Broken Road (9 page)

“Thanks,” said Alec. “I think he feels suffocated. We keep—and I say we because I’m just as guilty as the two of you—we keep asking him if he’s okay, or if he needs anything, or if there’s anything we can do for him. We ask him if he wants to talk…does he need his pillow fluffed…for Christ’s sake, Mom, yesterday I heard you ask him if he needed to pee.”

“I asked him because he needs help getting up. He has so much trouble—” Janet said before Alec cut her off.

“Mom, he doesn’t need that much help. True, he has a difficult time getting around, but he can do it. I’ve seen him get up and go to the bathroom by himself plenty of times. He doesn’t get any help in the shower, does he? I’m just saying that by offering so much help, we’re basically telling him we don’t think he’s capable of doing anything on his own. And why should he? We’re more than willing to do everything for him.”

“Are you saying he’s enjoying it?” asked Jim.

“No, not at all. If anything, he probably hates it. But maybe he’s starting to believe that he can’t do any of the things he once did and that’s only making him more depressed.” He took a long swallow of his soda. “It’s just too much. Instead of letting him just be, we keep reminding him of everything that’s happened, all that he’s lost, and even worse, all that he might never be able to do again.”

Janet nodded. “Losing Dante was and is a devastating blow.”

“It’s more than that,” said Alec. “Not that that’s not enough of a blow, but you need to remember one thing. He’s probably thinking his career as a baseball player ended before it even had a chance to begin.” He stood up and walked into the kitchen to grab the butter from the refrigerator. When he returned, he looked at his father and said, “Have you even thought about that?”

“Only about a million times a day,” said Jim. He never brought it up simply because he felt the family was struggling with enough issues and didn’t need the extra worry and stress; but the thought weighed heavily on his mind.

“Try multiplying that number by another million, and that’s about how many times he’s thought of it, I’ll bet you,” said Alec as he buttered his roll.

“I just don’t know how or if I can just leave it be,” Janet said. “He’s my son and I worry. I worry about the both of you. You’ve been through so much as well. You just seem to be handling it better. Are you, love? Or is it just my wishful thinking?” She leaned over and placed a soft, warm comforting hand over his.

“I suppose I am. I mean, yeah, I think about what happened a lot. I’m thankful to be alive, but it just kills me when I think of Dante being gone. It’s got to be so much worse for Jarrod than for me.” He hesitated before speaking again. “I guess we do handle things differently, though. I sort of see that the future still holds a lot for me, but I don’t think he sees that for himself anymore. Then again, he was so close to having his dream come true and then this happened. I don’t think he’s ever even considered doing anything else other than play ball professionally. He’s got a lot on his mind and a lot to figure out.”

“And you think leaving him alone, when he has so much bringing him down, is the right thing to do?” Janet asked. “I just don’t see how that can be for the best.”

“I’m not saying to never ask him how he is or if he needs us to do anything for him. I’m just saying that for a few days, we need to stop pestering him. Just give him a little breathing room.”

Janet and Jim looked at each other, searching for either a look of agreement or disagreement. Ultimately, concurrently yet reluctantly, they nodded in affirmation.

“Hey, I have a question for you,” said Jim. “When did you get to be so smart?”

Alec smiled meekly and said, “It’s in the genes.”

For the next few days, the Wentworths stuck to their plan. Janet stopped asking him what he wanted to eat and instead would just bring up a tray of whatever everyone else was eating that evening. Jim stopped offering to help bring him downstairs for a change of ambiance and would just stop by and stand in his doorway to say hello every now and then. If Jarrod wanted anything, that would be his opportunity to ask. He never did.

On the fifth day, Alec stopped by his room. He knocked on the door and waited for Jarrod to respond. He did note that for the first time in days, Jarrod was not blasting the stereo. Instead he heard the faint sound of the television.

“Come in,” said Jarrod. He was lying on his bed with his head resting on three pillows as he continuously flicked through the channels with his remote. This was the part of the day he most hated. Either soap operas or game shows could be found on the regular channels, and repeats of shows that he had already seen a thousand times were on cable. The premium channels kept repeating the same movies over and over. A person could watch
Die Hard
or
Shawshank Redemption
just so many times.

“Hey,” said Alec.

“Hey yourself,” responded Jarrod, never looking away from the television and still clicking away. “I don’t need anything, if that’s why you’re here.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” said Alec. He ventured into the room a little more and picked up a baseball that was collecting dust on top of Jarrod’s desk. He began to toss it gently in the air and catch it.

“Put it down,” said Jarrod without emotion.

“Why?” asked Alec as he continued with the soft toss.

“Just put it down,” Jarrod said with a little more force. He finally looked away from the television and said to his brother, “If you’re not here to find out if I want anything, then why are you here?”

Alec put the ball back on the desk and said, “I was wondering if I could borrow your car.”

“No. You can leave now.” The bitterness in Jarrod’s voice caused Alec to flinch. Jarrod finally stopped changing the channels and left it on a Spanish soap opera.

“What the hell are you watching?”

“
Lagrimas de Sangre
,” Jarrod responded while simultaneously destroying the beauty of the language with his atrocious accent.

“You watch this every day?” asked Alec, dumbfounded.

“Most days.”

“Do you understand any of it?”

“Nope. I make up my own storyline based on their reactions.” Closing his eyes and tossing his head back against the pillows, he asked in a bored manner, “Why do you want to borrow my car?”

“Joey and Brendon don’t have cars.”

Jarrod abruptly turned his head toward Alec and asked suspiciously, “Where are you guys going?”

Without showing any hint of satisfaction over the fact that Jarrod was finally exhibiting more or less some form of interest in something other than lying in bed, he simply said, “Cemetery.”

Jarrod said nothing. He turned off the television and turned his head to stare out the window. Unfortunately, from where his bed was located, his only view was of the tall, leaf-resplendent, oak tree that stood directly outside it. He was so damn tired of looking at that stupid tree.

“Yes or no?” said Alec.

“What?” Jarrod responded as his thoughts returned to Alec and his request. His mind had wandered far away, as was becoming the norm recently.

“Yes or no? Can I borrow the car?”

Jarrod turned his face toward his brother and nodded. Then he said, “I’m coming too.”

Chapter Eight

T
he four friends surrounded Dante’s grave in total silence. A heat wave had recently hit a large portion of the East Coast, and as Jarrod stood there drenched in sweat, he found it almost impossible to breathe. He looked at the large mound of raw earth stretching the length of the grave, which stood a bit higher than ground level and was covered in both desiccated and fresh flowers, the bright, colorful unsullied flora lying atop the dried-up, old, decaying ones. There was no headstone, just a simple wooden marker with his name on it. Alec noticed the irritated scowl on Jarrod’s face as he stared at the marker and said, “I heard Mom tell Dad that Mr. and Mrs. Malone ordered a nice headstone. I guess it’s going to take a while for it to be made.”

Hearing this, Jarrod seemed to relax.

Joey staggered back quietly to the car, opened its windows, and then placed a CD in the player. He raised the volume to the maximum, and as the music began to play, he rejoined his friends. As the boys stood quietly surrounding their friend’s grave, AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” could be heard in the background. A solemn tribute to their friend.

Alec wiped away a tear, cleared his throat, and spoke first by saying, “We miss you…” But he wasn’t able to continue. He tried swallowing past the aching lump that had formed in his throat, but just couldn’t get past it.

Joey lowered himself as best he could and gently placed flowers on the grave. He looked up toward heaven and said, “I hope you’re invited to every rockin’ party held in heaven.” Then he rolled his eyes slightly and added, “But, then again, if you’re not, I’m sure you’ll crash them all anyway.”

The friends chuckled slightly and quickly became somber again. Brendon also brought flowers. He tossed them on the others and quietly mumbled, “Rest in peace, dude. We love you.”

All became silent again with the exception of the music still blaring in the background. Jarrod spoke softly and asked his friends and brother if he could have a moment alone. They all nodded and Brendon said, “Sure…no problem.” They headed toward the car, and once in, Joey lowered the volume of the music and raised the windows so Jarrod could have a moment of privacy.

Jarrod stood there alone in total silence, aside from the dulcet chirping sounds emanating from a few birds nestled in the trees surrounding the graves. He took a momentary look at his surroundings and noticed how peaceful and calm it was there. He and his family had been to this cemetery many times before when they would visit his grandmother’s grave on Christmas and Mother’s Day, but he had never taken in the serenity of the environment. A few large trees were scattered about, along with benches lining the narrow pathways for people to sit and rest—maybe even pray for the souls of their departed loved ones.

After a minute or two, he quickly glanced behind himself to make sure he wasn’t being watched or listened to. He saw and appreciated that they were generously allowing him to have a personal moment with his friend. Looking up toward the sky, he was forced to momentarily squint due to the sun’s blinding rays. He closed his eyes and briefly enjoyed the soothing, soft breeze that suddenly passed over him. He began to speak, but choked up and had to begin again after clearing his throat twice.

“I miss you, guy. I miss you so much, I can barely breathe…” He stumbled over his words and found himself trying to get words out while taking small gasps of air between sobs. “I don’t know what to do…I’m so scared.” He roughly wiped his tears away and took a steadying breath. “Sometimes I just want to pick up the phone and call you…but I can’t. Or I listen for your car horn outside my window…but nothing.”

All of a sudden, Jarrod lost his hold on his crutch and fell to the ground. He heard the car doors open, but he immediately lifted his hand in a stop motion and said loudly and firmly, “No. I’m alright.” Within a few seconds, the doors closed again. But he knew that his friends and brother were now watching him.

Jarrod grimaced in discomfort as he attempted to get himself into a somewhat comfortable position. Physically uncomfortable and emotionally spent, he sat silently a few moments while lost in tormented thought. After a brief period of plucking fistfuls of grass and tossing them to the side, he cast a passing agonized glance at his friend’s grave while desperately trying to calm his breathing down. His spectacular blue eyes were now swollen with grief and the whites were bordered with red streaks.

Rubbing his face brusquely and then letting out a massive grunt of anger, he said, “God, I’m so friggin’ pissed at you. How could you leave me? How could you leave your mom and dad? You were supposed to fight, goddamnit! You weren’t supposed to die.” He stopped to take a steadying breath. “Why didn’t you fight? Did you even try? Didn’t you even give a shit?”

He cried so hard and for so long that he thought he might just dry up and turn to dust; yet oddly at the same time, it felt somewhat cathartic to finally let it all out. For much too long, he had been trying to hold the pain and fear in so as not to show his despair. Because of this, he now found himself mentally and emotionally drained. But after this release, he felt to some extent somewhat spiritually and psychologically purified.