Chapter Four

"I'm beginning to think you actually can sit next to me forever and not say a word," says my dad. We're sitting on the windowsill and watching the cars go by.

"What's there to say. You've already made up your mind about it, and you're right, and your way is always the right way, so why would I even bother?"

I'm so mad at him right now. I mean, I'm doing all I can do help him out, and he just keeps acting like it isn't really happening. Well, it is! This is blinding reality here! And he just keeps acting like it's another battle he's as good as won. Well maybe he could go at it that way under different circumstances, but the fact of the matter is that his health is terrible. It's like going into battle with a whole bunch of tired and wounded soldiers. Sometimes you just can't make them do what you want.

Of course, dad always was able to rally a whole bunch of tired and wounded soldiers into doing whatever he wanted them to do, so maybe that has something to do with it.

"I do listen, son," my dad says quietly. "But I just don't see the point of going to hospital with the attitude that this is probably going to be the death of me. I would rather give this everything I have, and if I resign myself to my fate that isn't going to happen."

I look at him. I guess we're doing our best to understand each other and coming up short.
"Sorry," I say.

"There's nothing to apologize for," says my dad gently. "You're tired, you're worn out, you're worrying far more than is good for you, and on top of all that you have to try and handle me. So there's plenty of reason for you to be a bit short at the moment."

"Yeah," I say, and like I have to do sometimes, I remind myself that my dad is trying and he does care, but he does things in such a different way from me that sometimes it feels like I'm dragging him along behind me.

"Did I embarrass you, son, when I- when I had to-"

"No," I assure him. "No, you just scared the wits out of me."

He sighs. "Dear me, I seem to be mucking everything up lately."

"Well, it's okay dad, you've got a good excuse."

He looks at me strangely. "And what would that be?"

"You're old."

He laughs, but it's ruined by another fit of coughing. After he rubs his face a little.

"What's up?"

"Do I want to tell you?"

"Of course you do."

"This is wreaking havoc on my throat," my dad admits. "It's going to get so that I won't want to cough at all."

"Well you have to," I say. "Later on you have to."

"I know that," he says. "I've seen it before."

He looks at me.

"I've seen people die of it before."

Suddenly I'm going to cry. He does know exactly what's what, and he's dealing with it the only way he can. I shouldn't have tried to make him do it like I would. He can't. He's not like me.

"Dad, if I lose you, I-I'll have lost everything."

He just looks at me and nods.

I rub my eyes a little. I don't want to cry in front of him. I don't want to make him feel bad. But then he reaches over and hugs me, hard, and I can't not cry, and I hug him back so tight I almost can't feel my arms. I can feel him trying not to cough, can hear the strangled breaths working up through his body, but I need to trust that he knows how much he can take. When I think I'm okay I let go and he holds on an extra second or two before turning away to cough violently into his handkerchief. I hadn't noticed until now how tired he is. He's starting to shake and coughing requires more effort.

He turns back to face me.

"I hope that was at least a little beneficial to you," he says. "My son, I am not incapacitated. I can still help you if you need something. Don't shut me out. Don't hide things from me so soon. You don't need to."

"Alright," I tell him. "But you have to trade."

"Trade what?"

"You have to stop hiding things from me. You have to stop pretending you're okay. You're not. You're worse off than you're allowing me to see. Dad, I know you're strong, okay? But I want you to stop acting now. You don't have to. I want to know how you're really feeling. I can't help you if you're pretending."

He looks at me and nods.

"All right," he says. "We'll make the trade then."

"Good," I say. "Don't back out on me now."

"Heavens no," says my dad. "It means I can rest now."

"Huh?"

"I'm exhausted," he says. "I just didn't want to go to sleep and leave you here by yourself. I knew you were very upset but I didn't know what you wanted me to do about it."

"You did fine," I said. "You want to go to bed?"

"Please," says my dad. "I haven't been so tired in so long."

He needs a bit of help getting across the room. He's so tired he can't walk straight. I pull down the sheets for him and he sits down slowly, then lies on his side, eye already closed. I push his shoulder.

"Dad, you have to lie on your back," I tell him. "It'll be easier for you to breathe."

For a minute I don't think he's heard me. It's possible that he's already asleep. But then he shifts slowly onto his back and turns his head to the left. I cover him with the sheet.

"I'll be here if you need anything," I tell him.

"No."

"What?"

"Go home, Miles. Go eat something, get some rest, then come back. If you must. Don't centre everything around me just because I'm in hospital."

"I will not leave you here by yourself, dad. I'd rather worry about you here than at home."

"Go take care of yourself and then come back."

"Okay."

He looks at me through a half-closed eyelid. I don't think he expected me to agree with him so fast, but I can see he's really exhausted and I'd rather just do it and get it over with rather than stand here and argue why I shouldn't.

"Thank you," he says, not really awake.

I stand in the doorway for a minute. I've never seen him so tired.

I know I said I wanted to know how he was feeling. All of it, with none of it hidden or left out. But I'm still scared to see him like this, admitting to me that he can't even handle sitting by a window. He's been out of bed for two hours and already the day has worn him out. I'm so afraid of leaving him alone. I know it's silly, he's in a hospital and all, but I feel like I'm the only one who can really care for him, the only one who has an inkling of what's going on in his head.

Then I think of how much better mom would have done if she were here. He's got to be really missing her right now. She always knew how to handle him. She did understand him. She could make him do anything, because she always knew what to say.

Oh mom, why didn't you make it? I need you now more than ever. Dad needs you now.

I wish she could come back to take care of him, and then leave again. She'd do a better job than I ever would. I wouldn't even go near when she was there. I would stay away while she made it better. I would leave her for him. I would have to bother Sonic a lot more, but-

When I do that to myself, when I have to remember that Sonic is all but dead to me now, it feels like someone took a knife that's just barely sharp enough to cut and thrust it straight at my heart.

I wrench my mind off Sonic and look at that bed in the middle of the room.

"I love you dad," I say, even though I know he can't hear, and I run off. I want to be with my dad and the sooner I do what he asked, the sooner I can come back.