A reunion of sorts

Jackson pulled his rental car into the Saint Joseph's campus parking garage and put the SUV into park. He sat listening to the end of the current song on the radio at first. Near the end of the song, he turned the radio and engine off and continued to sit and stare out of the windshield at the concrete pillar in front of him. Having spent his life in an effort to specifically not be his father in the hope that it might prevent the world from having one more of Andrew Porter in it, he was now about to risk his health to make sure the original bastard did not leave the same world.


He tried to imagine the argument that good requires evil to prove good exists, but it was the prayer he said before opening the door that helped him the most. He closed his eyes and asked for the strength to get through the day without falling victim to his father's wrath once again. He asked for the understanding he had fought to maintain all of those years when his father dove into the depression left to him upon his mother's passing. The guilt over her death was on his head despite how circumstantial her death was so many years ago.


He closed his eyes and nodded his head towards the steering wheel as if in agreement that he should continue his efforts. The sound of the car locks echoed through the garage as he walked towards the elevator. The doors closed behind him and reopened on the 3rd floor of the hospital. He asked for Dr. at the nurse's station and introduced himself as Jackson Porter. The nurses all rolled their eyes indicating they knew full well who he was here to see. "Sorry."
Walking down the hall, Jackson sees a nurse rush from a room into the hallway followed by a cafeteria tray. He can hear his father bellowing 100 feet away.
"I'm already dying! Are you trying to kill me with this food?!? Get me a drink and let me end this on my terms!" Andrew's voice cuts off with a grunt as he sees his son walk in to the room. "Have you come to watch me die? Your grandparents already sent me a 'Are you dead yet?' card and flower basket. Considerate, really, seeing as I forced your worthless behind on them for years. If you want to start drinking heavily now and be like the old man, you're welcome to it. Hell has no fire marshall spouting capacities."
Jackson had not expected so much hatred and nearly left the room when he heard his father mumble, "like father like son." Jackson turned with a look of surprise in his eyes. He was honestly surprised and his father became curious.
"What the hell are you looking at?" His father slurred the middle section of the sentence out of habit.
"Redemption." The one word seemed to answer any doubts in Jackson's head and he began to walk out of the room with a purpose.
"Wait! Where the hell are you going? Do you think I'm going to apologize on my death bed to you?" He spat wildly with rage. Jackson turned and witnessed the spectacle just as a wad flew past him hitting the light switch.
"This is very rewarding, surprisingly. I'm going to go down to the nurse's station now and ask to speak to you doctor. I'm going to have him come in here with some morphine for you."
"Finally. The prodigal son returns to send the old man off. That's the nicest thing you've ever done fro me. Much better than that crappy tie you sent me on Father's Day about 10 years ago. Although it did make for a handy rag while I was changing the oil." Andrew smirked at his clever strike, but Jackson remained unfazed.
"That's not what I mean. I'm going to have him knock you out so you can't refuse the liver I'm about to donate to you. I will get to save my father's life despite the hellish childhood I suffered through and you torturous visits. I'm being rewarded with a selfless act from a selfish man Ironic really.""
Jackson walked out of the room to a spew of vulgarity and did as he promised. The doctor gave Jackson a blood test to make sure he was a match and scheduled a surgery that night so as not to waste any time. The doctor clearly meant he did not want Andrew Porter in his hospital any longer than necessary, but Jackson preferred the altruistic image.
Two hours later, Jackson was prepped for surgery and lay on a table with the round lights blinding him from counting the number of medical professionals in the room. He had an IV from his left arm passing up above his head and could hear movements from behind him.
"Now breathe deeply and try to relax. Count backwards from 100 and we'll begin when you're out." Jackson felt the fluid enter his veins and tried to concentrate on something else. He began counting backwards from 100. He usually stumbles around 79 to 78 for some reason, but he never made it that far before the deep sleep hit.