What Were They Thinking?
21 Comfort the Distressed
I DID NOT GIVE UP my parenting responsibility. I had some long talks with Cassandra about responsibility and commitment. I reminded her that it was unlikely a person in her dating group would become a life mate. She listened patiently, but I suspected what I said went in one ear and out the other. When Brian Frost called to ask me to approve his choice of activity for their first official date after she turned sixteen, I grudgingly had to give him my respect. If he was just a Christian, the boy would be fine.
Then at the beginning of their junior year in high school, we got the word that one of the girlfriends—the preacher’s daughter, of all things—had gotten pregnant and attempted suicide, succeeding only in aborting the baby. I sympathized with the kids. The Gordons’ move to Evansville had been hard for all of them to take, calling into question all they had believed about their agreement. But perhaps it was a good thing. It seemed to put the brakes on how fast the kids were moving toward becoming sexually active.
Part of that, I was happy to see, was because it seemed they were pairing up—and not with my daughter. Still, they seemed to want to spend every Saturday afternoon at the Frosts’, ‘studying’. I wasn’t sure how this was being monitored, but my daughter was there and I felt it was my right to check on the environment. Bea was a little embarrassed to be dragged along, but we showed up in the middle of the afternoon.
“John! Bea! How wonderful of you to stop by this afternoon. I can always use some adult company when the kids gather.” Of course, there was another mother present. I’d been introduced to Anna Pratt nearly two years ago as the mother of one of the ‘Kokomo girls’. It seemed they were here for the weekend as well.
“We fixed up some snacks for the students,” Bea said. “Where are they?”
“Oh, upstairs. They’ll be excited to see snacks someone else prepared.” She led us up a narrow stairway to the half-story upper level. Teens were scattered from one end of the large room to the other.
“Not when you are solving for sine,” one girl was lecturing Brian and the two girls from Kokomo. “Sine theta equals the opposite side over the hypotenuse. If you know the lengths of any two sides of a right triangle, you can determine all the angles and their sine and cosine. Come on. We learned this in Algebra one. It’s the basic Pythagorean Theorem.”
I looked for my daughter.
“I think we need more source material on State government and current issues,” she was telling two others who were sorting through stacks of paper. “There must be some relevant information in here someplace.”
“How did you get these? There is a ton of information in this box. Like someone had been collecting it for years,” said a girl I didn’t recognize.
“Ms. Hammer collects all the research people collect during her debate class if the students don’t plan to keep it. Each year she gives it to Ms. Streeter to have the debate team go through it and organize it,” Cassandra said. “We just happened to be the lucky ones.”
“We have fresh oatmeal cookies,” Bea sang from the top of the stairs.
“Mom! Hi, Daddy!”
“We felt like we needed contribute a little snack occasionally for all our scholars.”
“That’s really great, Mr. and Mrs. Clinton,” Brian said. “I’ve had it with Trigonometry for today. Milk or soft drinks, guys?”
“Anna and I have them,” Marilyn said. I saw that the two women had brought plastic glasses, a carton of milk, and a small cooler of soft drinks up behind us.
“Danke sehr, Frau Frost,” an Asian-looking girl said. I seemed to remember she was a cheerleader. Her facial characteristics gave me a flashback of the woman and child on a bridge in Vietnam. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.
“Is there no German phrase for Mama Marilyn?”
“It would just be Mama Marilyn,” the girl responded. “It would hardly be like practicing German.”
There was a lot of moving around as kids left their study areas and came for snacks. Three girls had been sitting on the bed with one of the boys. I saw one of the star basketball players stand and keep his head lowered so he didn’t hit the ceiling. Of the twenty kids in the huge attic room, all had been working on projects of some sort.
“Is this what it’s like every Saturday?” I asked Marilyn.
“They got a bit of a slow start this year because of the problems. But now they are full steam ahead. I can’t believe how hard they work together, supporting each other.”
“You really shouldn’t need to provide snacks and drinks for them every week,” Bea said. “Let us help. I’ll bet some of the other mothers would contribute as well.”
“Brian often makes things for the crew but I admit it was a bit of a strain last year.”
“Every Saturday last year as well? You must let us help.”
Hayden was home when we went downstairs. The kids had already returned to studying as they munched their cookies and drank milk or soda. We compared notes a bit about how our kids were doing and what had changed over the past year. I left thinking ‘he’s a good man’. Perhaps that changed the way I thought of Brian as well.
I was ready to relent and permit Cassie to go to the prom. I knew many of her friends were planning a big night and if she could get home at a reasonable time, I would allow her to go.
“Thank you, Daddy, but I don’t think so this year. I’ve already let my classmates know I won’t be going. As class president, it is almost a responsibility.”
“You should maintain your duty,” I said, suddenly thinking my daughter was shirking part of her responsibility.
“Oh, I am. I hand-picked the prom committee. You know the juniors put on the prom for the seniors. I told my committee that this was entirely their responsibility and I would not interfere even by being there to take any focus off them. They are doing a good job. A few of us in the group who aren’t going to the prom are spending the night at Liz’s to watch movies and eat popcorn,” she said.
“What about… your boyfriend?” I managed.
“Which one?” She let that hang there until I twitched. “I assume you mean Brian and not one of the other five. The girls had to basically go on strike before he finally got the message and asked Whitney. Sometimes boys can be so dense.”
“It’s an all-night party you’ll go to?”
“Yes. We plan to stop by the Frosts’ for a while Sunday afternoon after we all wake up before I come home.”
“You know we’ll pick you up if you need a ride. Don’t drive if you are… sleep deprived.”
So, I was waiting for Cassie’s call Sunday evening. When I got it, it was not what I was expecting.
“Daddy. Please come and pick me up. We need to go to the hospital.”
“Are you all right?”
“It’s not me, Daddy. Josh just called. He was beaten up and Denise is dead. Daddy, please come quick.”
Bea and I were in the car a minute later. Three girls piled in the back seat and we headed to the hospital. All three were crying. There were tears in my eyes, too.
The hospital lobby was full of people. I’d managed a bit of the story from Cassie but went immediately to Rex Davis to get a full briefing. He was concerned about the police investigation and felt the kids might all be questioned based on the attitude of the policeman who had just left. How ghastly! One of their number dead and her boyfriend beaten badly. The kids all held each other and cried while their parents talked quietly. I finally saw Brian emerge from a restroom. He looked worse for wear as well. The tall basketball-playing girl, Whitney, supported him. Cassie ran to him and hugged him. I tagged along.
“Brian,” I said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I know that we aren’t… shall we say, the same religion. But if it is okay, I will pray for you and all your girlfriends and their boys. I’ll pray for comfort and for strength.” He looked at me, not letting go of either Cassandra or Whitney.
“Mr. Clinton, I would be a fool if I spurned a friend’s prayers for my comfort and strength. We might not be on the same page spiritually, but I have the utmost respect for you, sir.”
Respect. We didn’t believe the same, but I had to admit that I respected him. He’d acted honorably as far as I knew. Cassie had said in no uncertain terms that they were all spending the night at his house.
“I’ve always liked that about you, Brian. I’m so sorry about your loss. And yes, Cassie, you may.”
When the group in the hospital began to break up, they all headed to the Frosts’. I suggested we stop to get food on the way. I had no idea how many there were in the group but there was no reason Marilyn and Hayden should have to foot the bill.
We discovered Marilyn and Hayden were out of town to attend the birth of their granddaughter. Anna Pratt was functioning as house mother. Marie Davis and Amanda Lenox worked beside Bea to make sure the teens had been fed. I wasn’t sure how to progress. I’ve never been a touchy man. Oh, I love to hold my wife in my arms, but I seldom embraced even my daughter. But these children… They just needed to be held.
It was the big basketball player, Lionel, who came to me first. He sat on the sofa next to me and tears poured from his eyes. There was nothing I could do but wrap the big lad in my arms and let him cry on my shoulder.
“I’ve known her for a long time,” he whispered. “Longer than anyone else here. We went to the same church. The Southern Baptist. I can’t believe she’s gone. I can’t believe it.”
Part of my recovery from alcoholism had been reading Elisabeth Kubler Ross’s book On Death and Dying. Many of our twelve-step friends had sunk into alcoholism after the death of a loved one. For me it was all those deaths I’d brought upon faceless people of Vietnam. Lionel’s response was classic. Denial. ‘I can’t believe she’s gone.’ I held him and whispered a prayer for his comfort and that of his friends. I prayed for the speedy recovery of Josh. Lionel whispered ‘amen’ and thanked me.
He was the first, but not the last of the kids who came to hug me, ask me for a prayer, or just thank me for being there. They made their way upstairs and I helped Anna, Amanda, Marie, and Bea clean up the kitchen.
“Hayden will be back tomorrow but Marilyn can’t leave her new granddaughter that quickly. I’ll stay for a few days to try to keep things calm and make sure there is food on the table for whoever is here. I’m sure that we’ll have a crowd until the funeral,” Anna said.
“I’ll help you out as much as you need,” Bea said. “Don’t feel you have to do this alone.”
“I expect Rex will be over in the morning to talk to the kids,” Marie said. “Don’t let anyone in the house—I mean like a policeman—unless he has a warrant.”
“Does Rex think there will be a problem?”
“Only the usual. The first people suspected are those closest to the victim. Last night, the detective was already fishing and was especially interested in the other black kids. We just need to be careful.”
“I’ll make sure there is assistance when needed,” I said. “I’m going up to make sure they are okay.” I mounted the stairs unsure of what I would find. Boys and girls sleeping together in a room didn’t seem right, even in a time of grief. I found them all in exhausted sleep, a few sniffles and sobs still interrupting their innocent slumber.
Twenty teens in a circle, splayed out like the spokes of a wheel, at least one hand of each stretched toward the center to grasp the hands of their friends. Certainly, some of the kids held each other as well—not just boys holding girls, but girls holding each other as well. They were all still fully dressed.
I left.
Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. I wondered how long the process would be for my daughter and her friends—especially, how long it would be for Josh, Denise’s date. I went up to the hospital in the morning and was allowed to visit. Things had calmed down after the chaos in the lobby the previous evening. I had no difficulty getting in to visit him.
“I’ll kill the son of a bitch!” Josh croaked out as I walked into the room. Anger. Two men sat with him. One stood up and stepped toward me. The older black man stayed seated, holding Josh’s hand and crying.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m John Clinton. My daughter is in the dating group and I just wanted to stop by to see if there was anything I could do.”
“Thank you, John. I’m Don Whitaker. My son Josh is in the bed. That’s Jack Raymond, Denise’s father. Josh and Denise have been dating for a while and we were all together Saturday night before the prom.”
“I don’t want to intrude, but if I can offer any comfort… The rest of the group is pretty torn up and want to do everything they can to help,” I said.
I hated visiting the sick and distressed but Jesus said ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’ Feed the hungry. Give drink to the thirsty. Welcome the stranger. Clothe the naked. Visit the sick and imprisoned. But I never knew what to say. How to respond to such distress. I didn’t know how to comfort my own distress, either as a father or as a warrior. Simply offering my prayers seemed so weak.
“John Clinton?” Jack Raymond asked, lifting his eyes to me. “Deni mentioned Cassie Clinton several times.”
“My daughter.”
“It’s brave of you to come here to comfort another for the loss of his daughter. You must be filled with thoughts of your own precious one,” he continued. It was true. I’d dreamt all night that it was me sitting in this room with my daughter lying dead. I’d awakened in a cold sweat, running to her bedroom and nearly panicking when I saw her bed empty and untouched. Bea reached me just before I screamed and reminded me she was with the Frosts.
“I can’t fathom how you must feel,” I whispered. “Any of you. Such a loss is something none of us are meant to feel.”
“You imagine the most precious light in the world snuffed out,” Jack said. “You have such a light yourself. Deni said you were a man of God. I go to church, but I’m not much of a good man. Perhaps you’d pray with us.”
“Josh? Are you okay with me offering a prayer? This is your room and I came to visit you because you are my daughter’s friend,” I said.
“Can God reach down his almighty hand and crush the maggot who did this? Can he breathe life back into the body of Denise? Can he take me instead of her? Please! If your God can do any of this, pray!” Bargaining.
“I can’t offer any of that, Josh. God makes his own decisions and he doesn’t consult with me about them. All I can pray for is you. I pray that your body heals and you become strong again. I pray that your mind heals and you can look at the world as a good place again. I pray that the hearts of old men, broken by the loss of their light, be mended. I pray that God will bring justice upon the perpetrator and peace upon you. Josh, my prayer is that you overcome the anger and despair and discover that God spared you for a reason, that you are here to fulfill his purpose in your life. And I pray that as you heal, you are given peace and joy and relief from your torment. That’s all I can pray, Josh. I pray God’s will be done.”
“Amen,” Jack and Don whispered. I guess I’d said my prayer. Josh held my eyes. I could see the anger and despair still deep within but he nodded to me.
“Thank you.”
“I’m not a counsellor, Josh. I’m not even very skilled at raising my own child. But if you’d like to talk or go for a quiet walk or maybe get up in the air where your feet don’t touch the ground and you can feel the air beneath your wings, I’m here.”
“Thank you, Mr. Clinton.” I could see that his injuries were weighing on him and he was losing focus. Sleep was probably the best thing for him.
“Don, Jack. The same goes for you. If there’s anything I can do, call on me.” They nodded and whispered thanks and I decided to leave.
I stopped in the restroom and stared at myself in the mirror for a long time. Had I prayed all those things? I hadn’t knelt. I hadn’t closed my eyes. But somehow, I felt it might have been the deepest prayer I’d prayed in many years. I went into a stall to relieve my bowels of an unstable burden and as I sat there, the outer door slammed open and I heard water running in the sink as another man sobbed outside the stall.
“I swear to you, Denise,” I heard the voice rasp. Even in this state, I could tell the voice of Brian Frost. It chilled me. “Whatever is necessary. I will find and destroy the animal who did this. I cannot reverse time. I cannot bring you back. But I can be sure the dog never bites again. Retribution. I swear it.”
After the sound of paper towel being pulled from the dispenser, the door opened and he left. I finished my business and washed my hands. I stood again in front of the mirror and stared into it, trying to imagine the face that went with the cold, determined voice I’d just heard.
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