Chapter 3

Arthur Carlin knew about depression, he dealt with it on a daily basis as a councilor. It was a bit like a rip in the ocean, it sort of creeps up on you and before you realize what’s happening your drowning in a pool of despair. Well thats how it felt at the moment,  he was the single buoy keeping his family afloat. The only trouble was he wasn’t sure how long he could last.

His knuckles ached, dislocated fingers from his old basketball days he thought, but he tightened his grip on the stairs railing regardless; knowing the discomfort would pass. The oak felt strong and smooth in his palm, and he knew at the moment he needed its support especially after leaving Spencer’s room. His legs felt suddenly heavy, his daughter’s voice was full off so much pain and suffering he wanted to crash through her bedroom door and wrap his arms around her, keep her safe, away from anymore hurt. He knew it wasn’t that easy, years off psychology training had taught him that. Spencer needed to talk, but when she was good and ready.

  His dissent down the stairs was less agile than he was used to; his legs felt weak forcing him to stop a few steps before the bottom. If Arthur had paused long, he was too distracted to notice. It was as if he was an old man hell-bent in completing an errand and then suddenly forgetting what it was.  The sight of his son-sitting taunt, rigid like he was in some sort of unspeakable pain dissipated his concern for Spencer, for the time being anyway.

He scratched his head, more in concentration than actual itch, trying to remember exactly how long had he been upstairs, maybe thirty or forty minutes. Glen still hadn’t moved, on a normal day it would be a minor miracle if the boy could keep still for ten minutes, but thirty. He sighed heavily, his eyes darted to a picture of Clay on the mantle; there was no need to remind himself this was not a normal day. Nor would the next day be normal or the next after that. Who knows how long it would take for things to get back to what was perceived as normal, but he knew one thing for sure, he had to believe it could and would happen. At the moment it was the only thing keeping him going. The only reason he got up in the morning, put on his clothes and brushed his teeth, and tried to pretend this was just another day. A sudden unexpected heaviness sank deep into his stomach as his eyes darted back to the picture of Clay.

He hesitated for a moment, dumping his heavy frame into the couch and tried his best to appear comfortable.

Taking a sideway glance at his son, Arthur again took another deep breath.

“Glen, do you want to talk?”

The sound in his fathers voice made Glen grimace, it was his I’m a councilor, and I’m so in control of the situation voice. But you only needed to see the sadness in his fathers face to know it was all a bluff, and a bad one at that. Glen tried to relax his body; it felt so tight with tension if he was a guitar string he would have snapped before a note was played. He knew his father was waiting for him to respond, he even opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, just a weak strange guttural sound. It was as if the words were frightened and had returned to the safety of his throat. Frustrated he swallowed hard, waiting for the saliva to return.

Glen tried again; “I still can’t believe he’s gone dad” his voice still shook with emotion.

Arthur’s never remembered his father ever hugging him once in his entire life, but he was determined it wouldn’t be that way with his own sons. Both Glen and Clay as kids would complain that he hugged them so much they had rashes indented on their bodies and he had never felt so proud at the words. And although Glen was nearly a man, he didn’t hesitate to reach for the boy, pulling him close to his chest in embrace so tight that the walls of despair crumbled as if they were sand.

 It was a soft knock in the distant that quelled all emotions. Already the stones of manhood had begun its rebuild as Arthur felt himself quickly wipe his tears from his face. He doggedly got to his feet but couldn’t resist, and kissed his son on the head before gently ruffling the boy’s hair.

“Where going to get through this” he held Glen’s eye for effuses, and only when the boy nodded did he make his way to the door.

                                                  *******************