Rocket Car

Chapter 16

Author's Note: The human body holds a lot of blood. (does that mean I have to put a trigger warning on this?)

Rocket Car

I'm awoken by the sound of the door closing. Barry shifts and I shift with him. I keep my eyes closed as Barry eases himself away from me and off the couch. "Hey. She asleep?" I hear Davis ask, as quietly as he can. Keys jingle and are set down on the coffee table; I can hear grocery bags rustling.

"Yeah. She's been out since we got back. Need help?" Barry asks.

"Please."

I feign sleep as I hear them continue their conversation. Davis inquires about what was said by the nurse or doctor, which Barry answers to the best of his ability. It's interesting hearing how different Barry sounds when he talks to Davis. It's not at all like an elder speaking to someone younger, or even like a brother speaking to a sibling. His tone is even and full of respect, no hint of teasing to be found. It's much different than how he talks to anyone else. I have to wonder – when did these two become so close?

Cupboards are being open and pans are being brought out. I can hear Davis shuffling about, working on making some food for us. Barry joins him. Their conversation is light and I ignore the majority of it. Instead I dig into my pocket and pull my phone out. Battery's almost dead, great. There's a new friend request for f*******: – it's Jolene. Apparently I made a good impression on her. Either that or she's just a literal saint sent to down to show us how adults act when introduced to their lover's ex. Whatever. I accept, partially to keep the peace but also because I found her charming enough.

I scroll absentmindedly through the social media feed, ignoring angry political rants, pictures of newlyweds and newly born, and links to worthless top ten lists. There's an event invite from Michael – a good friend I haven't seen in years – and I click on it to read more.

He writes, "Heeeey people of old! Our band will be in town Sunday ya'll should hit us UP at Gaslight for old times sake! Bring your baes! Cover $5! f**k Monday morning work! Let's rock!"

I can't help but smile. I had no idea Michael was still pursuing his passion for music. I knew he had relocated to Spokane and eventually Seattle with the intention of forming a punk band, but I didn't know he had succeeded. A Sunday night is an awful time to go to show. Considering I can't work on Monday regardless, I might take him up on the invite.

The sound of my name from the kitchen makes my ears twitch. I ignore my phone and focus on the soft voices in the other room. I hear Barry first when he says, " – chose you, so you should be happy."

"Yeah but did she really? I don't know, Barnum. She acted like a kicked puppy this morning," Davis offers. I can hear him turn the faucet on to rinse something off, distorting whatever it was he said next.

It wasn't my intention to act that way. Something inside me knots up at the idea that Davis is even remotely thinking I look down on him. I have nothing but respect for him; despite everything we've been through and all the others that have been in our lives, he's been the best friend I've ever had. That doesn't necessarily mean we should be anything more, that's all.

There's a slight chuckle from Barry before he says, "Come on, dude! She doesn't just sleep with anyone. Give yourself some credit. Get out of your own head for once."

"Don't act like you understand what the f**k is going on in my head, because you f*****g don't," Davis snarls back, his voice a bit louder.

"… Yeah. Of course," Barry concedes. With that, the conversation seems to end.

Davis isn't wrong – we have no idea what's going on his head. Just the same, it's not as though he understand what we're thinking, either. Isn't that what conversation is for? So we can understand each other? Although, I know that some things can't always be conveyed through words. Some thoughts cannot be shared in a way that makes sense. Understanding isn't something that comes over a cup of coffee.

People are complicated like that. Davis is defined by the things he alone has experienced. Few know of his overbearing and at times abusive father. Not many understand how dysfunctional his relationship with Alexa really was. Even less have seen him quite literally crippled by self-doubt and anxiety. Certainly there are things going on his inside his head that can't possibly make sense to us, because we haven't experienced the same things as him. Even if we know of those details or were present to witness his emotional outbursts, we don't actually understand.

I honestly believe you can't even think about having a real relationship with another unless you can get inside their heads. Just knowing isn't enough; you have to experience it. It's difficult to offer support if you don't know what or how to support. Neither I nor Barry will ever get that far inside Davis's head. Just the same, there's no way he could do the same for us. Well, he would certainly try, I'd give him that.

Now that I think about it, that's exactly what killed any hope I had with Willie. We were cute together, according to those around us. We were comfortable with each other, content with never attempting to impress the other. Yet I never opened to him in the ways that mattered, and I never felt as though I offered any real support when he needed it. Supporting someone to achieve their dreams or to be themselves isn't the same as being the foundation that prevents them from tumbling.

I've had a lot of people tell me that I'm "stable." When emergencies happen, I'm the control tower; I remain calm, I lead the way to safety, and I make decisions in a split second. I've had jobs where my "support" has been the difference between someone living or dying. None of that has ever been difficult for me.

You know what has been? Figuring out how to build someone back up after a disaster. I'm not a therapist and I don't know how to connect like that. As I think about the terrible things that have torn Davis down and made him the person he is – those moments that made his mind the way it is, filled with the doubts that plagues it – I think about the things that have done the same to Willie. Or Barry. Or even me.

I think of the exact moment that changed the "cute" dynamic that Willie and I had. The moment that I realized I had no idea how to support him when the worst hit.

June 28th, 2006

"Ung, babe I love you."

He always said things like that whenever he was attempting to make a move. The way his voice heaved out, as though those would be the last words he'd ever speak… to her, it sounded more like he was saying it to himself, but if she ever brought it up, he'd assure her that wasn't the case. Sometimes, she'd say those words back, whether to amuse him or herself.

Yet he never even gave her a chance as his lips were attacking hers without regard. The sense of urgency he displayed had a lot to do with the fact he was just a horny teenager, but it was also true that they had no idea when his mom was going to be home. Barry and his father would be baling hay until dinner so they weren't really an issue. Time alone was a valuable thing that couldn't be wasted.

She finally got the chance to respond when he broke away to rip his shirt over his head. "I love you, too," she said, her voice rattled with the heat of the moment. His response was run his hands under her shirt, tickle her sides with a smirk, and then hurriedly remove her shirt, too. Instantly his mouth went to her collarbone, his favorite spot to nibble.

The door slammed open with such force it puncture a hole in the wall.

"Willie!"

"Jesus Christ! What the f**k?!" Willie shouted, jumping up before attempting to cover his girlfriend. Both of their eyes went to the intruder, their hearts racing from both their arousal and now the scare.

Then their hearts stopped.

Standing in the doorway to Willie's bedroom was Barry, his torso drenched in red. The same thick, red substance dropped from his fingers and was splattered on his face. A trail of it followed him wherever he walked, having coated the bottom of his work boats. The origin of the blood was unknown, but with that amount, it certainly couldn't have been his, as both Willie and Kristy were certain he'd be dead otherwise.

"Call 911!" Barry ordered. His voice was strained, panicked. Tears had already darkened his eyes. His body was trembling so bad he could barely even stand up. Clenched fists and forced posture prevented him from losing all control.

By this point, Willie and Kristy had thrown their shirts back on. Willie was out of bed and moving toward his brother, but Barry stepped back. "What happened?!" he demanded.

"Don't worry about it! Just call 911!" he yelled. With that, he had turned and was moving as quickly as his staggering legs would allow, desperate to get back out there.

Willie was shaking at this point, too. First of all, the sight of his brother covered in what looked like an entire hog's worth of blood had nearly given him a stroke. Secondly, there were only two other places that blood could have come from, either his father or their lone farmhand. Either choice had shut down his ability to breath.

A hand touched his back, comforting and reassuring. The feeling of his girlfriend's warmth grounded him long enough to ask again, "Barry, what happened?!"

"It's dad, alright?! Just call 911! And stay inside!"

With that, Barry was out the front door, a handful of towels in his grasp. Willie lost all motor function at that point. His eyes focused on the bloody footprints that Barry had left behind. That was his dad's blood. That was his dad. His idol. His hero. The person that had taught him everything there was about baseball. About girls. About… life. What about all the things he had left to teach him? What about showing him how to be a husband, a dad? Wasn't he going to be there the day he finally committed to a college, the day he played his first professional game?

Kristy realized there was no way to comfort him. The hand that had been placed on his back left and she said, "It's okay, sweetie. I'll call."

As she did, she relayed what little she knew to the operator in a calm and quiet voice. All the while, she could feel the glare of Willie on her. How can she be so damn calm? Jesus Christ, he certainly thought as he watched her. The frustration and fear was slowly turning into an uncontrollable anger; the shaking of his fist was no longer because he was frightened but because he was pissed.

The moment she ended the call, she heaved a sigh. He shouted, "Why aren't you upset?!"

"What? I am, honestly. But freaking out isn't going to help," she said. She calculated the time it would take for an ambulance to get out here – at least thirty minutes. There were no chances of a life flight helicopter coming. No doubt a county deputy would get there first, probably in fifteen minutes. The deputy wouldn't be able to do enough. Calmly she calculated the odds of survival. There simply wasn't any. Heck, if it was a baler accident, he was probably already dead.

"Then we should go help!"

There was no chance for her to tell him to wait up. Willie was out the still open front door before she could even blink. Catching up to him was impossible with her knee injured. Now she was starting to feel the nervous sweat clog her pores as she realized Willie was about to witness a terrifying sight. Despite the pain of each step, she resolved to jog out and do her damnedest to reach him.

Of course she didn't make it in time. By the time she reached the middle of the small alfalfa field Willie had already arrived. She made it in time to watch Barry attempt to wrestle Willie to the ground, desperate to prevent him from getting any closer. She glanced at the baler to find the farmhand doing his best to block the view, his back turned to the sight. Motionless legs were all that she could see, the upper body somewhere inside the mechanism.

The moment she reached the two arguing brothers she placed a hand on Willie's shoulder. He stopped his struggle for a brief second at the feeling of her touch. "I told you to stay inside!" Barry shouted. His voice sounded so rough, unlike she had ever heard before.

Willie snapped. He with all of the power of his fist he struck his older brother in the face. There was no stopping them at that point. Barry stumbled and Willie pounced. A hail of punches sent Barry to the ground. Eventually, Barry got the upper hand and managed to wrestle Willie underneath him. The younger brother was exhausted; the most resistance he could offer was to grab at the hand that yanked his collar.

"This is your fault!" Willie screamed, his voice cracking due to the sobs he was attempting to hold back. Barry said nothing in argument; after all, he was the one driving the tractor at the time. "You f*****g bastard! It should've been you!"

"I know! I f*****g know, alright?! Jesus! I wish it was me too!"

Kristy stood there, shocked. The sight of the two brothers covered in bruises, blood, and tears stuck with her longer than that of the body. She had witnessed farm accidents before. Yet she had never seen so much emotion in one scene. The sound of the farmhand uttering a strained sigh was the only noise that disturbed the boys' broken cries. The four of them stayed like that for another ten minutes, until the first deputy arrived.

Willie never played baseball the same again; he never smiled at her the same, either. Years later, she wonders if it's partially her fault. If only she had provided better emotional support, if only she had listened better, if only she had paid more attention in the days and weeks that followed… Then maybe, just maybe…