Page 58 of Existential

TWENTY-SEVEN

Hooch

Dog and Mel walk on ahead of me, oblivious to the fact I’ve stopped in my tracks. We rode for five and a half hours straight to get here by nightfall, and as the last tones of a beautiful sunset promising a clear night disappear on the horizon, the sum of my reality hits me square in the face.

Crackers wants an explanation. The table will want know what’s been going through my head. And I owe it to them. I just don’t know if I can physically voice the why, because the reasons behind my distance unravel the deepest parts of me I’d rather keep hidden.

The parts I ignore in the hope that over time the pain they cause will diminish. Maybe if I face my demons another day, they won’t be as savage? Or maybe I will have forgotten how to fight them?

I’m scared. Scared of who I am, of how weak I’ve become, and what it means for the rest of my days. I’ve lost grasp on who I am and how to control it. I loathe every fiber of my being so badly that the sheer thought of having to live out the rest of my life in this façade of strength makes me want to cry out in despair. I can’t keep doing this. Pretending I’m okay, that I’ll be okay one day, rips me apart in the slowest form of torture a man could imagine.

Mostly, I’m scared of being scared, because men like me? Yeah, they aren’t supposed to feel fear like this. Fear is an asset to be gained, used, manipulated, and twisted for your own benefit. Not something that should leave you cowering at the sight of your own shadow.

“What’s going on?”

I snap out of my daze to find Mel before me, her hands on my elbows as she looks up into my eyes with nothing but concern. Dog is gone, presumably inside the Lincoln clubhouse already while I stand here frozen in the garage, trying to pretend I didn’t just have a mild panic attack.

“You ever get the feeling it’s too much?” I ask. “When you think about Dad and Dana? About how shit our family turned out?”

“All the time.” Her expression softens as her hands drop away. “You need to talk about it though, big brother. You can’t shove it all down and expect it to stay buried.”

“Who did you talk to?” She’s been in hiding since our lives went to hell in a hand basket. She’s had no one.

“I wrote letters.” She jerks her head towards a stool, taking residence on a crate nearby. “Someone told me once that writing things down is the same to your mind as talking with another person. It shares the burden. So I wrote how I felt, the things that made me angry, the unfairness I felt at what Carlos did, and when I was finished, I’d burn them. It felt … it was like setting the thoughts free.”

“It’s different for you, though. You get that, right?”

“Because I’m not the president?” She tips her head to one side.

“Because you’re a woman.”

Her brow scrunches as she fires up. “Don’t start that shit, Hooch.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not being sexist, sis. You know what I mean, and don’t say you don’t. Women, they’re allowed to cry and break down. People expect them to be shaken up when bad shit happens. It’s acceptable to be nurtured when you’re a girl.” I shrug, not sure how else to explain it. “But men? We’re conditioned to hidin’ the softer side of our feelings from when we’re boys. You don’t cry when you hurt yourself, you suck it up and carry on. And you sure as fuck don’t ask somebody to give you a hug because you’ve had a bad day. You’re supposed to be all cold and clinical, macho and all that bullshit.”

“It’s not the 1950s.”

“I know, but it sure feels like it some days.”

Mel rises, reaching out and tugging my hand. “Come on. Give them a shot in there. They’re probably more understanding than you think.”

“I hope so,” I say, allowing her to “pull” me up. “Because if you’re wrong, I think it’s going to be the last straw.”

“Just give them a chance.”

We enter the common room of the Lincoln clubhouse just as the tail end of my officers file into the meeting room. King stands aside at the door, raising his chin in greeting as I cross over to him.

“Figured we’d get the formalities out of the way so you can have a breather afterwards without it preying on your mind.”

“Crackers filled you in then?” I ask.

“Only on the main points.” He jerks his head toward the men waiting at the table. “Let’s get to it, huh?”

I hesitate as he takes his spot at the head, fire racing through me at the thought of being boxed in with a room full of hard truths. A flash of color in my periphery catches my attention, and I turn toward it, thankful for the distraction. Mel pulls Dagne in for a hug near the bar, and my stomach becomes a tight fist at the frustration of having to do this meeting right now.

I want … I don’t even know what it is I want. I just know I can get it if I go to her.

“Today, brother!” Crackers calls out from behind me.