see all you have to do now is please try
Kathy had to leave work to come retrieve her son today, and she's just hoping she doesn't wreck her hose on the pedals while her black heels lie abandoned on the floor.
They've both been silent for about five minutes, by her guess.
"It's not that big a deal," he says quietly, from the back of the car, holding an ice pack she promised to return later to his face.
"Not a big-" she can't close her eyes, she's driving, but she wishes she could for a minute "-you've been suspended, they could expel you, and where do you think we're going to send you after that, huh? I just- I don't understand why you have to do this, Henry, you're in high school, for God's sake, this matters. Do you even understand-"
"Was I supposed to let them hit him?" He asks, still quiet and stubborn- sullen, really, he's fifteen and he thinks he knows so much better than she does. (She expects better than this because there are days when talking to him is like talking to another adult, and she forgets he's barely started to grow up.)
"You weren't supposed to hit them. That's all."
It's quiet in the back again, and she glances into the rearview mirror before trying again, "I thought Adrian was your friend, Henry, couldn't you have just talked to him or something?"
His jaw sets as he turns his face against the window.
They're silent the rest of the way home and when she gets her shoes on she looks up to see him walking to the house like an old man, and she doesn't say anything else about that particular fight. But that's when she thinks she started to know.
Five years later he brings his first girlfriend home ("A late bloomer, I told you," Paul tells her, satisfied) because her parents are out of the country for Christmas and she lives in the dorms like he does. He couldn't just leave her behind. Her name is Eleanor, she's blonde with the most striking blue eyes, and despite the fact that Henry is easily more than a foot taller than her she towers over him. He's so careful with her, like something he's afraid to break, and she wishes she could just tell him that this girl isn't the type anyone could damage. Eleanor laughs like a loaded gun and bounces around their house ("This is beautiful, Mrs. Fabron- can I call you Kathy?") like she already belongs. Kathy has to admit she likes her, when Henry asks.
"She's great," he says, drying dishes in the kitchen with her as Paul and Eleanor argue about what they should watch in the living room, "Did I mention she's going into law? She wants to be in politics one day, you should really listen to her talk about it. Don't tell dad she's a Democrat, though."
"I don't think he'd care much, considering he's about to elope with her- what? What? I'm saying he likes her! It's a good thing, don't look at me like that." He breaks off his mock-glaring to grin back at her, shaking his head.
"He does, doesn't he? I want you guys to like her." He looks down at the pot in his hands and keeps smiling, softly. "She's really-"
"-Henry, come help me in here!" Eleanor calls, and Henry looks to her quickly before glancing at the door.
"I'll handle the dishes, go, take care of her," Kathy says, snapping a dish towel at him, "God help anyone left with your father too long."
So maybe she was wrong, is what she thinks when he smiles at her like that and practically runs to the living room, maybe it was a phase, maybe it wasn't anything but an overactive imagination. He holds her hand whenever he has the chance and some nights she can hear hushing from his room when she walks by for a glass of water- she doesn't mind, though she doesn't mention it to Paul, who thinks Eleanor sleeps exclusively in the guest room. Henry makes her a scale model of the Eiffel Tower for Christmas, inside of which he hangs a tiny diamond necklace she suspects most of his savings from the summer went to. Eleanor cries almost the rest of the morning, which will eventually make more sense, if only to Kathy.
In the family portrait of that Christmas he's holding her up with his arms around her waist (she's laughing brightly, curly hair tossed over her face) and there's something in his face that catches her every time she flips through their photo albums. Hope, maybe.
They leave, he calls them twice and doesn't tell them anything except that he's okay, and he comes home alone and nearly silent for his spring break with bruised and scabby knuckles. She and Paul exchange a look behind his back, and in the alchemy of marriage somehow he ends taking the responsibility for talking to him.
They go out on the back porch that night, and she sits by the open kitchen window and pretends she's not listening to them. They talk about school for a while, and then Paul's famous tact sneaks in:
"What happened to your hands?"
"What do you mean?"
"You goddamn well know what I mean. What happened? Were you picking fights?"
"I don't-"
"-'pick fights', sure, but you sure as hell let them start. Who'd you hit?"
"I didn't hit anyone."
"If you get arrested, we're not bailing you out of anywhere, you understand? Now tell me what kind of trouble you've got your sorry ass into."
"It's- dad, Christ, do we have to do this?"
"I have a right to know and you're not going anywhere until you tell me the truth. Sit the hell down."
"You're being-" She winces when she hears the sound of the slap. Maybe she should have handled this.
"Sit."
"...it was Eleanor, okay, are you happy-"
"-Henry, so help me, if you've been hitting that girl-"
"I didn't hit her," Henry snaps, and it's the first time in this conversation he's raised his voice. "I told you I didn't hit anyone, you don't listen to me- I hit the wall, all right? She dumped me and I hit the wall after she left and I didn't want to say anything because it was stupid."
There's silence outside, and then Paul stands up. Kathy opens the book on her lap when he walks in, goes to the fridge, and pulls out two beers before going back outside.
"Here." He cracks the first one open. "What happened?"
"It just..." The second, and Henry is silent for a long time. When he speaks he's so bewildered in his hurt that she almost wishes he hadn't said anything else at all. "It didn't work. I couldn't...make it work. I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
Kathy leaves, feeling like as much of a traitor as that girl and not being sure of why. (She had known it couldn't work, and it wasn't either of their faults. Some people are just born different and you have to love them like they are.)
Later in the week his hands have started to heal and he's smiling every so often. Kathy convinces herself he's going to be fine. He always has been, before, whenever something has got him down. He endures, and he recovers.
It's the middle of the night when she comes out of the bathroom and turns off the light that she hears a voice in the basement. She thinks of waking up Paul, but she decides to wait until she's sure, creeping across the kitchen floor in her bare feet to crouch by the door and listen.
"-I overreacted, I know that, please listen-" It's Henry. Of course it's Henry. And she shouldn't be listening to this.
"-it doesn't matter to me- they're just other guys, it's- it's normal, and you were right, you weren't really doing anything. I know. I know. I was wrong, Ella, I just- please, I can be better, I can try harder, don't do this-" She hasn't heard him cry since he was nine years old and his dog was hit by a car; she didn't know it sounded like this in her adult son.
"-no. I can try less hard, I promise, I'll back off- I'm sorry, you know I'm fucking sorry, Ella, please, I love you. I love you so much and I can't- I swear I can be better, I'll do anything you want me to do just please don't leave me like this, I can't do it. I can't lose you like this, it's- no, no, give me another chance and I'll do it right this time but you just have to give me another chance!"
"Don't hang up-" She steps onto the stairs when she hears the phone hit the concrete floor. She worries about him overhearing her, but when she walks up behind where he sits on the ancient couch she realizes she could have come running and he'd have heard about as much with his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking.
"Henry," she says, putting her hand on his back as she comes around to sit next to him, "Henry-"
"I tried," he says, like he doesn't understand how this could have happened.
"I know, baby, I know. Sometimes it doesn't always-"
"It was supposed to, I love her so much I don't know how I can even- what did I do to her? What did I do so wrong, I just tried to take care of her and- God." There's no more talking after that. She hadn't known he could cry like this, not least of the reasons for which being she hadn't heard him cry for so long.
After Eleanor she doesn't hear about anyone for a long time, and when she does it's not the same, men or women. Mostly men, as time goes by, and after a while there stops being anyone at all. He hasn't cried in front of her since then, but he hasn't smiled like he did at that Christmas, either. Maybe it's a fair trade to make. She doesn't know.
They've both been silent for about five minutes, by her guess.
"It's not that big a deal," he says quietly, from the back of the car, holding an ice pack she promised to return later to his face.
"Not a big-" she can't close her eyes, she's driving, but she wishes she could for a minute "-you've been suspended, they could expel you, and where do you think we're going to send you after that, huh? I just- I don't understand why you have to do this, Henry, you're in high school, for God's sake, this matters. Do you even understand-"
"Was I supposed to let them hit him?" He asks, still quiet and stubborn- sullen, really, he's fifteen and he thinks he knows so much better than she does. (She expects better than this because there are days when talking to him is like talking to another adult, and she forgets he's barely started to grow up.)
"You weren't supposed to hit them. That's all."
It's quiet in the back again, and she glances into the rearview mirror before trying again, "I thought Adrian was your friend, Henry, couldn't you have just talked to him or something?"
His jaw sets as he turns his face against the window.
They're silent the rest of the way home and when she gets her shoes on she looks up to see him walking to the house like an old man, and she doesn't say anything else about that particular fight. But that's when she thinks she started to know.
Five years later he brings his first girlfriend home ("A late bloomer, I told you," Paul tells her, satisfied) because her parents are out of the country for Christmas and she lives in the dorms like he does. He couldn't just leave her behind. Her name is Eleanor, she's blonde with the most striking blue eyes, and despite the fact that Henry is easily more than a foot taller than her she towers over him. He's so careful with her, like something he's afraid to break, and she wishes she could just tell him that this girl isn't the type anyone could damage. Eleanor laughs like a loaded gun and bounces around their house ("This is beautiful, Mrs. Fabron- can I call you Kathy?") like she already belongs. Kathy has to admit she likes her, when Henry asks.
"She's great," he says, drying dishes in the kitchen with her as Paul and Eleanor argue about what they should watch in the living room, "Did I mention she's going into law? She wants to be in politics one day, you should really listen to her talk about it. Don't tell dad she's a Democrat, though."
"I don't think he'd care much, considering he's about to elope with her- what? What? I'm saying he likes her! It's a good thing, don't look at me like that." He breaks off his mock-glaring to grin back at her, shaking his head.
"He does, doesn't he? I want you guys to like her." He looks down at the pot in his hands and keeps smiling, softly. "She's really-"
"-Henry, come help me in here!" Eleanor calls, and Henry looks to her quickly before glancing at the door.
"I'll handle the dishes, go, take care of her," Kathy says, snapping a dish towel at him, "God help anyone left with your father too long."
So maybe she was wrong, is what she thinks when he smiles at her like that and practically runs to the living room, maybe it was a phase, maybe it wasn't anything but an overactive imagination. He holds her hand whenever he has the chance and some nights she can hear hushing from his room when she walks by for a glass of water- she doesn't mind, though she doesn't mention it to Paul, who thinks Eleanor sleeps exclusively in the guest room. Henry makes her a scale model of the Eiffel Tower for Christmas, inside of which he hangs a tiny diamond necklace she suspects most of his savings from the summer went to. Eleanor cries almost the rest of the morning, which will eventually make more sense, if only to Kathy.
In the family portrait of that Christmas he's holding her up with his arms around her waist (she's laughing brightly, curly hair tossed over her face) and there's something in his face that catches her every time she flips through their photo albums. Hope, maybe.
They leave, he calls them twice and doesn't tell them anything except that he's okay, and he comes home alone and nearly silent for his spring break with bruised and scabby knuckles. She and Paul exchange a look behind his back, and in the alchemy of marriage somehow he ends taking the responsibility for talking to him.
They go out on the back porch that night, and she sits by the open kitchen window and pretends she's not listening to them. They talk about school for a while, and then Paul's famous tact sneaks in:
"What happened to your hands?"
"What do you mean?"
"You goddamn well know what I mean. What happened? Were you picking fights?"
"I don't-"
"-'pick fights', sure, but you sure as hell let them start. Who'd you hit?"
"I didn't hit anyone."
"If you get arrested, we're not bailing you out of anywhere, you understand? Now tell me what kind of trouble you've got your sorry ass into."
"It's- dad, Christ, do we have to do this?"
"I have a right to know and you're not going anywhere until you tell me the truth. Sit the hell down."
"You're being-" She winces when she hears the sound of the slap. Maybe she should have handled this.
"Sit."
"...it was Eleanor, okay, are you happy-"
"-Henry, so help me, if you've been hitting that girl-"
"I didn't hit her," Henry snaps, and it's the first time in this conversation he's raised his voice. "I told you I didn't hit anyone, you don't listen to me- I hit the wall, all right? She dumped me and I hit the wall after she left and I didn't want to say anything because it was stupid."
There's silence outside, and then Paul stands up. Kathy opens the book on her lap when he walks in, goes to the fridge, and pulls out two beers before going back outside.
"Here." He cracks the first one open. "What happened?"
"It just..." The second, and Henry is silent for a long time. When he speaks he's so bewildered in his hurt that she almost wishes he hadn't said anything else at all. "It didn't work. I couldn't...make it work. I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
Kathy leaves, feeling like as much of a traitor as that girl and not being sure of why. (She had known it couldn't work, and it wasn't either of their faults. Some people are just born different and you have to love them like they are.)
Later in the week his hands have started to heal and he's smiling every so often. Kathy convinces herself he's going to be fine. He always has been, before, whenever something has got him down. He endures, and he recovers.
It's the middle of the night when she comes out of the bathroom and turns off the light that she hears a voice in the basement. She thinks of waking up Paul, but she decides to wait until she's sure, creeping across the kitchen floor in her bare feet to crouch by the door and listen.
"-I overreacted, I know that, please listen-" It's Henry. Of course it's Henry. And she shouldn't be listening to this.
"-it doesn't matter to me- they're just other guys, it's- it's normal, and you were right, you weren't really doing anything. I know. I know. I was wrong, Ella, I just- please, I can be better, I can try harder, don't do this-" She hasn't heard him cry since he was nine years old and his dog was hit by a car; she didn't know it sounded like this in her adult son.
"-no. I can try less hard, I promise, I'll back off- I'm sorry, you know I'm fucking sorry, Ella, please, I love you. I love you so much and I can't- I swear I can be better, I'll do anything you want me to do just please don't leave me like this, I can't do it. I can't lose you like this, it's- no, no, give me another chance and I'll do it right this time but you just have to give me another chance!"
"Don't hang up-" She steps onto the stairs when she hears the phone hit the concrete floor. She worries about him overhearing her, but when she walks up behind where he sits on the ancient couch she realizes she could have come running and he'd have heard about as much with his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking.
"Henry," she says, putting her hand on his back as she comes around to sit next to him, "Henry-"
"I tried," he says, like he doesn't understand how this could have happened.
"I know, baby, I know. Sometimes it doesn't always-"
"It was supposed to, I love her so much I don't know how I can even- what did I do to her? What did I do so wrong, I just tried to take care of her and- God." There's no more talking after that. She hadn't known he could cry like this, not least of the reasons for which being she hadn't heard him cry for so long.
After Eleanor she doesn't hear about anyone for a long time, and when she does it's not the same, men or women. Mostly men, as time goes by, and after a while there stops being anyone at all. He hasn't cried in front of her since then, but he hasn't smiled like he did at that Christmas, either. Maybe it's a fair trade to make. She doesn't know.