Love Like Cyanide
An Explanation
Kind, caring, loyal Mark--my best friend; he drove me to the hospital Derrik was at. I couldn't keep the tears from pooling in my eyes or my hands from shaking. What had happened last night? These past weeks with that man, my father, have been near perfect and I felt as if I had just begun to rebuild my life and start living the way I was suppose to. I at least felt like I deserved that after the the hand of cards fate had dealt me the day of my birth.
I looked over at Mark, driving in silence, knuckles tight over the steering wheel. Concerned, stressed, sympathetic Mark. He was putting everything on hold for the time being to take care of me and make sure I was alright. How many times had I done that to him? When he found me at Derrik's house I broke down when he told me his plans for the future. I blubbered and wailed in his arms out of selfishness. I knew he would stay if I pleaded enough with him. He'd put his whole career on pause if I asked him to. Because he is good. I took his hand in mine. His shoulders tensed for a second and then relaxed. He threw me a rueful smile.
I looked forward and sighed, "Turn in here," at our destination.
The receptionist was polite, despite the unorthodox nature of our visit and vagueness of our story to go in and see a man recently shot for reasons even less detailed. But at the end of the sloppy explanations I was cleared to see him since I was his daughter. Mark had to stay in the waiting area to his huge dismay.
He grabbed my wrist as I turned down the hallway. I tried to comfort him with a, "I'm fine, it'll be fine. Hospitals are safe." A crowd of doctors at that second raced around the corner with a heavily bleeding patient strapped to a gurney. "See?" I said. "They're wearing their masks and sanitary gloves--totally safe." He didn't laugh, but let me go. At the end of the hall before entering the elevator I turned back. He hadn't moved, and looked deeply saddened. Why? I waved feebly and stepped on.
"Mr. Shay? You have a visitor; are you awake?" The nurse pulled back the bed curtain and I almost gasped. Not because he was in a horrible condition, but because the sight of him jarred my memory, thrusting me back into that night. He had been so violent...
He breathed steadily through the oxygen mask, eyes barely opening.
"I'll give you a minute," and she was gone. I didn't move till I heard the door close. I grabbed my wrist with the opposite hand and looked around the room. Exactly like the movies; 70s wallpaper, cheesy scenery paintings, white everything else.
"You know what I think this room needs?" I spoke finally, trying to keep my tone upbeat but not ready to make eye contact with him yet. "The Dog Who Loved the Flowers. I always liked that one." I was starting to feel surprisingly calm, which took me aback. Was I already over what he did to me? Almost did to me? Was I really ready to forgive him?
I took a deep breath and looked right at him. "You know, you're a pretty awful drunk." For the first time he brought his eyes to my level. What was that expression? Shock? Embarrassment? The longer I was there, the more courage gathered up inside me. "Look, if you want to avoid the giant shit storm that's coming for you, you've got some explaining to do."
His voice was hallow and dead when he finally spoke.
"You're not my daughter."
I looked over at Mark, driving in silence, knuckles tight over the steering wheel. Concerned, stressed, sympathetic Mark. He was putting everything on hold for the time being to take care of me and make sure I was alright. How many times had I done that to him? When he found me at Derrik's house I broke down when he told me his plans for the future. I blubbered and wailed in his arms out of selfishness. I knew he would stay if I pleaded enough with him. He'd put his whole career on pause if I asked him to. Because he is good. I took his hand in mine. His shoulders tensed for a second and then relaxed. He threw me a rueful smile.
I looked forward and sighed, "Turn in here," at our destination.
The receptionist was polite, despite the unorthodox nature of our visit and vagueness of our story to go in and see a man recently shot for reasons even less detailed. But at the end of the sloppy explanations I was cleared to see him since I was his daughter. Mark had to stay in the waiting area to his huge dismay.
He grabbed my wrist as I turned down the hallway. I tried to comfort him with a, "I'm fine, it'll be fine. Hospitals are safe." A crowd of doctors at that second raced around the corner with a heavily bleeding patient strapped to a gurney. "See?" I said. "They're wearing their masks and sanitary gloves--totally safe." He didn't laugh, but let me go. At the end of the hall before entering the elevator I turned back. He hadn't moved, and looked deeply saddened. Why? I waved feebly and stepped on.
"Mr. Shay? You have a visitor; are you awake?" The nurse pulled back the bed curtain and I almost gasped. Not because he was in a horrible condition, but because the sight of him jarred my memory, thrusting me back into that night. He had been so violent...
He breathed steadily through the oxygen mask, eyes barely opening.
"I'll give you a minute," and she was gone. I didn't move till I heard the door close. I grabbed my wrist with the opposite hand and looked around the room. Exactly like the movies; 70s wallpaper, cheesy scenery paintings, white everything else.
"You know what I think this room needs?" I spoke finally, trying to keep my tone upbeat but not ready to make eye contact with him yet. "The Dog Who Loved the Flowers. I always liked that one." I was starting to feel surprisingly calm, which took me aback. Was I already over what he did to me? Almost did to me? Was I really ready to forgive him?
I took a deep breath and looked right at him. "You know, you're a pretty awful drunk." For the first time he brought his eyes to my level. What was that expression? Shock? Embarrassment? The longer I was there, the more courage gathered up inside me. "Look, if you want to avoid the giant shit storm that's coming for you, you've got some explaining to do."
His voice was hallow and dead when he finally spoke.
"You're not my daughter."