I stared at the looming building of Starlight General Hospital, trying to force myself to walk into its sterile halls. I gripped the handle of my duffle bag as I prolonged my entrance; I wasn't ready to face what lay inside those walls. My mother had called a week ago to inform me that my father's health had started to deteriorate, something that was inevitable in the battle with cancer. Six months ago, his doctors performed a routine cancer screening and found stage four lung cancer. Through the previous months, he seemed to be doing okay despite his condition. He took well to treatment and took good care of himself. Mom was distraught, as any wife would be in this situation, but she tried to stay strong for Dad. Then he collapsed at the grocery store, ending up in the hospital in worse shape than ever. The cancer had spread.
I flew home as quickly as I could with the circumstances. I needed to be there for my family. Taking a shaky breath, I walked into the hospital and up to the seventh floor to the oncology ward. Dad was hooked up to several monitors and appeared to be sleeping. When I grasped the cold door handle, I heard someone walk up behind me.
"Darien, you're finally here," Mom's voice was ragged and hoarse, like she had been crying.
"Yeah, I landed about an hour ago and came straight here," I replied. I dropped my bag and turned to face the frail woman behind me and almost lost my control. She looked like she hadn't slept in days if the dark shadows under her eyes were any indication. Her skin seemed to have lost its normal glow, almost as if all the happiness had been drained from her. I could easily understand that; Dad was dying. I wrapped my arms around her and held her as tight as I could without breaking her. She sobbed into my chest and held onto me for dear life.
Hearing the pain in my mother's cries brought tears to my own eyes; tears I had no control over. We stood in that quiet hallway for an infinite amount of time, releasing our built up anguish at Dad's current condition. I wanted to take my mom's pain away, I wanted to change the hands of fate and cure my father of every last ailment that plagued him.
The sounds of monitors beeping brought us out of our grief-filled world, drawing our attention to the nurses rushing towards us. I held my breath as they approached. Please not Dad. Please not Dad, I chanted in my head. Time seemed to slow as the medical team continued to rush down the hall. My heart started to race and I instinctively held my mother even tighter. Please not Dad…
When the nurses turned into a room that was two doors away from Dad's I released the breath I had been holding.
"Oh thank God," I breathed.
Mom looked up at me through red and puffy eyes; clearly she had thought the same thing I did. Without a second thought, we stepped into Dad's room and sat in the chairs near his bed. He must have heard us come in, for he stirred in his sleep.
"Margaret, Darien, what's going on?" he mumbled, still not fully awake. At the sound of my name on his lips, he jolted awake and coughed in surprise. "Darien, my boy! It's been a while! It's great to see you kid! Come, give your old man a hug," he beamed and opened his arms wide. I bit my lip in an effort not to laugh or cry, I wasn't sure which.
"It's great to see you, Pop. How are you feeling?" I asked as I embraced my sickly father.
"I feel like a million bucks, Dare," he laughed heartily then erupted into a fit of coughs.
"Dad?" He continued to hack in an effort to get oxygen into his lungs. I quickly ran out of the room and retrieved him a cup of water. When I returned, Mom was stroking his head and trying to calm his coughing fit. He lay back down on his bed and took a ragged breath. "Here," I handed him the Styrofoam cup, "drink this."
"This damn cancer," he groaned. He took several slow sips of the water and closed his eyes. The exhaustion was evident and I felt bad for rousing such excitement in him. "Okay, so maybe I don't feel like a million bucks. How about a hundred instead?" I couldn't help but smile at his joking manner; he was the only person I knew who would find humor in being on his death bed.
I couldn't find the words to say; my heart was breaking at the sight of my dad—my hero—in such a delicate condition. I was afraid that if I spoke, my voice would betray me and all my defenses would crumble.
"Why are you looking at me like I'm some charity case? Don't pity me, son. I get it, I'm dying; but I've lived a long, full, and happy life with you and your mother," he paused as he was overcome with more coughing. "I need you to not be sad; remember that story I told you when you were just a boy? 'Death is but the next great adventure.'" He smiled knowingly and I rolled my eyes.
"You're quoting Harry Potter, Dad?" I chuckled at the silliness of it, swallowing my grief.
"Hey, Albus Dumbledore was a genius," he raised his eyebrows and pointed his finger at me, just like he used to when I'd get in trouble. The world would surely be a worse-off place without this man.
"If you say so," I replied. "What have the doctors said?" I needed to hear his prognosis; I needed to know how much time I had left with my father.
"It's not good, Dare. The damn cancer is in my lungs, liver, and brain. It's just a matter of days they say."
My heart sank and I wanted the world to open up and swallow me whole.
"Days?" I repeated.
He nodded solemnly and coughed.
"Why don't we take you and your things to the house, Darien? You can clean up and unpack while your father rests. We can come back later tonight," Mom suggested.
I silently hugged my father one last time before Mom ushered me out of the room.
"I love you, Dad," I said from the doorway, but he was already asleep.
Jim and Margaret Shields met in 1987 when she was 24 and he was 26. They fell in love hard and fast and within the first three years they were married and expecting their first and only child—me. They were the epitome of the perfect couple—always holding hands and smiling at each other like they were the only things that existed. They were the envy of our small town in Georgia, turning heads wherever they went and never once caring what anyone thought. Even after years of marriage and raising a hot-headed little boy, they stayed madly in love. He was a carpenter that rose to the top of the company, becoming Vice-Chairman after 20 years. He was dedicated and worked harder than anyone I had ever met; my mother and I wanted for nothing.
Dad taught me everything I needed to know about growing up into a successful man. Besides the obvious lessons in life, he showed me through his relationship with Mom what true love was supposed to be. With the stolen kisses between him and Mom, or the serious talks we had when I was in trouble, I learned in my own way right from wrong. And it was all because of him.
He was a true believer that actions spoke louder than words and proved to me day in and day out life's real lessons. He taught me how to throw a ball and cheered for me at every football game I ever had; that man never missed a single game since I started playing in the sixth grade. He would deny it left and right, but he cried for me when I accepted my diploma at my high school graduation. He always told me I was his pride and joy and that he couldn't be prouder of the person I became. I looked up to that man; he was the greatest role model I could have ever asked for. No matter what he was always there for me, showing me with his actions what a real father should be.
The cancer came as a shock to all of us because he had never used a single tobacco product. When the doctors confirmed that he had lung cancer, he blamed it on all the years he spent on construction and demolition sites where he inhaled large amounts of asbestos. He spent weeks in the hospital in the beginning, fighting a battle he knew deep down that he would lose. The radiation and chemotherapy helped at first; we were all amazed at the seemingly 180 turn he made after just a few months. Then, a week ago he collapsed and my world came crashing down. I was faced with a limited amount of time with him and I didn't know what to do.
Mom and I were silent the entire car ride, lost in our own thoughts or memories. I stared out the window of the passing town of Starlight, Georgia—the place I was born and raised. We passed the high school, where fleeting images of me and my friends roaming the halls ran through my mind. Passing the stadium, I could almost hear the crowds cheering on the Rocketeers on a crisp autumn Friday night. That playground in the park was where I met her so many years ago. My heart still ached for her; I honestly don't think it would ever stop.
When we finally pulled into our neighborhood, I held my breath as we passed her house. It looked so different than how I remembered; the siding had been changed from pale yellow to pure white. The raised gardens in the front of the house were no longer there; instead the bricks had been removed and the soil tilled over until the grass grew lusciously. At least the shutters were still the same dark blue. I wondered if she ever thought of me, like I thought of her every single day for the last seven years.
We pulled into our driveway just seconds later, drawing me away from memories that still stung.
"Welcome home, Dare," Mom smiled lightly but it didn't touch her eyes. I dropped my bag and engulfed her into another hug. She needed me. "Come on, let's go inside and I'll make us some lunch." I let her lead me into the house I knew so well. At least it hadn't changed since I left.
The living room still had that smell that comforted me every time I walked into it; like lemons and vanilla. The cream couch was still by the window facing the television, which Mom and Dad had seemed to update to a large flat screen. I chuckled to myself at that; they never seemed to care about the latest technologies. I'd have to remember to ask her about that one. I had the urge to take my shoes and socks off and walk barefoot on the soft carpet that hadn't seemed to age over the years.
"Darien?" Mom called from the kitchen. I shook myself from my memories and met her in the kitchen. "What would you like, honey? Turkey sandwich with cheddar and lettuce?" She knew me so well.
"That sounds great, Mom," I smiled and kissed her cheek. "I'll be down in a few; I need to run my bag upstairs." When I reached my old room I sighed in contentment; nothing had changed. My bed still sat against the far wall adjacent to the window; oh the many times I climbed out of that window late at night to meet her. I wondered how she was doing and if she still lived down the street; I shook that thought out of my head. There was no way the gods would be so gracious to me. Besides, she probably met someone new and got married and had a few kids. Why would she wait for me?
Walking back down the stairs, I noticed the same pictures on the wall. There we were, in all our glory homecoming night 2005—our freshman year. She was gorgeous with her blonde hair curled and cascading down her back, her beautiful face beaming at the camera while I gazed lovingly at her instead. That was the night I knew I had fallen head over heels for her, and it showed as clear as day in that picture. I took the frame off the hook and carried it with me to the kitchen, smiling to myself as I stared into those blue eyes forever captured in time.
"What do you have there?" Mom broke into my reverie. I reluctantly tore my gaze away from the photograph and smiled at my mother.
"I didn't know you kept this," I said. I gently ran my fingers down the smooth glass, afraid that if I touched it any harder, the image would disappear.
"Why wouldn't I keep it?" she came over to where I stood in the doorway and looked at the picture. "Look at you two, you were so happy. Wow, Serena sure was a looker," she said. I could tell that she remembered that night just as clearly as I did. "She's back, you know."
My heart sped up with that simple sentence. I hadn't seen Serena in seven long years. She went away to college in South Carolina while I moved to New York to pursue a career in business management. It hurt to think that I had left the one person I loved with my entire being behind, but we had to follow the path that life laid out for us. I only hoped that one day she would forgive me and come back to me.
"Darien, I love you but I have to go," she cried.
"Serena, stay with me, please," I begged. I couldn't bear to see her go.
"You didn't do anything wrong, you know?" Mom said.
"I know," I whispered despondently. Knowing that I didn't do anything "wrong" didn't change the fact that I blamed myself every single day for her leaving.
"Here, eat your sandwich and then we can go for a walk around the neighborhood. Sound good?"
"Sounds great, Mom," I smiled and took the first bite of my sandwich, losing myself in a daydream of our first encounter thirteen years ago.
It was raining as I walked home alone from school, that fateful November day. Dad would surely have my butt for the grade I was bringing home; this C was not acceptable. Seventh grade was definitely no joke, and history was kicking my butt. I thought about crumpling up the report card and telling Dad that I just didn't get mine yet, but he always saw right through my lies. I was just passing the park when I heard someone crying on the swings. It was hard to tell who it was through the rain, but Mom would never let me hear the end of it if I just left whoever it was to cry alone.
I walked up to the weeping figure that I now noticed was a girl, her long blonde hair soaked and falling over her face. She must not have heard me approach her, which gave me the chance to examine her. She wore a pale pink raincoat and black rain boots that she kicked in the mud at her feet. So far I didn't recognize her.
"Hey, are you okay?" I asked.
She jumped, startled, and looked up at me with surprised and puffy eyes.
The blonde girl sniffed and wiped her tears before she spoke. "Are you here to pick on me, too?" Her chin quivered as she awaited my answer.
"Why would I want to pick on you?" I asked. I sat on the wet swing next to her and swiveled to look at her.
"Because everyone else was making fun of me, so—sniff—I thought you would, too." She spoke so quietly that I had a hard time hearing her over the rain. She looked down into the mud again as new tears sprung in her eyes.
"Who made fun of you?" I asked, feeling defensive for the poor girl before me. Dad always told me that bullying was unacceptable.
I thought she mistook the anger in my voice to be directed at her; she flinched and mumbled, "Everyone."
"I'm not going to hurt you," I said. This girl obviously needed a friend. At almost thirteen years old, I was beginning to see girls as people boys were supposed to protect, not hurt. Dad always protected Mom and cherished her.
Suddenly, the blonde looked up into my eyes, a glimmer of hope flashing in her own.
"You won't?"
"Nope. Why don't you tell me what happened?" I coaxed gently.
She sniffed again. "Some of the people in my classes were talking bad about me. They said I was a wimpy little girl and that I was—sniff—I," she burst into new tears before she could relay the rest of what had happened. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed; I couldn't handle seeing someone do distraught, especially this girl I had never met. I hopped off my swing and wrapped her in my arms.
"Shh," I cooed. "It's going to be okay. What's your name?" I wanted to divert her attention away from the bad things that happened to her.
"Se-Serena," she mumbled.
"That's a really pretty name. I'm Darien," I introduced myself. She looked up at me and smiled weakly. "Wanna come over for some hot chocolate?" I offered. The poor girl looked like she could use a pick-me-up. "My mom makes the best hot chocolate in town." I grinned as I saw her eyes light up.
"Sure!" she exclaimed. I took her hand and carried her backpack all the way to my house.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
I looked up into the amused face of my mother. "Do you remember when I was in seventh grade and I brought Serena home for the first time?"
"Of course I do. I always knew she was special, even then with her hair a mess and crying her eyes out."
I chuckled and put my empty plate in the sink. Special was an understatement; she was everything. Mom seemed to have a way of perceiving people, of always seeing the good in them no matter what. She had a kind heart and an open mind that I hoped was passed down to me.
"Ready for a walk around town?" I offered her my arm and she took it regally.
"Always a gentleman," she praised.
From that first meeting in the rain, I knew that Serena would be special to me. I found out everything that had been said about her and beat up the kids who said those things. We became best friends over the course of our middle school years, and by the time summer rolled around after eighth grade I knew that I felt something for her. We were inseparable and I would do anything to keep her happy.