* * *
Once in thehospital, we ask the lady sitting at the information desk to directus to ICU. She points to a bank of elevators and tells us to go tothe fourth floor.
As soon as wearrive on the ward, my palms start to sweat and I can feel a lumpgrowing in my throat. I don’t want to go into his room but I haveto, he’s my dad. Katie senses my apprehension and grabs my hand aswe walk up to a large desk. I tell a nurse my father’s name and sheleads us to a near by room with a large window.
I don’trecognize the person lying in the bed in front of us. I only see abody with an oxygen mask over the face, a bandaged head with blackswollen eyes and wires and tubes attached to each arm. The nurse,fidgets with a beeping machine beside him and then tells us that wecan’t stay long. She heads out of the room and quietly closes thedoor behind her. Katie lets go of my hand and I slowly walk to thebed. I reach out to touch his thin arm and recognize the tattoo byhis thumb, Fn99. After all the years he spent in prison and nowthis. My heart sinks. Silent tears fall from my eyes and land onthe sheet beside his hand. I whisper, “Daddy, it’s me, Julia. I’mhere and I love you. Please don’t go away. You’ve got to get welland stay with me. Now that we have each other, I can’t lose youagain.”
A part of mefeels protective and doesn’t want Katie to see him in thiscondition. “You know, when I was a kid, my dad would lift me on onearm and my sister on the other at the same time. We thought he waslike Hercules.” I say.
“I can seethat,” she says, trying to make me feel better.
Next, I tellher that Dad used to work part time for a moving company and howone day his boss came over for dinner and told us that my fatherwas the strongest employee he ever had. He said that Dad would lifta couch all by himself and balance it on his back then walk up aramp and set it down in the moving van.
I hear thewords as they leave my lips. It was a long time ago that Dad wasstrong. Even before he was here in the hospital, he looked weak andfrail, not the powerful man I once knew. The stress of losing mymother and then Abby must have really kicked the shit out of himboth mentally and physically. Not to mention all the years he waslocked in prison: a cement jungle full of wild animals. Life washell for him. More tears fall and I wipe my eyes on my sleeve. Ishould have visited him in jail, but I just couldn’t. I was alwaystorn inside with questions of, did he kill my mother, or was hereally innocent as he claimed? Another reason I didn’t want to seehim was because of Abby.
I knew that ifI saw him, I would see my little sister in him and back then, Ijust couldn’t live through that pain. Still, I should’ve at leastcalled or written him more often. Other than the odd Christmas orbirthday card my grandmother made me sign to my father, he neverheard from me. I’m ashamed of myself for not being stronger andkeeping in touch with him. I hope he doesn’t think that I don’tlove or care about him because I stayed away. I wish he was awakeand I could hug him and tell him that I’m sorry and how much hemeans to me.
Katie walks upbehind me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Jules, honey. We shouldgo. He needs his rest. We can come back tomorrow, ok?” She sayssoftly. I gently slide my fingers inside his limp hand, “Dad, we’regoing to go and let you sleep. I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.Rest, you need all of your energy to fight this.” Katie turnstoward the door and touches my arm, “come on.”
Just as I’mabout to leave his bedside, I feel a flicker on my hand. I lookdown and see my father’s hand twitch around my fingers. An electricfeeling runs over me. He knows I’m here. I smile inside. “I loveyou, Dad.”
* * *
On the way outof the hospital, Katie looks at me with wet eyes, “That waspowerful, she says, referring to when he reacted to my hand in his.“See, it’s going to be ok. He’ll come around.”
We drive to myplace to pick up a change of clothes for tomorrow. Katie talks mein to staying with her at her apartment for a few days so I won’tbe alone. Katie picks up the spilled oranges on the floor while Igo to my room to pack a bag. As I walk down the hall, I see thedried blood on the floor, instantly, I think about Jim and hisbullshit story. That cowardly son of a bitch. How could he justleave when two guys were beating the hell out of my dad? Then Iremember Slinky, and how Jim said we should go to Blood Alley andfind him. All the pain and worry I’ve been feeling quickly turns toanger and an overpowering desire to find out the truth about whodid this?
I stuff acouple of pairs of jeans and t-shirts into a bag and then rejoinKatie in the front room. “Let’s get the hell out of here, Isay.”
On the way backto her place, I tell her how I’m going to find Slinky tomorrow andwhen I find out who hurt my father, I’m going to make them pay. Shenods with understanding then offers to take tomorrow off work andcome with me. I don’t want to pull her into this shit more than Ialready have. “Thanks, but this is something I need to doalone.”
After a coupleof hours sleep and pacing the floor for the rest of the
