Izzie
kicked off her shoes when she entered her apartment then walked to the
kitchenette for some hot chocolate. Izzie watched the mug of cocoa spin around
in the microwave as the green numbers counted down to zero. The full mug burned
her hands when she took it out then curled up on the sofa. She could use sleep
to evade her problems for an hour before she started her second job.
Nothing
had gone right for Izzie the past week: her boss gave the promotion to a new
employee instead of her, her friends avoided her, and the day before her car
was broken into. She probably deserved all of this though, what with diner apathy
and the one time she didn’t lock her car. This weekend didn’t look any better
either. Margaritas aren’t fun when you’re alone. However Izzie did have one
aspect to look forward to. In a couple of days Izzie was headed to New York to
see about a better job.
A
piano melody played, Izzie’s phone buzzed inside her purse. Izzie hoped it was
her best friend who always knew what to say during these dreadful days. Buried
at the bottom, Izzie dug her phone out of her purse. She slid her thumb over
the answer button but the phone call still went to voicemail.
“Hey Izzie, its Morgan. Dad’s in
the hospital. The doctors said that he won’t make it. I know you aren’t talking
to dad now but can you at least come for me?”
Izzie
tried to redial her sister, all she received was, ‘Morgan Tyler is not
available. Leave a message at the tone.’
Izzie
tried again, still nothing.
“Damn
it Morgan. Pick up,” she said and thought. If
the bastard isn’t lying I can at least hear it from you. Her father wasn’t above lies or any other kind
of sick joke.
Izzie
tried to text her sister instead.
“Is
he really dying, sis?”
Finally
her sister replied to Izzie’s text message. “Yes. You coming?”
“Why
should I see him off?”
“He’s
still our dad.”
“So.”
Izzie
imagined Morgan groan at Izzie last response. “Just come for me please. I need
someone to help me deal with this.”
Izzie
sent one last text. “I’ll think about it.”
Izzie
shoved her phone back into her purse and dumped the hot chocolate down the
sink. Hot chocolate doesn’t help when a person’s handed this type of news. She
walked over to her refrigerator and open it to see if she had any scotch left.
“None.
Great. How am I gonna to kill this pain now? What good is a rainy day without
scotch?”
Not
even scotch would help the memories from returning.
«…»
Last
week Izzie and her whole family organized a sobriety party. Her father had
hadn't drank any liquor in six months, not even a beer. They held the party at his
favorite restaurant. Izzie, her sister and brother-in-law divided the cost. Banners
and streamers decorated the walls and every corner streamer read,
“Congratulations!” It’s wasn’t like Hallmark made cards that read,
“Congratulations for not drinking for several months.” Food was everyone:
chips, steaks, cokes, water, iced tea, ice cream and cakes. Everyone was proud of him; the entire town
was invited to the event. Only their father's friends weren’t invited; they
worsened his drinking; they caused his addiction to begin with. His friends
were all where it all went wrong. To make sure that her father wouldn’t be
tempted, Izzie volunteered to hide the restaurant’s alcohol supply. She hid them
in backroom crates then grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels for herself.
“Here’s
to soberness.”
Izzie
headed back to the main area of the restaurant. She tripped over her feet and caught
by her sister.
“Whiskey,
really?” Morgan said. She steadied Izzie back on her feet.
“So?
This party’s not for me.”
Izzie
took another swallow full this time straight from the bottle.
“Okay
smartass make sure dad doesn’t see you.”
“No
problem, he’s not here yet.”
Knock,
knock, knock.
Blindfolded,
their mother led their father inside.
Inside
Izzie, her siblings, everyone, rushed around to make sure everything was in its
place. None of them would jump out and yell surprise. After years of drinking
and working their father's heart wouldn't be able to handle any sort of shock.
So this treat would be surprise enough as well as a sweet treat to thank him
for all his hard work on staying sober.
When
both parents entered the restaurant, Izzie removed the blindfold from her
father's eyes. He gasped, his eyes looked like they were about to pop out of
their sockets.
"Hope
you like it Dad." Morgan said.
"Yeah,
me and Morgan planned the whole thing." Izzie said.
Both
sisters wrapped an arm around their father.
"What
do you think honey," his wife asked.
He
asked whether or not they all did this for him, they assured him that they did.
"Of
course we did. We love you." Izzie said. She glanced away as she said it. Do I really love him?
He
kissed both his daughters' forehead and headed straight for the food.
For
the rest of the party it ran smoothly. Nothing felt like it could go wrong in
any way. Everyone ate and drank, people complimented the decorations, which all
looked lovely and perfectly pieced together. Seven-o-clock it all changed.
Izzie's
father's friends barged through the front doors, two of them. In each hand they
had snuck in bottles of rum. Both of them were completely drunk with no control
over themselves. They slurred their words, stumbled over to Izzie's father and
offered him their rum.
Izzie
saw hesitation ooze throughout her father’s body, his complexion pale when he
looked at his family. She knew what everyone was thinking because the same
thought buzzed all throughout her mind. Will he resist temptation or will he
give in? If dad changed, if he really
cares, he won’t drink. Right?
Tick.
Tick. Tick.
Izzie
felt time slow, the movement of the clock run through her veins; her heart. Dad don’t do this. Prove me wrong about you.
Tick.
Tick. Tick.
Izzie
saw her father’s arm rise, saw it inch forward toward his drunk friends. He
grabbed the bottle from his friend and took a drink of rum.
Izzie
snatched the bottle from his hand. "Dad you can't. You're a recovering
alcoholic. You can't drink rum."
He
tried to convince her otherwise.
"Sweetheart.
Princess. It's only one bottle of rum. I think I can control myself."
"It's
only been six months. What control do you have?”
"I
don’t need a babysitter. I can handle it.
His
friends encouraged him on, chanted, “Drink! Drink! Drink!” Izzie stood and
turned her back to ignore them or at least try to.
"How
can any of us not worry when you drink? You get arrested or break another
promise."
He
stood up from the long table and placed the bottle on the table with a thud.
"Isobel
Marie! I do not need a lecture from my own daughter. It's my decision to
drink."
Izzie
crossed her arms. "That doesn't mean I have to see it! You promised me!
You promised you'd stop drinking! Now you're going to start again? What kind of
father are you?"
"One
who can decide for himself."
"Fine.
I don't need a dad. You have one daughter now." Izzie said. She grabbed
her coat and began to leave. "You know, we'd all be better off without you
anyway."
So
Izzie left, leaving a smoke of hate a resentment where everyone stood.
«…»
Izzie
lounged on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. Izzie gave up then dumped the
remaining cocoa down the sink. The least
I can do is go see my sister. She shoved her shoes on her feet. She took
her time when she walked out of the apartment. Izzie fumbled with her keys when
she got to her car that caused scratches around the keyhole. When she got
inside Izzie didn’t wait for the engine to warm up before she began driving
down the road.
Each
turn brought Izzie closer to her father. Right, left, right and head south.
Izzie knew the route to the hospital by heart; it was burned into her mind from
the times before she went to the hospital. Past downtown shops and her old high
school, Izzie was fifteen minutes away from her destination. Only fifteen
minutes to before she would know how this would play out.
“There’s
still enough time to turn back. Morgan’ll understand.” She told herself.
The
turn lane came up, now was Izzie’s chance to back down from all of this. Izzie
could leave she could forget everything; forget her father. Before she went
home she could stop at the store and buy scotch to leave this mess behind her.
Izzie followed the arrow. Running away was safe; an exit in a forest of
tragedy.
Bright,
bright flashing lights caught Izzie’s attention. Police cars parked on the side
with cops that tried to soothe a small boy.
“Holy
shit.” Izzie said. She pulled over to the side with a banged and smashed truck
in front of hers; it belonged to her father. Izzie got the nearest officer’s
attention. “What happened?”
The
cop barely acknowledged her.
“A
drunk driver almost hit the kid, he was rushed to the E.R.”
“What?”
Izzie
went over to her father’s truck. Smashed glass made rings as she shaded her
eyes and peered into the windows. In the front seat she saw something square
and white then the cop told her to get away from the truck. She asked the cop
to get the square for her. He reached into the car, it barely opened, and
grabbed the object for Izzie.
Izzie
turned the object over in her hand. It was a photograph faded at the edges. A
picture of Izzie at eight on her father’s lap with stick drawing arms wrapped
around her father’s. The photo showed both of them in mid-laugh even Izzie’s
inherited brunette hair from him. Scrawled on the back was a message in her
father’s handwriting.
‘June
1998. Father’s Day. I have the most
beautiful daughter. Morgan took after their mother; Izzie after me. Hope she
never forgets how I love her, that I’ll always be her dad.”
Izzie
scrunched up her face as she reread the message.
“Dad
cared?”
The
cop walked back over to Izzie and asked if anything was wrong.
“Yes,
I have to go.”
Izzie
went back to her car, slammed shut the door, and drove back onto the main road.
Every few blocks Izzie kept repeating to herself, “Please, please don’t let me
be too late. Don’t let dad die. Please.”
Izzie
turned on the radio at the next red light to distract her mind from the
different scenes that played in her head. Losing
My Religion played on the radio but it made the mental scenes worse. Izzie
couldn’t apologize to her father if she away late. There was even the
possibility that he might not accept her apology. What if her father died
thinking that Izzie hated him?
He could say that he’s given up on
me.
A
few more minutes and Izzie would be at her father's side. The trees blurred
past her with each green leaf paled by the melancholic sky. One last turn and
Izzie could see the hospital jetting out from behind residential houses and fir
trees.
The
valet waited for Izzie, a pimply teenager gave her a ticket stub and she handed
the boy her keys before she grabbed her purse and entered the hospital.
In
the lobby, with massive with statues and paintings of Christ everywhere, Izzie
walked to the front desk then asked the woman behind it if her father was in
that hospital.
"Yes,
room 816, honey." The woman said.
"Thank
you." Izzie said before running down the hall toward the elevators. Her
hair blew into her mouth when she ran. At the elevators, she pressed the
elevator button like she was raping it.
"Come
on, come on. Hurry up."
The
elevator stopped on the first floor it welcomed her to go inside. Tone deaf
notes filled the tiny room which annoyed Izzie even more. Izzie tapped her foot
against the tile. The elevator lurched forward on each floor to let in a doctor
or visitor. Izzie groaned when it stopped on the eighth floor to let her out.
Sweet, cynic scents of desperation and fear filled the
air of that part of the hospital wing. It mingled with the smell of anesthesia
and ammonia cleaner. Voices blended in Izzie’s ears that drowned out her
thoughts. Izzie walked over to the messy nurse’s station and took off her scarf
and coat at the desk. She banged the metal bell so much that she could have
woken the dead. A nurse arrived and swiped the bell away from Izzie.
The nurse grabbed her hand. “Miss, please. We have patients
that are trying to sleep.”
“Where’s my father?” Izzie said.
“Calm down. What room is he in?”
“816.”
Her
sister called her name from down the hall.
“You
came. We didn’t think you would.”
“He’s
my dad. Why wouldn’t I?”
Morgan
led Izzie down the hall with an arm wrapped around her shoulder. Izzie asked
her sister how their father was.
“What
happened?”
“They
stopped the bleeding but there was a lot of damage. He won’t make it.”
None of the words registered in Izzie’s mind. They were puzzle
pieces she couldn’t piece together. Blood, death and damage with no connecting
piece in sight. Izzie felt the stone lump return to her throat, tears in her
eyes. She pushed Morgan away then walked back to that floor’s waiting room.
Izzie sank in a chair and rested her chin on her knee. Her sister walk back to
her.
“If I wasn’t a bitch last week dad wouldn’t be here. He
wouldn’t be dying.”
Morgan sat beside Izzie. “Why would you think that?”
“I was a bitch last week. I snuck out and drank and
smoked as a teenager. I fucked him over. Dad thinks I hate him. He’ll probably die
thinking that.”
“He won’t think that.”
Izzie tried to get up to leave for the elevators; her
sister pulled her back. She felt her sister’s fingers dig into her arms and
felt her stare. Morgan used that stare to make Izzie feel guilty. It didn’t
matter if Izzie wanted to be the car during Monopoly
or a cake slice as children, that stare always worked to make Izzie freeze in
place. Now her sister used in against Izzie again.
“No, tell me what this is all about.” Morgan said.
“Do you use that look on your kids or just me?”
“Tell me.”
Izzie picked up a throw pillow and played with the fringe
when her sister let her go.
“What if your kids said they wanted nothing to do with
you?”
“I don’t know, they’re only six and one. What does that
have to do with anything?”
“I did the same thing to dad. How could he forgive me?”
“You’re both stubborn, you’ll find a way.”
“If he doesn’t.” Izzie sat down again, arms still
crossed, eyes directed at the carpeted floor. Morgan sat on the arm of the
chair.
“Then you’ll drown your feelings with a bottle of Jack.”
Izzie chuckled and said that she was out. “Can I borrow
some from you?”
“Sure,” her sister said as she hugged Izzie. “Now let’s—“
A patient in the background interrupted and kept
shouting, “I am not crazy! Get your hands off me and leave me alone! I don’t
need any doctors!” Medical teams and security staff dragged the patient back to
his room; a nurse injected a sedative.
Izzie and her sister leaned to the side in the direction
the patient was dragged.
“Let’s go see dad before that man goes completely
insane.” Morgan said.
“Okay.” Izzie followed her sister down the other hall to
their father.
Door 816 squeaked open and let the
fluorescent light in; the hall light casted a sterile glow
on everything in the
room. Izzie’s father laid on the farthest bed away from her by the window. Wrapped up in gauze layers was her father, a
modern mummy. Plastics tubes stuck out of his arms and caught the light of the day outside. From under his blankets,
Izzie saw her father’s toe twitch. Frail, aging, he was ready to greet death at any minute. Izzie wasn’t ready for any of this.
She heard her family’s whispers, surprised, like her sister, that Izzie came. Izzie walked past her brother. Once or twice
she glanced back at the door, her sister guarded it and made sure that Izzie couldn’t leave to avoid this moment.
room. Izzie’s father laid on the farthest bed away from her by the window. Wrapped up in gauze layers was her father, a
modern mummy. Plastics tubes stuck out of his arms and caught the light of the day outside. From under his blankets,
Izzie saw her father’s toe twitch. Frail, aging, he was ready to greet death at any minute. Izzie wasn’t ready for any of this.
She heard her family’s whispers, surprised, like her sister, that Izzie came. Izzie walked past her brother. Once or twice
she glanced back at the door, her sister guarded it and made sure that Izzie couldn’t leave to avoid this moment.
She walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. Izzie
held her father’s hand in her own.
Her voice as a whisper when she said, “Dad, wake up.
Please. It’s Izzie.”
His eyes fluttered open and he winced, like he wasn’t
sure that his daughter Izzie was in front of him. Hoarse and weak, Izzie’s
father spoke.
“Princess.”
Izzie clutched his hand tighter, crying, buried her head
in his chest. Izzie felt the warm touch of her father squeeze her hand back. She
spoke a muffled apology.
“I’m sorry daddy. I’m so sorry.”
“I knew you’d come.”
Izzie managed a weak smile.
“Princess.”
