Being Shot

P h o t o #61 - Give 'Em Hell

P h o t o #61 - Give 'Em Hell

Before I could even ask why my father had suddenly shown up before me, the last time I'd seen him such a stark difference to the man standing in the doorway now, I was pulled into a bone-crushing embrace. It took me a second to collect myself enough to process that he had even moved from his spot.

My feet were lifted from the ground, leaving me limp against the tall man as he practically swung me around. I gasped loudly as stars burst across my vision, the fluorescent lights above reminding me of just how hard I bawled not too long ago, and how that release had ended in a dull headache.

For almost a quarter of a second, as the world whirled around me as if in slow motion, I was met with bright hazel eyes as the hospital door stood open, still buzzing with energy at how quickly it was thrown wide open. My mother stood at his side, her jaw unhinged as she watched, utterly baffled by the sight.

It was then that I realized that this was the first time I'd seen my father since my sister's death, our last memory together of the time we'd visited him in the hospital just days prior. Anxiety clawed at the inside of my chest as I remembered that he was the one I feared to see most.

Not the mother who abandoned me, but the father I abandoned without a word.

But the anxiety didn't consume me like it normally would have; there was almost a sense of necessity in our fated meeting, as if it was something much too long overdue, and it was. The only thing that kept us apart was my inability to reach out first.

But it was strange. Even if I understood why my mother kept her distance from me - to a certain point, that is - I didn't know what my father's reason was exactly. Of course I knew I was the one who left, but why didn't he ever reach out on his own now that he was well again? The last time I'd seen him he was half out of his mind, sitting in a hospital room on tight, around-the-clock watch. As they visited, I enjoyed questioning the cheery faced doctors while my father sat stoicly, too zoned out to speak to us half the time.

I could barely remember the father who'd acted like this, outgoing and actually showing emotion. I was too shocked to force anything out of my mouth, so all I could do was let myself be squeezed like a rag doll.

But our embrace didn't last forever, and of course he was the one who had to let go first due to my inability to even rap my arms around him in my haste. Once he left me to my own devices again, my knees took no time to completely revert to the consistency of rubber, and with that they quickly found the hard floor bellow.

Everyone in the room cried out a series of unrecognizable chatters as my dad, the closest, lunged for me as my mother and Elliot stepped closer in astonishment.

My dad's arm swung around my body, readying to pull me back up as I processed everything going on, but before he could get me back on my feet I reached out to him, only one thing clicking in my brain.

I cupped my father's face in my hands, dizzied by the whole ordeal as I stared into his dark eyes, "What kind of soap opera is this?"

Silence exploded into the room as everyone processed my startled, frustrated reaction. In all honesty, I couldn't really help that I wasn't able to keep my cool; it wasn't my fault that one thing after another seemed to be bombarding me at the moment.

My father's stunned eyes stared into mine, probably noticing just how much of a madman his daughter looked at the time, before his large hands lifted and enveloped mine. A chuckle escaped his lips as he gave a small nod, his shaggy hair following suit. He pulled me into him again and I gasped, almost hitting my chin against his shoulder.