved of me going to that party – he’d always warned me about alcohol interfering with my training – but I’d decided to go anyway. If I’d only listened…

Trent was back carrying a tray with a bowl of soup, a glass of apple juice and a plate with a stack of toast on it. “You hungry?” he asked. I nodded once and he came into the room, placing the tray on my knees. He pulled up my desk chair and sat in it to watch me eat. “Look, Darrell, I’m sorry about-”

I shook my head. “Don’t,” I interrupted, pulling apart a piece of toast. “Just… leave it be, Trent.” I set the toast down and picked up the spoon. “Thanks for this,” I said dully.

“You’re welcome.” Trent watched me eat a couple spoonfuls. “It’s minestrone,” he offered.

I nodded. “It’s good, thanks.” I set the spoon back on the tray and picked up another triangle of toast. “You want one?” I asked, holding it out to him.

He shook his head. “I ate already.”

“Okay.” I picked at that piece as well. “Is Mom coming back soon, do you know?”

“No, but they told her it shouldn’t take long.”

“Okay,” I said again. There wasn’t anything left of that slice of toast, so I picked up the spoon again and swirled it around in the bowl. “You know,” I said finally, setting it down. “I really appreciate this, bro, but I’m just not very hungry.”

Trent nodded and picked up the tray. “I can always heat it up later, if you want,” he said. “You want to get some more sleep?”

“Yeah, thanks.” In truth, I wasn’t really tired at all. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, though. “I think I’ll try to nap until suppertime, if you want to call me this time.”

He blushed. “I wanted to last night, too,” he said, a trace of anger returning to his voice. “He wouldn’t let me.” He stood and headed for the door. “You want this open or closed?”

I thought about it for a second. “Open, I guess,” I replied at last.

“All right.”

I wasn’t tired, exactly, but I was filled with an unnamed ache that seemed to suck all the energy out of me. A few minutes later, I was out like a light.

**

I was awakened by a hand gently shaking my shoulder. “Darrell,” a voice said softly. “Darrell, honey – wake up.”

I opened my eyes and blinked sleepily. “Mom.”

“Hi there,” she said, smiling at me. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” I said. “Sore, mostly.”

Her smile faltered a bit, then brightened. “You in the mood for something to eat?” she asked. “I brought Chinese.”

“What’s going to happen now?”

She stared at me for a moment, then sighed and said, “He’s not coming back, Darrell.”

“Ever?”

“No.” She looked down at her hands. “He’s being checked out by psychologists – they’re saying his actions might have been temporary insanity.”

“Temporary…?”

Meeting my eyes, she went on, “But whether it was or not, he’s not coming back.” She took a deep breath. “I’m divorcing him.”

“What?”

“Oh, Darrell,” she said, laying a hand over one of my own. “It’s not just this – we’ve been building up to this for a while, son. This was just… the straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess you could say.”

“But…” I searched for words. “You two seemed to get along…”

She nodded. “You and your brother wouldn’t have known – well, Trent might have – but we tried to keep it from you both. We were already on the outs, Darrell. It wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ we would do it, more like ‘when’.”

I took a minute to process this. “What about me and Trent?” I asked finally.

“Well,” she replied slowly. “Trent will stay with me, of course, but you’re free to do what you like, since you’re eighteen.” She patted my hand. “This is your home, Darrell,” she went on. “You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.”

My mind was whirling. First Dad going berserk and now a divorce? “I’m sorry,” I said.

She leaned in close and stared directly into my eyes. “Darrell,” she said. “This is not your fault, do you hear me?” I nodded. “This was going to happen anyway. After yesterday, it just brought everything up sooner, okay? It’s not your fault.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” She patted my hand once more and stood. “Now, are you ready to come down for supper?”

“Just… give me a few minutes, okay?” I asked.

“Alright.” She headed for the door. “I’ll set a plate out for you. Hurry up before it gets cold.”

Once she was gone, I burrowed back under the covers to think. Despite what she’d said, I still felt responsible. If I hadn’t gone on that ride, I’d be well on my way to university on a football scholarship, Dad wouldn’t have had a reason to be disappointed in me, Trent and I wouldn’t have gotten so close – I wasn’t sure if that was a plus or a minus – and he wouldn’t have been mothering me, causing Dad to lash out at him. Dad wouldn’t have been mad at me, wouldn’t have hit Mom, wouldn’t have hurt Trent, wouldn’t have found out about me being gay, wouldn’t be getting a divorce…

As I dropped off to sleep again, the certainty that this chain of events had been my doing cemented itself into a spot right over my heart – and pressed down hard.

**

Tuesday came and went. I got my cast removed finally and was appalled at how much paler and weaker that leg looked in comparison to the other one. The doctor assured me that after a few sessions of physiotherapy it would begin to look normal again. I merely shrugged and told him it didn’t matter.

I dutifully went to my appointments, doing the exercises they prescribed for me almost automatically. I felt kind of numb inside, so the praises of the therapist on my progress kind of rolled off without effect. I got rid of the crutches and was now walking with the use of a cane. Trent joked that it made me look ‘distinguished’. I gave him a half-hearted smile in response.

“Darrell,” he said as we were on our way home from one session. “What’s bugging you, man?” I stared out the window in silence. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and went back to driving. “You know,” he began again. “You’ve lost quite a bit of weight lately.”

I shrugged. “It’s probably just muscle tone, Trent,” I said quietly. “I’m not working out anymore.”

“No,” he argued gently. “It’s not that… I’m getting a little worried about you, bro. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Since the night Mom had told me about the divorce, she and Trent had been livelier around the house – laughing and joking – and Mom had been coming home earlier than I could ever remember. The divorce was in the works, apparently, and Dad wasn’t contesting it. Not that he had grounds to do so. His psych evaluation had come through and he’d been judged mentally sound. His court date was in two weeks and the state’s attorney was looking for the maximum sentence – four years in state prison and a $10,000 fine. The general consensus was that Dad’s attorney would plead it down to a year in county lockup and $1,000. I didn’t know who to root for, really. Whereas I didn’t want to see my father again after what he did, I also didn’t want him to spend four years behind bars. With everything being so screwed up lately and me worrying about what was going to happen I’d kind of lost my appetite – and it was starting to show.

I kept my thoughts to myself, though. Somehow I knew neither Trent nor my mother would understand how I felt about the whole ordeal. When he asked me again I said “I’m fine,” and he let it drop.

Back at home I limped my way up to my room, just wanting to lie down for a while. Physiotherapy takes a lot out of you, even if it doesn’t look like much. As I sprawled across my bed, I looked up at the empty shelves that circled my room at head-height. My dad always said he was going to add another set someday, just under those ones, to show off the new trophies I’d be getting. There was never any question in his mind that I’d have more to put up.

I thought back to the first time I’d ever been attracted to another boy. I was a freshman in high school and his name was Adam Warren. I thought he was really cute with his green eyes and blond hair and the quiet, shy way he smiled whenever someone talked to him. I made a point of doing that whenever I could, just to see that row of perfectly straight, pearly white teeth. I’d tried talking about him to Dad, but it hadn’t gone as well as I’d thought. Guess I was pretty naïve, even then.

“What does he play?” my father had asked.

I tossed the ball back at him. We were in our backyard, practicing my throws. “Uh, flute, I think,” I’d answered. I knew it was the flute – I’d sneaked a couple of glances into the band room earlier that week while Adam was practicing. The way his lower lip pouted so delicately as he blew across the mouthpiece of his instrument gave me an instant, intense hard-on.

Dad gave me an exasperated look. “No, I mean what sport does he play?”

“He’s not into sports,” I replied, jogging backwards a bit to catch his next throw. “Well, swimming, I guess.”

“Swimming?” My dad caught my next pass, but instead of tossing it back, he set his hand on his hip and stared at me. “Flute? Is he some kind of fag or something?” I just looked at him, unsure of how to respond. After a minute, he tossed the ball back. “I don’t want you hanging around with someone like that, Darrell,” he said at last. “People might get the wrong idea about you.”

I finally found something to say. “I don’t think he’s gay, Dad. I just think he’s a really nice guy.”

“Still…” He held his hands up for my next pass. “I think you should stay away from him. Okay?” My gut wrenched at the thought of not seeing my little friend anymore, but I nodded and threw long.

I knew he wasn’t really asking – he was telling. The next day at school I avoided Adam whenever I saw him. At first, he followed me around, asking me what he’d done wrong. I finally turned to him and said, “Nothing, Adam. Just… leave me alone, please.”

He stopped in the middle of the corridor and stared at me, confusion in his eyes. I couldn’t bear to look at him anymore so I turned and practically ran in the other direction. It was the last time I saw him. Apparently his dad was in the armed forces and shortly after our last meeting Adam’s father was transferred out of town. I never heard where he went.

A soft tapping on my bedroom door brought me out of my reverie. “Darrell?” I heard my mother call through the wood. “Are you awake?”

I thought about not answering – about letting her think I was sleeping – but I knew the lie would only make me feel worse about myself, not better. “Yeah, Mom,” I called back. “Come on in.”

The door opened and my mother looked at me, unsmiling. “Can we talk?” she asked. I nodded and she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. I pushed myself up against the pillows in a half-seated position. She came over and sat on the edge of my bed, her eyes never leaving my face. “Darrell,” she said gently. “I want you to see a therapist.”

I frowned. “What are you talking about?” I asked. “I am seeing a therapist…”

“Not a physiotherapist,” she said. “A psychotherapist.”

“A shrink?”

She nodded once. “You’re depressed, honey,” she continued. “You’re not sleeping very well, not eating-”

“I sleep!” I protested. It was true. I didn’t ever wake up in the middle of the night – as much as I sometimes wished I could.

“You’re not sleeping well,” she repeated. “I never said you weren’t sleeping.”

That was also true. My nights were plagued with dreams of me being back in Chuck’s car, paralyzed with fear as the semi bore down on us. Problem was, I could see the face of the driver – something not possible during the real accident – and it was always my dad. Like I said, sometimes I wished I could wake up from that. “I’ll get over it,” I muttered finally.

She smiled, but it was sad. “I know, Darrell,” she replied. “But I think you need some help. Your brother and I were talking downstairs and he told me how quiet you’ve been lately, and how he thinks – and I have to agree, having really looked at you – that you’ve lost a lot of weight.”

“How come…?” I looked up at her and then quickly looked away.

“How come what, sweetie?” she asked, placing her hand over mine on the bed. “Go ahead – you can ask me.”

I looked back at her. “I’ve been thinking… you’re home early every day… you and Trent, you laugh more… Why?” I knew why in principle but I needed her to explain it to me.

She sighed heavily. “It’s like I told you before, Darrell – your father and I were headed for divorce a long time ago. It probably started about the time I went back to work after Trent was born.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “He never gave Trent the same amount of attention he gave you,” she said. “Some people just don’t have room to love more than one person at a time, Darrell. That’s not – and never was – your fault.” I couldn’t argue with that. “I stayed longer at work for many reasons. At first it was because I was the new kid on the block – I had lots to learn and was constantly having to push myself to keep up with the other agents.”

“You’re good at it now, though,” I interjected.

She smiled. “Yes, I am. Damn good at it, if I do say so myself. There was a brief period of time when your dad was out of work. I had to put in extra hours then as well.” I remembered that. Dad was uncharacteristically ‘not in the mood’ to practice. Whenever I went looking for him, football in hand, he was always sitting somewhere with a pad of paper, a pencil and the newspaper. “After he started his new job,” Mom went on, breaking into my thoughts. “Your father was a little cooler to me. We argued more often. I think it bothered him that he was bringing in less money than I was.” She shrugged. “I stayed at work longer because then we didn’t have as much time to get into a shouting match.”

“I never heard you fight.”

“You weren’t supposed to.” She stared off into the distance. “I guess we never really did raise our voices that much – we didn’t want to wake you two up – but it sometimes felt as though we were yelling at each other.” She looked back at me. “You were always such a sound sleeper, but Trent wasn’t. More than once I’d find him standing in the hallway, a frightened look on his face, after your father and I had had one of our disagreements.” She sighed. “It always broke my heart to see how much pain we were putting him through.”

I started picking at a loose thread on my blanket. “I didn’t know anything about it,” I said, the guilty feelings returning with a vengeance. How could I have been so oblivious? All those years and I’d never even guessed this was going on in my own house. I felt stupid. And Trent… having to deal with all of that on his own… He’d never mentioned it. I realized suddenly there were lots of things I’d missed out on because of football. That only made the guilt heavier. I slid down a bit and pulled the blanket up to my chin. “I’m really tired,” I said. “I’m going to take a nap, okay?”

Mom frowned slightly. “I originally came up here to tell you it was suppertime,” she said. “You should eat something, Darrell.”

“I will, Mom,” I said, closing my eyes. “Later, though, okay? This afternoon’s session kind of wore me out.”

She didn’t say anything for a second. I felt the edge of the bed spring back as she stood. “All right, then,” she said at last. “I’ll leave some in the oven to keep warm. Make sure you eat it all, though.” She paused. “Trent’s girlfriend is coming over in an hour or so. I just thought you’d like to know.”

I opened my eyes a bit. “That’s cool,” I mumbled. “I like Michelle.” I did, too. I’d met her once or twice at school – usually hanging around Trent’s locker. She was pretty and funny.

“I do, too,” Mom replied, smiling. “I hope they’re together for a while. She’s good for him.” She paused again. “Do you have someone you’d like to invite over sometime?” she asked at last.

I looked at her for a long time. Finally, I said, “No, Mom. I don’t.”

She nodded once and headed for the door. “Well, I’ll let you sleep now. You’re welcome to bring someone over, though,” she added. “Anyone you like. Anytime.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”