The Stone Pillar

My father never showed a vulnerable side. Like many from his generation, he kept it locked away somewhere so secret that I often thought even he forgot where it was.

When I was growing up, I watched him and tried my best to emulate the parts that I admired. I wanted to be a source of calm, a rock, a shoulder, hell I wanted to be a gravitational pull for when his world was spinning off its axis.

And I got my opportunity on the day my brother almost died, and he lost his job.

I remained calm that day, despite an anxiety riddled so deep in my bones that I thought it would paralyze me. Watching my brother fall asleep at the wheel of my old man’s work truck. Watching the tar black smoke rise from the hood like a dark omen. Screaming my brother’s name as I exited the car, running, then hauling on the driver’s side door like my life depended on it. Staring at the near lifeless body of my best friend, who was unconscious at the wheel.

I remained calm as my mother screamed obscenities at my grandmother. Blaming her for my brother’s condition. Pointing at her with a long wicked finger, preaching the gospel according to an angry middle-aged mother. Psalms that couldn’t have come from the mouth of the woman who had taught me about love, compassion, and sincerity.

She was yelling, saying that if my grandma would have just stayed put in her shitty apartment instead of insisting that we help her move back to the town she swore she’d never return to, my brother wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed cut-up and concussed.

My grandmother’s frail hands were shaking in deep disbelief of the barrage of obscenities she was bearing witness to. I wanted to step in, but I was numb. My tongue was so dry, I couldn’t even imagine stringing two words together, let alone enough coherent sentences that would ratify the damage already done.

So, I walked out of the hospital room to get away from the madness for a moment. I saw my father on his work phone, telling who I assumed was the big boss about the incident. Pleading, to no avail, for his job. The job which he had worked for over 20 years. Pleading, but not begging, never begging. Eventually, ending the call with a monotone, “thanks for everything, I guess.” and hanging up.

He turned and looked at me. I didn’t want to hold his gaze, afraid that the stone pillar I had built for myself, and out of myself, would crumble if we were to lock eyes. So, instead, I looked at the floor and headed back towards the war zone. The fighting seemed to have stopped, at least momentarily.

I took a step in the direction of the room and my father said, “not so fast, kiddo.” I turned around slowly. Feeling nervous, like he was going to scold me, although I’d done nothing wrong, at least not since Minnie’s Field. Instead, he put his hands on my shoulder. “Thanks for everything today. You’re a tough kid. I’m proud of ya. I know, I

probably don’t say this enough, but I love you, kid”

Then, despite my best efforts, the stone pillar crumbled.