THREE
* * *
He went out later, got a quick dinner at a hamburger place just up the street from the hotel. It was hard, hard to keep thinking about all this, about Dad, about Mom, about Sid and about Roxanne. But they were all there, all in there, banging around in his head, and he couldn't get them to go away.
Dad. My way or no way, boy. If you aren't like me, you're nothing. If you don't make first string it's because you're lazy. If your grades slip it's because you're stupid. You're going to work a job this summer, boy, because I did when I was your age, by God, and it made me a man. And you're going to be in the business, and I'm going to work you harder than any of the employees, because hard work is what makes a man, and if my sons aren't men then they're nothing.
Mom. He's your father. You boys heed him. He knows best. You heed him, you hear? He loves you and he wants what's best for you. He knows what's best for all of us. I know you're proud because you got that A in art class, and I'm proud of you too, because you're my wonderful, smart, talented boy. But you heed your father, you hear?
Sid. I'm gonna get out, you know? I'm gonna get out, like I always say. I hate that bastard. I wish he was dead. I do. Just the open road, you know, man? You and me and a pair of Harleys, and the open road and maybe some chicks and some beer and no worries. God, I gotta drop the booze, man. I gotta drop the dope. 'Cause it's killing me, you know. I'm dead all the time inside. I need help, man. You know what it's like to detox in a jail cell? I ain't gonna live like this anymore.
Roxanne. Do you love me, Chandler? You want to date with the intention of marriage; does that mean you love me? Because I think I may love you. I don't know, because I've never felt this way before, but I think I may be falling in love with you and I need to know that whatever it is with your father, that you can still love me despite it.
Do you?
#
The sun came around the thick hotel curtains and awoke him in time. He had left the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door and now was glad he did. It had been hard to sleep last night and it was late now, almost noon. He lay still for some time, his forearm over his eyes, listening to his own breathing.
Breathing.
Air. Blood is nothing without air. They talk about Christ's blood, but not his air. Am I now breathing the same air he did?
Is Dad?
Lung cancer.
How many times have I wished him dead, and now I'm getting what I wanted?
Thanks, God. Thanks for nothing.
In time Chandler threw back the blankets and rose.
#
The hospital wasn't far away. Maybe ten minutes by car. He parked in a public lot nearby, walked the rest of the way. It was a big building, modern architecture, lined with windows you couldn't quite see into from the ground, like those who were within needed to be sheltered from sight lest they infect those outside. The entrance was large and as Chandler stepped through it he remembered another time, when he had still been in seminary, when Harris had asked him to come along for a visit to a dying woman.
"It's good experience, Hampton. If you're going to do this line of work, you should get used to it."
He had said nothing when they arrived, only watched as Harris ministered to the dying woman, as the two prayed together, and afterward he had been ashamed that he hadn't been able to bring himself to speak to her.
Now he walked in alone.
An admissions desk, a pretty receptionist.
"May I help you?"
"I'm looking for Jack Hampton, please."
She checked her computer. "S-417. That's the south wing, fourth floor."
"Thanks."
He stepped that way, following her directions. He wondered about flowers; were flowers appropriate for a dying old asshole who thinks they're just for girls anyway?
Maybe I should get some for Mom. Just a card for Dad.
Dear Dad. Sorry you're dying. Or maybe not so sorry, because you messed up my life.
Chandler was outside the gift shop, not moving.
A voice intruded.
"Chandler? Chandler Hampton? Is that you?"
* * *
He went out later, got a quick dinner at a hamburger place just up the street from the hotel. It was hard, hard to keep thinking about all this, about Dad, about Mom, about Sid and about Roxanne. But they were all there, all in there, banging around in his head, and he couldn't get them to go away.
Dad. My way or no way, boy. If you aren't like me, you're nothing. If you don't make first string it's because you're lazy. If your grades slip it's because you're stupid. You're going to work a job this summer, boy, because I did when I was your age, by God, and it made me a man. And you're going to be in the business, and I'm going to work you harder than any of the employees, because hard work is what makes a man, and if my sons aren't men then they're nothing.
Mom. He's your father. You boys heed him. He knows best. You heed him, you hear? He loves you and he wants what's best for you. He knows what's best for all of us. I know you're proud because you got that A in art class, and I'm proud of you too, because you're my wonderful, smart, talented boy. But you heed your father, you hear?
Sid. I'm gonna get out, you know? I'm gonna get out, like I always say. I hate that bastard. I wish he was dead. I do. Just the open road, you know, man? You and me and a pair of Harleys, and the open road and maybe some chicks and some beer and no worries. God, I gotta drop the booze, man. I gotta drop the dope. 'Cause it's killing me, you know. I'm dead all the time inside. I need help, man. You know what it's like to detox in a jail cell? I ain't gonna live like this anymore.
Roxanne. Do you love me, Chandler? You want to date with the intention of marriage; does that mean you love me? Because I think I may love you. I don't know, because I've never felt this way before, but I think I may be falling in love with you and I need to know that whatever it is with your father, that you can still love me despite it.
Do you?
#
The sun came around the thick hotel curtains and awoke him in time. He had left the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door and now was glad he did. It had been hard to sleep last night and it was late now, almost noon. He lay still for some time, his forearm over his eyes, listening to his own breathing.
Breathing.
Air. Blood is nothing without air. They talk about Christ's blood, but not his air. Am I now breathing the same air he did?
Is Dad?
Lung cancer.
How many times have I wished him dead, and now I'm getting what I wanted?
Thanks, God. Thanks for nothing.
In time Chandler threw back the blankets and rose.
#
The hospital wasn't far away. Maybe ten minutes by car. He parked in a public lot nearby, walked the rest of the way. It was a big building, modern architecture, lined with windows you couldn't quite see into from the ground, like those who were within needed to be sheltered from sight lest they infect those outside. The entrance was large and as Chandler stepped through it he remembered another time, when he had still been in seminary, when Harris had asked him to come along for a visit to a dying woman.
"It's good experience, Hampton. If you're going to do this line of work, you should get used to it."
He had said nothing when they arrived, only watched as Harris ministered to the dying woman, as the two prayed together, and afterward he had been ashamed that he hadn't been able to bring himself to speak to her.
Now he walked in alone.
An admissions desk, a pretty receptionist.
"May I help you?"
"I'm looking for Jack Hampton, please."
She checked her computer. "S-417. That's the south wing, fourth floor."
"Thanks."
He stepped that way, following her directions. He wondered about flowers; were flowers appropriate for a dying old asshole who thinks they're just for girls anyway?
Maybe I should get some for Mom. Just a card for Dad.
Dear Dad. Sorry you're dying. Or maybe not so sorry, because you messed up my life.
Chandler was outside the gift shop, not moving.
A voice intruded.
"Chandler? Chandler Hampton? Is that you?"