Cowboys Don't Cry

Cowboys Don't Cry

Source: http://wall.alphacoders.com/big.php?i=322291

The dark haired, dark eyed child stood motionless staring unflinchingly as he watched the oak coffin sink slowly into the earth's gaping wound. In his young mind he fancied that it resembled a beast's mouth standing reading to swallow its victim. He shuddered slightly at the concept and the large brown hand resting on his shoulder moved as though in sympathetic response. From beneath the thick curtain of his lashes he stole a glance at his father whose shoulders were heaving with barely controlled grief. In the seven years of his brief lifetime he could hardly recall how many times his father had scolded him for crying when he had hurt himself, or become frustrated. "Cowboys don't cry" his father had chastised and it now shocked him to see his father openly weeping.

 

Embarrassed by his father's candid display of emotion he quickly looked back at the open hole where the coffin now lay and his thoughts turned to his mother. He hurriedly doused the feelings of emptiness that arose deep within him lest they engulf him like flames, or burst out of the top of his head. He thought of his mother lying all alone in the black, damp earth and shivered.

 

Then his thoughts turned to the new school he would be going to next week and a tinge of isolation swept through him as he thought of leaving behind all the objects familiar and dear to him. He immediately squashed those feelings with a ruthlessness so fierce it made his head hurt.

 

The crowd of mourners was starting to disperse and Grandpa tightened his grip on Trevor's shoulder as he guided him away from the graveside. As Trevor turned away he glanced once more at the open hole and noticed a small mound of muddy clods on top of the once pristine coffin lid. He vaguely remembered hearing the monotonous thud, thud, thud of the earth as it hit the wooden coffin below. 'Mommy wouldn't like that' he had thought, she didn't like anything to be dirty and he was certain that she wouldn't like being covered in it.

 

The following week he was all packed and ready to go to his new school. The prospect was somewhat daunting but, 'cowboys don't cry', so he mentally squared his thin shoulders, stuck out his scrawny chest and prepared himself to meet the challenges as they came. It would have been easier if his father had been there to lend him moral support but instead his father had rebuked him for his timidity and reminded him that he was a big boy now.

 

His father had become very detached and silent to the point of total muteness ever since they had buried 'Mommy'. Trevor knew that his father missed 'Mommy' but so did he, he also needed comforting and reassurance, why couldn't daddy understand that? Why was his father so remote, almost as if he no longer cared? Trevor was trying really hard to be brave but sometimes, especially late at night, he couldn't stop the fear and loneliness from creeping in. He must try harder to close out the fear and desolation but it was really difficult when he woke up in the middle of the night and started to call out for his mother then, remembering that she was gone forever he would lay huddled beneath the covers and shed a few salty tears, because surely it was all right for cowboys to cry just a little?

 

He gradually became a shy, introverted child. Gone were the numerous questions he had loved to ask, gone too were the spontaneous hugs, cheshire grins and bubbling laughter. In their place were continuous frowns, grave expressions and monosyllabic replies when questions had to be answered. His big brown eyes were mostly downcast and if you happened to catch a glimpse into their depths you would come face to face with the sad, lonesome eyes of a world weary cynic that could barely see over the tops of the kitchen counters.

 

Two years after his mother's death, Trevor, had regressed from a lively little boy full of curious questions into a withdrawn young boy grown tired of living. The once rosy cheeks and healthy demeanour had given way to a pale, wan face and lethargic movements. Depriving a young child of love and affection has the same wilting effect as shutting a plant away from the much needed rain and sunshine. Nick, if he noticed the drastic change in his son at all, simply assumed it to be the normal transition from boy to boy-teen and dismissed all thought of it entirely from his mind. He was so wrapped up in his own grief he barely noticed that Trevor even existed.

 

The term break had arrived and Nick's sister, Anne, had invited them both to spend a couple of weeks on the farm owned and worked by her husband, Gerald. Anne's large family could be overwhelming at the best of times and Nick tried his best to dissuade her from her insistent attempts to mother him and his son, but his repeated objections fell upon deaf ears. With a sigh of resignation he realised how futile his efforts were, Anne could be very tenacious when she chose to and he should have known better than to try saying 'no' once her mind was made up.

 

Arriving at Anne's untidy, but comfortable home was all that Nick had dreaded and more. He watched in horror as his brown haired younger sister scurried from the farmhouse kitchen amid a flurry of children and animals all vying for her attention. But Anne ignored these attempts - she had one thing on her mind and made a beeline for her brother and nephew, drying her hands on a brightly spotted apron as she scuttled towards them. Nick grimaced in distaste at the tumultuous activity as humans and animals all jostled for leadership. He found crowds stifling and would have preferred to send Trevor to one of the boy's friends for the holidays whilst he spent the time alone but, Anne had refused to take no for an answer.

 

Flinging her arms around his neck in her usual exuberant manner, Anne greeted her brother breathlessly and planted an affectionate kiss on his cheek. Then turning to Trevor, who had stood silently during this boisterous exchange, she grabbed his thin shoulders and hugged his scrawny, frail body to her copious bosom. "Hello, Trevor. It's so good to see you again. But my goodness you've changed so much! I remember a rosy round cheeked imp of a boy and now I see you're all grown up. Mind you, you're too thin, far too thin. What on earth have they been feeding you at that dreadful school?" she prattled on happily seeming totally oblivious to Trevor's palpable discomfit at this rowdy display of emotion. Nick felt a shaft of irritation at his son's reaction, 'He didn't have to stand there like a block of wood'. Meanwhile Trevor recoiled from his aunt's embrace and offered his hand as he muttered a sombre greeting. Anne was slightly taken aback at the unsmiling salutations but she deftly covered over the awkward moment. Turning to her eldest son, "Roy, take your cousin into the living room and show him the new fish tank. I'm sure he'll be interested in that. Won't you, Trevor?"

 

"Yes, Aunt Anne" Trevor replied dutifully and followed Roy into the house.

 

The minute the boys had disappeared, Anne rounded on her brother like a spitting Meerkat, "What have you done to that boy?" she demanded with sizzling anger.

 

Startled, Nick took a step backwards as though her anger had physically scorched him, "What do you mean?" he countered nervously.

 

"You know very well what I mean! And if you don't then you're both deaf and blind!" she retaliated hotly.

 

"I apologise for Trevor's rudeness, but I'm sure you'll understand that he's been through quite a lot these last few years" Nick responded stiffly and pushed his hands through his hair in a weary gesture.

 

Overcome with sympathy, Anne went over to hug him and whispered, "I suppose you've both been through a pretty rough time". She had conceded the first round to him but this would not be the end of the matter.

 

Just by being their usual rowdy, good natured selves, Anne's family gradually thawed Trevor's stiff reticence. Anne watched the transformation with smug satisfaction and a twinge of dread as she wondered whether he would retreat back into his shell once he had left the safe, loving cocoon of her home. Somehow she had to get through to Nick, make him see what he was doing to his son by shutting him out of his life. It was obvious that Trevor was starved of love and she simply had to make Nick see the emotional scarring he was inflicting upon Trevor by being so cold and distant.

 

Her thoughts were interrupted when she stopped to watch how cautiously Trevor approached his father with a request; the boy's eyes were downcast and he hung his head almost as if he were ashamed. Anne watched as Nick responded coldly, then he shrugged in an offhand manner as though Trevor was a bothersome fly that needed to be chased off. Her attention was diverted from the that heart breaking scene as her husband walked into the living room and flopped into his favourite armchair. The feeling of tightness in her chest grew more rigid as she watched how Trevor's face lit up at the sight of Gerald and tears sprang unwillingly into her eyes as she watched Trevor trot over to Gerald in a happy, carefree way. With grim realisation she knew that if a stranger had witnessed the last five minutes they would conclude that Gerald was the father and Nick the uncle, not the other way around.

 

Later that day she sent Gerald off with the children on a pretext of needing groceries. She made sure that the list was as long as possible so that she could be assured of having at least an hour alone with Nick. As soon as the family's battered old truck had disappeared down the driveway leaving behind it a cloud of white dust she turned towards Nick, who was sitting in the same chair that he had been sitting in all week. Smiling affectionately she realised that Nick was more a creature of habit than any of her older siblings and yet it was not an unattractive trait although she, herself was often impulsive. 'It was important to have someone to lean on and there was no one more dependable than Nick - Trevor was very fortunate to have him for a father' she thought generously.

 

For the first time in her entire life, Anne was at a loss for words. "Nick, honey. Can I steal a few minutes of your time?" she asked cautiously. Nick looked up from his book, a frown creasing his otherwise smooth brow. He seemed to wear a constant frown these days and he'd aged so much in the last two years since they had lost, Lillian. Although his face was largely unlined - aside from the perpetual frown - his once ebony hair had become liberally sprinkled with grey streaks and his hazel eyes appeared lifeless. Her heart ached with tenderness and made what she had to say all the more difficult, but it had to be said - the sooner, the better. "Nick, I need to talk to you about Trevor" she continued with grim determination. Instantly the closed look that she had come to know so well fell over his face like the shutter of a camera and she realised that she had got off to a rocky start. Should she relentlessly continue now that he was on the defensive? Or leave it for another time, perhaps? 'No, it would only make it more difficult' she decided and quickly diverted her tactics. "I want to let you know how proud I am of him. You've done a marvellous job with his schooling. He's so knowledgeable...much more so than my lot" she ended lamely.

 

Deciding that the task ahead required much more tact she sought frantically for another way to broach the subject. Glancing at Nick, whose head was once again buried in his book, she feared that her musings had lost her the opportunity of pressing on with her self imposed mission. "Would you like a cup of tea, Nick? I'm dying for one." Nick shook his head but did not lift it from the book, he was glad of the short respite afforded by the family's unexpected errand.

 

Then suddenly, Anne, had a great idea and smiled as she reached for the family album; tucking the leather-bound book under her arm she went over to Nick and plopped it into his lap. He looked up in surprise and she quickly opened it neatly closing off his escape. Perching herself onto the arm of his chair she launched into reminiscent exclamations and watched the slow softening of his face; he briefly put aside the aloof wall of protection that he always seemed to carry with him these days. For the first time in a long, long while she saw him smile in genuine amusement - it wasn't the forced grimace of politeness but a wide, happy grin. Then it happened, just as she knew it would. The page was turned and there were the pictures of Lillian and Nick smiling into the camera - their love for one another seeming to leap out of the photograph. Nick's smile had disappeared but he hadn't stopped turning the pages and the pictures kept coming - photographs of Lillian with Trevor in her arms as a newborn babe, her face alight with the fierce love of a mother. Photographs of Trevor when he had gotten his first tooth, and pictures of Trevor hanging onto Lillian's hand when he was learning to walk and then her favourite photograph of all - the one she had taken when she caught the small family by surprise. It was a photograph of Nick, Lillian and Trevor crouched on the living room floor, their heads bent in fierce concentration whilst they built a Lego city. Anne watched Nick's face closely and rushed headlong into her speech before the all too familiar shutter could bury his heart.

 

"Nick, she loved him very much. He was her son, her life. The only other important person in her life was you. How do you think it would make her feel if she could see him now? If she could see how you keep brushing him off and pushing him away?" As Nick, made a move to speak, Anne, continued hurriedly, "No. No, Nick. Don't interrupt. I haven't finished yet and you need to hear this. How could you just stop loving your son? I know how much loved Lillian-" she cringed as she saw him wince at the mention of his wife's name but Anne went on determinedly, "-and no one is saying that you should stop loving her just because she's gone. No one is saying that you shouldn't feel hurt. But for goodness sake! It doesn't mean that you can stop loving your son, Nick. Yours and Lillian's" she added ruthlessly.

 

"Dammit, Anne. Yes, I love----loved Lillian. More than any man could love a woman. And yes, I miss her. I miss her so much it hurts like hell - all of the time. I wanted to die when she died but I couldn't. I couldn't because I love my son and I needed to be here for him. I haven't stopped loving Trevor. If anything, I love him more now than ever - he's all I've got left of her" he ended sadly.

 

Anne wept openly for her brother but pushed forward with her advantage, it was too important to back down now just because she could hardly bare to see her brother's raw pain. "Nick, I know that you love Trevor, but he doesn't know."

 

"What do you mean? That doesn't make sense."

 

"You're always so cold...so distant with him. He thinks you don't love him anymore. You lost a wife, Nick, but you seem to have forgotten that Trevor lost a mother and he's terrified of losing you too. Can't you see that?" she demanded in desperation.

 

Nick stared at her through tears which were now spilling over and asked hesitantly, "What should I do?"

 

"Love him, Nick. Just love him." Anne threw herself into Nick's arms and together they wept for a long while.

 

Sometimes cowboys do cry.