...if...David J. Burton was a good father, that is. Undeniably a father. Undeniably trying. And undeniably not doing a stellar job.
Dave felt something he hadn't felt in a long time as he entered the arena for his round: ridicule. Eight years prior, he felt it for the very first time. A changed man. Whispers and gossip. The worst came from a pouty 8-year-old stuck in a leg cast because Daddy Dearest was no longer fun. Perhaps, that was where it all started. The decline. From the best dad ever to...the creep with dwindling talent.
Eight years later to the present day and here he sat again, catching a slightly tightened lip from the crowd, perhaps trying to feign sympathy. Maybe it was pity. And maybe it was contempt. Gossip spread. Especially in a place like this where it thrived like ticks on a dog. How much did they know about the conversations he and Chris had. The proof was from a stranger that had brought him the facts of what Chris and Kate had been up to in that stall. He thought he could trust them on their own. If that's what they did in plain public...
Grow up, Dave. What did an outsider's opinion matter in private matters? What did any of the eyes on him now matter? They didn't know him. They didn't know his son. They didn't know everything he had done for his family; the things he had to give up, the things he had to change, or the things that still kept him up at night, unsolved and prevalent as ever in the forefront of Dave's mind.
Eyes forward as always, Dave showed no frustration. For some reason, he found it especially easy today. He sighed gently, collecting Birgitta underneath him. She was no powerhouse like Bell, but she was a fond mount of his. Very proper, very agile, and responsive to his light cues. She was a dream to ride even in a cruel world Dave cast himself in.
The arena felt quiet. More so than usual. Dave had developed many methods of blocking out any nervous energy at these kinds of shows. He couldn't remember the last time he felt any anxiety in an arena. He created a kind of mental curtain that shrouded the audience from his focus. Today...it felt especially close like he was jumping through a dark fog. Birgitta's pace echoed through the hollow space around him.
Stride, stride, stride, silence…
The faint patter of sand colliding with the jump standards and poll followed by the rushed heavy thud of a heavy land on the other side.
Repeat.
Stride, stride, stride, silence…
Crack! Patter, thud.
Sigh. Eyes forward, Dave.
The fog lifted as Dave finished the last of the course, his senses came back to him. He heard the mutters of the announcer overhead, probably saying his time and ushering in the next rider. He hoped the fog of their mind be clearer than Dave's had been. Perhaps they would be able to see more than what was just in front of their sight. Perhaps they would have the foresight to plan ahead.
And just as Dave started to blink away the haze, he nearly missed a sight he didn't think he'd see. A boy on a grey stud stood near the exit. Away from the crowd, but close enough he couldn't miss him. The stud stood quietly with his head low, still lightly huffing from the hard run he had. He looked content and relaxed to be still for once.
The was a brief moment of clarity as the afternoon sun's rays illuminated his beautiful child on his (gross) horse. The corner of Dave's lips twitched, thinking just maybe he was in the world where he had done no wrong to his beloved son. He had stayed to watch his run, even after their spat. Maybe he was forgiven-
Dave's heart abandoned him in a panic, leaping out of his body and taking every drop of blood with it. The fog swallowed the bright world around them like a tsunami crashing through his make-believe world.
Chris glowered at Dave. It was no ordinary scowl. No one knew the ferocious, nasty feelings behind it like the two of them did. He wasn't just pissed off at Dave. He was downright disappointed and betrayed. It was a look that held years of guilt, regret, and shame upon Dave.
Why did he have to inherit his mother's eyes? God, no, he couldn't take how he blinked and they gained a shade of red underneath them. No. Anything but that look. Don't shed a single tear. Not in this world. Not in any world. His dear child.
Chris turned his back to Dave, disappearing into the fog. Why? Why that look now? He could take anger. But he couldn't take betrayal. Was it because of his carelessness? Did he want him to try his hardest no matter what?
Try hard and he was too pushy. Don't try at all and he was a deadbeat. The terms and conditions changed every day, every minute, even by the words he spoke. This child of his… dammit. He cracked the code to his mother and if he could survive that, he'd crack the code to Chris's heart too…
Sigh.
Dave hung his head from the weight of shame and more ridicule. Yes, his own father might have deemed that run unworthy to say he gave it his all. Eyes forward, Dave. He picked up his eyes but let his head lull as he worked his way through the dark curtain that he created to block out the looks.
This is how it went every time. He and Chris were fine. Dave did something stupid, Chris got mad at him for it, and Dave spent the rest of the time feeling bad about it and fixing it. People thought Dave kept Chris on a leash? They clearly didn't see who had the collar on like the fool he was. What did they know...?
And without a doubt...he would...try harder… but not too hard. There was some unspoken grey zone he was meant to find and he desperately wanted it. In what world...
Word Count: 1093
Skin by SimplySilent
