Me, I should be eyes forward, but I can’t look at my dad. I just can’t.
The closed eyes.
The tight, white skin.
The way he seems to have shrunk.
Because I feel like if I look any more my mind will actually
break.
And it’s scary, that body lying still up there.
It sure as hell isn’t my dad anymore and for true I am fucking scared.
All I can do, is chant.
Naaamooooo aaaaaaaamiiiiituoooofoooooooo…
It goes on like this for days.
T
WENTY
My dad says, Come here, son.
And I get up from the chair, walk the two steps towards his bed.
He waves me in closer, closer.
I lean down, smell the fragrance-free soap on his neck mingled with the bitter, antiseptic stench of the hospital room.
He hugs me, hugs me tight. And even though it’s the first time he’s ever really hugged me, I know it’s tighter than he ever would have hugged me back when he was healthy.
When he finally lets go, I see sadness in his eyes.
I smile at him, give his tiny arm a squeeze.
And then I leave, relieved.
I wake up, alone.
When I open my eyes, at first I think I’m in my dad’s hospital room.
That terrible TCP smell, along with something sour. Sterile lights above me on the ceiling. Ugly hospital curtains.
But then my brain un-fuzzes a bit and I realize that would be impossible.
My left leg is sore, so I look down and see that it’s in a cast.
I check my hands, and they’re not broken.
I check the rest of me, and I am sore all over, but most of the soreness is in my leg, so I think I am generally okay.
And then I remember that image I saw before I blacked out on the road – the smiling cartoon cow with a glass of milk in its hoof.
One of life’s sick jokes.
My phone is on the bedside table. The screen is even more cracked, but it still works.
And I didn’t have my camera on me, so it’s still at the hotel – talk about good luck. (Good luck may be a stretch when you’ve just been run over, but I am alive and I think I have just dodged me a massive bullet.)
New message to Mia:
Actually got hit by a milk lorry, no joke. Am OK but I’ve broken my left leg. In hospital now.
An instant message back:
Do you ever take anything seriously?
I think about this for a second.
I’m pretty sure you told me I took things too seriously.
And then I add:
You sound a bit confused, if you ask me.
