Wounded: Our Journey Home

Wounded- Chapter Twenty Nine

"I found it this morning in the mail. He's not telling us anything."

Davis County Hospital Cancer Ward

As I read those words, I didn't know what to say.

"He has cancer?" I asked in a low voice, and Wasim nodded, a painful expression on his face.

"I confronted my Ummi about it. She admits to knowing about it, but insisted that he wanted to tell us. She was sworn to secrecy."

"Wasim," I sighed, looking at him with my face blank. "Why wouldn't he have told us by now?"

"He's planning to tell us soon. He's been in pretty bad shape now and wanted us to come when he was feeling better. I think we should go."

"I don't know about that," I said honestly. I feel bad that he's going through this and all, but I really just can't bring myself to see him.

"What do you mean? I tell you he has cancer and you're still not sure. Jafar!"

"It's not as easy for me as it is for you," I told him, but he just scowled at me. "You didn't have to witness what he did."

"I didn't have to witness it?" He repeated in disbelief, and I but my tongue. I completely forgot that he had to witness it too. "I lived it too."

"I know," I said, trying to come up with something that didn't make me sound like a total idiot. "But you have to understand..."

"No," He shook his head in anger, then opened the door and got out. "I don't have to understand anything. Our father is dying and you have to think about things. You talk about what he did to you, but you're doing the same. Understand that."

And with that, he was gone, and I didn't blame him.

-*-

I avoided going back to Ayah's house since then. I avoided anybody in sight, really. I just needed time to think--a lot of time--facing people wasn't what I wanted to do at the moment. For the two weeks that I've been back, and known about my fathers condition, not once have I made a move to go see him. Granted I didn't know how bad it was, but it still doesn't change the way I feel.

So I went to the place I did my best thinking. Well, second best. The gym. When I was a teenager and had the same issues with my father, I would go to the gym and shoot around for a while. The feeling of the ball leaving my hands and making its way into the basket was what kept me going. Everytime I shot the ball I could hear the cheers of the crowd as our lead expanded.

"Still miss it?" Jake asked from the doorway, a bag of basketballs on his shoulder. I shrugged and shot again, smiling as that feeling came back.

"I guess I do," I nodded. When he was about to leave, I called him back. "What happened to you in the last ten years? You just...left."

I've been thinking about this for a while. When Jake left he didn't stay in contact with anyone from the team. We all fell apart.

Jake then gave me a look that said he knew this question was coming, which in turn I pursed my lips and sat down. He came and sat besides me.