the well .

[joseph mccarthy]

Joseph stands beside his three people; his large hand on his mother's tiny shoulder, Lily grasping the otherside of her, and Aisha to his left. His family has created a wall and are seemingly trying to keep each other afloat among the current of the tragedy. There is a blue aura that sits heavily on Lily, Linda, and Joseph. They have a three metre bubble in which vistors must act empathetic and avoid eye contact. The fakeness of it irks Joseph. Outside their bubble it's a regular social event. People are making small talk and everyone is well humored; they're laughing. All that's missing is champagne and a more colourful palette. There's an expectation of strength which he's failing to reach. If he here's another, "Burt was a good man", he'll flip. This fake appreciation of life. Inside the bubble he hears someone praise his father and he looks at Lily, his eyes rolling. His Aunt Sherry is holding the attention of his mother. She's unrelated to them and no one in the family actually likes her. She's condecending and already she's trying to rush their mother through grief with yoga on Thursdays. Joseph squeezes his mother's shoulder and tells her he'll be back before pecking her on the cheek and turning to face the crowd. There's an awkwardness between he and his girlfriend that has gone unaddressed. When he looks at her he gives her a short nod and turns his eyes to the sea of people. As he breaks through he seems to bring some of the blue with him. Smiles vanish and people look guiltily at the floor. Some young brunette steps in front of him and looks at him with doe eyes. "Oh Joey," everything sounds like he's underwater. He takes a minute to absorb her face, his brow tensing as he realizes it's his high school girlfriend. How ideal. "I heard from Lily.. god, I'm so sorry." It's genuine and Stephanie is actually sorry. She's not faking sad. She might as well be though, Joe barely reacts. He bobs his head, "yea. Cool. I'll be right back." He moves past her to the back door of the building.

[aisha van buren]

It was all too much. Smoothing out the stiff skirt of her black Self Portrait dress, Aisha clasped her hands together like an altar girl. She didn't know what to do with herself. Stood beside Joe without looking at him, the enormity of the situation paralysed her. The sea of unfamiliar faces was broken up only by the odd glimpse of her father, who had handled the situation with a grace she'd hardly known him capable of, offering just the right amount of condolences to show he was sincere, without overstepping the line. It was such a deft skill and one his daughter lacked profoundly, the slight blonde having barely said a word to anyone since it had all happened. Feeling like a fraud, the murmurs of guests coming up to offer their condolences compounded her awkwardness. How did they all know what to say? Having lived a life of the utmost privilege, Aisha was forced to finally accept what was obvious to everyone else: she was woefully underprepared for the real world. Money could get you out of so much, and she had thought that it would help here, that once her dad was on board everything would all be okay. But you can't buy your way into immortality. Being there had been impossibly hard for the young girl: being there without Joe had been almost traumatic. But this wasn't about her. Watching as Joey excused himself, she stood rooted to the spot for a moment, unsure what to do. Glancing across the gap that his leaving had created, she locked eyes with Lily. Why did she always feel like she was judging her? Probably because she was. Despite having stayed with the McCarthys up until very recently, Aisha knew any good work she'd done bonding with Lily was going to be undone if she didn't get her act together. Nodding at her, she excused herself, following after Joe.  "Are you... are you okay?"

[joseph mccarthy]

There's a tightness in his chest that won't go away. It's almost as though there's bricks weighing him down. He's hardly done anything since his dad's passing a few days ago. He hasn't even cried. Much of him feels like his dad's still at home. When he goes back to the house, he'll expect Burt McCarthy to appear in the hallway and welcome him back with a great embrace. The realist in him knows this won't happen. Burt is laying in a casket with his eyes closed and being stared at by strangers. Joseph leans against the exterior of the church. He should be in there holding his mother up, but he can't handle any more unfamiliar faces. He reaches inside his suit and fishes out a cigarette which he's half emptied and crammed with a little weed. He lights it and tilts his head against the brick as he exhales his first drag. He barely hears the door open, but when he realizes there's someone with him he jolts forward, half attempting to hide the spliff. It's just Aisha. "Uhm, yea. Why?" a stupid question. He lifts the cigarette back to his lips.

[aisha van buren]

Even with just the two of them here, Aisha can't really look at him. Leaning against the doorframe, she looks out at the desert, the vast, red emptiness. She'd grown fond of it. Life with the New Mexico McCarthys had been very different from life with the Manhattan McCarthys, she had slumped around in Joe's old clothes, had washed dishes and played cards and laughed along with them when they called her out for saying something princessy. She had been different. The warmth of his family had enveloped her and she'd let her walls down, the stuck up Aisha left behind on the tarmac at LAX.  But she'd come back of late. Shook to her core, it was easier to retreat into stereotypes, hiding behind a facade of detachment as though she could fake it til she made it.  "For obvious reasons, Joe," she says, her tone defeated. It's a slight relief to see him with a cigarette, to smell the grassy smell of weed. A hint of himself. She sidles up beside him, her slender fingers plucking the cigarette from his lips. She takes a small drag, inhaling and holding it, remembering when he first taught her how to do it properly. Exhaling, she lets a sigh out with the plume of smoke, passing it back. "I'm sorry, that's a stupid question. Of course you're not. Do you want anything? I'm sure I can find you a beer, a blowjob, an excuse to head back early?"

[joseph mccarthy]

Unlike his sister, who needed conversation and turned to those around her, Joseph didn't have much to say. He was his usual helpful self if not even more, but he was a silent helper. He made sure the house was clean, that food was cooked and he made sure to sit with his family and listen to their grief. However, he was detached. The moment it happened he had shut off. His mouth stopped rambling and shut, his thoughts didn't bounce with ideas but they were dark. He let others lean on him, but he wouldn't let himself lean. He left his young girlfriend in silence. He doesn't look at the blonde when she talks. He just shrugs and lets her take the cigarette. It would take the whole thing to ease him slightly. He was usually a people person, but these past few days he felt like he was so anxious he was going to explode. She speaks and he almost can't believe she's suggesting these things. Typical Joe would give her a questionable look. But he's not himself, so he just shrugs again. He takes a long drag, holding it so his throat feels itchy. "I don't want anything," his voice is dull. "Why don't you head off when your dad does?"

[aisha van buren]

If someone had told Aisha she would get her boyfriend back so prematurely from his world tour, she might have cried with relief. As things were, the circumstances made it so that being around him was more than she could bear, her own inadequacies shouted at her every second of silence that they endured together. Lily and Linda were easier to be around, she could make herself useful, she could listen to them when they spoke. But Joe's wall of silence left the impetus to say something with her, and the fear of saying the wrong thing had kept her almost as silent as him. Like she inevitably does. Hearing herself, she wants to swallow the words back up. She wants a do over. Opening and closing her mouth a couple times as she tries to think of what to say in response, she looks like a fish but knows that can't be true since she's absolutely drowning. "Ok," she says finally, "if that's what you want." Defeated, she starts walking back towards the church. At the last minute she turns on her stilettos, speaking to the back of his head. "Is that what you want?"

[joseph mccarthy]

For Joseph, it's unusual for him to be so silent about his grief. He's usually an open book and easy to read. If he's upset, he'd tell you what his reasons are. And if he's happy, everyone will hear about it. To be so quietly struggling, it's not Joe. But he can't seem to pull himself out of it. The moment he opens his mouth to say something, it shuts. He realizes he doesn't have anything to say. There's no words for the devastation he feels. He glances over at Aisha. She's so proper looking, so demure and holy seeming. He thinks how young she is and how little tragedy she's suffered. What is this biggest heartbreak in her life? He shoves his judgment to the other side of his brain, this was his first real quake. "Isn't it what you want?" he doesn't mean it the way it sounds. It sounds like he's judging her, and he's trying not to. This is an awkward position, this is traumatic for her. But he doesn't have the energy to defend his words, he's too tired to butter her up. "I don't want anything."

[aisha van buren]

The sun seemed hazier here. As someone who'd moved from one coast of America to the other, it never ceased to amaze Aisha how much variety her home country had to offer. Of course living in California had familiarised her with the desert, so different from the concrete jungle that was New York, even though she herself lived in LA. But this was different to that, rugged and vibrant red, feeling wilder than anything she had ever experienced. Despite Joe's eternally calm exterior, he was part of this wild landscape, something indecipherable and alien to the girl so accustomed to the Upper East Side. Looking at his silhouette outlined by the setting sun, it was easy to question how well she truly knew him. Who was this cipher, silent in the face of his grief? Where was the Joe who'd tell you about his most traumatic childhood memory without hesitation, who'd ignore her childish games and tell her how she was making him feel? Faintly she can hear her dad's Chicago-tinged accent as he tells a story of his own dads, and the comforting sound of Caesar's voice makes her realise she's being unfair. If her dad died she would fall to pieces, and this was Joe, falling to pieces. His words cause harm and she wishes they didn't, but she swallows it down. Old Aisha would have told him that was fine, would have called Elliott to pick her up from the airport and Instagrammed the whole thing. But she was trying. Walking back to him, she stood awkwardly beside him for a moment before swallowing hard, forcing herself to take his hand, leaning her body into his. "I don't want to go," she said, finally looking up at him with eyes wide and threatening to water. "I'm so sorry Joe," she said finally, her voice cracking as tears started to slide down her cheeks.

[joseph mccarthy]

Joe smokes the joint and he feels a faint calmness entering his mind. It reeks of weed out here and he'd usually be more aware of people around him, but he feels they'll understand. It helps that most people here actually know his family, so there would be little talk of it. He hadn't thought about his status bringing unwanted people to a funeral until Caesar had. People had less respect than he often assumed they had, so for Aisha's father to deal with those matters was a big deal. Though it hadn't stopped ex-girlfriends to come in with their fake grief and respect. He'd be more bitter about that later. When Aisha comes and leans into him, he doesn't turn away. Instead he presses the spliff into a brick and puts the remains of it back into his pocket. He's supportive, he's a pillar and it's his job to be a wall everyone can lean on. At least, this is what he's been for his family. And since Aisha is his family, he's the same for her. Gently he folds his arms across her back and wraps her small body in his. "There, there," his voice is more hollow than usual. He gives her a squeeze and brushes a hand through her hair, "it'll be alright."

[aisha van buren]

This was so frustrating. Ever the brat, Aisha wants to stomp her feet and scream at him to stop it, to go back to being himself so she can go back to being herself. This was all too much. The truth was that she hadn't wanted to come to the funeral, had barricaded herself in her New York apartment, locking Tate out and refusing to answer her cell. She wanted to hibernate until it was all over, as though she could pretend it never happened and everyone would go along with it so long as she waited long enough. As if Joe would ever forgive her, as if his family would ever speak to her again. It had been deja vu for her, calling her dad up from New Mexico in floods of tears, begging him to get her home. Except this time he had, but he'd also dragged her back here today. As soon as she set foot on McCarthy property she had known it was the right thing to do, quietly thanking her father when out of earshot of everyone else. Seeing Joe so broken awoke a maternal instinct she didn't know she had, but she also didn't know how to act on it. Sighing heavily, she roughly wipes the tears away with her fingertips. She hates his stiff hug and stiffer condolences. Shrugging out of his grip, she looked up at him. "Stop it. Just stop it! You're not consoling me, I'm supposed to be consoling you," she hears herself and it's pathetic, she feels like a marionette with its strings cut. She can't stop the tears and they're half out of frustration now. No one told her she would have to deal with something like this, it wasn't in the contract. Trying to collect herself, she wipes tears away again, straightening herself out. "I'm sorry I've not been here for you," she said once she trusted herself to, her tone deliberately measured. "I want you to know that I am now, whenever you're ready. I love you," she takes his hand, giving it a squeeze before letting it slip. "I'm gonna go see if your mom's okay."

[joseph mccarthy]

He frowns. Not at her, but into the orange distance. The desert could be a dull and desolate place, but the view was something he could look at for hours. He imagines himself out there now, curled up in the heat and his body drying up into dust. Joe wishes he could shut everybody off and fall into a deep sleep. He hadn't slept in days and the silence of a dark dreamland was yearned. Right here the attention was on him, but he wanted to not exist for a while. He wanted to turn everyone off. Everyone included Aisha. His frown deepens when she eases from his grip and his hands fall into his pockets. He shrugs when she apologies, thinking that if he was feeling things then he'd feel sorry for not missing her more. When she left he sunk into more silent despair. Though maybe if she'd been here, he might be easier to coax out of the blue or at least discuss it. "Okay," his hand is limp in hers. "Okay," he repeats, "I think I'm going to go."

[aisha van buren]

If this had happened even a few months ago, Aisha would not have been here. Living such a pampered life had given her a remarkably thin skin and she had a habit of running away as soon as things got even remotely difficult, having the means to get out of any tricky situation. One slightly strict command as an intern would cause her to quit, one slightly boring class made her change majors. It was the curse of having infinite options - after all, necessity is the mother of invention, and in Aisha's mythological universe, a lack of necessity made everything optional. Including other people, usually. But here she was, forcing herself to breathe slowly, digging her nails into the palm of her hand and trying not to give herself over to the frustration that was mounting within her. She returns his frown. "I'll take you home," she says, making sure not to phrase it as a question but as a statement of fact. Before he can argue she's made her way back inside, approaching Linda and having a whispered conversation. Ascertaining that yes she was okay, and yes she thought Joe leaving would be a good idea if that's what he wanted, she told her dad she'd see him back at the house and went to collect her clutch. As she left she could feel the eyes of the brunette who had spoken to Joe earlier follow her... one flicker of the old Aisha pulls through and she gives her a look back, before re-emerging from the church. "Come on," she says, holding up the keys, "I've told your mom, she says she'll see you back there."  She links her arm with his, trying to coax him along. "By the way, who was that brunette girl? She was staring at me like I'd shown up naked."

[joseph mccarthy]

I'll take you home, he looks at her and watches her lips move. He gives into it and nods. His eyes watching lazily as she disappears into the building. Joe shrugs the jacket off, it feels like a hundred pounds in this heat and his white dress shirt is patchy with sweat. His hand grabs at his tie and pulls it looser. He feels a fair bit less claustrophobic without his constricting tie and hot jacket. The lack of a crowd helps too, the endless chatter was clogging his mind. She returns and he offers a hint of a smile. His arm crosses with hers and he nods to her words. He feels bad leaving his family. His poor mother having to deal with people offering their condolences. At least she had Lily, though to be honest Lily was a mess. The smallest thing would make her cry. He found her crying over a jar of marmalade this morning, she was sad because dad liked it and no one could understand why. "Hm?" he repeats what she's just said in his head and forces himself to come up with a proper answer. "High school girlfriend... I think she only showed up because I'm in a band."

[aisha van buren]

The thin white cotton of his shirt does little to disguise Joe's tattoos, and the whole thing can't help but feel metaphoric. In the wake of his father's death there was a stiffness about Joe that was so antithetical to his personality, a buttoned-up sensibility that she did not recognise as her boyfriend. But she doesn't know how to get the old Joe back, and she knows she's in some small way responsible for the fact that he was so lost. But it's reassuring that he isn't resisting her, almost giving her a smile, letting her link her arm with his. Rejuvenated, she feels slightly less useless, guiding him towards the car. His response to her question makes her hold her breath. Territorial, it gets Aisha's back up that the girl showed her face, but even more so that she would talk to Joe. Unlocking the car, she eases herself into the driver's seat, leaving no option for Joe to take the wheel. Gathering herself, she gives Joe a small, sad smile. "I'm sure she wanted to support you," she said, more empathetic than she'd ever been in her life. She started the car up. Pulling out of the car park, she gave Joe a quick glance, trying to keep her tone serious. "And besides, it can't be easy for her to face up to your perfect, petite, gorgeous, loving little blonde girlfriend. Give her some credit."

[joseph mccarthy]

Joe rolls his sleeves, traditional ink taking over his previously polished look. Aisha is trying to side with the pretty brunette and he's almost amused by it. She's been trying hard all day and overcompensating for his silence. She must want to shake him, but she resists. She left quickly after his father's passing and if he were caring, he would have been hurt. It was wrong and he knew it was wrong. When his spirits picked up, he knew it would turn into an issue. But in his numb state, he didn't think of her abandonment or her presence. Lily had of course been cutting, she had even asked if Aisha had broken up with him because he was more human than she thought. She takes the drivers side and he's glad. He'd had been fueling himself with alcohol but didn't want to say. He eases into the passenger side, lifts the lever on the side of the chair and the back of the seat falls back so he's looking at the ceiling. "Yea," he says, closing his eyes. No word of the girl in five years and she wants to act supportive now. A normally positive Joseph thinks negatively. "She's fine.,"