Hating the Guy at the End...

Chapter One: Ignorance isn't Bliss

There's a time in a person's life where they have to make a very hard decision that shapes them; usually it's a person's career choice, where they want to go to college, or rather they want to still date that cheating boyfriend of theirs. However, some people do not have it that easy... some people like myself, who's stuck between a rock and hard place and if they make the wrong choice they'll lose everything they have.

When I first found out my life was slipping out of my hands was when I received a phone call from the general hospital over fifty blocks away from my house. It was late, heavily raining, I was up studying for my college finals when the house phone rung- no one ever called the house phone, it was usually used as decoration. However, I had one in my room for odd reasons- mainly just in case I needed to call the cops and I didn't have my personal phone with me, some random caution like that. Anyway, I answered.

I remembered that dull female voice, the strain and exhaustion in her tone made my heart skip a beat. "Is this Joy Wesson, I'm calling for your father- Thomas Wesson."

"Y-yes, this is she." I remembered my throat going dry, I could hear the hospital's intercom in the background, along with the loud screaming of a man that was suddenly rushed into the ER.

The nurse gave off a sigh, it was a warning of bad news... a warning that my life was going to change for the worse. "Your father has been involved in a car accident an hour ago, he arrived to the ER with critical conditions."

"Is he okay?" There's various ways to ask that question, one of them being if he's alive. However, the question: 'Is he okay' could mean just that with the right sense of tone; worry, concern, sadness- I had that tone.

"He's in the ICU right now, the doctor had to do surgery- your father is barely holding on. It's best if you come to the hospital, to say your goodbyes. I'm sorry." She wasn't sorry, there's no need to be sorry for someone you barely know. The nurse was sorry to be a bringer of bad news, to ruin a young woman's life when at it's prime. I wasn't at the age to worry rather my father would die or not, I should be worried rather or not he was going to like the boys I bring home from school. I should be worried about him being alone when I leave to live on my own in another state. I shouldn't be hearing he's dead, not when we're both so young.

After hearing the news, I didn't cry or punch the wall, I didn't even move from that chair. I just sat there and stared into space, dumbfounded, not able to wrap my head around that call. I wanted it to be a prank from my idiotic and reckless friends from school, I wanted cameras and Ashton Kutcher to come out of my closet saying I've been punk'd. I felt my life slipping away, the picture fading and burning away into ashes.

After that long moment in staring at the wall, unmoving, and waiting for some sick joke to play out; I walked out into the rain and ran to the hospital with nothing but my flip flops and pajamas on, being drenched from head to toe, not caring about the long distance or honking I've received for being a lunatic. Maybe I was crazy, I sure felt like my mind was playing tricks with that phone call.

I remembered everything from the night, the rain, how the cold air filled my lungs and caused me to become sick that very next day, drenched from head to toe and almost slipping on the clean hospital floor, the stares from the nurses and patients when I stormed straight to the registration desk, me demanding to see my father and three nurses having to calm me down so security didn't have to get involved. I also remembered it feeling like forever when walking down that hall to ICU with an itchy wool blanket around my shoulders and a spare nurse outfit they gave me to put on; it could of been out of sympathy.

The breath I had left escaped my lungs, the disbelief of my father's accident turning into despair and loneliness, the silent cry in my throat firmed onto panic gasp as I grew closer to my father. He was hooked up to many machines that did so much to keep him alive for another eight hours, just enough time for me to say my goodbyes, make phone calls so family and friends can say their goodbyes too.