Come As You Are Page 3

The ten hour drive to Aberdeen with my mother could very well have been one of the most excruciatingly awkward events in my life, or at least one of the quietest. After we had piled ourselves into the shining black hearse and pulled onto I-5, it was as if someone had turned off my Mom’s ability to speak.

  At first, I made a fledgling attempt at small talk, asking her if or when she wanted to stop for lunch, to which she sheepishly replied with, “I’m not hungry.” Of course she wouldn’t be hungry at quarter past eight in the morning, but I had a feeling that by noon or one in the afternoon, she might have something of an appetite.

              After nearly five hours without speaking, I finally convinced her to order something from a drive thru just outside of Eugene, Oregon, a little over halfway through our trip. None to my surprise, she picked at her burger and fries as I continued to drive, eating less than a third of the meal in whole.

              Again, as we drove closer to Aberdeen, about an hour away from the city, I turned to my mother and asked her if she was actually alright. She replied with, “Yes, fine,” and that was that. At one point, I almost decided to ask her what exactly had happened between she, my father, and brother, but I chose not to, knowing it would cause more harm than good.

              My mother was a lot like me; if she didn’t want to talk about something, trying to force her was the last thing you wanted to do.

              I wasn’t sure whether or not to take her lack of speaking as anger towards me or concern for August. In actuality, it was likely a bit of both, and I quickly decided to let her come around on her own. My attempts at forcing her to speak seemed to only be prolonging her silence, and I quickly realized as we grew closer and closer to our destination, she seemed to be growing even more apprehensive.

              And though I felt a wave of apprehension come over me as well, as we parked at Gray’s Harbor Hospital, I also felt a sense of relief that the worst car ride I had ever experienced had now come to an end. Of course, the car ride home could still take the award.

              I waited patiently as my mother composed herself, wiped away any fresh tears, and courageously stepped out of the passenger side door, holding her hand against the frame of the car so as to keep herself steady. She looked to me with sorrowful eyes as I too exited the hearse and said in a sincere tone, “I’ll have some paperwork to fill out before they’ll let us take August home. Will you come in with me and wait?”

              “Of course,” I answered, knowing that while I would prefer to wait in the car, I didn’t know how long it would take her to fill out this paperwork. It also dawned on me that it would be better for everyone if I was present when she and August were finally reunited. August would likely be less than enthused while my mother would be expressing multiple emotions-- joy, anger, and concern-- all at once. It could easily become an ugly scene.

              A nurse at the front counter directed Mom to a place where she could sit to fill out the countless pages of paperwork that would release August into our custody. As she sat and began the lengthy “read and sign” process, I saw my brother waiting for us across the room in an oversized red comfy-chair that looked as if it didn’t belong in a hospital waiting room.

              “Well, hi,” I said as I made my way to him and sat down casually; the chair was big enough for the both of us. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, though I had expected him for some reason to be clad in a hospital gown.

              He looked over at me with his blue eyes and shaggy brown hair and I realized how much we were alike in that moment. I had never thought much of it before, but we looked more like twins than brothers separated by seven years. His face was calm yet nervous, which told me he was about as afraid to face Mom as she was to face him.

              “Is she mad?” he asked, nodding towards the woman silently reading through release forms across the room.

              “You know, being honest, I haven’t seen her angry the entire time you’ve been gone. I think she’s been worried and a little embarrassed about what happened between you guys, but I wouldn’t say she’s mad,” I answered, trying to soften the blow as much as possible. Of course she was probably mad, but she was more overcome with a sense of relief that her son was alive and well (exceptionally well, to be honest). “You look good,” I added. The only physical trace of the fall that I could see on my brother was what looked to be a pretty large gash on the right side of his forehead, now stitched closed and on its way to healing.

              “Thanks, I guess,” he said sheepishly, giving me a strange stare.

              “For someone who fell off a bridge, I mean.”

              “I just got a few bumps and bruises, maybe a concussion. I hit my head pretty hard,” he said, pointing to the stitched contusion and smiling. “But, I know who the President is, and I know my name and my birthday, and how many fingers, so I’m pretty sure I haven’t suffered any horrible brain damage or anything like that.”

              I nodded slowly, taking in his words. He was lucky he hadn’t been killed, falling into a river while drunk. He was lucky his friend had been there to pull him out of the water. “It could have been a lot worse.”

              “Yeah, I guess so,” he said, not completely convinced. The distant stare from him as he spoke brought up a nagging idea in the back of my mind; what if August had meant to die on the bridge that night? Could he have been trying to kill himself?

              The two of us chitchatted for a few more minutes and, after realizing that the paperwork was going to take Mom a little while longer, August convinced me to take a walk with him around the hospital campus. He said he’d grown fond of the place after spending a couple of days there. Apparently, he’d fallen from the bridge on Monday and his lack of identification had made it difficult for the doctors and police to notify our family of his whereabouts.

              As we walked through an outdoor courtyard, a thought arose in my mind. “So, you said you remember everything, no memory loss. Why didn’t you just tell the police who your parents were and how to get in contact with them?” I asked.

              August laughed, picking a flower and playing with it in his hands. “I ran away, remember? I didn’t want to be found.”

  It made sense and was exactly something my brother would do. If he didn’t want to give up his personal information, then it would be easy for him to pretend like he didn’t know it. “Why Aberdeen?” I asked.

              “Is this Twenty Questions?”

              I slapped my hand onto his shoulder, worrying I might hit a bruise or cut I couldn’t see, but he seemed fine. “You ran away and have been missing for two months; what do you expect?”

              “A parade,” he joked.

              “No,” I stated. “People who are kidnapped get parades, and kids who run away get grounded for a year. You should have faked your own abduction if you wanted a parade waiting for you in Anderson.”

              He stopped walking and stared at his feet for a moment, not looking at me as he spoke. “I wasn’t planning on going back there. Ever.”

              August was being open with me, something I had hardly seen before and still wasn’t used to. I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as if his time in Aberdeen had somehow peeled back a few of his layers. He was normally secretive and overly quiet, but here, now, he was ready to talk, ready to tell me things he never would have before running away. In a way, it angered me it took a life-altering event like this to bring him out of his shell to a point where he felt like he could trust me.

              “Are we that bad?” I asked. I looked to him for reassurance, but he didn’t answer the question. I
t wasn’t abnormal for teenagers to hate their families, but this felt a little on the extreme. “We’re that bad,” I added with a scoff.

              “It’s not you,” August stated firmly. “I left because of the fight I had with Mom and Dad. I knew they weren’t the most accepting or understanding people in the world, but it was Three Mile Island in our house that night. You have no idea how bad it was.”

              I knew our parents and had experienced firsthand how they could turn something completely trivial and make it about them. When I had admitted I had no plans of following in my father’s funeral director footsteps, it was made clear that I was inconveniencing them and the plans they had made for our family. There was little or no concern for what I wanted to make of my own life. I could see how August would feel trapped in a meaningful conversation that wouldn’t end in our parent’s favor.

              But still, despite the validity behind them, August’s actions were rash and ill-thought out.

  “So, fleeing across state lines seemed like your best option?” I asked, trying not to sound too authoritative, but still meaning to get a point across.

              “If they would have had it their way, everything would have just gone back to normal after that fight. They would have wanted to pretend nothing had happened at all. To me, the worst crime is faking it, and I just couldn’t do that anymore. Besides, you ran away,” he pointed out matter-of-factly.

              I laughed, putting my arm around him and leading him forward through the courtyard. “No, I moved out. I packed my bags and moved into a tiny apartment across town. You, however, threw some crap into a backpack and fled the state. How did you do it, by the way?”

              While I was trying to stay somewhat stern, my curiosity had gotten the better of me. I thought that since we had found him, safe and sound, I could at least be a little intrigued by his story.

              He hesitated, knowing I wouldn’t like the answer. “I hitchhiked.”

              I couldn’t believe it, yet at the same time, it was completely believable. August was just naïve enough to hitch a ride more than five hundred miles with a complete stranger. “That’s one detail I’d leave out of my story to Mom and Dad,” I advised.

              The two of us walked the courtyard for several more minutes, exchanging offhanded comments and advice to each other about dealing with the impending apocalypse that would be confronting our parents. As much as I longed to be left out of the reunion, I was a part of it and would never actually leave August to face them on his own. For all intents and purposes, we were in this together, and I would help him as best I could.

              As we made our way back towards the receptionist’s desk where our mother would be completing the release paperwork, I turned to ask August one final question out of Mom’s earshot. “So, what did you do while you were here?”

              All joking left his voice as he answered the question: “I was happy.”

              I couldn’t have been sure, but it seemed as if he was fighting back tears.

              Before I could say anything to console him, our mother appeared in front of us, a little flustered and out of breath. I mentally cringed, wishing I had been able to say one last thing to August.

               She focused her speaking on me, as I assumed she was still a little too nervous to speak directly to August. “Where have you been?” she asked, almost angry, but more frustrated than anything.

              “I was just—“

              She cut me off before I could explain, energetically brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. She’d been crying again. She shook her head and declared, “I’ve been looking all over for you. Everything’s set. We can leave now.”

              I nodded and looked over my shoulder at August who returned my bewildered look with a slight shrug and roll of his eyes. As I turned back to face our mother, she had already turned and was making her way towards the exit of the hospital. It shocked me that she had failed to even acknowledge August’s presence. I had expected an emotional hug and an “I was so worried about you!” But no, nothing.

              August’s face was unharmed by the cold reunion, but I could tell it bothered him, deep down. As we followed our mother through the automatic doors, I leaned my head towards his ear and whispered, “It should be an interesting ride home.”

  Chapter 4