Page 12 of The Story of You
“For as long as it takes.” The look he gave was not one you argued with.
Unless you’re Darius.
“That’s horseshit, Dad. Get Uncle Paxton to come help.”
“Go to your room. Don’t bother coming out till school tomorrow,” Father said.
Darius stormed off. He was lucky that’s all Father did. But Darius was right. Uncle Paxton could have helped. Our parents were from small families. We had an uncle on Dad’s side and an aunt on Mom’s, her sister. Mom’s sister lived in Hawaii with her husband and three children who were all young at the time and she couldn’t leave them for long. Our grandparents from Mom’s side had already long passed. Mom’s dad died of alcoholism. Gramma from a series of strokes.
Father was estranged from his parents. That left Uncle Paxton, Father’s twin brother.
“Look, let’s see how things go, and then I’ll ask Pax. I’d rather not though. I don’t want anyone involved in our family’s business,” he said when Darius was gone (we heard the door slam from upstairs). “Sometimes we have to grow up quickly, Silas. It’s time for you to be a man. Do me proud. Look after your brothers and I’ll get your mother through this. Teamwork.”
I wanted him to be proud of me so fucking badly. I wanted to be a team player.
So, I mixed bottles. I rocked Oliver to sleep. I went to bed with dried formula on my best concert shirts. I never went back to school, but I somehow managed to finish that year. Father brought my schoolwork home for me. I don’t know what he told them and why they were okay with such an arrangement. I guess you could get away with that kind of thing in the eighties. Gone was my straight A average, but I squeaked by with straight B’s. I probably wasn’t getting into med school with that, but Oliver needed me. Mother needed me.
When Father went to work, I looked after everyone. I would strap Oliver into his stroller after I’d forced food into Darius and yelled at him enough that he finally got dressed, and then I’d walk him to the bus stop where the yellow school bus would pick him up. “She should be in a hospital,” Darius would say.
“Father knows what he’s doing, Darry.”
Father knew how to look after Mother and do things like give her meds and painkillers. At that time, I trusted him implicitly. He ran himself ragged too and his temper got shorter, but he still made time to massage Mama’s feet and bring her fresh-squeezed juice. He would sit behind her as she rested her head back on his shoulder and sing to her. He’d run fingers through her hair. Clearly, he was doing everything possible.
“Go to school and let the adults worry about the adult things,” I had added.
“You’re a huge veiny dick.”
I swatted his ass for that. He flipped the bird as he got onto the bus.
I’d make the short trip home, pushing Oliver in the stroller, trying not to think about school. I wanted to be there with my friends. I wanted to go to more concerts. I wanted to illegally drink beer under the willow trees and dive off the dock when summer drew near.
Guilt gnawed at my stomach. Oliver had no one in the world but me. Mama was withering. These things were more pressing and important than school and friends.
When I’d get home, I’d warm up a bottle for Oliver and some soup for Mama. I’d set Oliver beside her on the bed and put her tray together. “Silas honey, I’m sorry about this. I’ll be better soon. You’ll be back at school in the fall,” she would say. Her voice was weak. Her hair was falling out from the chemo. Under her eyes were blotches of the same darkness that bruised her from within. Her chest rattled when she breathed.
Mother wasn’t going to get better, and I knew it, but I wasn’t going to say it out loud. “I know, Mama,” I said. “Don’t feel bad. I’m happy to do this for you.”
And I was. I might have wished for the things teenagers wish for from time to time, but never in exchange for doing what I needed to for my family.
“You shouldn’t be looking after a baby at fifteen. Where’s your uncle Paxy?” she said.
If she didn’t know why he wasn’t there, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her and add to the pressure she already felt. “I’m sure he’ll get here soon,” I’d say.
Father didn’t care for me bringing the baby in to see her. He said it stressed her out, but Mama would beg for me to bring him in for snuggles with her and so I did.
Darius grew angrier. “Something’s not right, Silas. I know you’ve got some kind of hard-on for Dad but see past the hero-worship, dude.”
I had just put Oliver down. I hadn’t slept in days. If I wasn’t up with Oliver, then it was Mama puking her guts out and Father wasn’t cleaning that up. I was tired of dealing with shit from Darius too. I slapped him across the face. “Where the fuck did you learn to talk like that? You little shit. Watch your fucking mouth. If Father hears you, he’ll throw you out the window with the mood he’s in.”
“You asshole!” Darius lunged at me. I was bigger and stronger and held him back, but he was clever and wily still getting a hefty punch in on me.
Father walked in to witness our violent outburst. He pulled us apart like naughty kittens and decided to blame me because I was older. It was out of character for him to act so rashly.
“I don’t know what the hell went on in here, but you know better, Silas. Pants down and lay over the bed.” We were in Darius’s room.
I undid my jeans and got over the bed. Father wasn’t someone you argued with.
“I started it,” Darius volunteered.
