“Of course,” Dad says.
“Can you give me a recap of what happened here?”
The other officer steps toward me and lifts my arm. “You may need some stitches on that,” he says. “What happened?”
“Pete paged me with 9-1-1 and his location code for this place. I didn’t know what was going on, but when I got here, I found him up at the top. He’s afraid of heights and has never come up here alone. He said there was a bunch of stuff going on with his family and he couldn’t take anymore. Then he tried to jump. I caught his wrist, but both feet were already airborne,” I explain.
“I followed my son here since it was so late when he told me about his friends’ 9-1-1 page. I didn’t suspect anything serious until he didn’t come right back to the car, I felt concerned, so I climbed the steps and found them out here, Pete hanging from Brody’s grip off the side of the tower. The two of us managed to pull him back up,” Dad continues.
“That wound is from the edge of the wooden planks?” The officer asks.
“Yes, sir,” I answer.
The officer finishes jotting down his notes and slips the notepad into his back pocket, then folds his hands together in front of his waist. “Son, you saved your friend’s life tonight.”
I can’t help but drop my gaze to the ground between us. I saved Pete’s life, but did I make it worse too? “What will happen to him now?”
“That’s up to the medical professionals, but what’s important is he can get help. It’s not too late, thanks to the two of you.”
“I should have picked up on the signs sooner,” I say.
“You can’t think like that, son,” the officer says. “Let me jot down your contact information and then you two can get going. It’s late.”
How will I find Pete now? “Do you know where Pete is being taken?”
“For now, he’ll go to the hospital for some evaluations.”
For now. Then what? I assume Pete will never speak to me again.
It’s a quiet walk back to the cars. I feel like I just woke up from a horrible nightmare. “You were right to follow your gut,” Dad says.
“I should have told you what was going on sooner, I guess. I never thought it would go this far.”
“None of that matters, Brody. We can’t change the past; we can only learn from it and take those lessons forward in life with us. If you are ever in a situation like this again, which I pray you aren’t, you’ll probably recognize the signs and you’ll help.” His words make little sense at the moment because the thought of going through this again makes my stomach hurt. How many people walk around each day assuming there is only one solution to their problems?? What other signs are there? “I don’t know,” I respond.
“Always befriend those in pain and help them find their strength,” Dad says.
“How would I know someone is in pain? Pete has it all together on the outside.”
Dad sighs and shakes his head. “Life is confusing, Brody. Sometimes the ones who act the strongest are in fact the weakest and just need someone to talk to, someone who understands them, someone like you. You must see through the outer layer, and you, my boy, do. It’s a gift.”
11
I’m notsure which part of Pete’s story made Journey want to get up and leave, but the moment I stopped speaking, she excused herself from the bed of my truck and ran into her apartment building without so much as a goodbye. Now I’m sitting here wondering why I shared something so private with a person who can’t manage to say goodbye or explain why she must leave so suddenly. This is why I keep my shit private. It’s too heavy for others to handle. Normally, I might have stopped her; asked her what’s wrong, but my story wasn’t about her or the way she feels, and I didn’t feel the need to question her rudeness or look for an answer as to why she ran off. It’s crap.
The quiet drive home invites too many unwanted thoughts and angers me—an emotion I try my best to avoid. That’s why I don’t open up about that part of my life and why I went as far as I did, lying about my whereabouts during those couple of rough years.
I take a few calming breaths before walking inside the house, knowing Dad’s in there, probably falling asleep on the couch. I’m sure Hannah has been in her bedroom all night doing God knows what, leaving Dad alone with the TV.
The front door opens into the living room, just feet away from where Dad is in fact slouched into the corner of the couch. He clears his throat and pulls himself upright as if I caught him sleeping on the job. “Dad, I fall asleep on the couch every night. It’s all right I get it.”
He stretches his eyes open to adjust his focus and glances at his watch. “It’s early. I thought you had a date or something?”
“Wasn’t a date, but it was something.”
“Couldn’t have gone too well if you’re home by nine,” Dad adds.
“I have one word that will explain it all to you. Journey.”
