The Art of Being a F*ck Up - Chapter 26: Chapter 26

My mind still swims with doubt when I start on the way to the hospital to visit Bill. Even though I'm sure Lilah would've gladly taken me, she would've had a million questions with that keen perception of hers, and I'm too tired to play that game. Instead I take the bus, and while it's not that long of a ride it at least provides a short break where I can collect my thoughts the best I can so I can put away this thing with Maddy, and the thing with Jonah. It's still not lost on me that he hasn't texted back, whereas Maddy graciously volunteered her time to come along for support. Either way those thoughts aren't going to help me now, so I put them away too when I arrive.
I've never really liked hospitals, they're sterile and smell like antiseptic and I have too many bad memories of being here when I was a kid. My dad would always coach me on what to say, how to hide the worst bruises, but it didn't matter, they always had questions I never could quite figure out how to answer. Like, I remember the time he brought me in for a broken arm and I told them I got it falling out of a tree—even though there weren't any trees near our apartment. They didn't buy it, I could tell, maybe because it was just one in a long line of lies I'd told them about my constant injuries, but it was never enough for them to do anything. Nobody ever does.
I check in at the front desk to find out where Bill's at, then take the elevator to the correct floor. I'm still struggling with what I'll say to him, or what he'll say to me, but I'm reminded that he's not the only one I have to worry about when I approach the room to spot my dad standing out in the hallway. Slouched against the wall with his head in his hand, I feel something totally inappropriate when I see an expression written across his face that I've never seen on him before in my entire life. Sadness. What could drive a man as cold and callous as him to any kind of misery? The sight would maybe be enough to break my heart like he did my arm, but I know better.
All that agony pales and drains away when he gets the sense that someone might be watching, and when he looks at me the pain that had been so clear on his face twists to become a hateful scowl. I stand completely still, helpless almost, holding my breath in anticipation for whatever cruel and spiteful thing he's thought of to say. Yet he can't get it out, it won't come to him, so after it occurs to him that I'm not just going to disappear he shakes his head and storms off down the hall.
Again there's a stupid thought that flits through my mind about going after him, but I dismiss it in the same breath when I finally exhale, taking a few steps closer to the room. The door is just barely cracked open, but I give it a small push, glancing inside to find my uncle sitting quietly in the bed, staring up at the silent TV on the wall. He doesn't seem to notice the intrusion, and while seeing him there in that hideous gown makes my skin crawl every bit as much as being here, I still go farther in to make myself known.
"Brent, you came. Come take a seat, kid." His eyes widen uncharacteristically as he finally notices me and switches off the TV. He's like me, I bet he's hated every minute he's been forced to stay here, so it's probably a relief to see something—anything—from outside.
"Hey, Bill. They treating you okay? I hope the food doesn't suck as bad as the last time I was here." I crack a joke, hoping to lighten the glum mood that hangs in this room like a dense fog. It's not actually that much of a joke though, this is where I stayed after I busted my knee and I'm suddenly swamped with even more bad memories that I don't want. Regardless, I give all my attention to my uncle as I take the chair beside the bed.
"They have me on this low sodium kick, I told them that was the least of my worries. Next time you come would it kill you to bring me a burger or something?" If I didn't know any better I might think he's actually joking back, but I get the distinct feeling he wouldn't say no if I smuggled something in under my shirt.
"Well let's just hope there won't be a next time." I try to keep it going, but my humor isn't met with the reaction I'd been expecting. Bill just stares at me, still as wide-eyed as before while my skin goes back to crawling. Something doesn't feel right. "How long are they keeping you for anyway?"
"They say I can go home tomorrow, but who knows."
"That's it? Geez, when you asked me to come visit I thought it was going to be longer than that." My only hope is that I can make some of this easier for him if I approach it lightly, but no matter what I say it only seems to be making it worse. The vein in his neck pops out and he won't stop looking at me, and it finally smacks me in the face that he's got something he wants to say. More than that, he needs to say it, but that same stubborn pride is in the way and that makes my skin more than just crawl. It scares me. "What's wrong?"
"I've got something I have to tell you, kid." His mouth opens to form the thought but there's only the quiet. He tries to clear his throat, a pathetic and weak sound, but nothing can make it any better when he works up to it in a rushed murmur. "I should've said something sooner but you know doctors, always sticking you with this and that and thinking they can fix everything. After all that, turns out they can't."
"Said something about what?" It's obvious, and I'm not so stupid that I can't read between the lines, but I refuse to believe it. This is the day I had been expecting—this is the change—but how can that be? "No, you said you would fight."
"I did—I am—but that's not going to stop what's coming. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"You told me I didn't have to worry. You told me is wasn't serious." Why did I let myself be blind? Was it really that much easier to believe the lie, even when I knew that's what it was? There's no running from it now, not here in this hospital room seeing him hooked to all those wires. But it's still been such a secret from the start that I can't make myself accept it, it just pisses me off. "And I believed you. Please, just this once, can't you just be honest with me for once in your life?"
"I'm dying, Brent." Time stops. The world doesn't spin and I don't breathe, and I stay trapped in the exact moment he utters the truth, giving me exactly what I asked for. Yet I still can't accept it. How can he be dying if I didn't know? A terrifying sense of numbness spreads through me until I can't even feel my hands, but I think they're shaking, and I still can't breathe and he's not even finished, "not today, or tomorrow. But soon, I don't have a lot of time."
"How much time?" My response is automatic, once I've said it I'm not sure if it even came out of my mouth or if it was all in my head.
"It doesn't matter." Bill says softly, with more gentility than I thought him capable of. I'm not comforted, instead I feel heat where I had only been numb when a comforting anger takes hold. All this time he's been keeping his secrets, leading me to think things were okay and everything would be fine when in reality it was only getting so much worse. If he had told me the truth then maybe I could've been ready, or made my peace, but he didn't give me a goddamn thing.
"The fuck it doesn't, Bill!" Being mad does nothing to benefit either of us, but I can't stop it when I lash out, yelling at the withered and defeated man on the bed who I had respected so much growing up.
"What good would that do you? Huh? There isn't any use in putting a clock on it, that's not how I want to go out. If you want to take off I won't stop you, or you can stay and keep me company but that's the last I want to hear about it." He asserts himself louder, proof that even when being dragged to the grave he wont go out with a whimper. Immediately after he curses to himself, "this isn't how I wanted it to go either, I just didn't want you to have to worry about any of this. Alright?"
There's so much anger in me that I think I might cry, but I've been doing that too much lately and I know I have to be a man about this. Be strong, like Bill. While I can't know how long I'll have to prepare for this end I can at least be sure I'd only regret walking out that door right now. I've never said it to him, but he's always had more than my respect—I love him, he's my family, my blood. Now's my chance to make peace with it I guess, and I somehow have to force myself to be pissed with him, but to also just be here for him too.
So I let it go, and I don't push it. I bury it down like every other ugly thing and just sit with him in a comfortable kind of quiet, giving him the support he would be too proud to ever ask for. We all keep secrets, don't we? And I get why we do, it's no different than Maddy, but I'm starting to wonder if the pain of the truth can really be any worse than the pain of the lie—no matter how beautiful or benign it might be. Not if it's going to hurt either way. Maybe that makes Devin right, maybe I should come clean about the things that scare me, hurt me, eat me up inside.
After a long while I finally say goodbye to my uncle and leave him to his rest. Being so tough all the time has it's cost, so once I'm far enough down the hall where he couldn't possibly see or hear, I press my back to the wall beside the elevator, taking a much needed break to catch up with my feelings.
"What are you still doing here?" My dad steps out of the adjacent waiting room, the flimsy cup in his hand bending dangerously as he squeezes it tightly.
"Nothing, I'm leaving, don't worry." I'm aware of how much I must look like him, leaned up against this wall with my head in my hands, the sadness on my face too fresh to hide. Though I doubt he'd ever show any empathy anyway, I'm almost positive he's holding a grudge from our last encounter. In fact, if we weren't right here in front of so many witnesses I suspect he'd have a few frustrations he'd love to take out on me. I don't want that, not now, not ever, so I turn my back and press the call button for the elevator.
"Run on home then, like the coward you are." He says. It's not enough that I give him what he wants, he keeps at it because he needs something to hurt. I know that all too well about him, and so for this one time, because I know how that feels, I don't hold it against him.
"Let's not do this." I look at him and his big talk, studying his chin to see if there's any trace of a bruise where Jason had punched him. I don't see one, but it must be he didn't hit him as hard as my dad used to hit me. "I only came because Bill wanted me to."
"You think he wanted that? Wake up, Brent, even you're smarter than that. He only told you because he had to, why do you think he didn't say anything sooner? He don't want nothing more to do with you than I do." There aren't any opportunities to use his fist, so instead my dad tries a different kind of torment.
"He didn't want me to worry." Right?
"Wow, I really did raise a goddamn retard." He laughs cruelly as the elevator dings and opens. "Don't come back here again. I offered you a choice and you made it, so stick to that new family of yours and quit acting like what's happening here has anything to do with you anymore."
"What choice did you give me? If you wanted to make things right then maybe you should've tried actually fucking listening to what I've been telling you—like Jonah's family. At least they care."
"How can you be so stupid? They feel sorry for you! That's all. You're some trashy kid they took pity on, and I bet they can't wait to be rid of you. That little boyfriend of yours? What the hell can you give him? You're nothing but a washed up piece of shit with no future."
"Jonah loves me." Right?
"Jonah tolerates you, just like Bill, the second someone better comes along you're old news. Seriously, what good are you to anybody? Nobody wants you, you're a waste of fucking space. You're pathetic." There's a physical change in him when he succeeds at sinking his teeth in, when he passes to me all those bad things he's feeling. His words cut like knives the same way they always do, but I only stand there like a cowering child because I don't want him to come at me in front of all these people, a few of which have started to gawk.
"And what does that make you?" It comes out all wrong, like a whisper instead of a roar, but I'm back to being that shy and troubled child as I stand here under his glare, hoping no one sees the truth. I'm supposed to be a beast—a fucking animal—so I make myself more sure with a voice that lacks any confidence. "And maybe you don't want me here, but if Bill asks me to visit then I will."
"Figures, you never could take a hint to save your life." My dad steps forward and I flinch when he shoves my shoulder forcefully, causing me to stumble back into the elevator. He grabs the door before it can close, "now go home, and let me deal with me and mine."
He moves away and the door closes, banishing me to the harsh, cold silence of the elevator. I shouldn't be surprised, not when he's always loved being my reason to hurt, and not when I know how desperately he needed to pass on that ugliness. But I already have so much of my own and it's just more I have to bury down, feeling again that same urge like I might cry. I can't, no more, I have to be stronger now than I've ever been before—for Bill, to spite him, and to prove that everything he said is a lie, even if sometimes, when nobody else is around, I still have my doubts.