I mean, I came from this man’s dangly bits for Christ’s sake! As I look back now I realize that I probably even gave my dead/dying father a kiss and told him goodbye in his last moments. And when I say I told him goodbye I don’t mean goodbye as in ‘I love you Dad, rest in peace’, but goodbye as in, ‘be right back Dad! Man I’m hungry!’ as I ventured off in search of the hospital cafeteria in order to get some food suitable enough to be called breakfast.
Honestly I couldn’t even tell you how the ride on the elevator with my younger sister and aunt went. I don’t even remember. It’s almost as though if something monumental happens to you, you only remember the really juicy, important details but pray to God no one asks you about what color your shoes were or what you ate for breakfast because you wouldn’t be able to remember. Trust me. But if you forced me, I mean really forced me to remember all that I could about the elevator ride I’d tell you that I knew something was off. It was my aunt. Something about her smile just wasn’t right. Even as a little kid I was sharp and I could tell something was off about the way her smile looked. But I had just chalked it up to pity clouding her smile just like it clouded everyone else’s.
But you don’t always remember the so called “little stuff”. Take me for example. I kiss my father goodbye, leave his room with my sister and aunt in tow, locate the illusive cafeteria and sit down and eat something. Eat something. I don’t know why my lack of remembrance as to what it specifically was that I ate that day bothers me so much but I feel like I should remember everything. And I don’t know why but I really want to say it was eggs that I ate that day in the cafeteria… or something in a little package. The longer I sit here and try to remember the more the image of the food on my plate that day switches. Now I think it was fruits.
Yes, fruits. It definitely might have been fruits. I think if I remembered what I ate that day it would give me something to hate. Something that I could to direct all of my limitless fury to because I can’t blame myself for leaving my father that day to go to the cafeteria. I’m too conceited to place all of my blame upon myself and I can’t even place the blame on my mother for telling my aunt to take my sister and I down to the cafeteria because I was all for the idea of stuffing my face at the time. Maybe if it was eggs that I ate that day I would have sworn off eggs for the rest of my life because in my father’s last moments I left him for eggs. Doesn’t that just sound awful?
But I guess whatever it was that I ate doesn’t really matter because when we returned to the room my mother was sitting on the same window ledge where we had left her but she immediately told us to tell Dad goodbye. I think I would actually rather be hit with a ten ton elephant than have to go through that again. I think I’d rather take that absurd hit because getting walloped by an obese elephant is what it felt like had happened to me anyway. It was one of those moments that don’t actually happen to you in real life but you read about in books. That moment where your breath leaves you in one big gush and everything else around you fades because your brain has just short circuited and you’re waiting for it to right itself so that you can use it to properly grasp what is occurring around you. I remember that I had another ‘what I ate for breakfast moment’ here because when your brain is refusing to work like God intended it to it’s quite difficult to remember things. Trust me.