“No problem. I’m sorry for giving you bad news.”
“It’s alright. You have great bedside manners. It made it much easier to hear.” Bad news doesn’t shock me when it comes to my dad. Bad news follows him everywhere and he always makes sure he brings it to me.
Maybe I’m bitter. Maybe I should care more. I know that sounds so fucking bad. I can’t believe I’m thinking it. There was a time when I was a child that my father loved me, I think. But there’s only so much someone’s child can take. I’ve learned over the years that being someone’s child doesn’t entitle them to love if all they do is abuse it.
Doing this transplant will allow me to move on with my life once and for all.
I’m at his door, standing directly in front of the threshold. The door is open. The TV is on. Machines beep and hiss. One step. That’s all it’s going to take. One step and I’ll be closer to letting go of the pain that has held me back since I was a teenager.
“Son?” His voice travels in the room, echoing in the darkness since the lights aren’t on.
“Dr. Carrington,” I correct him before I can stop myself.
I suppose I’m not the bigger person after all. There’s too much rage after all the patience I’ve given him over the years.
I step forward, breaking the last boundary that has stopped me from seeing him.
He looks so small in that bed. I remember a hulking man growing up. He’s skinny now. His skin has a yellow hue. His hair has thinned and I can still smell a bit of alcohol on him somehow. I barely recognize the sickly body in the bed. My eyes dart from machine to machine, wondering how the hell he’s let it get this bad. I know it’s because he doesn’t care, and if he doesn’t, then why should I?
Three months is being generous. Dr. Washington is being kind about the estimate of his remaining life.
“How are you?” he asks, scratching his left arm, a common symptom with liver failure.
The more his liver fails, the worse the symptoms will become. He could even hallucinate, and I can only imagine what he’d see.
“You look good, son. You look real good.” His eyes become misty, as if he’s holding back tears. “Catch me up. Tell me everything. Do you have anyone special in your life? Any kids?”
I grip the end of his bed, biting down on the inside of my cheek as all the emotions I’ve buried for so many years try to bubble their way up my throat.
The words he wants to hear, I can’t seem to find. My mind is blurred from years of taking his abuse.
“How did you get that black eye? Did a patient hit you?” He sits up straighter, as if he’s going to do something about that.
I chuckle and the sound isn’t one of humor, but of irony. “You know, it was a patient. It was you.”
“What?” He gasps, expecting me to believe he cares. “No. I wouldn’t…I don’t remember doing that.”
“Of course you don’t,” I hiss, slamming my fist into the base of the bed. I try to regain control and patience. I’m at work. I can’t lose my temper. “You were wasted. You stumbled into the hospital drunk and embarrassed me in front of all my new coworkers. Are you proud of yourself? You always have to do that. You always find me to make an example out of me and, Dad, it stops now. I’ve let you come in and out of my life, using me, talking down to me, hitting me, milking me for money, blaming me. Always with the blame. I’m done. I’m done with it. At last, I’m done.” I rub my eyes with my fingers, hating that they betray me by welling up.
“No, no. Elias. Listen to me, I’m going to get better. I’m going to get clean. I’ll get the transplant and we can start over. Just us. We can have a real relationship. I want to know you. I want to…I want to know everything about you.”
I shake my head because there’s nothing to tell. I have no one in my life who loves me. I have no children. I have nothing but my job and my skill set.
“No.” I look out the window, clenching my teeth together so hard, I know I have to be close to breaking a tooth.
The sun is beginning to set, variants of red and yellows painting the sky, the clouds spreading out and stretched like wings. I always find it so interesting how the world continues to find a way to be beautiful when so much ugly happens as the Earth spins.
“I’ve heard this before. I’ve heard all of your excuses. I’ve heard every damn reason from you in the book. “I’ll bebetter, Elias.I just needthis, Elias. I only needthat, Elias. This time, I’m really done with thealcohol, Elias. I promise, I won’t waste this money,Elias.” I spit out my name in frustration. “And I know, I know you’re sick. You’re dying, actually. You know that, though, and I can’t help but wonder how long you’ve known that.”
I cut my eyes to him, narrowing them into angry, impatient slits.
He doesn’t even have the nerve to look at me. He glances at his lap, twiddling his thumbs in shame.
“You’re unbelievable,” I seethe, my heart pounding so hard, it’s about to burst from my chest. “You knew. You came to my work, made a fool of me, to what?” A light bulb turns on in my head, and hurt unlike anything I’ve ever felt almost makes my knees buckle.
I close the door to his room and close the blinds for privacy. “How long? How long have you known you needed a liver transplant and fucking knew you wouldn’t be able to get it, so you come to me.” I hit my chest with my fist, the loud thump echoing in the room. “You knew you’d never get approved on the donor list. You knew I was your only shot at survival. Un-fucking-believable. You’re a real piece of work.”
“I know. I know I am. I know I’ve fucked up a lot, Elias. I know I haven’t been the best parent?—”
