A Song for Julia

Sean!”
    “Good!” Sean shouted. “Now it’s just like always!” And he reached down and picked up the gift, and threw it, hard, at the front window. Whatever was in the gift was hard, but the wrapping softened the blow a little bit. It hit the window with a loud whack, but the window didn’t crack.
    Jack surged forward, and Crank jumped up, physically putting himself in between them. “Dad, calm down,” he shouted.
    Sean’s face was marked with rage, eyebrows drawn down low and pushed together, and he moved toward his father. “What, were you going to attack me?”
    “Sean!” Crank shouted, putting his other hand against Sean’s chest to hold him back. “Chill out. Everybody chill out!”
    The room went silent, except for Margot’s tortuous, stifled sobs. Sean stalked off and then broke into a run in the hallway, his sneakers thumping on the stairs on his way up.
    Jack deflated, exhaling suddenly. With sinking shoulders, he said, “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Margot. I’m so sorry.”
    Nobody was paying the slightest bit of attention to me. So I quietly got to my feet, stepped out of the room, and tiptoed upstairs.

    Don’t Get in the Way (Crank)
    As always after a blowup with Sean, my heart was pounding, and my stomach was twisted in knots. For the first time in a very long time, I felt a huge wave of sympathy for my mother. Seeing her like this now—broken, silently weeping—brought back memories I’d have just as soon not remembered.
    My mother, sitting there at the same couch with my father’s arms wrapped around her, wailing, “I just want to die! Please let me die!”
    I squeezed my eyes to shut out the memory, but it wouldn’t go. That was five or so years ago, right before she left, right before I left.
    Jack put his arms around her. He spoke gently, “Let’s go sit in the kitchen, get you some coffee or something.”
    She nodded, and Tony put a hand on her shoulder in sympathy. Mrs. Doyle got up to go, and I walked her to the door, and said, very quietly, “I’m sorry about that blowup, Mrs. Doyle.”
    She looked at me with level eyes. Sad eyes. “You just take care of your mom and your brother, young man. You’ve all been through a lot, but it will get better.”
    I wish I had her confidence. Sometimes I worried so much about Sean and his blowups. I’d been a bad kid, sure. But I never got so angry that I confronted Dad like that, except once, and he’d clocked me right in the face when it happened. Now, with Sean, it happened weekly around here and was getting worse. That was one of the reasons I was at the house so much. To give them some space from each other, to be a buffer.
    My mom and dad and Tony moved into the kitchen, and that’s when I realized … Julia had gone missing.
    I checked out the back door, but she wasn’t there, and the ground floor bathroom was open. So I quietly went up the stairs.
    Sean’s door was cracked, light streaming across the floor in the hallway. As I approached, I could hear him pacing back and forth, which he always did when he was pent up with energy. He was talking, a slightly disjointed and toneless monologue which occasionally broke into angry tones.
    “Why should I accept her gift? Or have her in the house? She left when I was twelve. She is not part of my life. She did not want to be part of my life. Why should she be part of my life now, when it is convenient for her?”
    Julia was in there. She said something, but it was quiet. I couldn’t really hear, so I moved closer. As I did so, I saw her. She was sitting on the floor next to his bed, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. He was pacing in circles.
    “I know,” he responded to whatever she said.
    He stopped pacing, suddenly, and asked, “Why don’t you get along with your mother?”
    I held my breath. She must have said something to him before I came up here.
    She took a deep breath and replied, “A few things, I guess. You know we lived in China most of my high school years? My parents … they went through a rough time for a while, especially the first two years. And I … I went through the worst experience in my life, and needed help, and didn’t get it from her. Later on, when things got really bad after we came back to the States, it was like she judged me, you know? She didn’t take the time to find out my side of the story, or listen, or be … a mom. Instead it was all about controlling me and sometimes saying things that made me feel bad