Rediscovering family

Author Name: Deepa Duraisamy
Author Introduction: For Deepa Duraisamy, Indian classical music and her love for writing are two interests that have stayed with her through the years. A huge fan of the blogosphere and the plethora of perspectives it has exposed her to, she hopes that her writing would have a deeper purpose eventually. She blogs at Deepa's Kaleidoscope.

The Story:

16th June, 2010

2:53 AM

The shrapnel pierced his exposed neck and arms, sending a searing pain shooting through his body. All around him, bodies were exploding and being reduced to masses of pulp. The stench of urine mixed with blood was so overpowering that he could feel bile at the back of his throat. If he didn't roll onto his back right then, he was afraid he would choke on his own vomit. He tried to roll over but his body refused to follow suit. His left leg felt useless, numb. Close to passing out, his mind subconsciously summoned the image of Miriam and Carter on the Ferris wheel from a few years back. She had been laughing her heart out, her giggly laughs being carried by the wind to where he stood. Standing on the ground with the rest of the crowd, he could see Carter’s tiny hands wave excitedly. It was the one image that he could never forget. How they had been so high up and far away, yet how he had never felt closer to his family.

Then his eyes glassed over and he wondered if the liquid pooling into his eyes was tears or sweat. As it flowed down his cheeks and grazed his lips, his taste buds registered the sickly sweet taste of blood. He wanted to wipe it off so he could see Miriam and Carter more clearly but his hands had been tied up by his thumbs. They were hitting him hard, kneeing him, kicking him, subjecting him to every physical lashing possible. He remembered the feeling of waking up to ice cold water being splashed on his face. Had he not heard what prisoners of war were subjected to? He wanted to get back home to Miriam’s arms, but he didn't want her to see him like this. Stripped naked in every sense. Of his clothes, his strength, his self respect, his confidence. Like a crazed prey caught in a hunter’s trap, he thrashed around, kicking and clawing, screaming from the bottom of his lungs. He could hear Miriam calling out to him, her voice growing louder every second. As his callused hands made contact with warm fingers, his eyes went wide recognizing Miriam by his side. She switched on the bedside lamp, flooding the room with light. With the onset of sharp blinding white rays, he could feel the darkness fade away. A second later, he collapsed into Miriam’s arms. 

***

16th June, 2010

2:57 AM

Stroking his hair, Miriam felt the tears flow down her cheeks. She could feel John’s hand grasp her arm in a death like vise and she wondered how it had all come down to this. She could still remember the day he had landed at their doorstep. She had been waiting for Carter to come home from his late night stint at the movies where he was working part-time trying to augment the meager cash flow at home. She had been livid with rage. School day or not, Carter was supposed to have been home by 11 PM and it was now 1 AM. He had called to ask if he could catch the last show with friends, but she hadn't been around to answer the call. Taking advantage of her unavailability, he had simply left a voice-mail that he would be home late. She could still vividly picture herself throwing open the door to his incessant knocks, ready to ground him till he grew some sense. But instead of her teenage son, she had come face to face with her husband’s ghost and it had knocked the wind out of her. Even as her friends and family had tried to make her see sense, she had held on steadfastly for the last five years, refusing to believe that John had died. 

And seeing him stand there, her legs had given away and she had crumpled into a heap. Her mouth had gone dry and words had escaped her. Even now, recollecting the events brought tears to her eyes. How those initial incredulous moments had soon turned to a teary eyed reunion filled with questions and counter-questions instead of answers. And when Carter had walked in a minute later, their living room had become a tangle of limbs – arms flailing everywhere. Carter had been shy at first; he had been only ten when his father had left to fight the war in Russia. Now in his teens, he must have felt awkward being hugged and kissed. She smiled now, recollecting how he had wiped his father’s sloppy kisses away.  John whimpering in his sleep brought her back to the present. He was having a bad dream again. It had been a month since his return from the dead, but the nightmares had refused to stop. Most nights were relatively better. After hours of tossing and turning, he would settle into a fitful sleep in the wee hours of the morning. But some nights were worse. His guttural screams would tear her apart, making her shiver even in the warm balmy weather. Lying next to him, she could sense him writhing and thrashing around, trying to fight off his demons. Now, running her fingers over his hair, she whispered assurances into his ear, extracted her hand from his grip and soothed him back to sleep. 

***

26th June, 2010

7:13 PM

“Mrs. Wembley, you have a call on Line 1. Mrs. Wembley, Line 1.” 

Hearing her name being broadcast on the public announcement system, Miriam Wembley strode to the nurses desk at the St. Anna’s Nursing Home for the Elderly. She had had a particularly exhausting day so far, and on a normal day, she wouldn't even have been here this late at night. She would have been home on the couch, curled up with a glass of wine and a good book. Of course, with John back the past month had been an endless period of discussions and catching up. Friends and neighbours stepped in from time to time, to meet the miraculous John who had been presumed dead. They were curious to know how Russia had finally let him go after grilling him for five years as a prisoner of war. He would talk a little and then change the topic. They were all picking up the threads from before, inching along in their life, wary of each other at times but confident that it was just a phase and sooner rather than later, they would be one big happy family again. But every once in a while, tempers would flare up and arguments would ensue leaving them all feeling like strangers even in the familiarity of their home. John had been in discussions with the military again, seeking to re-enlist. John often used to say, ‘You can take a man out of a country, but you cannot take the country out of the man’. Miriam and Carter’s pleas, asking him to return to a life of normalcy had fallen on deaf ears.

“This is Miriam Wembley here.” She said, answering the phone.

“Mrs. Wembley. This is Officer Rodrigues from the Atlanta Police Department.” 

By force of habit, her hand went to her chest. What had Carter done this time? In the months following John’s presumed death, there had been some instances of Carter acting up. He had slashed some tires, upturned a few Dumpsters simply to show to the world that he could do it and get away with it. It had been his way of venting his anger at his father being taken away from him, his way of coping. But he had been caught and he had paid his dues to the society through community service. Carter had grown up since and she hoped that his father’s return hadn't triggered any fresh episodes. 

“It’s Carter, isn't it?”

“I’m sorry? Carter? No Ma’am. I am calling about John. I have your husband here with me. He was picked up for drunk driving. I need you to come down to the station and fill out the necessary paperwork to sign him out. We can talk about his court appearances when you’re down here.” Officer Rodriguez said matter-of-factly. 

At the other end of the line, Miriam sighed. The officer had probably done these notifications a million times now. Easy for him to simply call someone to come over right away, regardless of what their responsibilities entailed. But one of her wards, Mrs. Rogers had passed away last night and it had driven a cold shard of depression throughout the nursing home today. With every such passing, the fear of death and isolation would bite further into the depressed minds of the elderlies. On days like these, they would act like petulant children, craving for attention. And with the staff size being what it was, it only meant that the task of soothing their inner fears fell on those working the following morning shift. And Miriam had been one of those. She hated pulling double shifts, especially on weekends. But on these days, she did the best she could, going about her work cheerfully, hoping to spread some cheer and infuse warmth through her words. She felt guilty at having to talk to the other nurses about covering for her, but it had to be done. 

“I’ll be there in an hour Officer.” She replied. 

***

26th June, 2010

9:25 PM

“Crazy sons of bitches, acting as if they run this country. Bloody hell, who did they think they were talking to! I fought for this country and this is the way they treat me, throwing me in a lockup with the dregs of society. They think I’m a drunkard, hear that Mimmy, a drunkard? I only had two drinks and they say I am a drunk. They kicked me out of the military, refuse to take me back! Told me I am incapacitated - incapacitated my foot! I limp. I haven’t lost my leg! I limp because of the fucking war, the war that I fought for this country Mimmy, how dare they forget that!” 

Driving along the unlit roads, Miriam was experiencing the onset of a migraine. John had been ranting this way for the past twenty minutes and she had nothing to say. It had been years since John had called her Mimmy, and hearing the name made her eyes well up, but she willed herself not to break down. Between handling work at the nursing home and raising Carter, she already had her hands full. She did not need any more complications. And John being refused by the military would be just that. She had met and befriended many ‘Army wives’ as they were commonly referred to and she had heard the same tale everywhere. Once out of the Army, veterans didn't know what to do. They had lived a life of discipline, command and order. They had had schedules, worked with regiments, given orders, followed commands and put their lives on their line. They had learned to live without family, often relegating their emotions to the end of their priority list. Now suddenly kicked out from the only life they knew, they were lost. Miriam was terrified that the same thing would happen to John. 

“Maybe you could apply to local jobs? We could all stay together then.” She suggested.

“You mean civilian? I am a veteran Mimmy. The only job I can do is serve my country.” John argued. 

“But it couldn't be all that bad. You could try. It would be nice for Carter to have his father around in his teens.” 

“Don’t be a drama queen Miriam. The boy grew up just fine without me. And you already knew about Army life when you married me. Don’t try and feed me this emotional nonsense.” He retorted.

Miriam took it as a cue to shut up and focused her attention on the road. They rode the remainder of the way in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. 

***

4th July, 2010

9:05 PM

The door was wide open, empty soda cans strewn around throughout the living room. Half opened packets of chips lay on the counter, a messy plate of dips by the side. Someone had overturned an ashtray on the carpet. Somewhere in the distance, Led Zeppelin croaked mercilessly as he plunked his guitar, the bass reverberating throughout the house. Sounds of high pitched giggles and boisterous laughter resonated through the hallways. He felt like fate was laughing at his misfortunes. As he followed the sounds to the poolside, the scene that met him at the pool pushed him over the edge. Teenage boys and girls in their swimwear playing in the water, children jumping in and splashing water all over, a ragged group of youngsters stood to the side, head banging to none other than Led Zeppelin. He felt a feral rage grow within him and explode. 

“Who the hell do you think pays for all this shit?” He roared. The group scattered around the pool went dead silent. Some kid had the common sense to turn off the loudspeakers and in the ensuing silence, his words hung in the air. Nobody dared to say a word. 

“Everyone out of here. Right now.” He said, his voice loud and firm.

“But Dad ..” Carter started. John gave him a threatening look that quieted him for a second. But then, he tried to reason again. “Dad, I think you’re overreacting.” He said softly.

“I don’t remember asking you for your opinion. What is wrong with you kids these days? You think this is the way to celebrate your Independence Day, do you kids have no respect for the people who fight for your country? Look at you losers, idling around, wasting your time swimming and partying. Those soldiers at the front would be bummed to know that they dying for a bunch of pricks. Get out. All of you.” 

Carter went silent. It was embarrassing enough for a son to have his parents walk in on a teen party. But to get blasted in front of all his friends, for his friends to listen to his father haranguing, this party and his father were bound to be the topic of conversation at school for at least a week. A mixture of shame and anger crept up inside him. Right now, he hated his father. Why couldn't he be like the other cool fathers of his friends? The only time he had seen a father react this way was when his friend Gavin had tried marijuana. Back at that time, Carter had felt immense respect for Gavin’s father. He had had reason to run interference. But all Carter had done was throw a small party at his house, no drinks, no drugs. It had been harmless fun. He couldn't understand why his father behaved the way he did nowadays. As the group filed out of the poolside area, a redhead tattooed teen spoke up. 

“Hey man, nobody asked you to sign up for the Army, man!” Carter bore his eyes into the teen’s, willing him to shut up. But the damage had been done. A beer bottle crashed on the wall, splintering into pieces. John, his anger blunted by smashing the beer bottle, growled in a low voice, telling them to leave. Carter felt tears well up in his eyes but not wanting to give his father the satisfaction of seeing him cry, he turned to leave. 

“Where do you think you’re going, I’m not finished with you yet.” John bellowed, following him into the house. Something inside Carter snapped.

“Yeah well. I’m finished with you. With you and this .. this .. this whatever attitude of your’s you have brought back from the war. What are you going to do Dad? Ground me huh? Well go ahead and ground me. Then what?” He yelled. 

John’s face turned red. He took a thundering step towards Carter, perilously close to hitting him. 

“Then what Dad?” Carter continued. “How will you run the house if you ground me? Out there, you asked me who’s going to pay for all this shit. Well guess what? I am. I work and I pay my share. What do you have to proud of? You .. You can’t hold down a single job anyway.” He could feel John going quiet and he felt a little sorry as he said the words, but he had started the rant, so he went on anyway. “So you fought a war, so you lost your leg. .. Dad, many others have too. They have fared worse. But you don’t get to ruin my life. Or Mom’s. Did you ever notice how much stress she’s under? You go away for five years, we start building a life and then one fine day you come back and you want to run it your way? Well, news flash. Not happening. What are we supposed to do? Take pity on you and bear your tantrums? I may be fifteen Dad but you’re the one who needs to do some growing up!” 

“Carter, that’s enough!” Miriam’s voice spoke up from the doorway.

“But Mom .. He’s the one ..” John said, looking in her direction, ashamed to meet her eye. 

In his heart, he knew he shouldn't have said what he had. But his father’s behaviour had lately been driving him insane. Carter tried to count the number of times he had gotten a call from the bartender at the local brewery asking him to take his father home. He could probably count them on his fingers and toes and still fall short. In an inebriated state of mind, how his father would create a ruckus all along the way blaming the government, the military, today’s generation of kids, anything and everything but himself for his pitiful state. He had grown tired of his father’s excuses. Excuses on why he couldn't find a local job, excuses on why he couldn't hold down a job. Every day had a different excuse, a different victim of blame and yet, every single day it was the same story. He hated seeing his Mom having to clean up after his Dad. She had been patiently trying to juggle her work with his alcohol induced stupors, and under the circumstances, she seemed to be holding up alright, but he could feel the burden it laid on her.  He knew she wouldn't say a word, that in her own way she would wait and play along patiently and a part of him was angry at her too for bearing it silently. But he wasn't tolerant and honestly, he had had enough of this. It was time to put an end to this situation. Someone had had to tell his father how his behaviour was affecting their lives, and if his mother couldn't do it, he had to do it!

“Up to your room. Right now.” She said. 

“Mom, he had to. I had to.” Carter uttered, unable to lend words to his frustration. 

“Carter. Right now.” She said, leaving no room for discussion. 

Carter knew that his Mom was angry. But his own anger hadn't diffused yet. Sulking, he stormed out of the room and took the stairs two at a time. Miriam set her bag on a couch and set about picking shards of glass from the broken beer bottle. 

“This is all your fault. You've spoiled him rotten. Look at him. What a pathetic son he is. Mouthing off to me.” John said. But his voice held none of the anger or the conviction he had felt before. Miriam wanted to mouth off a retort herself but then her rational side took over. What good would it do anyway? She looked at him, her eyes searching his for an opening, a way to start a dialogue. Taking a deep breath, she addressed him. 

“John. You need to give him some time. He’s not used to having you around.” 

“Not used to? Not used to? I’m his father Mimmy.” He cajoled. 

“Yes you are. And nothing in the world will change that. But you need to understand that Carter grew up without you. He had to grow up too soon. He’s not ten anymore. You can’t treat him like he’s a child. This is all new for him.” 

John was silent for a minute. He had so many questions but no answers. How had it come to this? Miriam took the silence as a positive sign. Listening was good. It was the first step in resolving conflicts. She cupped his face with her hand, turning his face towards hers. Her eyes welled up with tears, but she continued. 

“We both had to do a lot of things which we had never done before. It made us new people. There’s no going back John, it’s too late. We cannot go back to who we were. There’s only one way we can go from here. And it’s forward. And we all need to do it together. I need you John. Carter needs you.”

I need you too Miriam. John wanted to say the words, but he couldn’t. In the face of his failures and shame, no words materialized. Miriam’s face fell, maybe she had thought he would say something. I need you. I love you. Something, anything. But he hadn’t, and now the moment had passed.

“You know, you said he’s a pathetic kid. You are wrong. He’s everything I could have ever asked in a son. I am not saying this because I am angry at you. He’s a good son and you need to know that too. I just need you to think about what I said.” She gazed at him for a long minute, then dumped the shards of glass in the trashcan,  turned off the lights and left him in darkness.

***

4th July 2010

10:33 PM

In the darkness, John staggered. He had come back from the world of the dead, and rather than be a good father and a good husband, he had made things worse. He had wallowed in self pity, when he should have been supporting his son and his wife. Carter had taken the reins of the house in his hands.  He recollected mortgage loans, education fees, utility bills and his heart cried at the burden his family had been drowning under.

***

4th July 2010

11:03 PM

Sitting by Carter’s bed, in the soft light of the night lamp, Miriam thumbed through his baby pictures. Carter in his PJs at two. Carter on his father’s shoulders at the Independence day barbecue when he was three, their sun-kissed faces red in the afternoon heat. She lovingly grazed her fingertips on the glossy prints, wondering how their loving little family had turned into strangers who were no longer sensitive to each other’s feelings. In the silence, she wept recollecting the hurt Carter had hurled on his father, for the lost love between a husband and his wife, a love so lost she was didn't know how to rekindle it again. She yearned to touch him, lean into him, look into his eyes and have him tell her that it would be alright. But she didn't know where to begin. 

Standing outside Carter’s room, John could hear her muffled sobs. They tore at his heart and he wanted her to stop. Building up his resolve as best as he could, he shuffled into the room. His eyes met Miriam’s across Carter’s sleeping form and with forlorn eyes he mouthed the words “I am sorry”. She looked at him for a second, then the floodgates opened and tears flowed down her cheeks. Rushing into his embrace, she let herself have a good cry. 

“I need you too Mimmy. I need you and I need Carter, I am sorry. We’ll be alright. We’ll be alright. I promise. Shh... Shh” He said, in a rush to get the words out. Sitting up in his bed, a sleepy Carter just smiled.