The Art of Being a F*ck Up - Chapter 38: Chapter 38

I've never actually seen anyone die. Like, I've seen dead people at funerals and stuff, but watching it happen is something so totally different. It's surreal. Bill lays completely still in the hospital bed—out of place in this home—glossy eyes directed towards a TV that doesn't even have any sound. I can't quite see his chest moving, and I'd be scared he wasn't getting enough oxygen, except he has one of those tube things in his nose. He hasn't moved in nearly two hours either, but when he does he grimaces in pain. One of the workers came in not too long ago to give him something that'll make the rest of his time here just a bit easier.
We're told he won't make it through another night, that he could even go in the next few hours, it's nothing but a waiting game now. I've cried about it, and said all my goodbyes, so all I can do is sit here with him and keep him company until the end arrives. My dad's here too, somewhere, but things have deteriorated so much that we're sort of taking turns sitting with my uncle. Today is a huge test to my courage, my heart weighs so incredibly heavy to know how much I'm about to lose all at once.
I feel a little guilty stealing glances at my phone, still half expecting a call or a text or something from Jonah before he gets on that plane, but time's running out for that too. I'm not even sure what that text might look like when we already hashed it all out last night, but I can't stop myself from being stupidly hopeful. With a quiet sigh I settle back into my chair, putting my phone away.
"Got somewhere to be?" Bill speaks suddenly, a startling noise despite how decrepit his voice sounds. For a moment I sit there stunned, not comprehending what he means, but then he turns his head my way. "You've been staring at that damn screen all day, if I'm not dying fast enough just tell me."
"Don't joke like that, it's not funny." Obviously I hadn't been as covert as I thought, and I can appreciate that poking fun at his prognosis must make it seem less scary, but it's not a joke to me.
"It's a little funny," he tries to smile, but he can't find the strength. Instead he goes back to being quiet, waiting just long enough that I start to believe my cover is safe before he speaks again. "Is it that guy friend of yours, Jonah?"
"Something like that," I admit, filled with too much adoration to lie to a dying man. He's got plenty of his own to worry about, but when I fail to give him any more of the story he only continues to stare at me until I explain. "He's flying out to New York today, he plans to live over there for a while. Or for good, I don't know."
"That's rough, I'm sorry, kid." Maybe he just likes having something other than the thought of his death to keep him occupied, but Bill seems to think about it seriously for a minute or two before he goes back to looking at the silent TV. "You know what I really think about now that I'm about to die? Anna."
"Your first wife?"
"Yeah," another smile, this one sly, tries to creep across his lips, "she had a set on her, boy I could tell you. She was a real good artist too—she painted—she was always working on something new whenever I'd come home from work. Never finished anything the whole time we were married though, and right up towards the end there she just gave up altogether. It's a shame."
"Well, you never know, maybe she's still painting wherever she is." I haven't heard a lot of stories about Bill's past, mostly because of how guarded he is and how little he talks about it. Her picture hangs up in his office next to mine though, and hearing about it now feels odd, like getting this glimpse into his history.
"She's dead, she passed on a few years back." Bill stops for a long moment, and I finally start to realize how much like me he really is. I think maybe he's the kind of person capable of profound love too, that maybe the reason he doesn't talk a lot about himself or his past is because he feels it so deeply, and he's not allowed to let that show—not coming from where we come from. But I'm not his parents, and I'm not my dad, so he doesn't have to be so hard with me. He goes on, "her sister sent me a few of the unfinished paintings she'd started when we were married."
"Man, that had to suck."
"You're not kidding. I know we said no regrets, but sometimes I think that if maybe I'd shown even a little interest in what she was doing then she wouldn't have gave up. On painting or on me. She was the love of my life and I was too young and stupid to appreciate what I had until she'd walked out. And she still loved me, even after the divorce, but I was too much of a damn fool to do anything about it." It can't be easy to talk about and he sighs, looking over again.
"That's not me and Jonah, Bill." While I appreciate his honesty and the trust that he's obviously placed in me, it's painfully transparent what he's trying to do. Yet this isn't two people in love who just made mistakes because they were dumb, this is betrayal. "It's different."
"How? Do you love him?" My uncle asks direct, demanding an answer until I cave and nod my head solemnly. "Then don't be a fool, it's not too late for you—if you love him, go get him."
"I can't." This isn't easy for me either, I would love nothing more than to go to Jonah, but this is how it has to be. "I won't leave you, not like this. Even if I did, this whole thing with him started because I tried to get in his way. I can't do that him again, I can't ask him to stay."
"You idiot!" Suddenly Bill's louder than he's been in the past couple hours, and it actually makes me jump a bit. "I'm dead whether you're here or not, and you know what I want? You know what would give me some comfort? Is if instead of sitting there until I'm gone you went out and did what I should've done twenty years ago! You're the closest thing I've ever had to a kid of my own, so I'm telling you, do this for me so I can die in peace knowing that you're happy. Go, you don't got to ask him to stay—tell him you'll wait for him. Tell him you'll go with him if that's what it takes. Say anything, just go."
"No, not now, not like this."
"You're really going to sit there and argue about it? Go, I want you to."
"Are you sure?" I might fight him. I might put everything else aside to stay beside him stubbornly if I thought that was what he really wanted, but looking him in his eyes, as dull and lifeless as they already are, I have no doubt he doesn't want that. Maybe he only wants all the best for me, or maybe he's so proud that he just doesn't want anyone to see him die—or maybe it's both—but either way I stand without a second to lose. Before I leave, so painfully aware that this may well be the last time I ever see him, I lay my hand on his arm. "Thank you, Bill, for everything you've done for me. I mean it. I love you."
"Yeah, you too, Brent." He doesn't look at me, for so many reasons, but he doesn't have to, and after a quiet minute my hand falls away and I step out of the room. The door closes and I take a breath, still so unsure of if I can really do this, but then before I know it I've already taken my phone out of my pocket to call Jonah. While I haven't entirely formulated what I'll say when he answers I'm hoping it'll figure itself out, but my plan is dashed when the call goes straight to voicemail. His phone is off, he hasn't gotten on the plane yet, has he?
I try Lilah next, thinking she might be able to reach out to him on my behalf before he leaves, but she doesn't answer either. The thought that I might already be too late starts to grow too large, but I take another breath and realize what I have to do. It's not enough to call, I have to go there to catch him. My next call is to Devin because I'm sure he'll have my back like always, but whatever grand idea I had of him rushing over here to be my ride proves just as futile when he doesn't pick up either. I would think it was comical, if there was a part of me that didn't already think this is my karma, but this time I'm not willing to let anything stand in the way.
There's still one last card to play, and I head towards the front door while I consider if it's one I really want to use, but I'm caught before I can make the call regardless.
"You leaving?" My dad asks when he steps through the door, back from his smoke break to block my exit. When I see him I can't make heads or tails of how he looks—his eyes are red and puffy, and the way he asks sounds like he's almost hurt by the notion. Almost. "Where are you going?"
"You don't want me to answer that." I don't take my eyes off of him.
"How can you think about anything else right now? Don't family mean anything to you?"
"You said we weren't family," I offer up a reminder, "and you were right. But me and Bill, we're good."
"Fuck you, my brother's laying in there about to die and all you can think about is yourself?" My dad inhales sharply, a dangerous mix of deranged emotion taking him over while he continues to stand in my way of what I want.
"You're upset, I get it, but please move so I can leave." At first it was sad, giving up on there ever being anything besides this contempt between he and I, but now I find that it's not so sad after all. It's a relief, I'm relieved, and all I want in this moment is for him to step aside so I can get to Jonah before he's gone.
"Of all the stunts to pull, you're really going to pull this? If you leave now I'll never fucking forgive you." Apparently death brings out the most brutal honesty in everyone, because, though he's as angry and mean as I would expect, there's also so much unfiltered hurt. It's a new look on him and it's almost enough to get to me, but years of abuse can't be wiped away so easy, no matter how much he begs, "don't do this to me, come on."
"This isn't about you, I'm sorry about Bill, I am, but it's not my job to make you feel better about it. I can't. Maybe it could've been different, you know, before, but we're way passed that now. My whole life you've treated me like shit, and I took it, but I don't need you or your forgiveness." Death has brought out that honesty in me too, and even when it's hard to say, and even when I've been afraid before, I stand my ground. Or maybe it's because I've taken it for long enough that it just doesn't hurt anymore, like there's too much scar tissue built up or something.
"I knew I was right about you, but you tried to make me think different. You want to know what I really think now?" That dangerous mix of emotion continues to stir when he steps forward, using the same old tricks he's always used.
"No, I don't actually, you've already made yourself perfectly clear so how about I tell you what I think instead. I think you're a miserable, old drunk. You're the one who's pathetic, and I think you know it." I say it plainly, without any hint of resentment. "That's why you take it out on me. It's not because I'm gay, or dyslexic, you've always found one excuse after the other but I'm sick of it. I'm done being your punching bag."
"Don't make me knock those fucking teeth in!" My dad grabs my collar like he has too many times before, and pulls back his fist like he has too many times before too. It gets old, doing this with him, but I'm not that same boy I was five years ago and I don't blink. I don't even flinch, and I sure as hell don't back down.
"You want to hit me? Go ahead, you know I can't stop you, but it won't change anything. I'm exactly who I want to be, dad, and you don't have to love me, but you do have to let me go. After everything you've put me through, you at least owe me that." The simple truth feels like a sharp blade when I speak it quietly, and once I do I watch my dad carefully for any sign that he might still hurt me. He wants to, we both know it, but for once, for a reason I may never understand, he releases his hold. Then his bottom lip quivers and he pushes passed me hard, his shoulder smacking hard into mine before he disappears somewhere down the hall.
I expel all those calculating breaths I'd taken in a shaky exhale after I step outside, running my hands through my hair. How far I've come to find such courage, taking a million baby steps that didn't seem like much at first. Now they've carried me back along a road I'd thought I'd gone too far down, back to being Brent again. And it all still just feels like a relief to have stood up and to be done with my father. With Bill, the last of my family will die, and there's more to mourn there than you might think, but for right now I have to heed his advice and avoid making the kind of mistake I would regret for the rest of my life.
Time is quickly running out and I'm at a disadvantage since I can't get ahold of anyone, so I'm just desperate enough to play that final card. There are bigger forces at work here than karma, and maybe it is true that this thing between me and Jonah was caused by the worst kind of betrayal, but we share something that cannot be broken. Destiny. That's what I have faith in, and with nothing more than a hope and a wish I dial the only number I haven't tried yet, feeling that familiar sense of relief when Maddy answers.