Title: The Phone Call
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters belong to John Wells, Edward Allan Bernero, NBC and a bunch of other people I don't know.
Rating: R for language
Feedback: Well, it will make me write faster and it gives me a happy ;)
The Phone Call by Jewel21
"Yeah, Maurice? It's Mikey. Call me back okay, it's really important. As fast as you can, bye." Those words keep on replaying themselves over and over again in my head until I want to grab the lamp on the bedside table next to me and bash it against the wall.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
When I first heard that message earlier on this evening, the first thought that entered my mind was great now what, instinctively knowing that something was wrong. I just remember thinking great another headache, another fuckin' problem to have to deal with on top of all the other ones I've had to deal with as of late. Christ doesn't it ever end? I grumbled as I picked up the receiver and called my younger brother.
"Yeah, Mo its dad, man." Mikey said as soon as he heard my voice. "He's in the hospital. He called me tonight complaining of chest pains and I went over there and called an ambulance. Maurice the first words out of his mouth were to call you."
I sit for a second, Mikey's words taking a minute to register as a million thoughts race through my mind one of which is finally, could it be possible? Could I be so lucky, will the bastard finally die and leave us in peace? "So what the hell do you want me to do?" I say instead, my voice sounding harsh and cold even to my own ears. I can here Mikey pause, shocked by my response.
"Maurice," He says again, "He's in the hospital."
Like that's going to make me suddenly give a damn, to suddenly change my feelings about the man who ruined not only my life but the lives of everyone he's ever come into contact with - everyone he's ever touched. I'm silent, trying to think of something to say but Mikey beats me to it.
"Mo, man he's our father. I mean I hate him too at times but I mean come on... at times like these..." He trails off, apparently unable to finish the thought. Meanwhile, I'm sitting here thinking about how the man was never a father to me, how he never knew the meaning of the word. Hell, Uncle Richie and Grandpa Boscorelli were more fathers to me than mine ever was.
"So what?" I find myself asking, breaking away from my thoughts. "All of a sudden I'm just supposed to fuckin' love him, huh, Mikey? What, I'm just supposed to suddenly forget all of the bullshit that jagoff has put this family through because he 'might' be dying? Hey here's a thought Mikey." I say gathering steam as I go, "Here's a thought, why don't we all run down to the hospital and go visit him, huh Mike? Yeah. Yeah we can get a big bouquet of flowers and a bunch of helium balloons with the words 'To the best daddy in the whole world' stamped across them." I say, my voice filled with bitterness and hate at the man who caused me so much pain growing up.
"Maurice," Mikey says softly cutting off my tirade and even through the crappy phone connection I can still hear the disbelief in his voice, "Look, I know you don't like him okay, but come on in times like these-" He tries again before I cut him off.
"So what huh, Mike? What are you trying to say? That it's okay to hate and resent the man ninety-nine fuckin' percent of the time but as soon as he experiences a chest pain we're just supposed to forgive him? I'm just supposed to forgive him?!" I ask incredulously. "Sorry Michael, but I don't work like that. Unlike the rest of this god forsaken family I am not a fuckin' hypocrite."
"Maurice, he's a human being." My brother says quietly over the phone.
"Really?" I ask my voice full of disbelief, "Define human."
I can hear him take a deep breathe and pause trying to find some way to reach me, to make me see his point of view but I know it's pointless because I refuse to care about that piece of trash. I cut him out of my life a long time ago and it was the best decision I have ever made. Sure, at times it's made me sad, at times I've wondered how my life would be different if my father and I were still on speaking terms but I know it's for the best. I mean did I ask to be estranged from him? Not really. I'm not even sure how it happened ...
See, I would have loved to have a caring father growing up. Someone to idol and aspire to be like someday but unfortunately all I got was a loser. An eternal fuckup who wasn't happy just destroying his own life, no, he had to make sure to destroy the lives of everyone else in the process as well. If it's one thing I've learned growing up, it's that you can't always get what you fucking want in life, so deal. And, I know that if the bastard does actually die, I won't be mourning him in the least but I'll probably end up mourning the father I never had. The father who was never there to show me how to play catch or shave or all of the other things a father is supposed to teach his son. That's who I'll mourn, not my father.
The silence on the phone is deafening. I can almost see my brother's expression on the other end of the line, trying desperately to get me to understand his point of view. Sorry little brother but it's never going to happen. Before he can get another word in however, I beat him to it.
"Okay, let me know if you hear any news." I say, my voice expressionless - stoic.
"Mau -"
"Let me know if you hear anything." I repeat. A moment later I hear the dial tone as the line is disconnected. I place the receiver on its cradle as my thoughts go over what my brother has just told me. Wanna know the funny part? Just earlier this evening, I was sitting in the squad car with Faith having supper and I was wondering what it would be like if my father ever died. I've often wondered what my reaction would be to the news. Would I care? Cry? Rejoice? Would I even bother going to the funeral? Hell, maybe I would just to be sure that he was actually dead. And, although part of me thinks I'm being a bastard, another part of me just fails to care. Because, I vowed to myself a long time ago that I would never let that man affect me ever again. I will not shed another tear or waste another thought on him for as long as I live. I've already wasted too many tears and I will not, I will absolutely not, let that man have that kind of control and power over me ever again. I refuse to.
As I harden my resolve, I take a deep breath and stare at the phone, dreading what I have to do next because, although divorced, Ma would still want to know. As much as that man fucked us over she, for some reason that is beyond my comprehension, has always harbored feelings for him. I could never figure it out, how could someone hate someone so much half of the time and love him the next. It's just too fucked up to understand, even for me.
I can just hear the conversation in my head. I can picture her, practically see her concern for him dripping from her voice and it baffles me. Knowing ma, she'd make me feel guilty for not caring. She'd say something along the lines of how he's always loved me and how I should forgive him for what he's done, to put on my rose-colored sunglasses like the rest of this fuckin' messed up family. I stare at the phone one last time wondering if I really need to be doing this and, as much as I don't want to, I know I have to. Because, if I don't and dad actually did croak tonight, ma would never let me forget it for the rest of my life. And, with that last thought, I reach for the phone.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Its night now and I lie in bed wide-awake. The phone still hasn't rung and a part of me doesn't know if when it does do I want to hear that he's dead or alive. And, although part of me can't help feeling guilty for not being concerned about him, the other part of me just can't seem to care.
End
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters belong to John Wells, Edward Allan Bernero, NBC and a bunch of other people I don't know.
Rating: R for language
Feedback: Well, it will make me write faster and it gives me a happy ;)
The Phone Call by Jewel21
"Yeah, Maurice? It's Mikey. Call me back okay, it's really important. As fast as you can, bye." Those words keep on replaying themselves over and over again in my head until I want to grab the lamp on the bedside table next to me and bash it against the wall.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
When I first heard that message earlier on this evening, the first thought that entered my mind was great now what, instinctively knowing that something was wrong. I just remember thinking great another headache, another fuckin' problem to have to deal with on top of all the other ones I've had to deal with as of late. Christ doesn't it ever end? I grumbled as I picked up the receiver and called my younger brother.
"Yeah, Mo its dad, man." Mikey said as soon as he heard my voice. "He's in the hospital. He called me tonight complaining of chest pains and I went over there and called an ambulance. Maurice the first words out of his mouth were to call you."
I sit for a second, Mikey's words taking a minute to register as a million thoughts race through my mind one of which is finally, could it be possible? Could I be so lucky, will the bastard finally die and leave us in peace? "So what the hell do you want me to do?" I say instead, my voice sounding harsh and cold even to my own ears. I can here Mikey pause, shocked by my response.
"Maurice," He says again, "He's in the hospital."
Like that's going to make me suddenly give a damn, to suddenly change my feelings about the man who ruined not only my life but the lives of everyone he's ever come into contact with - everyone he's ever touched. I'm silent, trying to think of something to say but Mikey beats me to it.
"Mo, man he's our father. I mean I hate him too at times but I mean come on... at times like these..." He trails off, apparently unable to finish the thought. Meanwhile, I'm sitting here thinking about how the man was never a father to me, how he never knew the meaning of the word. Hell, Uncle Richie and Grandpa Boscorelli were more fathers to me than mine ever was.
"So what?" I find myself asking, breaking away from my thoughts. "All of a sudden I'm just supposed to fuckin' love him, huh, Mikey? What, I'm just supposed to suddenly forget all of the bullshit that jagoff has put this family through because he 'might' be dying? Hey here's a thought Mikey." I say gathering steam as I go, "Here's a thought, why don't we all run down to the hospital and go visit him, huh Mike? Yeah. Yeah we can get a big bouquet of flowers and a bunch of helium balloons with the words 'To the best daddy in the whole world' stamped across them." I say, my voice filled with bitterness and hate at the man who caused me so much pain growing up.
"Maurice," Mikey says softly cutting off my tirade and even through the crappy phone connection I can still hear the disbelief in his voice, "Look, I know you don't like him okay, but come on in times like these-" He tries again before I cut him off.
"So what huh, Mike? What are you trying to say? That it's okay to hate and resent the man ninety-nine fuckin' percent of the time but as soon as he experiences a chest pain we're just supposed to forgive him? I'm just supposed to forgive him?!" I ask incredulously. "Sorry Michael, but I don't work like that. Unlike the rest of this god forsaken family I am not a fuckin' hypocrite."
"Maurice, he's a human being." My brother says quietly over the phone.
"Really?" I ask my voice full of disbelief, "Define human."
I can hear him take a deep breathe and pause trying to find some way to reach me, to make me see his point of view but I know it's pointless because I refuse to care about that piece of trash. I cut him out of my life a long time ago and it was the best decision I have ever made. Sure, at times it's made me sad, at times I've wondered how my life would be different if my father and I were still on speaking terms but I know it's for the best. I mean did I ask to be estranged from him? Not really. I'm not even sure how it happened ...
See, I would have loved to have a caring father growing up. Someone to idol and aspire to be like someday but unfortunately all I got was a loser. An eternal fuckup who wasn't happy just destroying his own life, no, he had to make sure to destroy the lives of everyone else in the process as well. If it's one thing I've learned growing up, it's that you can't always get what you fucking want in life, so deal. And, I know that if the bastard does actually die, I won't be mourning him in the least but I'll probably end up mourning the father I never had. The father who was never there to show me how to play catch or shave or all of the other things a father is supposed to teach his son. That's who I'll mourn, not my father.
The silence on the phone is deafening. I can almost see my brother's expression on the other end of the line, trying desperately to get me to understand his point of view. Sorry little brother but it's never going to happen. Before he can get another word in however, I beat him to it.
"Okay, let me know if you hear any news." I say, my voice expressionless - stoic.
"Mau -"
"Let me know if you hear anything." I repeat. A moment later I hear the dial tone as the line is disconnected. I place the receiver on its cradle as my thoughts go over what my brother has just told me. Wanna know the funny part? Just earlier this evening, I was sitting in the squad car with Faith having supper and I was wondering what it would be like if my father ever died. I've often wondered what my reaction would be to the news. Would I care? Cry? Rejoice? Would I even bother going to the funeral? Hell, maybe I would just to be sure that he was actually dead. And, although part of me thinks I'm being a bastard, another part of me just fails to care. Because, I vowed to myself a long time ago that I would never let that man affect me ever again. I will not shed another tear or waste another thought on him for as long as I live. I've already wasted too many tears and I will not, I will absolutely not, let that man have that kind of control and power over me ever again. I refuse to.
As I harden my resolve, I take a deep breath and stare at the phone, dreading what I have to do next because, although divorced, Ma would still want to know. As much as that man fucked us over she, for some reason that is beyond my comprehension, has always harbored feelings for him. I could never figure it out, how could someone hate someone so much half of the time and love him the next. It's just too fucked up to understand, even for me.
I can just hear the conversation in my head. I can picture her, practically see her concern for him dripping from her voice and it baffles me. Knowing ma, she'd make me feel guilty for not caring. She'd say something along the lines of how he's always loved me and how I should forgive him for what he's done, to put on my rose-colored sunglasses like the rest of this fuckin' messed up family. I stare at the phone one last time wondering if I really need to be doing this and, as much as I don't want to, I know I have to. Because, if I don't and dad actually did croak tonight, ma would never let me forget it for the rest of my life. And, with that last thought, I reach for the phone.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Its night now and I lie in bed wide-awake. The phone still hasn't rung and a part of me doesn't know if when it does do I want to hear that he's dead or alive. And, although part of me can't help feeling guilty for not being concerned about him, the other part of me just can't seem to care.
End