"You've got to be the stupidest person on the face of the earth," Duane said.
Travis narrowed his eyes at him. He was getting tired of being told he was stupid just because he exhibited a decent amount of compassion. "Fine. You don't want my help, I won't give it. I don't even know why I came." He started to stand. "I guess I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for failing you like I did. I must have fucked up pretty bad to make my own brother want to kill me. So I'm sorry." He finished standing and started to leave.
"Wait," Duane said.
Travis turned and looked at him.
Duane glanced up at him through his stringy hair and then back down at the table. "They're gonna put me in the same place with the old man."
Travis folded his arms over his chest. Travis figured that would be a good thing. If he were going to prison, he'd want to be with the old man. The guy was a bastard, for sure, but he would look out for his family. He'd protect Duane. "Yeah?" Travis said. "It's good you'll have someone to watch your back."
Duane glanced at him again. "I'm afraid I'll kill him, Travis."
Travis went and sat back down across from Duane.
"I hate him, Travis," Duane said. Tears filled his eyes, his face twisted with a flood of emotions. "It ain't ever been you I hated. It's him. If he was right here I'd wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze and watch the life fade out of his eyes. I swear to God, Travis, I hate him so much!" Duane's hands were squeezed into fists.
Travis sat, tense, a faint feeling of fear in his stomach. He was thankful Duane was cuffed. "We all hate him, Duane," Travis said softly. "You kill him and guess what? You'll still hate him. Did I ever tell you about the big fight I had with him? The last fight?"
Duane shook his head.
"I was, I don't know, twenty or twenty one. A little younger than you. Just married Tonya. I can't even remember what it was I did to piss him off that day. Maybe I took the last beer out of his fridge...who the fuck knows. Anyway, I was at his house and he starts yelling at me telling me what a worthless, no-good bum I was. Tonya had had her first miscarriage and he was screaming about how it was my fault and I was being punished somehow. Then he got to going on and on about how it was my fault Mom had killed herself. So then I snapped and took a swing at him. And the old bastard landed flat on his back. I was so surprised...it had never occurred to me that I'd finally reached the point where I was stronger than him. I waited until he got to his feet and swung again. He got a couple of good licks in, but I finally beat him down. He was on his back and I just started wailing on him, landing punch after punch into his face. His arms were limp, he wasn't even fighting anymore. There was blood everywhere. It felt so fucking good punching the life out of him. At one point I realized that that's exactly what I was doing. I was killing him. And I didn't care. He deserved to die...he was a fucking monster."
Duane nodded. He was staring down at the table but he seemed to be listening.
"But I stopped. I stopped because even then, as fucked up as I was, I knew that there was a stronger force in my life...a greater desire. I wanted a good life...better than what he gave us. I wanted a wife and family. I wanted to be a good person. To be happy. You know happy, don't you? That one Christmas we took you to Grandma and Grandpa's for the weekend. That was happy, wasn't it?"
Duane nodded, a faint smile brightening his face. "That was the best weekend of my life."
"Yeah. Well. I wanted that kind of happy...all the time. And I knew if I went to prison for murdering the old man, I'd never have it. So I stopped hitting him and I walked away. I could have killed him. I really could have. But it wouldn't have made my life better."
"My life ain't ever gonna be better," Duane said. "So what's the point."
"You've got six years of prison sentence. If you behave, maybe you'll be out in four. Worst case scenario, you're twenty-eight when you get out. That's a year younger than I was when I quit drinking. And I know you aren't particularly impressed with my life. But I'm happy most of the time. I got a good, solid business and a house and a little girl to take care of. You can have whatever you want when you get out. You can come back here and we'll help you get back on your feet. Or you can go somewhere else, if you need to. Whatever. But you deserve to be happy, Duane."
Duane looked up then. His expression grew pained again and tears filled his eyes. "How can you say that?" he shouted. "After what I did to you, how can you sit there and say I deserve to be happy?"
Travis sighed and slumped back in his chair. "Maybe it's just my way of showing you how to go about being happy. You can't get hung up on every little thing that people do to hurt you. You gotta let that shit go. Like I said, you can kill the old man, but the hate will still be there. The only way to get past it is to let it go."