As he reached for his fork, the phone began its insistent ringing again. He shot a look at the rotary phone. The ringing had begun to sound like demonic laughter, mocking him, taunting him. Self-consciousness building up inside him, Stephen leaped out of his chair and rushed to the phone. He snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”
After a moment of silence, Stephen heard a woman sniffling. “Hello?” he repeated impatiently.
“Kane is gone.”
Stephen could tell his mother was in mourning and heard an unnerving calmness in her voice that sent chills down Stephen’s spine. He’d known the moment his father had gotten back from the airport, he’d taken Kane out into the backyard and shot him.
“He just stopped—” Amelia began, but he quickly hung up the phone to save her the trouble of lying.
Stephen stood in the kitchen, staring into oblivion. He didn’t understand why but he didn’t feel the way he’d expected to, and it upset him. He wasn’t nauseated, nor did he vomit. He didn’t grow angry or deny what he’d just been told. He didn’t even shed a tear. He suddenly felt lonelier than he ever had.
Although Kane had never been to his home in Texas, and Stephen had already lived on his own for several years, everything around him suddenly seemed empty. He felt as if he were standing at the bottom of a deep canyon, completely alone, with not so much as a sound or a fond memory to accompany him. His appetite had completely vanished. Walking to the couch, he calmly lay down with one hand on his chest. There was no pain, no emotions he could recognize, but for some reason he’d covered his heart with his hand as he stared at the ceiling. He eventually fell asleep without taking off his clothes or swapping the couch for his bed.
When he woke up, he peered through the dark at the clock. The hands read 3:45—in the morning, he assumed. He was glad to see he hadn’t slept in and missed work. Then he became angry with himself. He couldn’t comprehend why he cared about going to work when he’d just found out his only real friend had died. He felt guilty for not mourning the loss of his friend and tried to convince himself that it was because he knew it was coming and had prepared himself for this moment. He’d persuaded himself that all the times he’d hidden his emotions from other people meant that he could hide his feelings from himself. Strangely enough, he found some joy in this since he’d grown up believing that to be characteristic of a man. A man was able to stay composed. He didn’t let his emotions run wild (as Stephen had in the past). Stephen smiled but then became aware of an odd sensation.
He looked down to see he’d been involuntarily petting his chest. Tears flooded his eyes. Kane had always lain on Stephen whenever he stretched out on the couch. Kane would place his head right in the center of Stephen’s chest and wait to be petted. It had happened so often that the second Stephen felt the familiar pressure on his torso he’d put a hand on his chest and gently rub it, looking for Kane. He’d never noticed this little habit of his before, nor did he know whether it was the ghost of Kane that had lain on him that night or just his emotions that made it seem like Kane was there. Either way, Stephen couldn’t help but pet his upper chest, looking for his friend. All his work to hide his true emotions, even from himself, had failed, and this subtle gesture had shown him just how much he missed his friend.
He felt the actual heartstrings in his chest begin to tighten and, unable to control himself, let out silent cries of agony. Even alone in his home, he made sure he wouldn’t disturb a neighbor with his emotional distress. The gasps were so powerful that he wasn’t able to breathe for a few seconds after each one. For the remainder of the night, he writhed on the couch, alone and in pain.
When the sun came up Stephen collected himself and cried out his grief before getting ready for work. While he gathered his things, he remembered Kane and all the things they’d done together, both good and bad, and when he left his home, he also left behind what happened and the feelings he’d silenced that night.
* * *
“Kane’s passing took a toll on my parents too. They began to argue more and more. My father started to drink a lot more and ignored my mother whenever she told him to stop. Probably a direct result of having to be the one to actually pull the trigger.” Stephen told me in a calm tone after having just explained how Kane had died.
“Is that why you don’t think your father deserves to have his name spoken?” I asked after taking a moment to collect myself and study Stephen. His posture was relaxed, and his tone was calm. The fact that he’d remained so tranquil after talking about what he had experienced sent a chill down my spine, and I began to see the wickedness creeping out from under his smile.
“No, I actually respected him for that. Slightly. Even though part of me cringes at saying that, he still was my father. More importantly, he did something that needed to be done, and I wasn’t man enough to do it. So, for that, I respect him. It was the last thing he did before he died that makes me resent the man that he was.” Stephen’s face became flushed and competed with the sunlight pouring through the window. The veins on his hands and forehead swelled as he recalled whatever sin his father had committed.
“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I said soothingly.
“No, it’s okay, there isn’t much to talk about anyway. The bastard killed himself one night and took my mother with him.”
The matter-of-factness and speed of his reply shot another sensation down my back as I leaned against my chair and pressed my notebook closer to my chest. Seeing my discomfort, he calmed himself down and relaxed his body again.
“My parents argued so much after Kane died, it only took about two months until their hatred destroyed their relationship and them along with it.”
“Do you mind telling me how it happened?” I asked tentatively.
“One night my mother convinced my father they should go out to dinner to try and rekindle their marriage. My father reluctantly agreed, giving in to my mother’s demands as he commonly did. I don’t know all the details, but they must have started arguing at the restaurant, where my father drank heavily to cope with the friction. Then, because my mother had never driven a car, my father had to drive the two of them home. He veered off the road and they rolled down the mountain all the way to the creek where we used to fish. The coroner said they died on impact and didn’t suffer, but part of me hopes he lived just long enough to see the horrific state he’d put my mother in.” Stephen paused waiting to see if I would reply but continued after I remained silent.
“The truck landed on the passenger side. My mother was decapitated. Her head thrown out of the window and crushed under the door. Both her arms were dislocated as she was whipped around inside the truck although her seatbelt was on. The seatbelt itself caused a massive laceration across her torso along with hundreds of other tiny cuts. Her legs were crushed as well. If the rest of her body hadn’t been above them, the doctor wouldn’t have been able to identify them as human legs. They were just one giant mash of flesh, blood, and shattered bone chips.”
My stomach turned. I had to focus entirely on keeping my breakfast down.
“I didn’t know that visit home would be the last time I would see her. I could have held her for a little longer, squeezed her a little tighter. I would have memorized the smell of her hair if I had known.”
“But what about your father?” I interjected. “You didn’t say goodbye to him at the airport.”
“I know. The selfish idiot didn’t give a damn about who his actions affected. He was always saying how a man shouldn’t show his emotions and should be able to control himself, but he didn’t do a very good job of that. He drank himself to the grave because he couldn’t control himself and not only did he take my mother with him, but he didn’t even bother to call me once during those two months and give me the chance to say goodbye.”
Stephen’s eyes filled with tears, and he turned his gaze downward so I couldn't see them directly. But not a single tear fell on either cheek. Instead, after a few seconds of collecting himself, Stephen lifted his head. He was smiling.