Crashing into Dane.

6

I pull the groceries out of the car bit by bit and place them on the kitchen counter.

Mr Michaels walks in and switches on the lights. "Hello Cher."

"How ya doing, Mr Michaels?" I don't look up at him but keep packing the groceries into the pantry and cupboards. I open the refrigerator and wait for him to say something. He can't be "hanging out" with me in the kitchen.

I face him and see him twiddle his hands nervously. Then he looks up at me and my heart drops. His eyes seem serious and whenever he has looked this way, Dad's either getting worse or getting more exercise.

My heart's thumping against my chest and the heat fills up my throat.

"What?" I ask nervous as hell but it comes out cool.

"Your father. He's not worse," I let out a sigh and realise I'd been holding my breath.

" He's not improved either. The doctors at the hospital say they might have found better treatment..." He trails off.

Right. Another glimmer of hope. Like the last time the doctors had said this new medication would help him out but all it did was enlarge the number of pills he had to take. Dad can still barely stand for five minutes.

"Might? Meaning it might not be better and he could still be as sick or worse after?" I stop a sob from escaping my throat but the tears in my eyes seem to be welling up. I blink to stop the tears from flowing.

Michaels stiffens and looks at me with worry, and I swear I can see a cascade of pity from behind those hazel eyes.

"It could work tremendously well for him, and he won't need to keep taking as much medication" he sits up. "And you know how much he hates it." He adds.

"Sounds too good to be true. What if it doesn't work and we get Dad's hopes up for nothing?" I look at him and see that he's adamant to have Dad try it out.

"When does he have to go in to see the doctor?" I blink and a tear escapes my eye and streaks down my cheek.

I look away and put the box of cereal in the fridge. Damnit. I'm a mess.

"Cher. I know we've been through a lot already. But I can feel it. This will be good for him."

I snap my head back at him.

"We've been through a lot?" I scoff at him and bang my shaking hands on the counter. "You're his nurse okay?!"
I stress. "I'm the one with a mother whom I don't even know or know where she is and a father who loves the shit out of me and might die at any time because his ribcage might collapse into him. I'm the one going through a lot okay?! Actually," I back off the counter and walk towards him, "Dad's the one going through a lot, okay?" I huff in anger and stomp up to my room.

The nerve of this guy. We?

I bang the door behind me and crumble to the floor before I get to the bed.

I can't stop the tears. I can't stop the sobs. I can't get the heat out of my throat. I can't do anything but lie here and watch myself turn into an emotional mess. Screw it. I give in and cry my heart out. Cry about my dad getting sick. Cry about having no one else but him and my weird and awkward relatives who either drink their lives away or are famous for witchcraft. I cry about my mom, a vague silhouette in my dreams always inflicting unwanted panic and pain in my sleep. I cry about crying, because I can't be doing this.

I lie there and find myself thinking of just about everything that's gone wrong in my life.

This is me crying and whining over how terrible life is? The same me who has known nothing but a full belly and loving care from my father? This is me being a spoilt brat caving when life grabs me by the nose. Like life goes well for anyone. I've seen a lot in this neighbourhood, this town, this country. I should know there are worse cases out there.

I sober up and wipe the tears off with the neck of my sweater.

Dad is the one with the aching body and needs you right now.

I sniff and walk towards the door. I didn't even say hi to Dad today. I glance behind me before leaving the room and laugh at the image of me two seconds ago hysterical on the floor. I shake my head and walk down the corridor to the stairs.

Michaels must have left.

Dad's watching the telly. Not a good sign, he only watches the news or boring stuff. He's watching Spongebob. Spongebob.

I walk over to the sofa and pat him on the back and walk around to sit next to him. He watches me and is about to say something before I stop him. My hands in the air declaring innocence, I say, "I'm sorry I went off at Michaels, okay?" I cock my head to the side as I look at him and ask, gentler now,

"How are you doing?"

He ignores my question and looks back at the TV.

"You used to love Spongebob so much. You'd jump around and call me Patrick. You were such a ball of energy. You made me a Father's Day card addressed to Patrick at one point." He chuckles and looks at me warmly. "You're still a ball of energy. But it's a fire now, you have a fire inside you Cher."

I don't know what to say or do. Clearly, he knows I've been crying. The bags under my eyes and the streaks on my cheeks. My still runny nose. I guess he'd rather not go through it again.

He opens out his arms and gestures with a nod for me to rest my head on his chest. He's calm and warm.

I love you Dad.

"Cher. I have a good feeling about this. I love you, and I want to spend as much time as the Lord will allow me with you." He sighs.

"That's what Michaels said too." I roll my eyes and sulk.

He kisses my forehead and adds,

"Let's just give this a shot. We'll turn down any other treatment they throw our way. Heck! Even the cure!" He laughs lowly and moves away to look at me.

He wants this. He's in pain, I'm sure he wants it stop.

But I can't. I can't lose him. If this doesn't work... he'll be much worse, and he's already so fragile. This will kill him, literally, if if doesn't work.

Damnit. He wants this.

"Lord, please help Dad through this new treatment I don't like much. I don't know if it works or not, but I know you do. So, please. Please let it work."

"Amen." Dad adds before laughing.

"That made no sense, but okay honey. He'll make sure it works, you gave Him no option."

I chuckle and rest my head on his shoulder.