Deal With It ✓

One: Up and Down

Song: We had to End It // Cuco

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Dad was dying.

I knew it, Amber knew it. Hell, even the entire fucking hospital knew it. It wasn't a secret really, given having lung cancer tended to give you the "Get Out of Life Free" card, but we weren't expecting him to actually die. For his heart to stop pumping, for his blood to stop flowing, for his chest to stop rising up and falling down. And up and down. And up and down.

That was the only thing that kept me sane; watching his chest rise then fall. It made it easier to believe that he was alive and that everything was like it should be. Everyone should've been alive; me, Amber, and him.

It was the three of us for as long as I could remember.

I've grown accustomed to the ass-numbing, back-splitting effects the hospital chair in the corner of my dad's hospital room had on me. I suppose that I grew way too used to it, given I feel more relieved sitting on it than the expensive couches we had at home.

And I suppose that growing accustomed to something wasn't always good.

Over the 24 years that I've been living, I've grown used to my dad's god-awful sense of humor, my sister's temper tantrums and the way the calluses that form on the tips of my finger after playing my violin to drown her out felt. It's become a routine: hearing the jokes, Amber's cries and the melodies I created.

I guess my routine was disrupted now.

Dad was a happy man. He always looked at the bright side of things and supported Amber and me in everything we did– except drugs, he promised us that if he ever caught us with any illegal or legal substances he'd "lock us fuckers up in our rooms for the rest of our fucking lives". So I wasn't really scared when I told him that I didn't want to work in his company, instead, I wanted to join the New York Philharmonic Orchestra and become their first violinist. I wanted him to watch me play.

But deep down, I knew he wouldn't get the chance. And now, that's a certainty.

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Dad called me up this afternoon, telling me that I needed to pick Amber up from school and drive directly to the hospital. Naturally, my first reaction was to ask him if he was okay.

"Has there been changes with your condition? Is it good? Is it bad? Did they discover a new tumor? Is the chemo working? Is it not–" I fired questions at him, not letting him answer any of them.

Eventually, he cut me off with a raspy chuckle, saying, "Dylan, calm down, I just want to see my children, is that such a bad thing?"

I let out a sigh, but I'm pretty sure it was more a breath of relief, "Dad, you can't say something like that and not expect me to freak out." I checked the clock hanging above our family portrait in the living room, seeing that Amber was going to be let out of school in less than 10 minutes.

Picking up my keys, I told him, "Alright, I'll head out now. Do you want me to get you anything on my way there?"

After he reassured me that he wasn't in the mood to eat anything, I hung up, telling him that we wouldn't be any longer than 30 minutes.

On my way to the high school, I texted Amber, informing her of our impromptu plans and telling her to wait for me at the drop off area. She replied minutes before I reached with a thumbs up.

Pulling up to the school, I scanned the area for my younger sibling and found her sitting with a boy that looked about her age, laughing her ass off, leaning towards him, touching his arm. Looks like my sister was smitten with some kid.