Mercy. Please.

On top of an already blemished day and fearing the worst possible outcomes for the rest of the week, I answered a phone call that I really never believed I would have gotten. It was my grandmother sobbing, going on about her husband’s lack of health and inevitable death. I know. It’s heavy. When someone comes on that strong, it’s hard to listen, especially when you’re the perverbial black sheep. Granted. I’d paid my necessary dues and left the more difficult and rather unapproachable dues well enough alone, but to be summoned like that was just a tad…well…trippy.

Out of the forces that inhibit the negative souls of that side of the family, I can safely bet they only called because he and I got along without a single confrontation of any nature. He was simple. Old timey and simple. I didn’t mind him one bit, still don’t, but it is with disdain that I felt it was correct to visit him in the hospital. I should’ve planned better, I should’ve known that a gathering of the calloused ones would show me how much they care.

Oh, Pariah, won’t you stand bedside.

Let us go on about ourselves as this man’s light and livelihood shrivel away, we’ll diminish his soul by talking about our triumphs and how sick he is. Truly sick. This could be it. Oh, Pariah, don’t you agree? Just look at him there, right in front of you, next to me, don’t you hear my god awful voice speaking of him but not directly to him? Yes. I sure am glad to have gotten here on time. The doctor told us everything.

That’s right, you carrion, pestilence ridden fools. Sweating while he looks around the room, his voice subdued by laughter and happiness. Inside he’s freezing and all you want him to hear is how lucky you are. Miserable Fuck. I can’t relate how badly drawn the ICU surgical waiting room was. All gathered around, his bed tilted upright like a chair. They all sat beneath and to the side, and as I walked in, they all started talking. Trying to get my attention. 

A new guest, he may be one of us.

I half-hugged and passed by, shoving their shaking hands away, and then to him. He was finally able to talk to someone who would listen. He spoke quietly and calmly, without hesitation over their loud voices. He asked me how I was. Worried. I’m glad you made it.

It was odd. Like I was the last puzzle piece, he’s aura glowed all of a sudden - so much so that it was making me believe that auras exist. He looked up through the ceiling, beyond plastered walls and the setting sunlight.

There was something archaic and artistic about the moment. I can’t place it, but the elements were there. Aligned.

Some fagbag nurse came in and made some jokes, he infuriated me. Join the party. Join us. The hyenas. He left soon but not before saying we had three minutes. The casual bystanders made their leave, one at a time. Each having a last, great sentence to lead them through the door.

You be good, don’t get out of that bed and start dancing around….   Fuck you.

It reclines and everything! Look at all those buttons, you’ll be up all night with ‘em…. He’s not five. Fuck you.

I love you but you gotta stop scaring us like this, rest up and get better…. Yessir Sarge. Fuck you.

I hope you can make it to my game…. He wouldn’t miss it for the world. Fuck you.

The most gleeful of all the happy dancers, my uncle, had been laughing and joking the whole time. He was like some monster re-incarnation of Gomer Pyle on speed.

I couldn’t stand it. Not when he threw up his arms and said good bye to everyone and made an exit worthy of some glamorous nobody, throwing his cape of the left shoulder and being whisked away on a magical drift of wind. I couldn’t stand it when my mother talked on about her plans and future. I couldn’t stand it when everyone was gone and I looked at him and he was tired. He couldn’t stand it either. And I don’t blame him.