William sat in the back of the ambulance as the paramedics worked to patch the hole in his father's chest. He would not have imagined that morning that he would be fighting to keep his father alive when the day concluded, but here he was. He had called the ambulance and told them a mad man had come and shot his father. He hid the gun in the freezer before the ambulance arrived and rode the entire trip without saying a word. He only stared at his father's labored breathing and remembered those words on the phone.
We've found your son? Was he really looking for me? William stared at the array of plastic containers stocked on the opposite side of the ambulance and pondered his experience. Had he been wrong all of these years? Was his father always looking for him to make amends, but had a terrible service working for him until the one today? If that was the case, what are the odds of the call coming in just as he stood over his father's body?
A gurgle from his father on the stretcher drew William's attention from the drawers. He turned to find his father attempting to lean up and his eyes met William's eyes. There was a pleading in Andrew's eyes much like someone being held at gun point. Only there was a less life concerned edge to this look. It was the pleading eyes of someone still looking for forgiveness. Even after William shot him, Andrew still wanted William's forgiveness instead of the other way around. This was not the trip William had expected to be making today.
Andrew Porter had done nothing good in his life and made no indication he ever would, but that morning in that kitchen, William had not shot that Andrew Porter.
Upon arriving at the hospital, William clarified that he was Andrew's long lost son and asked if there was anything he could do to help his father. When the nurse told him he could donate blood for his father to lessen the impact on their low blood reserves, he emphatically agreed and spent the next half hour giving blood specifically marked for his father post-surgery.
During the hour and a half while his father lie in the operating room, William wondered the halls of the hospital. He went past his brother's room to find him passed out likely recovery from his recent encounter when his stitches came open. William had caused this pain too. His foster mother would not have been surprised. She had always sensed William had something scarred about him ever since she admitted he was adopted shortly after birth. Some people just take being abandoned immediately in their life and decide the world never wanted them either.
A nurse tapped William on the shoulder to let him know his father was in recovery and he could sit with him if he liked. He would like that.
After surgery, he sat with his father as the doctors attached the IV and waited. He began to hope his father would recover from the gun shot so soon after his liver surgery. He also hoped that he might get to know this man he had just met; the one that did not fit the personality he had heard was his father.
The nurse came in with a new bag of blood with "For Andrew Porter" written in pen on the side. William knew this was his blood and gained a little pleasure watching to nurse attach it to his father's arm. He began to feel some redemption was coming for both he and his father today.
The nurse left the room as the blood began to course through Andrew's veins and William felt he could see his father's cheeks flush a bit. The color was returning as his father opened his eyes ten minutes later. He looked confused as he realized he was in the hospital again. His eyes fixed on his son's as he reached out his left arm and called him.
William was taken back by the gesture and moved closer to his father to hear what he had to say. In a low whisper that only William could hear, Andrew said, "William, my boy?"
Tear welled in his eyes as William responded. "Yes...father?"
"When I get back on my feet, son...I'm going to make you suffer for ever drop of blood I've lost today. If you survive the first wave of punishment I plan to send your way, you'll only wish you'd died."
Astounded, William stood staring down at his father. This was the Andrew Porter he had wanted to shoot, but where had he been and why was he returning now?
Showing posts with label Story: Essence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Story: Essence. Show all posts
Monday, June 9, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Repercussions
William stood holding the revolver as his father struggled to his feet leaning heavily against the wall to lessen the weight on his body and slow the blood loss. The look in his father's eyes was exactly what he had hoped for when he dreamt of this moment. Terror and confusion. It would lead perfectly into the speech he had planned as his last salvo in ridding himself of the father who dumped him after birth.
"Who ever you are I won't call the police. Just take whatever you want. I don't have much that I didn't spend on booze and even that's gone now."
"From what I hear, that's no surprise. So did you fix yourself a drink fresh off your liver donation? Looking to waste anything tied to a son. That sounds like you." William took a couple of steps into the room and stepped to the sink. He found a pile of empty bottles turned upside down and no glass anywhere in the room to indicate the booze had gone to any good use that day. "What is this pile in the sink? Is this some kind of joke from your neighbors? Get rid of his booze while he's in the hospital in hopes of forcing you to stop killing yourself. I do have a similar goal to stop you from killing yourself and save that for me."
From the floor, Andrew struggled to one knee and faced his attacker. He instantly saw his same nose without the broken capillaries from years of drinking. He also recognized his wife's eyes. "William? Is it really you?"
William nodded a dramatic affirmation bowing at the same time. He hadn't planned out how long the identification game would play out, but the faster his father knew who he was, the less time the police would have to get there and stop him from his plan. "Very good. I'd thought you might have forgotten me after so many years. I know I had not forgotten you once I learned I was adopted and who you were as a human being, if you can call it that."
"I understand why you felt the need to do this. I deserve this and I'm truly sorry." Andrew stopped to cough as his breathing became labored. "If you do let me die here, please at least tell Jackson that I did intend to make good of his gift and that I owe you both the world for what I've done."
The last words spoken, Andrew Porter passed out on his kitchen floor. William could see he had done the damage he intended though he hadn't killed his father yet. His chest struggled to rise and fall, but it was still there. His estranged father lie on the floor at his feet near death and the only thing he wonder was why am I crying?
As he stood over his father, the phone rang. William picked it up with a hello and was greeted by a cheerful male voice.
"Andrew Porter? This is Aaron's Searchers with some quick and good news."
William placed the phone in the crook of his neck and went to the sink to wipe down his gun with a wet wash cloth. "How do you mean? What is this about?"
"You called us about 15 minutes ago, sir. About your son...uhhh...William. We spoke to St. Mary's and they gave us the information freely. They seemed excited to hear that a biological parent would change his mind and want to meet the child he abandoned. Anyways, we found him already and can give you all of the information including some additional background information on how he's doing and where he is today in our meeting Wednesday. I just wanted to tell you the good news and congratulate you personally."
William slammed the phone down as he stared at his father's collapsed body. What is happening to this family?
"Who ever you are I won't call the police. Just take whatever you want. I don't have much that I didn't spend on booze and even that's gone now."
"From what I hear, that's no surprise. So did you fix yourself a drink fresh off your liver donation? Looking to waste anything tied to a son. That sounds like you." William took a couple of steps into the room and stepped to the sink. He found a pile of empty bottles turned upside down and no glass anywhere in the room to indicate the booze had gone to any good use that day. "What is this pile in the sink? Is this some kind of joke from your neighbors? Get rid of his booze while he's in the hospital in hopes of forcing you to stop killing yourself. I do have a similar goal to stop you from killing yourself and save that for me."
From the floor, Andrew struggled to one knee and faced his attacker. He instantly saw his same nose without the broken capillaries from years of drinking. He also recognized his wife's eyes. "William? Is it really you?"
William nodded a dramatic affirmation bowing at the same time. He hadn't planned out how long the identification game would play out, but the faster his father knew who he was, the less time the police would have to get there and stop him from his plan. "Very good. I'd thought you might have forgotten me after so many years. I know I had not forgotten you once I learned I was adopted and who you were as a human being, if you can call it that."
"I understand why you felt the need to do this. I deserve this and I'm truly sorry." Andrew stopped to cough as his breathing became labored. "If you do let me die here, please at least tell Jackson that I did intend to make good of his gift and that I owe you both the world for what I've done."
The last words spoken, Andrew Porter passed out on his kitchen floor. William could see he had done the damage he intended though he hadn't killed his father yet. His chest struggled to rise and fall, but it was still there. His estranged father lie on the floor at his feet near death and the only thing he wonder was why am I crying?
As he stood over his father, the phone rang. William picked it up with a hello and was greeted by a cheerful male voice.
"Andrew Porter? This is Aaron's Searchers with some quick and good news."
William placed the phone in the crook of his neck and went to the sink to wipe down his gun with a wet wash cloth. "How do you mean? What is this about?"
"You called us about 15 minutes ago, sir. About your son...uhhh...William. We spoke to St. Mary's and they gave us the information freely. They seemed excited to hear that a biological parent would change his mind and want to meet the child he abandoned. Anyways, we found him already and can give you all of the information including some additional background information on how he's doing and where he is today in our meeting Wednesday. I just wanted to tell you the good news and congratulate you personally."
William slammed the phone down as he stared at his father's collapsed body. What is happening to this family?
Monday, June 2, 2008
A Noticeable Change
Andrew Porter didn't wake up Friday morning. At least not the Andrew Porter he had been Thursday night in the hospital. He had begun to sense a kind of change of perspective come over him, but he would not have expected it to last as it had. He found himself feeling a similar regret from every day past over the loss of his wife and indiscretions of leaving his two sons to be raised by others. However, this Friday morning he had the sensation of a man that wanted to try and do something about his past.
Andrew had spent nearly two decades hating himself and successfully driving his health and life into the ground summarily. He knew he had made some peace towards his son, Jackson, but needed to do more. Jackson was easy to find. His big challenge would be his other son, William. He had made no effort to keep tabs on the adoption process and the whereabouts of his youngest son. His past efforts to contact him was limited to the raising of bottle to glass and glass to lips until the feeling passed. Today, however, he would not let that stop him.
Andrew reached for the phone book and called the first private investigator he found listed. With the phone wedged against his ear by his shoulder, he reached to his familiar stash of bottle as the phone rang. He unscrewed the cap to the gin, took one final sniff at the scent of herb and alcohol and proceeded to dump the bottle's contents down the sink as a voice on the other end of the line picked up.
"Aaron's Searchers. This is Aaron. How can I help you?"
"Hello, I'm a terrible father looking to right my life and I need help trying to find my son who I gave up to adoption roughly 18 years ago. What can I do to find him?" He reached upwards and found the 100 proof bottle of Southern Comfort and brought it to the counter. The sink was already disgusting with mildew before he dumped the gin. He would have to begin cleaning to help make the metaphorical clean up of his life. Plus it was gross.
"Alright. Would you like to schedule a time to stop in and give some information about your son? We have an opening this Wednesday in the morning."
"Is there any way to start this process now? I'm unnaturally focused right now and I really do not want to lose that. My son's name is William. It should have been William Porter, but I gave him up at birth when my wife died. He went to St. Mary's home for displaced youths. I never tried to find him so I don't know how soon they placed him. He should be 18 now." Andrew twists the cap off of the bottle of 12 year old scotch and poured it down the sink without a second thought.
"I'll tell you what I can do, sir. I've got the next hour free and will start looking into it, but we should still have a meeting setup for next week to discuss what I might find in the mean time and help bridge any gaps so we can avoid any false positives. How does that sound, Mr. Porter?"
"That sounds good to me. My number is 859-213-5591. Give me a call as soon as you find something." Andrew shook the last of the scotch from the bottom of the bottle and tossed it in the sink with the other bottles. He smiled at the site knowing he had seen similar in the past, but those had put him in the hospital and this time might keep him out for good.
He hung the phone back on the wall and walked to the cookie jar next to the microwave on the counter. He reached in and pulled out the gallon bag of airline flight sized bottles of booze and pitched the entire bag into the trash. He had saved these for occasions when he was forced to socialize and didn't want to go sober. He hoped he would not have those feelings anymore.
Andrew had spent over a decade in his small home and had only met his neighbors when he first bought the house. His first meeting was enough belligerence and Johnny Walker to prevent many further discussions. The only other occasions where when he drove his car up on some other neighbor's lawn coming home from the bar. A few times, he made a killing selling liquor at double the price to the minors in the neighborhood.
As if a thought returned to him on the neighborhood minors, Andrew began digging back into the trash to dump each of the small bottles out before pitching them. He did not want to enable anyone else anymore. With his left hand deep in the trash can, Andrew heard the screen door swing open and closed. A voice behind him called him by name asking him to confirm he was Andrew Porter.
Andrew confirmed his name still digging for the bag in the trash. As he pulled the bag from the can, a searing pain struck in his right shoulder. The gunshot sent him ached back and staggering backwards into the hutch with a fresh hole in his shoulder just high enough to hurt like hell but not low enough to have struck anything major.
Andrew had spent nearly two decades hating himself and successfully driving his health and life into the ground summarily. He knew he had made some peace towards his son, Jackson, but needed to do more. Jackson was easy to find. His big challenge would be his other son, William. He had made no effort to keep tabs on the adoption process and the whereabouts of his youngest son. His past efforts to contact him was limited to the raising of bottle to glass and glass to lips until the feeling passed. Today, however, he would not let that stop him.
Andrew reached for the phone book and called the first private investigator he found listed. With the phone wedged against his ear by his shoulder, he reached to his familiar stash of bottle as the phone rang. He unscrewed the cap to the gin, took one final sniff at the scent of herb and alcohol and proceeded to dump the bottle's contents down the sink as a voice on the other end of the line picked up.
"Aaron's Searchers. This is Aaron. How can I help you?"
"Hello, I'm a terrible father looking to right my life and I need help trying to find my son who I gave up to adoption roughly 18 years ago. What can I do to find him?" He reached upwards and found the 100 proof bottle of Southern Comfort and brought it to the counter. The sink was already disgusting with mildew before he dumped the gin. He would have to begin cleaning to help make the metaphorical clean up of his life. Plus it was gross.
"Alright. Would you like to schedule a time to stop in and give some information about your son? We have an opening this Wednesday in the morning."
"Is there any way to start this process now? I'm unnaturally focused right now and I really do not want to lose that. My son's name is William. It should have been William Porter, but I gave him up at birth when my wife died. He went to St. Mary's home for displaced youths. I never tried to find him so I don't know how soon they placed him. He should be 18 now." Andrew twists the cap off of the bottle of 12 year old scotch and poured it down the sink without a second thought.
"I'll tell you what I can do, sir. I've got the next hour free and will start looking into it, but we should still have a meeting setup for next week to discuss what I might find in the mean time and help bridge any gaps so we can avoid any false positives. How does that sound, Mr. Porter?"
"That sounds good to me. My number is 859-213-5591. Give me a call as soon as you find something." Andrew shook the last of the scotch from the bottom of the bottle and tossed it in the sink with the other bottles. He smiled at the site knowing he had seen similar in the past, but those had put him in the hospital and this time might keep him out for good.
He hung the phone back on the wall and walked to the cookie jar next to the microwave on the counter. He reached in and pulled out the gallon bag of airline flight sized bottles of booze and pitched the entire bag into the trash. He had saved these for occasions when he was forced to socialize and didn't want to go sober. He hoped he would not have those feelings anymore.
Andrew had spent over a decade in his small home and had only met his neighbors when he first bought the house. His first meeting was enough belligerence and Johnny Walker to prevent many further discussions. The only other occasions where when he drove his car up on some other neighbor's lawn coming home from the bar. A few times, he made a killing selling liquor at double the price to the minors in the neighborhood.
As if a thought returned to him on the neighborhood minors, Andrew began digging back into the trash to dump each of the small bottles out before pitching them. He did not want to enable anyone else anymore. With his left hand deep in the trash can, Andrew heard the screen door swing open and closed. A voice behind him called him by name asking him to confirm he was Andrew Porter.
Andrew confirmed his name still digging for the bag in the trash. As he pulled the bag from the can, a searing pain struck in his right shoulder. The gunshot sent him ached back and staggering backwards into the hutch with a fresh hole in his shoulder just high enough to hurt like hell but not low enough to have struck anything major.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Brotherly love
"What are you talking about William?" Jackson's eyes widened as he pondered William's intentions. "He's changed since the surgery, William. He's not the same man that abandoned us both to fend for ourselves growing up." Jackson pleaded his case to William, but the long lost brother's eyes showed it was a futile gesture.
"Us? My abandonment goes well beyond yours. He gave you up to our grandparents. He gave me up to total strangers. I spent the first 12 years of my life assuming I was just the black sheep of a 5 child family, but I eventually learned enough math and biology to realize my 6 month age difference from the closest sibling wasn't likely to mean I was a delayed development twin. I didn't hang out in the womb for an extra six months and I don't have the physical deficiencies of a baby born after 6 months at most in my mother's womb. That's when I started asking questions that they avoided like I was asking about the tooth fairy or Santa Claus." William thrust his arms into the air in a sign of frustration nearly knocking the lamp off of the table.
"I was waved off like I was some brainless idiot. Like I was one of their other children. Those brainless clods that love to sing together in the car on family trips and willingly pass clothing from sibling to sibling like each ratty pair of pants was a family heirloom!" William began flailing dramatically, but Jackson was beginning to lose sight. His stitches has opened up more than he thought and he was bleeding freely on to the bed now.
"But he's still our father..." Jackson's strength was waining now and William appeared unconcerned about his brother's well being.
"Listen, Jackson. I don't hold any ill will towards you for how I grew up. You were trying to make your life into something that would not reflect any connection to our father and I truly respect that, but I can't imagine any situation on any planet where you wouldn't gladly allow that man to leave this life. That's why I'm here. I didn't want to do this without at least talking to you. I don't want you to feel you gave up part of your liver for nothing, so let me say this." William reaches into his pocket and pulls a small hand gun holding it down at his side.
"You've given me my father back so I can be the one to finish the job. Thank you, brother. It's the best gift you could have given me." Jackson passed out as William placed the gun back in his pocket. He stopped at the nurse's station on the way out and watched them scramble as he told them he thought his brother was going bleed to death. He waited for the floor to clear before he walked downstairs to his car.
"Us? My abandonment goes well beyond yours. He gave you up to our grandparents. He gave me up to total strangers. I spent the first 12 years of my life assuming I was just the black sheep of a 5 child family, but I eventually learned enough math and biology to realize my 6 month age difference from the closest sibling wasn't likely to mean I was a delayed development twin. I didn't hang out in the womb for an extra six months and I don't have the physical deficiencies of a baby born after 6 months at most in my mother's womb. That's when I started asking questions that they avoided like I was asking about the tooth fairy or Santa Claus." William thrust his arms into the air in a sign of frustration nearly knocking the lamp off of the table.
"I was waved off like I was some brainless idiot. Like I was one of their other children. Those brainless clods that love to sing together in the car on family trips and willingly pass clothing from sibling to sibling like each ratty pair of pants was a family heirloom!" William began flailing dramatically, but Jackson was beginning to lose sight. His stitches has opened up more than he thought and he was bleeding freely on to the bed now.
"But he's still our father..." Jackson's strength was waining now and William appeared unconcerned about his brother's well being.
"Listen, Jackson. I don't hold any ill will towards you for how I grew up. You were trying to make your life into something that would not reflect any connection to our father and I truly respect that, but I can't imagine any situation on any planet where you wouldn't gladly allow that man to leave this life. That's why I'm here. I didn't want to do this without at least talking to you. I don't want you to feel you gave up part of your liver for nothing, so let me say this." William reaches into his pocket and pulls a small hand gun holding it down at his side.
"You've given me my father back so I can be the one to finish the job. Thank you, brother. It's the best gift you could have given me." Jackson passed out as William placed the gun back in his pocket. He stopped at the nurse's station on the way out and watched them scramble as he told them he thought his brother was going bleed to death. He waited for the floor to clear before he walked downstairs to his car.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
The visitor
Jackson rolled onto his side trying to ease the pain from his stitches. He had been awake for an hour after his father left and could only listen to the footsteps and pages as he waited to heal enough to leave. As he rolled onto his back again for the twelfth time, he heard footsteps at the door that sounded like they entered.
"I thought you were just going to call in and check on me, Dad." Jackson smiled at his repeated fall into an affectionate tone towards his father today.
"Why would you want to save that drunken jackass?" The voice from the door seemed familiar, but Jackson couldn't place it. The man in the doorway was about 18 years old and had familiar look in his eyes. Something about the eyes disturbed Jackson. They were like his and his mother's, but something dead seemed to be behind them. "I see that brain of yours working, Jackson. Let me help you place me. I'm the only man Andrew Porter wanted less to do with than you."
Jackson took a breath as the image of his mother and father appeared on both sides of the stranger's face. He began picking out features from each until they combined to make the man in the doorway. "William?"
"Impressive. I wasn't certain if you even knew about me. From my understanding, I was pretty much forgotten about at birth. Oh, that looks painful." William pointed to a thin line of blood coming through Jackson's hospital gown. His stitches must have opened some during his shifting. He would have to page the nurse for fresh bandages.
"So you actually did give up a piece of your liver for the old man. That's heroic really. Stupid, but, in some way, heroic. I applaud your efforts, but hosing down a bathroom doesn't mean it's going to start growing flower, brother. You should have let him die. That what we both are really waiting for, the sweet release of death. His death in particular. So where is the old bastard anyways. Save his life and he still leaves you, huh? That's cold."
Jackson shifted up and reached for the nurse's pager before William jumped over and swatted it away out of Jackson's reach. "Let's not interrupt this family affair quite yet. I don't want anyone to know I'm hear including him."
Jackson grunted as he slid back down on his bed. He stared at William fascinated by how much they looked alike and yet how differently they must view the world. "He won't know you're here. He's no longer with us."
William's eye finally perked up. "Did he not make it? Oh, that is fantastic. I mean, it sucks for you to have gone through this and put yourself in such pain during this most joyous moment. When you get out, I'm going to take you out for some champagne. You'll have to buy, of course, but I'll split the cost with you. D-day. Death day. I didn't think it would be this sweet."
"He's not dead." Jackson witnessed the return of the darkness behind his brother's eyes. He did not feel comfortable even knowing William had not threatened him in any way. He had merely slapped the call button away. "He went home feeling great. He's actually putting the place together for me to come see him again. He would likely welcome you too. We could tell him."
William snorts as he reprimands his brother for the confusion. "Don't get me wrong, Jackson. Seeing you has been nice, but I came for one family event today and that appears to not be happening here. One way or another, I'm going to watch that man die."
"I thought you were just going to call in and check on me, Dad." Jackson smiled at his repeated fall into an affectionate tone towards his father today.
"Why would you want to save that drunken jackass?" The voice from the door seemed familiar, but Jackson couldn't place it. The man in the doorway was about 18 years old and had familiar look in his eyes. Something about the eyes disturbed Jackson. They were like his and his mother's, but something dead seemed to be behind them. "I see that brain of yours working, Jackson. Let me help you place me. I'm the only man Andrew Porter wanted less to do with than you."
Jackson took a breath as the image of his mother and father appeared on both sides of the stranger's face. He began picking out features from each until they combined to make the man in the doorway. "William?"
"Impressive. I wasn't certain if you even knew about me. From my understanding, I was pretty much forgotten about at birth. Oh, that looks painful." William pointed to a thin line of blood coming through Jackson's hospital gown. His stitches must have opened some during his shifting. He would have to page the nurse for fresh bandages.
"So you actually did give up a piece of your liver for the old man. That's heroic really. Stupid, but, in some way, heroic. I applaud your efforts, but hosing down a bathroom doesn't mean it's going to start growing flower, brother. You should have let him die. That what we both are really waiting for, the sweet release of death. His death in particular. So where is the old bastard anyways. Save his life and he still leaves you, huh? That's cold."
Jackson shifted up and reached for the nurse's pager before William jumped over and swatted it away out of Jackson's reach. "Let's not interrupt this family affair quite yet. I don't want anyone to know I'm hear including him."
Jackson grunted as he slid back down on his bed. He stared at William fascinated by how much they looked alike and yet how differently they must view the world. "He won't know you're here. He's no longer with us."
William's eye finally perked up. "Did he not make it? Oh, that is fantastic. I mean, it sucks for you to have gone through this and put yourself in such pain during this most joyous moment. When you get out, I'm going to take you out for some champagne. You'll have to buy, of course, but I'll split the cost with you. D-day. Death day. I didn't think it would be this sweet."
"He's not dead." Jackson witnessed the return of the darkness behind his brother's eyes. He did not feel comfortable even knowing William had not threatened him in any way. He had merely slapped the call button away. "He went home feeling great. He's actually putting the place together for me to come see him again. He would likely welcome you too. We could tell him."
William snorts as he reprimands his brother for the confusion. "Don't get me wrong, Jackson. Seeing you has been nice, but I came for one family event today and that appears to not be happening here. One way or another, I'm going to watch that man die."
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Rapid Recovery
The surgery had gone well, Jackson was told when he awoke from the anesthesia. He felt some cramping in his abdomen when he tried to sit up. The doctor told him to lie still for a few hours until they brought lunch to help save his strength. He reached down to rub the pain from his stomach and his finger rubbed the humped section of flesh where the doctors had opened and closed when removing a small section of his liver.
Jackson turned his head to the left toward the empty bed next to his. "Where is my father? I thought he was going to be placed in the same room as I was."
The doctor scanned his monitors as if distracted. He was unwilling to answer the specific question asked. "Your father came through just fine, Mr. Porter. He is resting."
"Why isn't he in this room?" The concern on Jackson's face forced the doctor to admit the truth to his patient.
"Jackson. Your father woke up about an hour ago. He was in the bed next to yours, but nearly ripped the tubes from his arms trying to get out of his bed. He demanded that he be moved to a...uhh...different room."
"A different room? What's wrong with this one?" As if answering his own question, Jackson grunted to himself as he looked at the empty bed again. "So he didn't want to be in the same room with me, right? That does sound like the father I've grown to know. Silly of me to think that would have somehow changed after I help him out. I guess I just thought he would have at least been weak enough to get over his distaste for me."
Jackson shrugged and reached for the remote control and flipped on the late late show until he slipped back off to sleep. He was greeted 7 hours later by a knock on his door. He was certain he must have only half woken from his dream, because his father was standing in the doorway fully dressed as if he had just been visiting another patient.
"Sleep well?" He seemed less grumpy than usual, but he had been on morphine the night before and that likely still soothed his temper.
"As a matter of fact, I did. I tossed at first knowing my father was begrudged to bail on the room with his son before I awoke last night. Then I realized that I had done something nice regardless of how it turned out. Kind of an un-Andrew Porter thing to do and I slept like a baby." Jackson took a deep breath as he felt a pull in his stitches that forced him to calm down.
"I agree. It was a very un-Andrew Porter thing to do as you point out. Thank you."
Jackson's first response was shock at the kind words before he also noticed the smile on his father's face seemed genuine. He had grown up assuming his father was born with a facial tick that forced him to scowl at all times. "What are you on and how come you're dressed already?"
Andrew's smile did not fade. "Strangest thing happened this morning when I woke up in my own room. I began to feel bad. Not physically bad, but emotional really. For the first time in a long time, my first regret had nothing to do with your mother. I had abandoned you as a child and then, after your most generous efforts, abandoned you to your hospital bed. That did not make me feel comfortable at all in my room, so I walked down and saw you were sleeping soundly."
Andrew leaned against the doorway showing no signs of fatigue or sickness from a major surgery. "The nurses yelled at me until I apologized for the way I had been treating them earlier. They had their doubt and made a face like...well, much the same as your right now. Disbelief would be the proper term. So I went back to my room and realized that I, actually, felt great. I haven't felt this alive in decades. I couldn't tell if it was the drugs or what, but I sat for another hour and it didn't fade, so I popped the IV out and waited another hour, but I just kept getting happier and more calm."
"You pulled out your IV?!?" Jackson looked at his father's arms expecting to see blood running down his hand from a hasty removal, but he looked healthy.
"Don't worry, I'm perfectly fine. The spot where the IV was only bled for a bit and healed up. I feel great and it's thanks to you. I know you are still sore physically and not ready to go, but I wanted to head home while I still feel so terrific and put my place in order."
Jackson looked suspiciously at his father. "Why?
"To have you over of course. I've been given a second shot and I'm not going to waste it. It's almost as if I feel warmth coming from my stomach, but I know it's not my stomach. It's the part of you given to me. It's like I've been invaded and couldn't be happier. You stay here and rest while I head home to clean up. I'll call to check in on you in a few hours. Sleep well."
Before he could say another word, he heard his father's footsteps fading away down the hallway. Jackson smiled in relief that his journey had been so worthwhile before drifting back to sleep for the last time in his hospital bed.
Jackson turned his head to the left toward the empty bed next to his. "Where is my father? I thought he was going to be placed in the same room as I was."
The doctor scanned his monitors as if distracted. He was unwilling to answer the specific question asked. "Your father came through just fine, Mr. Porter. He is resting."
"Why isn't he in this room?" The concern on Jackson's face forced the doctor to admit the truth to his patient.
"Jackson. Your father woke up about an hour ago. He was in the bed next to yours, but nearly ripped the tubes from his arms trying to get out of his bed. He demanded that he be moved to a...uhh...different room."
"A different room? What's wrong with this one?" As if answering his own question, Jackson grunted to himself as he looked at the empty bed again. "So he didn't want to be in the same room with me, right? That does sound like the father I've grown to know. Silly of me to think that would have somehow changed after I help him out. I guess I just thought he would have at least been weak enough to get over his distaste for me."
Jackson shrugged and reached for the remote control and flipped on the late late show until he slipped back off to sleep. He was greeted 7 hours later by a knock on his door. He was certain he must have only half woken from his dream, because his father was standing in the doorway fully dressed as if he had just been visiting another patient.
"Sleep well?" He seemed less grumpy than usual, but he had been on morphine the night before and that likely still soothed his temper.
"As a matter of fact, I did. I tossed at first knowing my father was begrudged to bail on the room with his son before I awoke last night. Then I realized that I had done something nice regardless of how it turned out. Kind of an un-Andrew Porter thing to do and I slept like a baby." Jackson took a deep breath as he felt a pull in his stitches that forced him to calm down.
"I agree. It was a very un-Andrew Porter thing to do as you point out. Thank you."
Jackson's first response was shock at the kind words before he also noticed the smile on his father's face seemed genuine. He had grown up assuming his father was born with a facial tick that forced him to scowl at all times. "What are you on and how come you're dressed already?"
Andrew's smile did not fade. "Strangest thing happened this morning when I woke up in my own room. I began to feel bad. Not physically bad, but emotional really. For the first time in a long time, my first regret had nothing to do with your mother. I had abandoned you as a child and then, after your most generous efforts, abandoned you to your hospital bed. That did not make me feel comfortable at all in my room, so I walked down and saw you were sleeping soundly."
Andrew leaned against the doorway showing no signs of fatigue or sickness from a major surgery. "The nurses yelled at me until I apologized for the way I had been treating them earlier. They had their doubt and made a face like...well, much the same as your right now. Disbelief would be the proper term. So I went back to my room and realized that I, actually, felt great. I haven't felt this alive in decades. I couldn't tell if it was the drugs or what, but I sat for another hour and it didn't fade, so I popped the IV out and waited another hour, but I just kept getting happier and more calm."
"You pulled out your IV?!?" Jackson looked at his father's arms expecting to see blood running down his hand from a hasty removal, but he looked healthy.
"Don't worry, I'm perfectly fine. The spot where the IV was only bled for a bit and healed up. I feel great and it's thanks to you. I know you are still sore physically and not ready to go, but I wanted to head home while I still feel so terrific and put my place in order."
Jackson looked suspiciously at his father. "Why?
"To have you over of course. I've been given a second shot and I'm not going to waste it. It's almost as if I feel warmth coming from my stomach, but I know it's not my stomach. It's the part of you given to me. It's like I've been invaded and couldn't be happier. You stay here and rest while I head home to clean up. I'll call to check in on you in a few hours. Sleep well."
Before he could say another word, he heard his father's footsteps fading away down the hallway. Jackson smiled in relief that his journey had been so worthwhile before drifting back to sleep for the last time in his hospital bed.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Something in the sauce
A decade is often not long enough. Jackson Porter spent the previous ten years of a peaceful existence hearing nothing from his father. Since the age of six, he had considered his grandparents to be the only parents he ever had. Until the call came in from a hospital a few days after his twenty fourth birthday. Andrew Porter was laid up in a small hospital room suffering the repercussions of a scarred liver from years of alcohol abuse. Only a matching section of liver from a donor would get him out of that hospital. As if karma forced the hand of the hospital, neighbors refused to volunteer to be tested for matches.
Andrew refused to give his doctor's the details needed to find the sons. Jackson was listed in hospital records along with his brother William, but no one was able to track down a William Porter, Jackson was the first and best chance to save his father's life. The doctor asked Jackson if he would be willing to fly back and have some tests to see if he would be a good match to donate for his father.
An hour into the flight, the Sky Mall catalog drifted to the floor from Jackson's hands as he slipped off into his past. His childhood flooded over him punctured by the many images of his father's constant drunkenness washing away the pleasant memories of life with his mother still alive. When his early youth memories flitted away, memories of his life living with his grandparents took hold. Years of schooling in upstate New York through high school and coming home to his grandmother's baking and his grandfather's pipe filled him with a feeling of nostalgia. The smell of the sugar cookies baking took hold even while watching the smoke from his grandfather's pipe fill the air. The plumes of smoke wafted in the living room twisting and forming shapes. The build up of smoke did not concern Jackson as only dreams can both calm and shock from moment to moment. Surprise did not even fill him when the smoke formed into the shape of a man yelling and stumbling around the living room. A smoky finger pointed at Jackson accusingly as his grandfather walked to the front door to escort the smoke out and away as he so often had done with Andrew Porter on his rare appearances.
In waking to the pilot's voice, Jackson was left with the certainty that he could not think of a less deserving person in his life to sacrifice a part of himself for, but he also knew he would have to rise above his father as he had all his life. With a thump mirroring the nerves in Jackson's gut, the plane touched down in Lexington, Kentucky.
Jackson Porter's father was a belligerent drunk. He would explain that many people are belligerent when they are drunk, but not everyone is drunk on most days at most hours. His father, Andrew Porter, grew up in Birmingham, Mississippi which, Jackson would dead pan, is why he was named Jackson. His father, Andrew, and he, Jackson, made up a "fine southern president" as Andrew liked to say when Jackson was young.
Andrew had been a good father and supporter when Jackson was young. He worked double shifts at the local plant on Saturdays to help make ends meet while Jackson's mother, Beth, was taking care of their son. When Jackson came to be old enough for school, Beth took a part time job during school hours allowing Andrew to cut his weekend hours and allow the family to have family events on the weekend.
On one of these weekend, Beth had brought a bottle of wine on a picnic to let Andrew know that she was pregnant again. Seeing as she was pregnant at the time and Jackson was 6, Andrew ended up drinking the entire bottle by himself. As gladly as Andrew would have embraced his forthcoming son, William, he could not get past the thought of going back on extra shifts at work to make ends meet. The new twist would be that Beth would not be able to supplement income again until William would be old enough for school. Additionally, Andrew would have to work even more hours to support his oldest son now needing more food clothing and school costs than as a baby as well as the new baby.
His merlot soaked brain did not have a filter for this information and, at two thirds gone in the bottle, he let this information be known. He blamed Beth for not thinking of the consequences of having more children when they could barely afford the one. Jackson would remember this clearly, even at six years old, as the moment he stopped respecting his father.
Nearly nine months passed from that day and Beth had just quit her part time job to prepare for the coming baby. Andrew had given up on the family weekends after that day's outburst and began working double shifts on Saturday and Sunday as well as picking up a part time job bar tending in town on week nights. This allowed him to stockpile income for the coming stringent times in a two child household. It also allowed him to drink for free on the job and come home on most nights drunker than the clientele.
It was on one of these fateful nights that Beth brought up that Jackson had been given information about a summer camp that would allow them to ship him off for a month and a half while Beth took care of their coming son. The idea was to ease the burden on both of them, but Andrew scoffed at the idea of spending more money. He accused Beth of taking the easy way out of her responsibility while he was working double shifts and double jobs to pay the bills.
Beth argued with him that she was hoping it would ease the stress on both of them. Upon suggesting she might invite her mother to stay and help for a few weeks, Andrew went to the liquor cabinet. As he reached for the plastic bottle of vodka, it slipped to the ground as Beth turned to leave the room not wanting to witness her husbands alcoholic demise. Her heel caught on the rolling bottle and she tumbled back wards hitting the ground hard.
Two hours later from the hospital, Andrew would learn that the fall had caused Beth to bleed internally putting the baby in jeopardy. They would explain that they were able to save his newborn son, but his wife did not survive the surgery. When Andrew punched the doctor, security handcuffed him to a chair and brought him coffee to sober him up to make a decision on what to do with his wife's effects and let him know to contact them when he had made funeral arrangements.
A nurse approached him unaware of the events of the day or Andrew's current status asking him to give his newborn son a name. Without pause, Andrew told her to name him William after General William Sherman, "the man that entered the south in good health and left it in shambles." The name William would stand, but the last name Porter would not. Andrew instructed the nurse to have the child given up for adoption and that no one was to mention to his wife's family that the baby survived.
Jackson had arrived at the hospital with his neighbors to see his mother when he walked into the cafeteria overhearing his father's orders. He would see his father only sporadically after that and always drunk. Andrew sent Jackson to New York to live with his grandparents.
Andrew refused to give his doctor's the details needed to find the sons. Jackson was listed in hospital records along with his brother William, but no one was able to track down a William Porter, Jackson was the first and best chance to save his father's life. The doctor asked Jackson if he would be willing to fly back and have some tests to see if he would be a good match to donate for his father.
An hour into the flight, the Sky Mall catalog drifted to the floor from Jackson's hands as he slipped off into his past. His childhood flooded over him punctured by the many images of his father's constant drunkenness washing away the pleasant memories of life with his mother still alive. When his early youth memories flitted away, memories of his life living with his grandparents took hold. Years of schooling in upstate New York through high school and coming home to his grandmother's baking and his grandfather's pipe filled him with a feeling of nostalgia. The smell of the sugar cookies baking took hold even while watching the smoke from his grandfather's pipe fill the air. The plumes of smoke wafted in the living room twisting and forming shapes. The build up of smoke did not concern Jackson as only dreams can both calm and shock from moment to moment. Surprise did not even fill him when the smoke formed into the shape of a man yelling and stumbling around the living room. A smoky finger pointed at Jackson accusingly as his grandfather walked to the front door to escort the smoke out and away as he so often had done with Andrew Porter on his rare appearances.
In waking to the pilot's voice, Jackson was left with the certainty that he could not think of a less deserving person in his life to sacrifice a part of himself for, but he also knew he would have to rise above his father as he had all his life. With a thump mirroring the nerves in Jackson's gut, the plane touched down in Lexington, Kentucky.
Jackson Porter's father was a belligerent drunk. He would explain that many people are belligerent when they are drunk, but not everyone is drunk on most days at most hours. His father, Andrew Porter, grew up in Birmingham, Mississippi which, Jackson would dead pan, is why he was named Jackson. His father, Andrew, and he, Jackson, made up a "fine southern president" as Andrew liked to say when Jackson was young.
Andrew had been a good father and supporter when Jackson was young. He worked double shifts at the local plant on Saturdays to help make ends meet while Jackson's mother, Beth, was taking care of their son. When Jackson came to be old enough for school, Beth took a part time job during school hours allowing Andrew to cut his weekend hours and allow the family to have family events on the weekend.
On one of these weekend, Beth had brought a bottle of wine on a picnic to let Andrew know that she was pregnant again. Seeing as she was pregnant at the time and Jackson was 6, Andrew ended up drinking the entire bottle by himself. As gladly as Andrew would have embraced his forthcoming son, William, he could not get past the thought of going back on extra shifts at work to make ends meet. The new twist would be that Beth would not be able to supplement income again until William would be old enough for school. Additionally, Andrew would have to work even more hours to support his oldest son now needing more food clothing and school costs than as a baby as well as the new baby.
His merlot soaked brain did not have a filter for this information and, at two thirds gone in the bottle, he let this information be known. He blamed Beth for not thinking of the consequences of having more children when they could barely afford the one. Jackson would remember this clearly, even at six years old, as the moment he stopped respecting his father.
Nearly nine months passed from that day and Beth had just quit her part time job to prepare for the coming baby. Andrew had given up on the family weekends after that day's outburst and began working double shifts on Saturday and Sunday as well as picking up a part time job bar tending in town on week nights. This allowed him to stockpile income for the coming stringent times in a two child household. It also allowed him to drink for free on the job and come home on most nights drunker than the clientele.
It was on one of these fateful nights that Beth brought up that Jackson had been given information about a summer camp that would allow them to ship him off for a month and a half while Beth took care of their coming son. The idea was to ease the burden on both of them, but Andrew scoffed at the idea of spending more money. He accused Beth of taking the easy way out of her responsibility while he was working double shifts and double jobs to pay the bills.
Beth argued with him that she was hoping it would ease the stress on both of them. Upon suggesting she might invite her mother to stay and help for a few weeks, Andrew went to the liquor cabinet. As he reached for the plastic bottle of vodka, it slipped to the ground as Beth turned to leave the room not wanting to witness her husbands alcoholic demise. Her heel caught on the rolling bottle and she tumbled back wards hitting the ground hard.
Two hours later from the hospital, Andrew would learn that the fall had caused Beth to bleed internally putting the baby in jeopardy. They would explain that they were able to save his newborn son, but his wife did not survive the surgery. When Andrew punched the doctor, security handcuffed him to a chair and brought him coffee to sober him up to make a decision on what to do with his wife's effects and let him know to contact them when he had made funeral arrangements.
A nurse approached him unaware of the events of the day or Andrew's current status asking him to give his newborn son a name. Without pause, Andrew told her to name him William after General William Sherman, "the man that entered the south in good health and left it in shambles." The name William would stand, but the last name Porter would not. Andrew instructed the nurse to have the child given up for adoption and that no one was to mention to his wife's family that the baby survived.
Jackson had arrived at the hospital with his neighbors to see his mother when he walked into the cafeteria overhearing his father's orders. He would see his father only sporadically after that and always drunk. Andrew sent Jackson to New York to live with his grandparents.
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