Jeremy's song
What I know: Those chairs suck.
"Comatose." A voice floated out from the nurses' station. I learned about it in psychology, and wanted nothing to do with it. I pushed and pushed. I blocked it out of my head, and told myself that it wasn't me. My dad wasn't sick. My dad was okay at home on the couch, and his biggest concern was figuring out where mom and I have disappeared to.
"Kevin Pike, its been 2 hours. I can hardly find a spot to record his pulse from, he's so bandaged up." My mind went back to that broken man, with the bruised face. Every time I thought of him, he looked more and more like my father. Suddenly, it hit me like a ton of bricks. My father wasn't at home waiting for me. Everything the nurses were saying began to process. Clipboard at hand, I adjusted myself and crossed my legs so that I could write. Then I set the board down on a table next to me to write. Then I leaned it against the wall. Nothing was working.
The receptionist kept watching me, and I must have changed my position 14 times before even looking at the forms I was supposed to be filling out. Name, Birthday, Insurance, etc... My dad usually took care of this stuff; I was at a loss. I kept looking up to see the receptionist looking back at me, as if she was studying me. She was pissing me off already, and the next time I saw her look up, I cracked. She was smiling.
"Is something funny?" I asked.
Maybe I missed something. I scoped the area, confused. A spark of hope, was I being Punk'd? I wouldn't put it past Dad, but there were no cameras that I could see. She looked down shyly.
"No, seriously, did I miss something? Is there a joke that I'm not part of? 'Cause I want in." She raised her eyes to meet mine, and I was ready for her to let me in on her secret. Something crazy was about to happen, and I was prepared.
"What are you talking about?" She looked at me with innocent eyes, and I was reeling.
"What do you mean? How can you do this? How can you sit here with a straight face and act like this isn't happening?" I had started, and there was no stopping me.
"These officers come into my house, right? They're all like 'your dads really hurt' and shit, and you know what they tell us? They tell us to come here. So I'm here now. I'm here. What else do you guys want from me?" I remember I was yelling at that point.
"We got here, and my dad isn't even here. We could have just left then, but no, we had to go into a room too. I walk in, and there is a poor, sick, decrepit old man in there who smells like death. You are telling me that that fucked up old man with one arm is my father. I know my father. That man does not look like him. You know what scares me the most though? That man in there IS my father, but he won't wake up. The nurses are using words like Comatose and Quadriplegic, but neither of those were ever anything my father could possibly be." I stood up and stepped forward. Looking back, I hardly made sense. I was raging.
"I want my dad!" She wasn't smiling anymore
"I need immediate help in the lobby" I heard her frantic voice over the intercom, and two officers rushed in as if they were expecting an armed lunatic. I had never been at gunpoint before, and I was terrified. I looked at my shoes, planning my escape. The door was right there but they'd shoot. I was panicking, my heart started to race, and my palms were sweaty. I looked the younger officer in the eye and realized what was happening. My throat was closing up, and I was having trouble breathing. My nose felt funny and so did my eyes. I was weak; made powerless by the forces of pure rage and a couple armed officers. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. My throat was raw, and I let go. I fell to my knees in the middle of the empty lobby, near midnight, and broke down crying. The two officers stepped forward.
"I'm tired. I just want my dad to wake up and bring us home. But he can't." I sobbed as my mom emerged from the hallway and walked briskly toward me. Her face was stained with tears and running makeup. She came over to me and offered me her hand. I took it and stood up, my head down and my arms folded. I wanted a sweatshirt to hide in, and Mom wrapped her exhausted arms around me. Everything was happening so fast, and I fell back into the reality of what was happening.
"I'm sorry." Those two words; so strong, yet so weak. The officers, finding me to be a harmless kid, dropped their guard. One officer went and spoke with the receptionist while the other led mom and I back to the sticky ugly chairs. We sat down and the officer told me to tell him what had just happened, as he'd have to file a report. I told him I had no clue as to what had just gone down, and he told me to start with what I knew. I told him the one thing in my life that I wasn't questioning at the moment.
"Officer," I looked up at him, and in all seriousness, I said "I'm terrified right now, these people are confusing me, and these chairs suck."
"Kevin Pike, its been 2 hours. I can hardly find a spot to record his pulse from, he's so bandaged up." My mind went back to that broken man, with the bruised face. Every time I thought of him, he looked more and more like my father. Suddenly, it hit me like a ton of bricks. My father wasn't at home waiting for me. Everything the nurses were saying began to process. Clipboard at hand, I adjusted myself and crossed my legs so that I could write. Then I set the board down on a table next to me to write. Then I leaned it against the wall. Nothing was working.
The receptionist kept watching me, and I must have changed my position 14 times before even looking at the forms I was supposed to be filling out. Name, Birthday, Insurance, etc... My dad usually took care of this stuff; I was at a loss. I kept looking up to see the receptionist looking back at me, as if she was studying me. She was pissing me off already, and the next time I saw her look up, I cracked. She was smiling.
"Is something funny?" I asked.
Maybe I missed something. I scoped the area, confused. A spark of hope, was I being Punk'd? I wouldn't put it past Dad, but there were no cameras that I could see. She looked down shyly.
"No, seriously, did I miss something? Is there a joke that I'm not part of? 'Cause I want in." She raised her eyes to meet mine, and I was ready for her to let me in on her secret. Something crazy was about to happen, and I was prepared.
"What are you talking about?" She looked at me with innocent eyes, and I was reeling.
"What do you mean? How can you do this? How can you sit here with a straight face and act like this isn't happening?" I had started, and there was no stopping me.
"These officers come into my house, right? They're all like 'your dads really hurt' and shit, and you know what they tell us? They tell us to come here. So I'm here now. I'm here. What else do you guys want from me?" I remember I was yelling at that point.
"We got here, and my dad isn't even here. We could have just left then, but no, we had to go into a room too. I walk in, and there is a poor, sick, decrepit old man in there who smells like death. You are telling me that that fucked up old man with one arm is my father. I know my father. That man does not look like him. You know what scares me the most though? That man in there IS my father, but he won't wake up. The nurses are using words like Comatose and Quadriplegic, but neither of those were ever anything my father could possibly be." I stood up and stepped forward. Looking back, I hardly made sense. I was raging.
"I want my dad!" She wasn't smiling anymore
"I need immediate help in the lobby" I heard her frantic voice over the intercom, and two officers rushed in as if they were expecting an armed lunatic. I had never been at gunpoint before, and I was terrified. I looked at my shoes, planning my escape. The door was right there but they'd shoot. I was panicking, my heart started to race, and my palms were sweaty. I looked the younger officer in the eye and realized what was happening. My throat was closing up, and I was having trouble breathing. My nose felt funny and so did my eyes. I was weak; made powerless by the forces of pure rage and a couple armed officers. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. My throat was raw, and I let go. I fell to my knees in the middle of the empty lobby, near midnight, and broke down crying. The two officers stepped forward.
"I'm tired. I just want my dad to wake up and bring us home. But he can't." I sobbed as my mom emerged from the hallway and walked briskly toward me. Her face was stained with tears and running makeup. She came over to me and offered me her hand. I took it and stood up, my head down and my arms folded. I wanted a sweatshirt to hide in, and Mom wrapped her exhausted arms around me. Everything was happening so fast, and I fell back into the reality of what was happening.
"I'm sorry." Those two words; so strong, yet so weak. The officers, finding me to be a harmless kid, dropped their guard. One officer went and spoke with the receptionist while the other led mom and I back to the sticky ugly chairs. We sat down and the officer told me to tell him what had just happened, as he'd have to file a report. I told him I had no clue as to what had just gone down, and he told me to start with what I knew. I told him the one thing in my life that I wasn't questioning at the moment.
"Officer," I looked up at him, and in all seriousness, I said "I'm terrified right now, these people are confusing me, and these chairs suck."
♠ ♠ ♠
This is chapter 3, I'm going to try to update every other day! Comments are appreciated! I'm planning on running through the 5 stages of grief,so we'll see how this next one goes!