My Father

i sit in the darkness of the hospital room. it must be 7 am, maybe 7:30. the nurses are already chitchatting in the alleys. i can hear them whisspering, walking, moving. i havent slept for the last 2 days. i just sit there, mind is gone, i close my eyes (days as a child, days at the beach, taking a walk by the sea, holding his hand, running behind a seagul). i want to sleep, exhausted and numb. i have been at that hospital for weeks, maybe even months. in and out for the last two years. in and out. a new tumor every month. i see him fading. bed next to where i am sitting. i see his pale eyes even when i close mine (days when he would take me to school in the morning, our sailing excursions, first time he gave me a real book to read when he said now you gotta read serious literature, and he gave me kafka). i need to sleep. i have been working on the rehearsals of my first play "seriously" on stage. have been up at nights and staying in the hospital. writting for a dead line. dealing with the tumors.

he can hardly move and he cant talk. its been like this for the last couple of weeks. he slides his hand towards the night table by his bed. (did i notice that he was leaving? was i aware of his departure?) holding the handle, opening and closing the little door. opening and closing it, opening and closing it. i need to sleep. and that noise. the door and the noise. i yell. goddamnit that noise. his hand slowly back in bed. i take a deep breath. all i want is a rest.

my father died two days later. i will never forgive him for leaving me. i just wonder if he will ever forgive ME.

© copyright, 1999, Flavia Dzodan
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