The Truth About Emile

Written 8/19/26

August of 1965: Emile has just returned home for a week after losing all of his Surfer profits in a failed solo venture. All of his life, he was raised to believe that he simply didn't try hard enough but one fight with his mother would turn that on its head.

!!! Content warning: !!!

This is the only one of my stories to include the R slur. Naturally, there's also a lot of ableism and physical abuse on the part of Emile's mother. Don't read if these topics make you uncomfortable.

Click here to go back to Emile

Emile's ears rang from the force of the blow. He fell back against the window and dirty wood floor, his hand rushing to nurse his burning cheek as his mother's face came back into focus, its wrinkles twisted in a grimace. He'd never seen it filled with so much hate before and he cowered when she spat out her next words, her hands balled into fists.

"If that hurt you, then imagine how I FEEL!" The scream ricocheted across the tight, crumbling walls of the dining room as she gasped for more air between her teeth, "Imagine how I feel every day, every time I have to look at you, every time Daren says you take after me. Do you even CARE about me? Do you understand anything I'm sayin'?"

She stepped closer with each word and he raised a trembling arm over his head. The fear almost overpowered the pain. What had he done to make her hit him that hard? He tried to remember. The smell of fire. Her pale blue dress in a burst of flames on the stove. She had told him to clear the dining table. He should've seen that the stove was on. He should've thought about where he was putting things.

How could he have been so stupid?

~~~~~

Stupid. The word echoed through Emile's head as he laid on the flattened, uneven dog bed, a tiny worn blanket wrapped over his shoulders. It was two days before the incident with the dress, three days after he had been forced to return to the shack. In the course of a year, L.A. had suddenly twisted into a cruel place as he lost his band, his money, his apartment, and seemingly his dream of ever being on stage again. He had no choice but to travel back to that blurry place from his childhood. From the moment that he stepped foot in the dilapidated living room, his family's glares pushing daggers into his heart, the memories that he had blotted out came flooding back: the trash and dirt, his mother pulling his ears, his siblings holding him to the ground, that's mine when he tried to take any ounce of food or warmth.

They had treated him differently even when he was more like them, before he experienced life in the city, before he became a singer, before he got fat and penniless. In those three days since his return, he had experienced nothing but shame and torture from everyone around him save for Rod. His younger brother currently sat on the bed beside him, his muscled form shading Emile from the window's yellow light. He rubbed part of the sheet between his fingers, staring down at Emile with his face creased in worry.

"Emile, Ma doesn't hate you. None of them hate you. They just hate..."

He trailed off, and Emile finished the sentence for him, "When I'm stupid?" He was looking off towards the wall, but in the corner of his eye saw Rod shake his head.

"When you make mistakes," He corrected, "I mean, we all do it. We're not perfect."

"But what if that's all I do?" Emile fretted, turning his droopy eyes towards his brother, "What if it's all I am? Always makin' mistakes b-because I'm always stupid."

"You're not stupid." Rod had said those words many times and they hung more dull upon the air each day, stacked against a mountain of evidence from across Emile's life. There were too many examples to name. Before he could respond, Rod asked "Didn't you learn how to read while you were gone?" followed by a creak and rummaging through one of the many piles of clutter in the floor beside the bed. Emile hesitantly sat up, the blanket falling from his shoulders, as his brother shoved a newspaper into his hands.

"Read the big letters right there," He told him in an excited tone, pressing his finger against the headline. Below it was a photo of a crowd holding picket signs in front of an old building. Emile had to work to focus on the little symbols, his brow tightening in concentration.

"Far- Farmers pro-test at Red-ding see... city hall..." He went syllable by syllable, running his finger along the bottom of the words, "... as rah-rainfall reaches rec-cord low across north-thern..." The final word he'd seen before and it came out quickly, "California." As soon as it left his lips, Rod lightly shoved him in the arm.

"See! The Emile I knew could never have done that all by himself," He said, grinning. There was something almost pitying in the line all by himself but Emile was struck more by the inaccuracy of it.

"Well..." He looked down sheepishly, bending the newspaper into a tube between his hands, "I didn't do it. Jo taught me everything."

"Was he in your band?"

"She."

"Oh?" Rod's eyes widened, pushing Emile to continue.

"I didn't know how to read any of them songs so she gave me lessons to read and write... Nobody else knew 'bout them."

"And you and Jo, were you..." He leaned closer, lowering his voice, "Together? Did she ever kiss you?"

The image that flashed in Emile's mind made him tense up and he blurted out, "No, we were friends!" He wasn't sure why he became so defensive, however, and he was met with a suspicious frown when he glanced behind him at Rod lying down on his chest. His gaze fell again to the newspaper he was fiddling with. "I don't know where she is now... I never saw any of them again after we went apart and I stayed where I was, waitin'."

He closed his eyes with a sigh, picturing not just Jo now but Ed, Obie, and Shannon. All of those smart city people who put him on stage, who took him places, who didn't treat him like a pest. Where were they now? Why didn't they look for him? Suddenly, he felt Rod's large hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sure you'll find her one day," He reassured Emile, "Just... keep readin', okay? I'll find things for you. I'll even give you lessons."

"Thanks," Emile murmured, his head lifting and his heart doing the same. He had no idea if he'd see any of them again, especially now that he was out here. But Rod's offer didn't mean any less for it. None of his other siblings would've said such a thing, though they all knew how to read from school. He assumed they must've all had their own personal Jo's and were unwilling to share. Maybe his parents were the same. The more he thought about it, though, the more he struggled to understand their motivation. After a while, he shifted in the doggy bed, turning his body towards his brother.

"Rod, how come you and John and Philip and everyone learned to read and I didn't? Why didn't Ma help me?" His thoughts had picked out her specifically although he wasn't sure why. She was busier than most of his siblings. Even Rod could've helped him, but he might at least hold the answers. Instead, however, his usually wise brother averted his gaze, nibbling the inside of his cheek.

"Well, that was a long time ago, I don't..." He trailed off, his cheery face looking pained for a moment. Emile searched his expression, trying to find some hint as to the source of his hurt. But before he could parse anything out, Rod shook the thought away and flashed Emile an abrupt smile. "Why don't you tell me more 'bout your band, Emile? You, Jo, and who else?"

Emile immediately perked up at the question, Rod's excitement, fake or not, radiating onto him. "There was Ed, he was really funny," He chuckled a little, "He plays the, uh- the low guitar. The bass. And Jo plays the piano..." The more he went on, the more he soon forgot about Rod's strange reaction to his question. But it remained hidden in the back of his mind, threatening to come back up at any moment to further perplex and worry him.

~~~~~

Such a time came when Emile's mother grabbed him by the ends of his wavy hair and pulled away from the window. He stumbled to his feet as she dragged him through the shack, crashing through chairs and doorways. Her screaming into his ear only added to the pain of his scalp.

"I've had enough of you eatin' everything and burnin' my clothes and tearin' this damn house apart! I'm takin' you where stupid, useless pigs belong."

The world was such a blur that he barely processed his mother swinging the front door open until the hinges audibly splintered. With her other hand, she shoved him off the single step, releasing his hair. He staggered a couple of feet, his upper arms landing roughly against the brittle dirt and dead grass. When he whipped around, she was standing in the doorway above him with her shoulders raised.

"You make me sick..." She hissed, breathing heavily through her clenched teeth.

None of them hate you. Rod's words from days ago suddenly came to his mind, all the more harder to believe as her cold squint blotted out the fierce summer sun. They just hate... Finally, his mother broke her glare, turning away to close the door on him. In a rush, he scrambled to his feet.

"If I'm so stupid, why wasn't I in school like everyone else here?" He shot back, feeling real anger seep into his voice, "Why didn't you help me?" It was the exact same question he had asked Rod. It was the one thing he didn't understand about this family that built itself up upon being traditional, being fair. For a moment, she froze, her back towards him so that he couldn't see her immediate reaction. But any satisfaction he could get was obliterated by the words she screamed as she turned back around.

"It's because you're retarded!" The three syllables echoed across the empty field, sending Emile into a shock, "You were born wrong just to- just to PUNISH me. The school couldn't teach you to read. You wouldn't even talk til you were seven. And now you're blaming ME?" She took a step out onto the grass, but Emile didn't back away. His arms hung limp to his sides as she paced along the front of the house, clutching her head.

"I tried so GODDAMN hard to help you. I was the only one who believed in you when Daren and those shit teachers told me to give up. I TRIED, Emile. But what did all those years of carryin' that burden get me, huh? What did they get me?"

By then, her face was only two feet away from his, her hands pressed against her chest. He could only stare at her blankly, his mouth slightly agape. Finally her hands dropped to her sides and she spat on the ground, trudging back towards the door.

"A retard, a lost cause," She huffed as she took the step up and glared back at him, "That's all you will ever be."

Just then, a large shape emerged from the darkness in front of her and Rod's voice broke the silence.

"Ma? Ma! Who are you-" He stopped in his tracks, his shocked gaze meeting Emile's from above their mother's head. The distance between them was unmistakable- Rod and her on the inside, Emile on the outside. He was fundamentally different, inherently wrong.

You said she loved me, Emile thought while staring at his brother, unable to get the words out. A sob clogged his throat and tears began to well in his eyes.

Then he took a left and started to run.

Although Rod had only heard the last of the exchange, it was enough to put the pieces together. "Emile, wait!" He cried out as he pushed forward, blocked by the frail body of his mother. Even then, he refused to hurt her. But his fear for Emile was stronger and he managed to squeeze onto the grass while she still held onto his thick arm with both of hers.

"Let him run off!" She grunted, digging a heel against the doorway, "What good would it do?"

Rod whipped around with a snarl, "He's family!"

"He's a mistake!"

He finally shook his arm free and she gave up the fight as he stormed off on Emile's trail, his own frustration rapidly waning thanks to years of mediating in that shack. She was angry, she was overworked, she didn't know what she was saying... already the excuses were forming in his mind. But a small part of him couldn't help but suspect that this was merely what she felt all along coming loose. She had certainly told Rod such things when Emile wasn't around. He just hadn't wanted his brother to hear them so soon. He wasn't ready for the conversation.

~~~~~

Retarded. The first time Emile could remember the word being explained to him was from Griff after the band broke up. Look, it doesn't matter if you're slow, alright? You got a good voice and a background and that's that. We're here to make an album, not a textbook. But that dream never went anywhere and now he knew why. He was never going to be smart like everyone else. He was doomed to be a burden from the moment he was born and nothing he could do would ever make himself worth the effort, not even for his own mother. To think that he ever thought he could make himself smarter. How could he have been so...

The grass crunched and a voice muttered, "Emile?" He had only been able to go a little way, hidden in the shade of the shack's opposite side and surrounded by rusty trash cans and broken pieces of farm machinery. Objects that, like him, served no purpose. His sobbing into his knees gave himself away, and Rod slowly approached, falling to a crouch.

"Oh, Emile. I'm so sorry."

"So I am slow..." He slurred too quiet for Rod to hear and, after a loud sniff, peeked at him from above his arms, "Y-You knew, didn't you? You knew I was re... retarded?"

Unable to remember Rod's hesitance to answer his question days ago, Emile wasn't sure why he suspected this. It just seemed to click. Rod looked down at the ground, rubbing a dead weed between his fingers.

"Yes, I did..." He finally said, "None of our siblin's know, I don't think. I don't know if Pa knows, either. But she told me when I was young, thought I outta know cause we were so close."

But Emile was hardly listening. All he could think about was how perfect Rod was. Tall, strong, thin, not retarded. No wonder she loved him so much more as to only give him this information. Anger began to boil from deep in his chest. His muscles clenched but Rod clearly didn't notice as he repeated the same dreaded words.

"Look, Ma didn't mean all that, 'bout you bein' a burden. She was just upset. Deep down, she-"

Emile wasn't taking it this time. He put his legs and hands down with a jolt, interrupting Rod with a scream towards the sky.

"SHUT UP! SHE DOESN'T LOVE ME!"

Rod's eyes widened in shock and he stood up a little. Emile glared back from a red, tear-stained face, starting to slowly rise himself. "Stop sayin' she loves me. She hates me- it's you that she loves. It's you they all love," He said between rattled gasps for air, feeling his fingers tighten into fists. Nothing permanent about Rod's smooth face had changed. He wore the same horrified expression that he had flashed Emile when he walked in on him and their mother. Yet it had twisted itself into the face of a villain in Emile's heart, a culmination of his pain.

"But Emile..." He tried to protest, "I know her. You've been gone for a year."

At this Emile screamed again, "You're a LIAR! A spoiled liar! I hate you!" and without thinking he rushed towards his brother, swinging punch after punch against his chest. The blows did nothing. His limbs were flabby and weak while Rod was hardened head to toe from working around the field. The taller man tried to grab him by the arms, crying out "Emile, stop! Listen to me!" just before Emile fell to the ground, throwing his hands against the dirt.

"Leave me alone, leave me alone..." He repeatedly sobbed, his voice falling to an incoherent whimper. Rod's shadow only remained above him for a little while before the grass crunched again, the sad rhythm growing quieter as he walked away. In Emile's struggle, burrs got caught in his fingers. Dirt caked against the tears on his face. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He lost his band, his money, his future, and now his brother alongside any hope of being good enough. He had nothing left and deserved nothing more.