Chapter 3: The Day His Father Died
A/N: This is taking me so long! I don't mean it to take so long…it just does. Thanks to the people who reviewed, keep doing that. To those who didn't review, please review! I'm going to put review responses on my livejournal. My penname's P3charmer, so check it out. Enjoy!
It was the hottest day ever. It was all over the radio; record breaking temperatures, heat wave. Nine year old Gil Grissom didn't like the heat. He spent most of his time sitting beside the large rotating fan, reading his encyclopedia.
On Saturday morning, he varied his routine slightly. Saturday was the one day set apart for television. He loved all the cartoons they showed on Saturday morning. He would sit in front of the television for hours, mesmerized by the colorful moving pictures. Gil woke up at 6:00 a.m. that Saturday morning, just as he did every Saturday.
"Gil!" called Mrs. Grissom from the kitchen. It was nine o'clock, and Gil's mother and father were already awake.
Marybeth Grissom came out of the kitchen, holding a large tray laid with eggs, toast, and juice. She placed the breakfast tray in front of her son and tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. She began to move her hands rapidly. Gil watched her with close attention.
"I've made you breakfast. I expect that you eat it", Mrs. Grissom signed. Over the past few years, Marybeth Grissom had been gradually loosing her hearing. It had been subtle at first. Now she was almost completely deaf. She had learned how to sign, and to read lips. She had taught her husband and son. Sometimes she was afraid it wasn't enough.
Gil eyed the food, and frowned. This extreme heat had taken away all of his appetite. "I'm not hungry", she signed to his mother. She sighed, and looked at her son sternly.
"At least eat the toast", Mrs. Grissom insisted with her hands. Gil shrugged, and took the toast off of the plate. Marybeth sighed and took the rest of the tray back to the kitchen. Little Gil was so difficult sometimes.
Gil munched at the toast. He was so hot. Gil was hotter than he had ever been in his life. Sweat was causing his t-shirt to stick to him. He inched closer to the fan. That was only slightly better. He was distracted from the heat because his favourite show, The Jetsons was on. He inched closer to the TV as he munched on his toast.
The show was over, which meant that it was now 9:30. Gil looked towards the front door. His dad would be finished working in the garden any minute now. Then, his daddy promised they could eat ice cream without telling mom. Then they would eat ice cubes and watch cartoons together. Since the beginning of the heat wave, that's what he had been doing with his father.
Finally, after the next show, which was the Flintstones, his father came stumbling through the door. He looked different then he usually did. Mr. Grissom was sweating profusely. His breathing was labored as if he had just run a marathon.
"What's wrong honey?" Mrs. Grissom asked. Gil gaped at her. She usually preferred signing to speaking since she had gone deaf.
"Tired", Fredrick said with a sigh. He sank into their worn sofa, looking utterly exhausted. Gil leapt off of the sofa. He surveyed his father with concern. His dad was sweating too much, even for this heat. Gil could see the pain in his eyes, although his expression hid it well.
It reminded Gil of the time he had had the flu. He had felt so sick. Everything had hurt him. His father sure looked like that now.
"I'll go get us something to drink", Marybeth signed quickly. She retreated to the kitchen. She searched for some ice, which was the only way to make any drink even moderately cold.
Left alone with his father, Gil tried his best to concentrate on the television. He couldn't let go of his horrible fear for his father. Gil looked over at the couch. His father was still there, with his eyes half open. Gil couldn't see how he could be cold, but his father was shivering.
Gil looked back at the cartoons, but turned to his father once again. His fathers face was bright red, and he had stopped sweating. He tried to get up, but then swayed a little, and fell back onto the couch. There was something seriously wrong with his father. Gil watched as his father closed his eyes, and his body went limp.
Gil knew that something was wrong. He couldn't hear his father's breathing, which had been quite loud before. Instead of the stop sign red his father's face had been minutes ago, it was now the scariest of grayish-blues. "Mom!" Gil yelled in a panic.
It took him a moment to remember that she wouldn't be able to hear him. So he got up and ran to the kitchen. There was his mother, carrying two large glasses with equal parts ice and lemonade. "Can you help me with these glasses?" his mother signed with one hand while balancing the glasses in the other.
For the first time in his life, Gil ignored his mother. It was an emergency after all. "We need to help dad!" Gil signed frantically. His mother did not hesitate. Still holding the glasses, she ran into the living room. There was his father, lying immobile on the sofa. His skin was still blue-gray in color, and his eyes were closed.
When Marybeth saw her husband, her face went chalk white. She let go of the glasses she was holding. They fell to the floor and shattered into a million pieces. She didn't seem to care. "No", she whispered. There were already the beginnings of tears in her eyes. She sank down onto the carpet, chocking back violet sobs.
"Mommy", Gil said softly. His voice was shaking with fear. He had never seen his mother cry like this before. He put his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, her brown eyes tinged red, and full of tears. "Why are you crying?" He asked and signed innocently. This only made his mother cry harder.
He looked at his father on the couch. His father still hadn't moved, although his mother had been crying loudly. Gil ran to his father's side, shaking him, trying to get him to wake. He wouldn't wake up. He wouldn't even move. Gil realized that he wasn't even breathing.
"Daddy!" Gil cried, "Daddy! Please wake up! You have to wake up! Mommy's crying! We love you! You just have to wake up!" His mother had shakily gotten up. She put what was supposed to be a comforting hand on Gil's shoulder. Her hand was trembling.
Gil stared though the tears at his father's prone body. Everything seemed to have lost all meaning. Everything except the fact that his father wasn't waking up. What if he never woke up? His father was a part of him. He would be destroyed if his father wasn't there anymore.
"Mommy, why isn't daddy waking up?" Gil asked, looking directly at his mother. She did not answer, although Gil knew that she had read his lips. She merely continued to cry, as the grip on his shoulder tightened.
No one ever told Gil Grissom why his father wasn't waking up…
TBC…