The light from the ceiling burns his eyes.
It reminds him of the fall.
"Mark!...Get back here now!"
The twofold steps pound thunderously in the memory.
The son marches back with an indignant stride.
"No more bossing. No more pushing around.
I never want to see - - or speak to you again."
A tear rolls down the son's cheek.
Here it comes,
he feels the word inching up his chin.
The sound that forever haunts his skin is about to be said.
He wishes he could change it, but alas, --
memories only represent an immobile past.
The sound… The noise makes it way out: "Fine."
Sitting up on his long ashen bed,
the hospital lights are slightly dimmed.
His eyes travel down the body he is horrified to find his own.
What once was a strong, shapely specimen,
is now a prop,
with it's wrinkled limbs resting motionless on the sheet.
The beeping machine keeps its constant pace,
his mind waiting in anticipation for each sequential sound.
The million tubes sticking out of him are his only friends.
No one greets him anymore.
No one cares about him anymore.
Recent years of bitterness and hatred
have turned his friends into enemies,
his family into strangers.
Not even he cares about himself anymore.
In all of the despair he feels,
only one thing does he want - -
his son.
The one he raised with a keen eye.
The one he played catch with every other Sunday.
The one he stayed up with all night watching scary movies.
The one separated by the fall.
He longs to see his son,
even if it's just for a moment.
As days slip by,
so does his health.
Nurses increase his IV treatments,
he knows it's all in vain.
He's going to die.
Cancer isn't going to stop just for him.
He must see his son again.
The final day arrives,
the leaves covered in a fresh coat of dew.
He hears the morning bird sing its song.
He knows today is his last.
The festering taste of death is stronger than ever.
Still the air is sweet,
as if something wonderful is soon to happen.
He stares for a while at the clock - -
it's long, wavy arms sway across the plane.
Hours pass by.
The beeping machine
slackens it's pace.
His tired eyes fix on the door,
supporting a glimmering hope
that the one he desires most will walk through.
All of the sudden, it starts to open.
His heart rises to the top of his chest,
his mind racing with the possibility of one last wish
fulfilled.
The beeping machine changes its pace.
Faster, then slower,
the tempo changes like a jazz musician.
A foot steps through, then a leg, then a face.
It's a nurse.
His weak heart beats its last.
The beeping machine rings a new tune.
A long, single note echoes.
Far away,
a man feels a chill
through his bones.
It speaks to him:
"the one who raised him, with a keen eye,
the one who played catch with him every other Sunday,
the one who stayed up with him all night watching scary movies,
the one separated by the fall,
is gone."
For the first time
in twenty one years,
a tear rolls down his cheek.
Written by Stefan Haynes