38
Family
I was failing my PhD.
If I had explained to my supervisor, Dr. Runciman, why I was unable to
work, he would have helped me, would have secured additional funding,
petitioned the department for more time. But I didn’t explain, I couldn’t. He
had no idea why it had been nearly a year since I’d sent him work, so when
we met in his office one overcast July afternoon, he suggested that I quit.
“The PhD is exceptionally demanding,” he said. “It’s okay if you can’t do
it.”
I left his office full of fury at myself. I went to the library and gathered half
a dozen books, which I lugged to my room and arranged on my desk. But my
mind was made nauseous by rational thought, and by the next morning the
books had moved to my bed, where they propped up my laptop while I
worked steadily through Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
That autumn, Tyler confronted my father. He talked to Mother first, on the
phone. He called me after and related their conversation. He said Mother was
“on our side,” that she thought the situation with Shawn was unacceptable
and had convinced Dad to do something. “Dad is taking care of it,” Tyler
said. “Everything is going to be fine. You can come home.”
My phone rang again two days later, and I paused Buffy to answer it. It was
Tyler. The whole thing had exploded in his face. He had felt uneasy after his
conversation with Mother, so he had called Dad to see exactly what was
being done about Shawn. Dad had become angry, aggressive. He’d shouted at
Tyler that if he brought this up again, he would be disowned, then he’d hung
up the phone.
I dislike imagining this conversation. Tyler’s stutter was always worse
when he talked to our father. I picture my brother hunched over the receiver,
trying to concentrate, to push out the words that have jammed in his throat,
while his father hurls an arsenal of ugly words.