Golden Greaser

- 4 -

    "Dad..." I say, my voice tight.

     He opens his eyes.

     "Dad..." I repeat. A new fear rising in my stomach.

     My father looks at me with bloodshot, fading gray-blue eyes and I feel my heart leap into my throat.

     "I wasn't gonna tell you, Diana."

     I stare at him.

      "You weren't going to tell me?" My breath quickens, syncing with the beats of my heart. "What do you mean you weren't going to tell me!?"

      His eyes look sad, as if their color was slowly trickling from their irises. His body looks sick, his chest struggling to rise and fell fast. 

     Turning his head slowly and weakly, he makes eye contact with me.

      "I mean, you would have seen it in the morning anyways." He rasps, a weak smile trying to form on his lips. 

     "And I know what you're gonna say. I need to see a--" Coughing consumes the rest of his words, and the blood droplets fly out, landing onto the blue sheets.

     "A doctor." I finish, trying to give him water on the spoon.

      He shakes his head. "I don't need a doctor, Diana. We can't afford it."

     "Dad, look at yourself!" My voice rises, panic prickling my insides.

     "We can't afford it Dian--" He starts, but coughing eats up the rest of my name.

     "I don't care if I have to work till' seven in the morning to afford it! You're seeing a doctor or a doctor's going to see you!"

     He closes his eyes, looking defeated.

     I sigh. "I'll call the doctor in the morning and see if someone will be willing to come see you."

     "Diana--"

     "Dad, it's over. I will call the doctor in the morning. You need help." I give him one final sip of water and then kiss him on the forehead.

     "Goodnight. I love you." I whisper, turning out the light beside his bed.

     He mumbles something weakly; I know he's probably mad. But I have to do something. Blood was bad. Blood was new. He hadn't been coughing up blood this morning.

      I close the door, picking up my boots and my backpack and heading to my room. 

     As soon as I get there, I strip off my uniform and change into my pajamas. Then, I throw those in the washing machine and start it, praying that they'd be somewhat dry by morning. 

     I rummage through my backpack, trying to remember if I had any homework. After minutes of searching, I come to a relieving conclusion that I had done all my homework yesterday. 

    As I climb into bed, I say a silent prayer of thanks and guidance.

    Because as I looked at the alarm clock that read 12:47, I began to feel a strong feeling of doubt that I refused to accept.

    But dread seemed louder than hope.

    And I didn't like that.  

     

      "Hello?" I say into the phone receiver, listening to the phone line pick up. "Uh, hello is this Dr. Stanley's office?"

      I pause, listening for a reply.

      The line went dead. I stare at the receiver in my hand. 

     You've got to be kidding me. 

     That was the third office I'd called this morning, and I was running out of time before I had to leave for school.

      Running my fingers over the yellow pages of the phone book, I try once again to find another doctor's office to call. Randomizing my pick out of desperation, I choose Dr. Arden.

      Dialing the number, I decide that if they don't answer me than I would leave for school and complete the usual day. Then, on the blessed Sunday I was off I would borrow someone's car and take him to someone myself. Or at least try, anyway. 

      "Hello, this is Dr. Arden's office, how may I help you?" The woman finally picks up.

     "Hello, um, I'm calling on behalf of my dad, Saul Carlson...he started coughing up blood yesterday and needs to see a doctor immediately." I say, hearing pause on the other side of the line.

     "Oh honey, I'm sorry we have no open appointments for today or for tomorrow. We're all booked up!" She answers, in a fake-sad tone.

     "But my dad-"

      The line was dead.

      Gah, I wanted to throw that receiver into the wall. 

      Suddenly, explosive episodes of coughing erupt from behind me, completely shutting down my thought train and sending me into his room with aspirin.

      "No luck with the doctor." I say, quietly. 

      "Mhm." He grumbles, barely getting the water and tablets down.

      "When I'm off on Sunday, I'm taking you somewhere." I concluded. "There's got to be somebody who'll help you." 

      He shakes his head slightly, enduring another coughing fit. Then he begins to breath hard, grimacing his teeth and throwing his head back.

      I stand to my feet, almost knocking the chair out from under me. 

      "What's happening?"

      "My-my arms!" He claws at his arms, crying out in pain.

      "What do you mean--"

      He screams, his breath shallow and quick.

      "Calm down! Please." I say, running my hands through my hair. 

      This scared me. This hadn't been happening at all until now.

      Suddenly he is thrown into a violent and strangling fit of coughs, blood flying in all different directions. No. No. No. 

      His face became red and angry, veins popping out through the thin skin of his neck. He cries out again, his arms flying down and clutching his legs.

      "M-my legs!!" He grimaces, struggling to breathe.

      I watch helplessly as he sucks in oxygen, coughing consuming the breaths in between.

      He has to see a doctor.

      I look at the clock. 7:16. Time for school. But I am not leaving my father like this. I don't care if I have to walk into every doctor's office in Tulsa, a doctor will see him.

     I wait until he calms down before I head out the door. 

     "I'm skipping school today." I state, gathering my bags and slipping my blade into my jean pocket. "I'm finding you a doctor."

     He gives no response, just red-faced and grimacing.

     "Just hold on a little longer."

     "Please."