Page 64 of Wham Line
“I am so—” Bobby’s words dropped away.His chest heaved, but when he spoke, his voice still had that same locked-down control that made it small.“—soangry.I’m furious, Dash.With myself, for—for letting things get to this point, for not handling it better.”
“Bobby, you don’t have to—”
“And I’m mad at her.I’m so mad at her sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe.I know I should be hurt.I know I should be grieving.But I’m so angry, Dash.Sometimes I feel like I’m coming apart, and I think if I open my mouth, I’m going to—I’m going to scream, or I’ll say something or do something that ruins everything.”
The forest’s stillness rippled between us.
“That’s okay,” I said.“You can be mad at her.”
He let out a jangled laugh and shook his head.
“You can,” I said.“Your feelings are valid, Bobby.Every feeling.You don’t have to feel bad about them or guilty or anything.There’s no right or wrong.”
His breathing changed.He huffed a few times, almost like a laugh—or, I realized with a twinge of panic, like he might cry.His grip became crushing.When he spoke, he fought for each phrase.“She went to this stupid holistic doctor.He wasn’t even a doctor.He was a—I don’t know.He did natural Vietnamese stuff.Sheneverwent to a real doctor.When the headaches got bad, she’d try something new—acupuncture, or chewing some root nobody has ever heard of, or sleeping with a magic spell under her head.I toldher she needed to see a doctor.Itoldher.And she wouldn’t listen to me because she always knew better.And this is the same woman who said I was a disappointment because I wasn’t going to med school.This is the same woman who said I had wasted the good life she’d given me.When Eric graduated, she said at least she had one son who was going to have a good career.But she couldn’t go see a doctor, not once, because she always had to be right!”
The final words were a shout that ripped its way out of Bobby.They echoed among the trees.
His chest rose and fell now, and he sucked in air like he couldn’t catch his breath.“And Eric—I mean, my God, he’s a doctor.Shouldn’t he have known?Why didn’t he tell her to go see a doctor?Why didn’t he say anything?Because he’s too busy pretending to be the perfect son, even though as soon as he’s out the door, he tells everybody how awful our parents are, and how they abused him, and how he’s had this horrible life, which is why it doesn’t matter if he sleeps around and treats Alice like crap, and we’re all supposed to pretend it’s okay because he’s an anesthesiologist and he gave them grandkids and at least Mom and Dad are proud of him.”
I rubbed my thumbs against the back of Bobby’s hands; he was clutching me so tightly that it hurt.
“And do you think my dad can—can do one thing to help me?One thing?He won’t answer my texts.When I try to talk to him in person, when I ask him what he wants, he says whatever he thinks will end the conversation as quickly as possible.That’s what he’s done my whole life.When I came out to my parents, he stood up and walked out of the room.When I changed majors, he spent the rest of the day in the garage.When I broke up with West, he gave the phone to my mom.I know he doesn’t want to talk to me.That’s fine.That’s just who he is.But I shouldn’t have to do this alone!”
This shout had a raw edge; the wind whipped it away.
Bobby squeezed his eyes shut.He gulped air.His hands tightened crushingly around mine.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the words broken and childlike, as though he knew he’d done wrong and wanted to make it better.“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
He shook his head.And then he started to cry.
I pulled him against me, whispering, “Bobby, it’s okay.It’s okay.It’s going to be okay.You’re not alone.”
Chapter 18
We ended up sitting on a log.I had my arm around Bobby’s shoulders, and he leaned into me.He stopped crying, and then we sat there, the quiet broken only by eddies of wind, the vast sound of trees moving, and Bobby’s occasional noises of recovery—a hiccup, a sniffle, the rasp of him clearing his throat.
He spoke first.“I kept telling myself to take a breath.Ever since she died, it’s been like that.I catch myself not breathing.And then I start thinking about how it felt when you were—when I thought something bad was going to happen to you.So, I kept telling myself, ‘Breathe, keep breathing.’”He made an unhappy noise that wasn’t quite a laugh.“So that I wouldn’t have a panic attack.”
I rubbed his back.
“And when I woke up this morning and you were gone, that was the first thing that went through my head: Something happened to Dash.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t—”
He shook his head.“I knew that was just my brain.I kept trying to calm myself down.I called you; you were fine.I knew I’d been pushing you away, and I wanted to apologize.”That same not-laugh trickled out of him again.“But I didn’t.You told me about the flowers, and that was so sweet, so thoughtful, so…you.I wanted to double-check the delivery address, so I got on your computer like you said.”
“And I’d left the spreadsheet open.”
“It took me a minute to realize what I was seeing.All those names in red.And then it was like—it was like all that anger I’d been holding back washed over me.Everything I’d been holding back.Everything I knew I couldn’t let out because—” His mouth slanted in an ugly version of the goofy grin I loved so much.“—it’s proof that I’m a terrible son.I was so mad.I couldn’t think.I couldn’t talk.My hands were shaking so badly that I could barely get the keys in the ignition.I kept telling myself, ‘At least it’s better than a panic attack.’”
“You’ve been under a lot of strain.You’re hurting.And I kept something from you; it’s okay for you to get mad, honest.”
“I don’t know if it is.”He seemed to consider that.“I don’t know.I couldn’t believe you hadn’t told me.It felt like this massive betrayal.”When I opened my mouth, he said, “I know it wasn’t; that was the emotion talking.But I couldn’t seem to turn the anger off.That scared me more than anything.It was like—it was like after West, when I felt so much, and it never let up.I started driving.I called you, and you didn’t answer.That only made me angrier.I called again.And in my head, I was playing out these huge explosions, even though I wasn’t really mad at you.I was mad at my mom.For dying.”He shivered; I pulled him closer.“That’s so messed up.”
“Well, we’re all messed up.I mean, you’ve met my parents.I’m Exhibit A in the Museum of Messed-Up Children.”
