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A fucking tsunami.
Putting things in order, having one last drag of poison, saying goodbye.
Exactly right.
Trying not to see it that way as I sit across from my father in his exclusive club is hard. Sipping expensive tea and agreeing to everything he says, not mentioning Brylee and Riddick, the weekend at the lake house, the pain in my chest.
In my heart.
Not mentioning the doctor’s diagnosis, or what is coming. I’m sure she’ll tell him once we have a date set.
This isn’t what meeting with him today is about.
“You okay, Ryan?” he asks, and I focus back on him.
“Yeah, Dad.”
His face twists. Then he smiles. “First time in years.”
“First time what?”
“That you called me Dad.”
Is that true? I gaze back at him, unsure of what to say. “Well,” I say at last, “you are my dad. So.”
“You certain everything is okay?”
Time to cut this meeting short. I didn’t think he could read me, but I’m wrong more often than I care to admit. “Everything’s okay. Hey…” I wait until he looks at me. “I love you, Dad.”
He stares at me, a suspicious gleam in his eyes. “I love you, too, son,” he says.
Well, if this doesn’t send me into cardiac arrest… I grin and make my escape from the club before he starts pressing me for answers.
***
The date has been set. Four days from now. I honestly have no idea if this is normal. Don’t people have to wait forever for a date?
This either means that my doctor told my father who then proceeded to pull some strings and get me to the top of the waiting list, or my doctor decided my case is touch-and-go and that she has to operate now or watch me die.
Not sure which of the two scenarios I prefer.
Okay, not true. I hope my father pulled all the fucking strings for this one. Definitely.
I hope that my heart racing all the time ever since I found out the date of the surgery won’t
kill me sooner than the doctor expects.
No, I don’t think it’s funny.
I’m not laughing.
I’m sitting locked up in my apartment, watching TV and ignoring any phone calls not originating from the hospital.
The way I see it, I’ve done all I could. I tried to live and failed. I pushed away the two people who meant something to me, who were starting to mean so much more, and have an official date of death. Pre-arranged death.
I smoked my cigarette, fixed my will, told my father I love him. Told my supervisor to kiss my ass, took my vacation time and chucked my business suit in a corner.
I’m done.
