You Could Be My Compass

Alex awoke to the sound of his dad’s voice drifting up the stairs and through his door. That was weird by itself. His dad wasn’t a shouter. He was known for his ability to remain calm during a confrontation, his pleasant demeanor never wavering. As quietly as he could, Alex crawled out of bed and out of his room. It was the first night without Jack sleeping there too—since his dad returned, he’d gone home, and Alex couldn’t help but feel sad about that—so he didn’t have to worry about waking him up.

He situated himself at the top of the stairs, legs folded and knees resting under his chin, just like he could when he was a little kid and didn’t want to feel left-out of what the grown-ups were talking about, usually business words he didn’t understand or a movie he wasn’t old enough to see. The living room was visible from here, so he could see what was going on. He felt so small right then, like he was actually seven again, watching the scene unfold in front of him.

The first thing he focused on was his father’s face. He looked absolutely livid. He had never seen him angry. He saw that his mom was seated on the couch. She met his gaze and shook her head. She wasn’t telling him to go back to his room; she was warning him not to come down there with them. Wasn’t planning on it, he said with his eyes. Next, he spotted who that anger was directed towards:

Jack’s dad.

While Alex’s dad was standing, moving around in something of a frenzy, Jack’s was sitting in a chair, almost motionless. His expression was unreadable.

“You fucking knew the whole time!” Alex’s dad was screaming. Another rarity: swearing. Unless it was football, he hardly ever swore at anything or anyone. Neither of his parents did. “In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve seen you make a lot of poor decisions, Barakat, but this is the worst fucking thing you’ve done. This isn’t screwing over some small business or firing the wrong guy. This is destroying the life of someone you’re supposed to care about! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What was I supposed to do?” he asked helplessly, raising his arms in a half-shrug.

The arguing continued. Jack’s dad tried to defend whatever awful thing it was that he’d done, Alex’s dad yelled at him, and the cycle went on. It was when Jack’s father said the phrase, “It would have ruined the company.” that Alex’s mom finally spoke.

“You selfish bastard.”

She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t shriek it. But the venom in those three words made him recoil and made Alex shiver. In a small voice, he said, “I’m going to come clean and admit it.”

Mr. Gaskarth laughed mirthlessly. “It’s past time to come clean and admit it. The time to come clean was before it happened. The time to come clean was as soon as he was kidnapped. The time to come clean was after the first year. The time to come clean,” he shouted. “Was when my son was in the hospital!” Whatever he did must have been serious. They never mentioned Alex’s hospitalization. It was a thing that they had an unspoken agreement to not talk about. “The time to come clean was every day since it happened. You’ve had every opportunity to admit it. But I’m glad you’ve finally realized now. Guess the guilt caught up with you.”

He ignored the entire speech except for one phrase, the one that could touch a nerve in the entire Gaskarth family. He snarled, “Don’t blame me for your son’s instability.”

There was a murderous look on his father’s face. “Get. Out.” He inhaled sharply. “Get out of my house right now.”

That’s when Alex’s mom gave him the look. The get-the-hell-out-of-here look. The look that said run for your life. No need to tell him twice. He surreptitiously fled to his room, hearing the front door slam, shaking the house.

What was going on? What did Mr. Barakat know? What had he done that made his mom use the phrase selfish bastard. Like his dad, she hardly ever swore, and it was usually a quick damn it! under her breath after stubbing a toe or spilling something hot on herself. She never directed it towards people, or any living thing, for that matter. Not even Jack the Ripper on his worst, most violent days could evoke foul language from her.

About an hour later, there was a ring at the doorbell. Alex could hear his father saying, “If that son of a bitch is back, I’ll—” and then “Oh, sorry. Hi, Jack. How can we help you…tonight? This morning?” The rapid change from furious to polite was slightly disconcerting.

He didn’t hear Jack’s response or any of the conversation that followed, but soon enough, Jack was at his door, lip quivering. “My dad left,” he said softly. “He said he has some things to take care of and doesn’t know when he’ll be back. Your parents said I could stay here for a while. Again.”

Alex nodded, not saying anything, just opening his arms and letting the younger fall against him. “I can’t believe he’s already gone. But you know what I can’t believe even more? The fact that I’m disappointed by it at all. I should’ve expected this from him.” Alex could feel Jack starting to cry as he continued, “It’s like he doesn’t even care that I’m home,” he sobbed. “He’s back for a day and then he just up and leaves.”

He made the decision right there to not say a word about what he’d witnessed in his own living room. Not at least until he knew what happened. “He cares, Jack. He’s just…got a lot on his mind.”

“Don’t say that! You don’t know if he cares or not. Did he even look for me after they took me, or was he relieved to not have another problem to deal with?”

“Jack, everyone in the city was looking for you.” But now that he thought of it… “We all got together and combed over every inch of the state.” …where was Jack’s dad during all of this? “It was in all the papers, all the TV stations.” Sure, he’d been present for press conferences and made statements about how hard it was to wake up in the mornings without Jack there… “People you didn’t even know were looking, putting up flyers, doing whatever they could. Every single person wanted you to come home.” …but had he ever actively participated in the search? “There was a commercial during the Super Bowl one year!” No. But he couldn’t tell Jack that. Couldn’t tell him that maybe Mrs. Gaskarth had been right when she’d called him a selfish bastard, even though he didn’t know her reasoning. Alex had reasoning of his own: the man hadn’t ever joined in on the search efforts for his own son.

“Really?” Jack asked, looking at Alex with a tiny smile.

“Really. I’ll show it to you tomorrow. It made my mom cry.” Cry was a bit of an understatement, but whatever. “I mean, they used your school picture, and, no offense, but that’s the worst photo anyone’s ever taken of you. Ever.”

“Are you trying to make me feel better or…?”

“Just trying to distract you,” he admitted.

Jack was quiet for so long that Alex thought he’d gone to sleep. But then he spoke again. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What are you talking about?”

“My dad…did I do something to piss him off?”

“Jack,” Alex groaned, sounding frustrated. But he wasn’t frustrated with Jack. It was the situation. It was Jack’s dad. It was the fact that, even when he was younger, Jack always felt like he wasn’t good enough for his dad, that he had to prove something, that he’d screwed up somewhere along the way to cause him to act that way. When they were eight, Jack had spent hours cleaning the house while his dad was out on a weekend business trip, and he hadn’t even noticed when he got back. He’d cried to Alex about it, wondering if he hadn’t done it right. But the truth was, Mr. Barakat was just an unsatisfied asshole, and that wasn’t going to change, no matter how hard Jack worked to make himself supposedly better. But Alex couldn’t seem to get that through Jack’s pretty little head.

Jack was evidently waiting for Alex to finish his statement, so he fished for words. “We both know that’s not true.” That was it. That was his brilliant statement. He mentally kicked himself. Surely he could’ve come up with something better than that.

Jack wormed his way out of Alex’s arms and laid down on the bed. “I’m staying in here,” he declared. “As long as you don’t mind, of course,” he quickly amended.

“Of course not.” Alex settled in next to him, resting one arm over him. “You know you can stay here as long as you want.”

“Mm, good. With the way my dad’s being, it may be a while before I leave.” He covered the seriousness of his statement with a sarcastic tone.

“Okay, time to lay some ground rules: no moping about your dad while you’re in my bed. No talking about how you’re not good enough for him or whatever the fuck it is you think after eleven pm. And…” He pondered a good third rule before deciding on, “No hogging the covers.” Not as huge as the first two, but important nonetheless.

“No promises on that last one.”