Brains and Brawn

Paul had stood by helplessly more times than he liked, often a continent away, while the kid picked himself up out of a spiral of depression and put one foot in front of the other. Now his son was a few months shy of finishing his associate in arts degree in music and was looking to transfer to a local bachelor of music program. It had taken him longer to finish because of his struggles, but he was going to do it, and damn, that made Paul proud.

“I know, I just hate being away.”

“I hate it, too,” Bowie admitted. “I was worried, you know, with all of the insanity going on. One week it’s North Korea and the next there’s a false alarm in Hawaii….”

Bowie’s anxiety had been through the roof lately. Paul’s sister Penny lived in the duplex unit next door and kept an eye on Bowie while Paul was gone. When they’d talked earlier, Penny told Paul that Bowie hadn’t made it to class this week. Bowie never wanted his dad to worry, and that frustrated Paul no end.

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s your job, though. I get it, Dad.”

Paul pressed his thumb and forefinger into his forehead and closed his eyes.

“Hey, go in the top drawer of my dresser. I have a surprise for you.”

“Your underwear drawer?” Bowie asked, horror evident in his tone. “Gross. Do I even want to know?”

“Just go,” Paul said with a laugh. “Hurry, though. I can’t talk long.”

Paul heard Bowie curse, and then something crashed in the background. He could only imagine the mess Bowie’s room would be without his presence. Paul McNally was a military man through and through and had attempted to instill order in their home—more for Bowie’s peace of mind than his own. Kids with anxiety and depression do better in a neat and structured environment. That’s what the therapists had told him. That’s what he’d learned when he did his own research. Kid still had a messy room, but at least he had his own system of organization that worked for him.

“All right,” Bowie finally said. “What am I looking for?”

Paul pictured him opening the drawer to find a sealed envelope he’d left there before his deployment on top of the neat stacks of white T-shirts and boxers.

“An envelope with your name on it, what do you think? You find it? Open it.” Paul couldn’t stand the suspense. He knew Bowie would be thrilled with the gift—and he knew it would provide the perfect occasion for him to spring some news on his son. Some good news for once.

Paul heard the envelope tear and then a crinkle as Bowie pulled out the folded piece of printer paper. His gasp made Paul smile.

“Surprise! Before I left, I got us tickets to the last Warped Tour. It’s not ’til June, but I’ll be back by then and we can go together. They should be announcing the bands in a week or two.”

Bowie sucked in a breath and blew it out into the phone. “This is…. Thanks, Dad. I know it’s not your favorite show—”

“It’s fine. I always like hanging out with you and going to hear music. I miss going to shows with you.”

Paul and Bowie had gone to see live music regularly when they lived in Connecticut, Virginia, North Carolina, and San Diego. But the past five years in the Bay Area were a different story. They’d been to some concerts, but Paul was gone at least half of those years, and they’d missed other shows because Bowie just couldn’t handle the crowds and noise in the headspace he was in.

“Me, too. I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, kid. You doing okay? Work okay?”

“Yeah,” Bowie said. Bowie had always tried to be honest with Paul, but Paul knew it was hard for him to admit he struggled. “I’ve missed class, but I haven’t missed work.”

Paul’s eyes burned with tears and he sucked in a breath. His son was so damned brave—braver than Paul had ever had to be in his nearly twenty-five-year career.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize, son. We both know this is a process, right? You call Mrs. Robinson?”

“I did. I’m seeing her tomorrow. Dad, I don’t want you to worry.”

“I am worried. I wish I could be there with you.”

“It’s okay. Aunt Penny is keeping me fed. I’ve been picking up the kids from school every day when I get off work and taking them out so she gets a break. I eat dinner with them before I go to class….”

“I know it’s tough. You do the best you can, and that’s all I ask, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good man. All right, I gotta hang up now. Message me after you see Mrs. Robinson, okay?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry to worry you.”

“I just want you to be happy, son. That’s all. I love you. Be good.”

They hung up, and Paul cursed. Then he pulled up the calendar on his phone. June twenty-third in Mountain View, California. The website said it was to be the last summer-long, cross-country tour for the franchise. He and Bowie had been to two Warped Tour shows in California and three or four back east. Paul’s wheelhouse was more classic rock and heavy metal, but once Bowie started skateboarding, they both fell in love with the culture and music.

Punk, pop-punk, metalcore, and up-and-coming singer-songwriters had made Warped phenomenal over the years, and Paul was sad to see it go, but he was glad they’d be going together. It was an end to Warped, sure, but his impending retirement meant a new beginning for him and his son. One where he was around more. One where he could support Bowie in becoming a man. One where perhaps Paul could find something for himself, although he had no idea what that something might be. He’d been a corpsman and father with no room for anything—or anyone— else…What else was there?

Paul looked at his calendar and frowned. One hundred three days until he’d be back home. He’d turned in his papers for retirement and been told it would take several months to process. And then there’d be the ceremony….

As he tucked into his bunk that night, he thought about his own future for once—not his son’s, but his own—and it presented him with more questions than he was ready to deal with.