Book Excerpt--Part 3
22: A Journey to the Edge of Darkness
SUMMER—Fredericksburg, Virginia, July 2016.
Post-Traumatic Stress manifests itself in insidious ways. Those who suffer with it often don’t realize what will incite a reaction. His sons played soccer, and they were getting pretty good at it. They played on travel teams that cost significant money compared to what their father was bringing in, but rich grandparents took care of the rest. It was fun, at times, but the boys also felt they were living in the shadow of their father’s expectations.
He cheered them on during games, but focused on how they played instead of on officiating or coaching decisions, unless it was to pull them out of a game; it was expected they would start and play the entire match. The problem was they were 12 and 10, not college athletes. His 12-year-old didn’t like school very much and wasn’t sure he liked soccer as much as he should.
Today, the eldest hadn’t played as well as he could have. In fact, not as well as he should have, in Jay’s estimation. At the conclusion of the match Jay whisked the family away, irritated and brooding, to make the four hour-long drive back to their house. They drove in silence until he broke it. “For all of the fucking money we spend to allow you play soccer, thisis how you show you’re grateful? By playing like shit?!” he looked at his son in the rearview mirror. The boy hung his head, ashamed, saying nothing.
“Hey! Ease up!” Erica said, stern.
“No! Fuck no, I won’t ease up! You know I’m right! It’s bullshit that he doesn’t give it his all—in the classroom or on the soccer field!” his anger welled.
She was defensive, “You weren’t the best student or athlete! And I think you’re being harsh on him; the language!” The car accelerated as he stepped on the gas pedal out of frustration. “Jesus! Slow down!” she yelled.
The counter accusation stung him. “Oh, yeah! You don’t know what it takes to raise men. My dad did! You have to be tough to make tough people. And I won’t have my sons be unappreciative of what they have and lazy little shits!”
From the back seat, his older boy spoke up, “I’m not a ‘little shit’, dad!”
His eyes narrowed and he changed lanes to the right to pull off the side of the road on a busy interstate highway. “What the fuck did you just say!?” He hadn’t slammed on the breaks, but he was slowing the car quickly and all of them lurched forward as the vehicle came to rest.
He unbuckled his seat belt and turned towards his son, reaching between the front seats to grab him by his soccer jersey just under his throat. He didn’t have his son in a choke-hold, but in his wife’s estimation and from her vantage point that is exactly what she saw. “OHMYGOD!!! What the FUCK are you doing!?!” she screamed.
He was fully between the seats and had the jersey knotted in his fist. His son, restrained by the seat belt, couldn’t move forward and looked at his father, a mask of fear on his young face, tears streaming down them.
He wasn’t sure what he was going to do to his son. His anger grew to fury and he whited out on the incident. Though their Escalade was in ‘Park’ he had stepped on the brake to gain leverage to get over the armrest and into the backseat. His foot slipped off of it and his weight pulled him back, violently yanking his son forward.
“Don’t TOUCH HIM!!” Erica screamed, outraged, slapping him on the back, but when he slipped back her next slap caught him full in the face. He let go of his son’s jersey. A stunned silence filled the car. He looked at his wife. She looked at him, fearful.
“I can’t believe you did that. A wife doesn’t hit her husband!” his shock remained.
“What?! I can’t have you being violent—physically violent—with our kids! What is wrong with you!!?” she stood her ground, protective.
He shook his head. “No! This is beyond that; this changes our relationship! I’m trying to do right by our sons and this is how you treat me!?” he exclaimed, wounded.
She was calmer, trying to reason with him. “I know you were brought up tough by your father, but this isn’t the way!”
“He just wanted me to be ready for life! These kids have to know how to deal with things—to be tough and get through adversity! You’re coddling them and now, look at the example you set to them by hitting me!” he was deflecting any blame or involvement, like what he had done was justified and it was she who was wrong.
Erica’s tears welled up. “You don’t get to do that to them! You’ve changed. All the combat, the deployments, holy shit. I think you need some help!” she implored. He unlocked the door and opened it. The car remained running, the hazards flashed. “Where’re you going!?” she sobbed.
“I can’t sit here like this, with you!” he exited the car as big rigs and other traffic screamed by at seventy miles per hour. Shutting the door, he walked around the front of the car.
He placed his hands on the hood, banging on it twice, and burst into tears. He was snapping out of what had happened, of his white rage, of his disconnection, and realized that is wife was right. He wasn’t the same person and wasn’t sure how to get back to that state. His son would always remember this moment. Hell, both of them would, and this became a watershed moment in their young lives between them and their father. All of his family cried inside the car. Outside, he balled his fists and cried in anguished guilt. Then he saw the emergency lights of the Virginia State Trooper pulling in behind them.
Trooper Dan Jarvis emerged from his patrol car after a brief exchange with his dispatcher. As soon as Jarvis got out of his cruiser, he knew something was wrong. A former Army infantryman with combat experience in Iraq, he had a sense for situations, the vibe that came with them. Jarvis approached Jay slowly. “Hey, buddy, everything alright?” he had to speak up over the noise of the road, but his tone was even.
“What? Yeah, officer, we’re good.” Jay walked around the car towards the officer with his hands open, to show he wasn’t armed. He noticed Jarvis had blue eyes and close-cropped gray hair visible under the brim of his Smokey Bear hat.
“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Jarvis closed the distance between them, glancing inside the car to see Jay’s family, then back to him.
“We almost got in an accident with an eighteen-wheeler. It freaked my wife and me out, you know!?” he lied.
The trooper’s senses piqued at the tension in his voice. “Oh, yeah, those things are huge and I deal with them every day, I get it!” he was trying to bring Jay down. “Are you carrying?”
“No.”
“Any weapons in the car?”
Jay admitted, “Yes. I have a pistol in the center console. I’m a licensed concealed carry permit holder. I can show it to you if you want.”
“Yeah. Let’s take a look at that.” Jarvis nodded.
“I have to get into the car to get it; my wallets’ in the door.” Jay was trying to do everything right for a traffic stop. He felt the trooper’s own adrenaline. Combat veterans knew this feeling and also felt it in other people who had experienced it.
“Please get it, but do it slowly.” Jarvis was directive, but not stern, in control of his emotions even if the situation was tense, though he wasn’t sure exactly why.
“Will do.” Jay opened the door and Trooper Jarvis looked inside at Erica. “Everything okay, ma’am?” he could see she had been crying, the kids didn’t look much better.
“Yep, officer; just had a scary moment!” she smiled at him. Her husband looked at her, his mouth flat, one eyebrow raised. “Your husband said a big rig almost hit you guys. Pretty scary! You sure that’s it?!” Jarvis wasn’t convinced.
“It was frightening! I had him pull over, I just couldn’t deal with it for a minute and needed to get my bearings!” she chuckled, nervous.
Jay retrieved his permit. Jarvis looked at it, and the Jay’s driver’s license, memorizing his address, and, walking with Jay to the rear of their vehicle, noticed the Bomb and Wreath sticker on his car. “I see you’re EOD.”
“That’s right. You serve?” Jay asked.
“I was an Army grunt in the First ID. Two tours in Iraq.”
“Cool. So, you know.” He didn’t have to say more.
“Yeah. I know. I also know you guys didn’t get hit by big rig. You’ve got something going on, brother. I want you to get home safely, so I’m gonna’ escort you, okay?”
“That’d be cool of you, but it isn’t necessary.” Jay protested.
“It’s not optional.” Jarvis lowered the brim of his hat so only his eyes looked at Jay from under it.
“Understood.” He pursed his lips, nodding.
“Good. Please return to your vehicle and I’ll pull forward to get you in behind me. I’ll get you home.”
“Will do.” Inside their car, Jay and Erica drove home in icy division. “Goddamn,” Jay thought, “well, let’s have it out.” They never did, she wasn’t good at expression nor fighting, and, frankly neither was he. Not with her, anyway. And in the end, he knew she didn’t want to fight about their relationship.
When they arrived at their house, several nosy neighbors looked at them as they pulled up with a state police car leading them. Parked in their driveway, his wife took the boys inside. He stayed outside with the officer for a few minutes.
Jarvis looked directly into Jay’s eyes. “I know you don’t know me from anything, but you aren’t alone, okay? I’ve been where you are, man. If you need help, here’s my card. Call me. Anytime.” It was a sense of fraternity Jay hadn’t felt in a long time.
“You got it, but I’m fine.” Jay looked away when he said it, noticing Jarvis’ name tag.
“We all thought that.” Jarvis caught his eye then shook his hand. “Stay safe, and watch out for those big rigs. They can blindside you.”
“Thank you, Trooper Jarvis.” Jay said.
“Call me Dan.” Jarvis said, getting in his car and backing out of the driveway. Jay watched him drive away then looked at the card. On the back was the symbol for Daedalus.
According to Greek mythology, he escaped the Minitour’s labyrinth with his son, Icarus, by making wings from feathers and wax. They flew from their captor and enticement of flight led Icarus to fly too close to the sun, which melted his wings and caused him to fall to earth.
Daedalus escaped only to lose his son in the process. Jay thought about the metaphor on Jarvis’ business card, then went inside his house.
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