Spreading Roots

This is it. Frank’s leaving.

Just an hour after I managed to go to sleep, my phone’s shrill alarm (I picked the worst one available on purpose) shoved me to consciousness. I blindly jumped out of bed and within seconds I located a pair of jeans on the floor and hauled them on. For all I knew they could have been backwards—but shit, I didn’t have the time to so much as look in the mirror. For old times’ sake I cursed the military and its ridiculous hours. Being only four a.m., I believed to have every right to.

Frank would be leaving any minute, though, and I refused to give up the chance to see him one more time before he left.

Before he left. I felt like he just came home. He was leaving, and there was nothing I could do to change that. As much as I wanted to fight for him to stay—even while I knew it would be childish and useless—I couldn’t make this any harder on him. I felt the tears mounting up already. I sucked it up and left my room, turning on the hallway light on as I made my through the house.

It wasn’t far down the hallway before I got to the stairs that lead to Frank’s split-level entrance. I couldn’t let this be some sad, sappy moment that would probably end up with us both being emotional wrecks. I refused to let my uncle go over there without as clear a mind as possible, and I certainly didn’t want him worrying about me while he was at it. Maybe I wouldn’t be ‘okay’ by his standards while he was away, but I would make it through. I always did, as much as I believed to never be capable of doing so. At the very least I could do this. For him.

Frank was in front of the door, bent to tie his combat boots, eyes focused on the sole action. An army-issue duffel bag sat at each of his sides. I hated to even see him in uniform; it made me think of all the things that could go wrong.

Sensing my presence, Frank looked up at me with a heavy gaze before he straightened. "I thought I told you to stay in bed."

"You did," my voice was thick with sleep. Hell, I was just barely coherent right then to realize that he was really, really leaving. Frank knew all too well of my less than satisfactory sleeping schedule. He'd even given the run down the night before of what he expected of me while he was away. The usual. Stay in school, try to get some sleep at a decent time, and don’t get into alcohol or drugs.

In that moment he really filled the father figure role for me. God. And I didn't like it all that much, either. I laughed—literally had not been able to keep a straight face—when he 'suggested' that I avoid trouble with Marilyn. And while he frowned at my attitude, he didn't even bother to argue with me. I knew, though, how much it meant to him that I actually be emotionally stable while he was away, so I figured I would head over to the house later and after Mom got home from work, I would... fuck. I'd apologize. I didn't feel as if I was the one who needed to say 'sorry', but if it meant appeasing her and getting her off my back for a while, then I'd tell her whatever she wanted. For Frank.

"You did," I repeated when he didn’t look too impressed. I couldn't really blame him. "I just... I just wanted to make sure you didn't forget your laptop," I rambled and cursed myself.

No, I didn’t just pull that out of my ass. So much for not being a silly screw-ball.

It was just so hard. He was leaving. When he sent me a questioning glance, mouth quirked in a quizzical manner, I explained further. "So we can Skype. Every chance you get, got it?"

Frank smiled despite himself and pointed to his backpack. "Got it."

I forced a smile in return, but we both see through it. Frank switched his weight from foot to foot and stared at me for a good long moment. I couldn't hold his gaze. Shit. "I'll be back, Devon. You're killing me here."

"I'm sorry," I lied. I couldn't possibly be sorry over feeling sad about his leaving. He was my uncle after all. I turned to leave, to run back to my room like the emotional coward I was known to be.

"Devon," Frank called. I paused mid-way. "I need that key back."

I sighed, then utterly defeated as I fished the key from my back pocket. I couldn't even get one past my uncle Frank. I really must have been off my game. But that key—the key to his house—meant so much more than just being a place to stay. There weren't any memories here, at least not any bad ones. And Frank had always been sure to make it a positive place for me to stay while away from Mom. By taking that away, it took my chances of having a familiar, easy place to calm down and clear my head.

Because these days nothing was easy, so I had to take my chances and fight for everything I had. Begrudging, I wiped a tear away from my cheek before Frank had a chance to see it and thumped down the stairs. I was crying way too much lately and I hated it.

"But what if I need something here?” I asked on the way down, probably too shaky for Frank to even understand.

"You give Jed a call and he'll let you in." I couldn't resist the pout that played on my lips from his response.

“Foley gets a key and I don't?" Well, I'd be sure to pay a visit to his garage in the next couple of days to make away with it. Even if to just make a copy. At least I still had my scheming streak.

"Don't start with that, Devon," Frank fought to keep his voice level. Clearly he didn't see this, arguing, as the farewell he'd get from me. On the last step, I reached forward and dropped the key, made sweaty from my clammy palms, into his out-stretched hand. In a rush I turned to leave so as not to let him see me completely break down. I could do that in my room where nobody could judge me. Then Frank took my wrist and lifted me from the stairs into easily the tightest hug I ever received from him. I savoured this moment, more than he could know, and inhaled the scent of his freshly-laundered uniform.

He set me down and brushed a stray tear from my cheek. I couldn't help but to look away, stood on shaky legs.

"I love you, kiddo."

Such an admission didn't come often from my Uncle Frank and it was even rarer for me to reply.

"I love you too," I said on an exhale. My voice was unusually quiet and I wasn't quite sure whether or not I could even watch him leave then. He was right; I should have stayed in bed.

"Try and get some sleep before you head home," he paused until I nodded, wanting to make sure I listened for once. He sent me a measured look. "You got your inhaler?"

Ugh. "Yes."

I could picture Frank ticking off all these things in his mental check list, and finally he nodded. Eyes glassy, he bent to press a kiss to the crown of my head. "Be good."

Emotions bombarded me from all angles. Every day for years I managed to duck their blows but this morning they were swinging. At the same time as the dread came back about going back there, I felt determined to fight through it. Through the pure fear I felt whenever I stepped foot in Mom's house. It had never been a self-mediated thing, no. I didn't just pick up all these phobias one day just for the hell of it, didn't discount myself from the chance of having any real friends just for shits and giggles. I never enjoyed the sight of my family falling apart in front of my eyes, while I was too much of to help or stop it.

Through Kara's death I never fully recovered, not even almost six years after the fact. I didn't believe I ever would. But then I thought about Frank and his place in all of this. I realized exactly what he was for me. He was my rock. And it would kill me to not have him there for me. Goddamnit, he was leaving. Then? Then I would have Marilyn.

I wasn't even sure I wanted to work things out with her. I would apologize, sure, if only to put Frank's worries to rest.

"I'll be back soon," Frank said and slung his bags on each of his shoulders before he reached to open the door. I stepped back to give him room, heading up the stairs several steps. I watched as he made his way out and looked back at me. My heart broke.

"See ya, Devon."

"Bye." It surprised me to even be able to form a reply, as weak and squeaky as it was. The door shut with a soft click. Frank was gone I was all alone with nothing but my own haunted thoughts to keep me company. I couldn't stand to watch him leave; it would only serve to make things worse for me. I told myself, too, I wasn't that weak. That I'd done this before, gone over a year and made it through without his presence. But this time felt different. Like I wouldn't ever have the chance to see him again, that this was it for us and the somewhat odd relationship we forged after my sister's death.

After minutes of just standing there, staring at the door he left through, I made my way back up the stairs. The laminated flooring was freezing underneath my bare feet, but I welcomed the feeling. I knew what I'd have to do, what I did during all the other times I was alone and would be for god only knew how long. I decided then, for myself and even for my mother's sake, that I would make myself numb.

Numb to Frank's leaving. To the cold hard reality I'd have to face soon that I would indeed have to go back to Mom's house at some point today and that I couldn't just stay here forever. That I would have to fall asleep there at one point, through the terrifying nights. I would have to pass by the basement that nearly killed me, both emotionally and physically. I couldn't even picture myself going back there, back down there. Kara's screams still sounded in the back of my mind whenever I let my guard down, whenever I let myself relax after an anxious, tense day of just trying to act normal for once.

When I got back to my room and began to pace, I realized quite suddenly what I was doing.

I was feeling.

And I stopped.

I welcomed the cold floor beneath my feet, because it was all I felt.