Jack watched the door slam on his father's exit. Blue and gold decor swirled around him in celebration of the upcoming game. For his part, Jack wanted to go home.
He wasn't sure if he'd done the right thing with his father. When his father had asked him to come home, twin videos starting running inside his head. One of them was a memory of Jen and Grams, as he had seen them every evening at dinner for the past three months. The other had been the night his father had come to take Andie and his mother back to Providence. He saw the back of his father's head, sitting in the desk chair in the office. The sound of his father's accusatory voice rang in his ears. Because I cannot understand why anyone would choose that kind of life, his father had said.
Living with his father wouldn't have worked then; it wouldn't work now. Because I cannot understand why anyone would choose that kind of life, his father had told him. Jack thought he should make an attempt to show his father how wrong he was in saying that, but he didn't know how. And even if he knew how to show his father he hadn't chosen anything, the conversations he would force his father to have in that battle would surely make him lose the modicum of confidence he had gained over the summer. Because I cannot understand why anyone would choose that kind of life . . .
Living with Jen and Grams hadn't been perfect, and he knew that. There had been times when he missed his family worse than he thought himself capable of. Grams and Jen had given him the support he'd needed after all that had happened to him, but there had been tense moments. Things with Jen had never been simple, both of them trying to reach and hold back at the same time. Finally, they'd given up and abandoned everything to each other, but that hadn't come without it's own cost. Days had passed when he perceived that the tenuous shelter and love he had found was hanging by a thread. He had spent most of the summer fearing that he wouldn't have a home the next morning he woke up, no matter how many times Grams assured him otherwise. It had been an uncertain three months, but nothing could compare to what would await him at his father's house, if he had gone with him.
He thought often of his mother, wishing he could be with her, sharing his life with her. He regretted the days last fall when he had passed by her bedroom quietly, hoping she wouldn't wake and force him to respond to her half-intelligible sentences. But now, he longed for her and constantly berated himself for being silently angry at her all those months.
As for Andie, he knew that she would rather not have him around. Even in all her promises that she only wanted what was best for him, she had made comments he couldn't reconcile with her expressions of love. The truth was that they had once been close, but they never would be again. Spending a summer apart after a year like last year had only distanced them further. He didn't understand her; he knew she couldn't understand him.
And lastly . . . his father. Not once, not twice, but three times his father had told him that he'd rather not have Jack living with him. Ironically and appropriately, he used the same sorts of "it's for the best" arguments that Andie was prone to using. But any way they said it, it was essentially the same thing. Because I cannot understand why anyone would choose that kind of life . . . In his memory, his father's voice became Andie's voice, and he closed his eyes, trying to shut out those words.
He walked away from the door in order to retrieve his books from his locker. It would be a late night, he knew. He hadn't opened a book in three days amidst the confusion of joining the football team. Jen was in the same situation with cheerleading. He was relieved that they could study together. Not that they would get much studying done if they were together, but still . . . he felt that the two of them hadn't spent enough time with each other of late. If he was going to try and make a semi-permanent life with her and Grams, he would have to learn how to fashion a family. At least he'd had a head start on that, having stayed with them all summer.
Hoping that Grams had saved him dinner, he quickened his pace toward the door. As he rounded the final corner to the back exit of the building, he saw a familiar face coming out of the auditorium.
"Hey, Jack," Dawson greeted him easily.
"Dawson," Jack stood, studying Dawson as if Dawson was no longer Dawson. They hadn't talked very much since the beginning of school and Jack was still trying to understand what would prompt Dawson to make out behind the projector screen at a school-wide pep rally.
They stood back from each other in the hall, both of them unwilling to move closer. Finally, Dawson broke the stalemate and started walking toward Jack. Dawson himself was surprised at Jack's behavior in the past days. His father had not mentioned asking Jack to join the team and Dawson could hardly fathom Jack trying out on his own. From backstage, he had listened to the cheering as his father announced Jack's name. After a moment of surprise, he had cheered along with the crowd. A year ago, Dawson would not have believed it if anyone had told him that he and Jack could find common ground. He would never have believed that he would come to appreciate Jack. To respect him, even.
Jack did his part to lessen the tension, laughing as he pointed toward the auditorium, "that was some performance in there, by the way." In some ways, their relationship had become quite easy, what with the Joey issue being moot. But in other ways, there was still an odd inability to connect on any level except an adversarial one. If they were going to talk, they would both have to work hard to do so.
Dawson nodded; his face looked conflicted.
Jack was puzzled. "Why aren't you bouncing off the walls with happiness? You were just making out with the hottest girl in school, and you managed to become a school legend at the same time."
Dawson shrugged and sat down on the nearest on the floor, leaning against the wall behind him. Jack followed him, taking the seat on the ground opposite.
"Yeah. But look at you, Mr. Football Star," Dawson said, willingly tossing the conversation in a direction other than himself.
If Jack was surprised at this, he didn't show it. "Yeah, I guess. Your dad is very . . . persistent."
Dawson nodded, then spoke, "But I wouldn't really know about that. I haven't seen or spoken to him since he found his new calling."
Jack looked up and down the hall, trying to decide what to say to this unsolicited and personal bit of information. "Maybe he's just temporarily obsessed."
"I hope," Dawson studied the ground under him. "It's weird. I always thought things would be better if my father would get out and get a job and a life of his own, so I could have privacy, independence, and freedom -- all things I wanted very badly a few months ago. But now that he's gone and my mother's gone, I . . . miss him. I miss both of them, actually. Or, more precisely, I miss the three of us."
Dawson had started talking freely, forgetting that it was Jack sitting across the hall and not Pacey or Joey. He didn’t know if it was the late hour, the oddness of the day that had just ended, or the way he missed the emotional connections he used to have with people, but he had suddenly become very able to talk to Jack.
Jack was visibly stricken by Dawson's statement. "Understood."
Dawson's expression invited Jack to explain.
"I turned down my dad's offer to move back in with him and Andie tonight."
"Really?" Dawson was surprised. He assumed Jack would jump at the chance to reunite his family.
"Yeah, he asked me and I found myself saying no. I don't know if it was the right thing to do . . . Um, he actually told me that seeing me in this football jersey made him see himself in me for the first time 'in a long time.' I couldn't go back, knowing that I'll only be wearing this once or twice a week, at most," Jack laughed mildly.
Dawson laughed slightly. "Hmm . . . well, wearing it once a week is better than never wearing it,” he said ruefully.
"Dawson, come on. Your dad doesn't care about that kind of stuff."
"Oh he doesn't? Sure seems like it to me."
Jack shrugged. "He's a dad –"
"And?" Dawson waited for Jack to finish, prodding him on.
"I don't know . . . All I'm saying is that they have a right to have expectations for us."
Dawson thought about this for several minutes.
"And we have a right not to fulfill them, if we don't want to," Jack said, referring to Dawson. "Or if . . . we can't," he finished, clearly referring to himself.
Finally, Dawson nodded in agreement. "It's just so hard to know what things I have a right not to fulfill, and what things I owe him the respect of fulfilling."
"Well," Jack said, attempting to lighten the mood, "the other weekend, when you had that little..."
" . . . disaster," Dawson finished.
"I was going to say party, but sure, disaster works, too,” he told him, grinning. “Well, that was one of those times . . ."
"Yeah," Dawson said, completing Jack's thought, "One point for the 'owe the respect' team."
Jack nodded, laughing.
"But when it comes to things like playing this or that sport," Jack continued, more serious, "or liking the same things he does, or making your life exactly like his is . . . no one's forcing you to do that. In fact, in my short and tumultuous experience with fathers, I think it's almost better when you don't." Jack finished, definitively.
"So, is that what you were telling yourself just now?"
Jack noted the irony, and admitted, "no, actually. I was kicking myself once again for not being the 'good' son."
Dawson settled in a new position to make up for not having anything to say.
"It's a constant thing," Jack said bitterly, "not knowing whether to hate myself or hate him."
Dawson nodded.
Jack smiled. "By saying no to him tonight, I think I've started to make my decision." Jack stopped, wondered what was making this conversation so easy to have when the subject was usually so difficult to think about.
"And?" Dawson said, honestly interested and hoping that things with his own father never got as bad as it was for Jack and Mr. McPhee.
"Choosing myself is a hard thing. But not choosing my father – much harder." Jack finished, closed his mouth, and waited for Dawson to speak.
Instead, several moments of silence passed.
Dawson looked up, bit his lip nervously, and quietly said "thanks."
"You're welcome."
The two boys got up and started toward the exit.
Dawson pointed toward the door with his thumb. "Do you need a ride home? My dad's waiting. And since we're neighbors and all . . .?"
Jack patted Dawson's shoulder in appreciation. "Na, that's okay. Thanks, though."
"Sure. Anytime," Dawson said as he turned to the front doors.
Jack watched the door shut, picked his backpack up and slung it over his shoulder. Finally, he thought to himself, leaving Capeside High. He breathed a breath of relief and found his way outside.
THE END
Common Ground by Beth
Notes
Thanks to the DCW, which is an invaluable bit of sunshine delivered right to my e-mailbox. :) Also, to Daizy as well as A.J., Kathy and Adam, and everyone else who has encouraged me along the way. This missing scene is actually not Jack and Jen, although I'm putting up on the site anyway. This one -- shock of shocks -- is Jack and Dawson.