Itwas true. After we had returned to my father’s room and confronted him, Istruggled to find the ability to speak, as I listened to Pops confess toknowing about the heart disease for several years. What could I say? There wasnothing any of us could do to change what had already happened, and so, I hadjust sat there in an uncomfortable chair. Feeling the sadness and anger both ofmy siblings were exhibiting, while not knowing how to express it myself.
Idropped my gaze to the white, linoleum floor. “I dunno what you want me to say,Zach.”
Hescoffed, thick with bitterness. “I want you’s both to have my fuckin’ backright now, that’s what I want. But I guess I’m not gonna get it.” Then, heabruptly turned and headed to the door.
“Whereare you g-going?” Jenna asked, choking on a sob.
“Home,”he spat angrily, opening the door and closing it heavily behind him.
Ibegan to stand and said, “I guess I’ll go get him.”
“No,”Pops said, lifting a hand. “Let him go.”
“O-kay,”I murmured, slowly sitting back down.
Theroom fell into a deep, heavy silence and the space between the walls filledwith everything we didn’t know how to say. Pops laid motionless in his bed,staring blankly toward the window that overlooked the cityscape where the worldcontinued, even while ours fell apart. Jenna stood awkwardly by the bathroom,holding the doorknob precariously and pushing the door an inch open and thenshut, open and shut, open and shut. My sight was trained only on the floor. Theseams between each tile and the grainy, beige pattern in the linoleum. Iimagined every pair of feet that had scuffled across that floor. All thoseshoes, the different people who had lived in them. And then, there were thequestions. How many of those people had walked across that floor and laid inthat bed, never to get up again? Would my father be one of them? And as soon asthose questions came, so did the reality of his mortality. If his heart attackhadn’t driven that home, this diagnosis definitely did, and my throat thickenedwith the urgent need to cry.
“Igotta get out of here,” I muttered, hastily standing and heading toward thedoor.
“Whereyou goin’, junior?”
Junior.
Junior.
Nobodyelse ever called me junior, and the moment he was dead, nobody would ever callme junior again.
“I’llbe back,” I blurted out before the tears could come and I left the room.
***
I foundZach sitting outside on a stone bench overlooking a small garden, a gentle andnatural reprieve from the morbidity inside. I dropped down beside him, heavywith grief, and frantically dug into my pocket for my lighter and smokes.
“Fuck,”I said to the white and red packet. My hands shook as I pulled a cigarette outand stuffed it between my lips. Four times, I tried to light the damn thing,and four times, I failed. With an aggravated huff, Zach snatched the Zippo frommy hand, lit the cigarette, and then, threw the lighter into my lap.
“Hey!”I grabbed it before it could slip through my thighs and onto the sidewalk.“What the hell are you pissed at me for?”
Heshook his head. “I’m not pissed at you.”
“Oh,great. Glad we cleared that up.”
Itook a long drag and held the smoke in my lungs until I thought I might choke,feeling warm and heady with its venom. I exhaled slowly, closed my eyes, andimagined my world the way it was a day ago. Normal. Decent. It hadn’t beengreat, it hadn’t even been good, but it was mine and it had been okay. I wantedto go back there. I wished I could.
“Ijust can’t believe this shit!” Zach exclaimed, and startled, my eyes snappedopen. “I can’t believehim! For fuckin’ years, he didn’t trust us, hedidn’t believe us, and now, we find out that he’s been lying tous?That’s the pot calling the fuckin’ kettle black right there, that’s what thatis.” A paper napkin skittered across the sidewalk, carried by a gentle breeze.It landed on the toe of his sneaker and as though that napkin was thematerialization of heart disease itself, he kicked it away angrily and shouted,“Son of a bitch!”
“Iknow,” I said, nodding and puffing away at the cigarette. “I can’t even look athim right now.”
“He’sa fuckin’ hypocrite.”
Iturned to look at him and take in the anger etched in the lines on his face. Mybrother had been through his share of shit but never before had I seen him somad, so hurt and betrayed.
“Iknow,” I agreed.
“How’sJen?”
“Notgreat,” I said, before exhaling.
“Yeah,”Zach nodded. “I figured.”
