HIDING - every scar has a story

38. Open Heart.

{Jon}

Whatever adrenaline or determination had kept Cary going was spent by the time they pulled into Jon's driveway. He got out of the car with difficulty and went up the steps with his head down, like the dark was battering him back. When Jon got inside he found Cary swaying on the mat, like he didn't know where to put his feet to come in.

"Hey, you're sleeping in my room tonight," Jon said. "I'll take the floor."

That started Cary moving again. He leaned against the wall to pull off his socks and shoes, then stood in his bare feet with his shoes dripping in his hands, looking for the place to put them. Pete took them out of his hands. "Go on," Pete said.

Cary went up the hall, steadying himself against the wall. Jon followed, wrung with worry. He'd never known a situation that Cary wasn't strong enough to take and stay standing.

Cary sank onto the bed, as if he would burrow under the covers still soaked to the skin. Jon caught him by the shoulders, keeping him upright. "Care, come on—don't make me undress you. You gotta take off your wet things."

Cary bent his head and dragged his shirt off his back. He held it out to Jon with a look that asked, What do I do with this? Jon took it and turned aside, his eyes stinging with tears. He balled the shirt up and shoved it deep into his laundry hamper. He wished he could wring Cary's father's neck as easily.

He was digging through his drawers for clean pyjamas when Pete came in with spare blankets and the foam mat for the floor. He took in Cary's battered body slumped on the edge of the bed and Jon on the verge of a breakdown. "Dad can you help?" Jon asked. "He's pretty out of it."

Pete took the pyjamas out of Jon's hands and knelt in front of Cary. He had to take Cary's wrists to thread them into the sleeves, like he was a child. He pulled the shirt over Cary's shoulders, hiding his bruises again. "Lie down son," he said softly, and Cary obeyed, burying his face in Jon's pillow.

It took two of them to tug Cary's soaked cargos off his legs. There were more bruises, faded yellow across the back of his legs, and one hot purple and black bruise across his hip to match the ones on his ribs. Jon got him into the pyjama pants, muttering under his breath. "We are never talking about this moment in our friendship, Cary Douglas."

He covered Cary with the blankets and Cary curled into a ball, covering his head with his bent arm.

Jon took a breath, looking at him. His heart hurt, stretching to get bigger and he wished he could wrap it around Cary to hold him together and keep him safe. Jesus, we need you.

Jon and Pete stepped into the hall. Jon sagged against the wall. His father was watching him, his mouth a grim line in his beard. "Did Cary get those bruises in the fight tonight?"

Jon shook his head. "I don't think so. He looked the same... yesterday. I think his father did that to him before he kicked him out." He couldn't move; the thing that had just happened was so heavy it held him down.

"Jon," Pete said. "You should have told me."

"I wanted to," he said brokenly. "Cary asked me to keep quiet and I thought he—I thought he knew what he could handle." He was crying now. He'd never seen anything worse than Cary's body when his shirt came off.

Pete came in close and put his arms around Jon, and Jon hung onto him. His face was full of the smell of his father: rain and clean laundry and the salt of his sweat. Or maybe the salt was just his tears, making his dad even more wet than he was already. Pete kissed Jon's forehead like he used to. His bearded face was lined with sadness. "Praying for you tonight, son. Try to get some sleep."

Jon nodded. He thought of the things he had said to his dad this past year and his throat was too tight to speak.

He went into his room and started arranging his sleeping bag on the floor, without looking at Cary. Finally he asked, "Can I get you anything? A...an ice pack or... a drink of water or something?"

"No," Cary said. His voice was thin and tight as a wire over a long drop.

Jon sat back on his heels, looking at his friend. "Does this mean it's over, you don't have to live in that house with your father anymore?"

"It's over." Cary made a hurt noise and spread his hand over his face. The skin on his knuckles was broken, the fresh scabs looked black. "Please turn out the light," he whispered.

Jon did that. He slid into the sleeping bag and lay in the dark, listening to his friend's breath go in and out unsteadily. Was Cary Douglas crying?

In a second, Cary had strangled the tears and was silent.

Jon swallowed and shut his eyes. Cary had seemed kind of okay, yesterday at the shelter. But now, up close and in the safety of his own house, Jon could see how badly broken he was. There wasn't a thing Jon could say to make it better, and he was afraid whatever he tried to do for Cary would just hurt him worse.

Jesus, you asked me to be Cary's friend, but I don't know how to do that now.

Jesus said, You know me.

The hair on Jon's head lifted, and he put his hand on his side where he'd seen Jesus' wound tear open. He had promised to follow Jesus, like a hundred years ago when he was four, and now it was time to say yes again to living like him, with his eyes and heart open to the people Jesus loved.

And that meant being an open-hearted friend to Cary even though it broke his heart already, watching Cary hurt and not knowing what to do or how to help. And it was going to hurt tomorrow and the next day and the next, as long as Jon cared, as long as it took for Jesus to put the pieces back together.

He realized the truth was he was more afraid of getting hurt himself than making a mistake and hurting Cary.

Jon's pride in himself snapped off with that realization. Jesus, I'm not like you at all. I'm sorry. Please help me to be like you. Help me to be like you for Cary because he needs you so much.

As that prayer went up, Jon felt his heart lift with it. He took a breath; that was the right thing to do. Jesus wasn't angry with him and he wasn't going to leave. He didn't know how things would work out but at least he wasn't alone.

He turned on his side towards the bed, making his voice quiet in case Cary was already asleep. "I usually pray before I go to sleep. Can I pray for you?"

One word came out of the dark: "No."

Jon's face got hot, but he wasn't going to quit. "I know it doesn't seem like this could be true but—I know God cares about you."

"Jon—" Cary's voice shivered into fragments, and it was a few seconds before he gathered them together again to speak. "If he looks at me I'll break. Please don't tell him I'm here."

Jon felt like Jesus was so close in the dark, he could hear his heart beating. He decided to just say it. "He knows already." His voice was low. "He's right here, even if you don't say anything. He never left."