When I was younger, my mother told me to embrace the pain. Whether it came from experience, someone I knew, or even if I caused it myself. I often brought problems to my life. Maybe it was about the attachment with the pain as it made everything feel real.
Without a break, I reminded myself of the pain as I exhaled.
The pain came in different forms. There was the slight pang, the throbbing kind, the sharp paralyzing one, and the most universal, the type that every person had to deal with every single day.
My pain was the kind where I blocked everyone out. Now, it was too difficult to ignore that I embraced it as much as I could, with all the courage that I could muster. Little by little, the pain would someday lessen its grip on me. That was something I longed for, but the funny thing about pain was that it never ran out. Life always had this unique and terrible way of making more.
I lived away from home for more than five years. I put miles between me and my past. I thought that it was a sense of liberation that I needed. My hometown felt smaller; the familiarity of it all sent tingles to my skin. The anxiety crawled through my arms, wrapping them like an itchy cast. I wasn't injured in the slightest. Maybe just emotionally bruised.
I couldn't quite believe that I was back in LA.
The cab driver looked at his rear-view mirror and gave me a welcoming smile. The friendly gesture didn't help me relax because he seemed to be the chatty type. A variety of key chains hung and dangled on the mirror moved along with the car's motion. Not that we moved so much because the traffic trapped us. LA traffic was the worst.
I noticed that he had glanced at an inappropriate amount since he picked me up at the airport. He must have sensed my uneasiness.
"Coming home from a trip, sir?" The cab driver spoke with a thick accent, and his tongue rolled on a few words.
"I haven't been home in a while, actually," I fretted, with much more force than I initially anticipated. I was even surprised that I managed to say the words out loud.
"I hope that the reason you're coming home is for something good."
If I had been in a better mood, I would have explained the reason for my eventual homecoming. Since I didn't want to answer any unwarranted questions, I went for a shorter version of the story. The version that I had practiced in the bathroom mirror right before I went to the airport.
"I'm here to visit my dad." I supplied, which wasn't a lie.
Two days ago, I got a call from one of the nurses at Valley Medical, and she informed me of my dad's condition. She didn't say much on the line, other than that it was urgent. Her voice was flat and not at all comforting. For someone to be the bearer of bad news, I would have expected her to be calm. But she didn't even bother. It sounded like she was bored and lifeless. For a moment there, I thought I spoke to an auto-generated hotline.
Press one for the bad news. Suppose you want to end this call, press two. To book a flight back home, press three.
My older brother convinced me to take a trip home and check out on our dad. He pressed three for me. If that was even a thing, I just knew that he would have done it in a heartbeat.
As I weighed my options for three days, manically pacing through my New York apartment, I found myself flying a thousand miles across the country with three suitcases and a backpack.
"I'm hoping that your father is well." The cab driver responded as he made a turn to the hospital. The music quieted the cab driver's voice as the radio blasted a familiar tune.
I nodded to the cab driver's response. I had the same hopes as him.
After about five minutes of silence, I finally arrived at the hospital. I carried my bags, and I immediately felt the hotness of LA. It was like a smack in the face, a taste of the West Coast served on a platter—here you go, welcome home. Given that it was early September, I was thankful that I didn't have to dread spending another summer here.
The hospital doors reflected a blurry silhouette of myself right before I walked in. I have never been fond of hospitals, for the sole reason that every time I went, I always lost someone.
I looked stupid coming into the hospital with all my baggage, but I didn't care about what other people thought for the moment. I needed to talk to someone.
A nurse was behind the counter, and I went there. The wheels of my suitcases rattled against the titles. She gave me a skeptical look after she diverted her attention from a computer screen. She reached out to lower her thick-rimmed eyeglasses. Her stare made me feel uneasy, so I fiddled with the strap of my bag.
"I got a call about two days ago. My father got hospitalized here. Robert Sanchez."
"I need to see some identification, sir." The nurse replied, extending her hand out.
I fished out my driver's license from my wallet and handed it to the nurse. "I'm his son. My name is Aki."
The nurse read my name on my license, which has most likely faded by now. She didn't even bother listening to my explanation. She typed a few things on her computer, her face still unamused. After the nurse verified my identity, she gave me directions to the wing of the hospital where my dad was. I went to the cancer medicine building next to the one I entered at.
The whitewashed walls and the smell of antiseptic were haunting and strange. For most people, hospitals reminded them of bad experiences. The last time I was here at Valley Medical, my mom passed. Since then, the idea of hospitals embedded in my memory was one about death and a whole lot of sadness. It was not an ordinary kind of sadness, but the type that made me tired, weary, and numb.
The broad dim hallways were enough to make me recall how I dreaded waiting outside for doctors to say that my mom was okay. It wasn't about the time I spent waiting but more about the uncertainty. A kind of uncertainty that left me anxious. The unending list of questions with the worry if my mom would even make it alive of intensive care.
My dad rested on a hospital bed as I stood beside him. I almost didn't recognize him now that he had lost a considerable amount of weight. His hair thinned and faded into gray, but he still kept it fairly short, a crew cut that screamed good cop. There were a bunch of tubes and wires hooked to him. The faint uniformed beeping sounds of the heart monitor took me into a trance. The whole scenario challenged the idea of how I perceived him to be invincible.
A knock on the door pulled me out of my thoughts. Kathy walked in, much to my surprise. She had a white coat with her name embroidered in blue thread and the hospital name in big, bold letters. A stethoscope wrapped around her neck and a pen tucked in her front pocket. She gave me a sympathetic smile as she reached out to place a comforting hand on my shoulder.
"It's good to have you here," she said.
"How is he?" I asked.
Kathy took a glance through my dad's chart, flipping a few pages. She explained in great detail the entirety of my dad's complications. As she went through it one by one, I nodded in understanding. But there was only so much that I could comprehend.
"The good thing about this is that we caught cancer at a stage that is still manageable. As for treatment, we have options for that, and we will figure out the best one for your father. But for now, we are waiting for his body to recuperate. When he's more stable, we'll run some tests to find out the ideal way to handle this."
"Is he going to be okay?"
"He's been through a lot for the past couple of days, but I'm glad that you're home. He needs someone to look out for him. I know I'm not in the position to interfere with your relationship with him, but it's best to set that aside for now. He needs you to be here."
Dr. Kathy Perkins is the mother of my best friend and acted as a second mother to me. When I was younger, I ran to her whenever my dad and I disagreed. In many ways, she seemed to understand me better than anyone and had the best advice that I always took to heart.
"The situation might not be ideal, but I hope you find time to be here for him. Until he gets to be okay, at least."
"I'll have to sort things out, but yeah, I have to be here for him," I said, a promise quickly slipped through my lips.
Kathy nodded as she excused herself. When she left the room, I let out a breath that I didn't know that I held. The hospital didn't seem to be too busy. I sat down and settled in silence while I collected my thoughts. I was surrounded by different get-well-soon flowers, balloons, stuffed animals, and a wall filled with every memento I could think of.
My dad indeed had many friends, but he and I had drifted apart when he knew that I was gay.
I planned my coming out to be something ceremonial. I planned to make a nice dinner for my parents or get takeout from the place that had the best sushi. It was a matter of catching both of them in a good mood, and then I would lay out my cards.
That wasn't the case. I wasn't able to come out the way I planned.
My dad found out since I was reckless enough to get caught at a gay bar with a fake ID. Like any teenager, I had a rebellious phase, minus the emo haircut and the eyeliner, because being rebellious was enough to drive my conservative Asian parents crazy.
He met my boyfriend at the time, one of the few gay people at my high school. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, and he immediately took off his arm on my shoulder. That night, my dad had genuine Catholic anger in his eyes, and he fumed so much that his face turned red. I wasn't even sure if it was anger or embarrassment.
As I grew older, I was accustomed to this part of him. He was always angry at me and embarrassed by me. Every decision I made was met with disapproval, all because the Bible said so.
It was a quiet ride home at the back of my dad's police cruiser, and my boyfriend didn't say a thing. For someone who was mouthy, he was sure as hell quiet. The silence surrounded the tension, and it was kind of a good thing that my dad didn't turn the police siren on.
I didn't know for sure what stunned my boyfriend the most, the fact that we were caught at a gay bar or the fact that he met my father for the first time. After that night, he made it his mission to never speak to me ever again. That was easy to do, given that I had friends lesser than the fingers of my one hand, so our social circles had the slightest of ever bumping into each other.
When my parents found out, I rejected the possibility that my idea of a grand coming out dinner would even work. My cooking skills were moderate and often failed me. I also knew that I couldn't find a sushi place that my Filipino-Japanese father would approve of. He always said that the Americans butchered sushi and that their meals were expensive tasteless globs.
While my dad often gave his disapproval, my mom dealt with me in a slightly better way. She often asked me how I was, but the humiliation took the best of me. It was probably because I might not live up to their expectations, just because of this strike against me by the society based on gender.
The more time passed, my dad learned not to talk to me at all. I shouldn't have even taken offense to that because he wasn't the type to talk about his feelings. I went along with it and hoped that was what he wanted.
When I moved to New York, it seemed like the final nail in the coffin. My dad and I never talked, and I didn't reach out. It appeared like I wouldn't be welcomed back.
After an hour or so, I decided to leave the hospital and head back home. The weight of my luggage was comparable to the one that sat on my shoulders. As I hauled my bags to another cab, my phone vibrated in my pocket in three alarming pulses. It was from Erin, my childhood best friend.
You didn't tell me that you went home. I had to find out from my mom! We should meet and catch up. There is so much to talk about!
Great. I wasn't planning on having a reunion for a couple more days until I got settled. To be fair, I didn't even want a reunion to begin with. Erin was the kind to make things a big deal, and my arrival was definitely on that list of this calls for a celebration. Nonetheless, I think it would be a great distraction. Erin has always been great company.
I just landed a few hours ago on my way home from the hospital.
I'll drop by after work. We're doing a couple more renovations. It's been crazy today. See you later!
I haven't seen Erin since I attended her engagement party. That was a year ago in Las Vegas. I haven't talked to her since she asked me what color of paint she should choose for the bar. That was weeks ago. Even if she sent me photos and a couple of updates from time to time, it seemed like she never wanted to be much of a bother. Seeing her later would be pretty eventful.
As I got off the cab and walked on towards my childhood home, everything felt surreal. The house remained the same, and my dad's cruiser was parked on the driveway. My parents bought the house and spent most of their savings to make it feel like home. What used to be an old mid-century house, now a stylish craftsman-designed home. As I looked around the neighborhood, I noticed that there was not much that changed.
The same home that I left five years ago welcomed me when I unlocked the front door. I saw my dad's police badge and service pistol by the mantle and put them in a safer place. The house was in chaos. Dishes piled in the kitchen sink. There were bags of groceries unkempt and a bunch of mail placed in disarray on the coffee table.
I went upstairs to my bedroom and noticed how things remained intact. If the rest of the house looked as neat as this bedroom, I wouldn't even worry at all. But it seemed like this was the only part of the house that was clean.
The bedroom was featureless and empty. It had high ceilings with wooden beams, beige walls, a maroon carpet, a tucked bed, and a couple of antique furnishings. There was a lack of a personal touch, and it was apparent that no one occupied the room for a long time. Another message came in as hours went by as I waited for Erin's arrival.
Meet you here at Redmond's instead?
With nothing much to do, I agreed.
The trip to Redmond's was calming at most. One thing that I was thankful for was the easy commute. It was not that difficult to get a ride, and the surroundings were cleaner too. New York subways were the worst, and the rush remained a testament to how people there were always in a hurry. No matter how fast-paced they were, New York never matched the peacefulness that LA has to offer.
I entered Redmond's and immediately saw Erin shouting instructions to two guys with an unlit neon sign.
"A little more to the left and a bit lower," Erin directed. She had her head tilted to the side with her hands on her hips.
"I didn't know that boss lady would suit you," I commented as I walked through the rubble. My boots thumped across the unpolished wooden floors. Erin left the two workers and rushed towards me. She enveloped me with an affectionate bear-like hug that had me lose my balance for a bit. For her size, she was quite a force.
"You actually came! I thought you would eventually get tired of this place," she replied as she pulled away from me. Her hands gripped my arms for support.
"This place? Maybe. Of you? Never."
Erin grinned, and after a beat, she hit me on the arm, and in no doubt, would leave a bruise. The punch rivaled that of a boxer.
"Ow!" I said, recoiling and putting a hand on the sore spot that she hit. I rubbed small circles through my jacket and hoped it would lessen the pain.
"That's for not visiting us sooner, but I'm glad you're here." Erin gave me another hug. Erin's brunette curls covered my face. She smelled like garden flowers and that cocoa butter lotion she liked so much.
"I see that the renovations are doing great," I said, observing the changes done to Redmond's. There were several ongoing projects, each in different areas of the place. Tarpaulins stretched across the floors, and paint buckets sat on the corner under the temporary light fixture.
Redmond's was one of the staples in Downtown LA. Three generations of Erin's family have owned the bar. When we were teenagers, we used to sneak out a couple of beers from here. This place held a lot of memories for both Erin and me. I was glad that she got to keep it since her mom didn't want anything to do with it. She was now managing it along with her fiancé. It seemed like a smart thing to do. Erin has always been her own boss.
Erin told me about her plans of making Redmond's look more contemporary to attract new people. A younger crowd for a much sassy and classy owner, according to her. They hit quite a slump for the last few years, but she remained hopeful that she could revive the glory that Redmond's once had.
"We're trying to be on schedule, and if things go uninterrupted, we'll be ready to reopen in a month or so," Erin explained and made her way behind a bar where she placed a small cooler.
"That's great," I said. I ran my hand through the dirt on the barstool to remove most of the rubble. I took a seat by the bar as Erin handed me a local beer.
"None for me, thanks." I leaned on the counter. My hands were on top of each other, tapping the polished wood. Erin gave me a confused look as she poured me a glass of lime club soda that fizzled to the rim.
"Brad has been handling most of the contractor work, and I'm here to make sure everything is in place."
"Speaking of which, where is he?" I asked, looking around the bar.
"He went out of town for the week to meet up clients for his firm. He has always been busy—something to do with contracts. I heard something about not meeting the quarterly quota and other financial stuff that he can only understand. Whatever that means. I already told him that you're here, by the way."
"I wasn't planning on telling everyone just yet, Erin."
"We haven't seen you since the engagement party, Aki. And that has been more than a year! Don't be such a grouch. Just be thankful that everyone here is happy to see you."
I was happy to see Erin. She never failed to make me feel better. But, I hoped that it would be for different circumstances. Also, knowing how things weren't how I left them five years ago would be a different story. There were a good number of reasons why I moved a thousand miles away. Erin only knew the half of it, and I doubt that she would be happy that I was back if she knew about the entire scenario. I spared her most of the truth because of what it might do to our friendship.
"I heard about your dad. I hope he's doing okay. I've been planning to visit, but as you can see," Erin gestured behind her, the wall still lacked proper finishing. "There are still a lot of things to do, but I promise to visit when things get settled by the weekend."
"Kathy told me that he's doing okay for now. Remind me to give your mom the fanciest and most expensive gift for Christmas. She did her best to make sure my dad is okay. At least that put me at ease for a while," I explained. I also told Erin about the options that my dad would have for treatment. It was a mouthful.
"That's good to know," Erin replied. Something about her demeanor signaled that she wasn't telling me everything. I didn't bother to ask her about it, at least not now.
"How about you? Anything new? You haven't sent me photos lately," I prodded.
"The bar is taking most of my time, and of course, planning the wedding," Erin explained. "Brad let me handle most of the wedding stuff. You know how he is. He hates the idea of choosing what flowers should be as the centerpiece or if we're having beef."
"When is the wedding?"
"We're planning to have it by May."
"That's in a couple of months," I said in surprise. Erin seemed nervous, but I couldn't know for sure since it was the middle of September. The idea of having a spring wedding has always been what Erin wanted.
"I know, that's why I've been stressing over the preparations. But you do promise me that you'll attend the wedding, right?"
I gave her a pensive look. "What do you take me for? Of course, I wouldn't miss it." I took a swig of my drink, and the two workers left Redmond's, leaving Erin and me. The wooden door made a loud bang. And I thought Erin should do something about that door.
The conversation flowed like usual. Erin asked me about my work, which wasn't much lately aside from a few appearances here and there. I also mentioned that I had an exhibit a month ago, and she said that she was disappointed that she wasn't able to go. I told her about my agent, who reminded me so much of her.
Erin took a jab at me and laughed at the idea that I needed to be social when it came to my job. She has always valued and appreciated my work. But just like anyone else, she couldn't wrap her head around the idea that I had to be social at work or that I had to, at the slightest, be charming.
I have often been told that I didn't have the most charming personality. For me, there was a sense of comfort with not being open. I tend to immediately shut down the intentions of people without knowing what they were. I have perceived creating distance as a way to build a layer of protection around me. It was an emotional shield, a protective barrier. I have only let a small number of people I have trusted enough to let my guard down; enter my emotional support bubble.
Erin also asked about my plans. Her questions came in one after the other.
Would I go back to New York? Would I be back home for good? I wasn't quite sure. Now that I have thought about it, I haven't decided with regards to my plans. It was just about coming home. Now that I was here, nothing seemed to be planned.
A part of me wanted to reestablish my life here in LA, but at the same time, I was slowly reminded of the pain that made me leave five years ago. It was a constant battle.
After we finished our drinks, I went back home, taking a stroll in the neighborhood. The warm air felt like a breeze on the beach. Minute by minute, my body succumbed to the fatigue. Maybe it was the jet lag. I had never been a good flier. I hated being on airplanes, and I only traveled for work.
Once I arrived home, I sent a message I promised Erin that I would send.
I just got home safely. Thanks for tonight.
Upon locking the front door, I was once welcomed back to the task I left behind earlier. I went around the house to check out what I needed to do and mentally wrote each task I had to finish. It would help me pass the time since the constant worry kept me alert.
I took my dad's hamper from his bedroom and ran a load of laundry. I rummaged through the fridge to get something to drink. I also decided to turn the television on. The silence could be drowning at times, and it could get deafening. I flipped through a couple of channels until I settled for a rerun of a sitcom from the nineties.
I went around the house to do a couple more chores and tidy the place up a bit. Judging by how the house looked, it was an understatement that my dad was in a rough patch. He tended to not take care of himself when he got so entwined with his job as a police captain. My mom often chastised my dad for not taking care of his health and not having his meals on time. I guess now we know where I inherited my stubbornness from.
Guilt struck me like a lightning bolt as I recalled my want for space. I was a coward for not dealing with my problems head-on. I was sure that my dad loved me, but he had trouble showing it. I wish I had the same courage my dad had. I have always admired him for taking risks. He took a leap of faith and made our lives more than comfortable. As an Asian immigrant who explored his options in a foreign land, that took a lot of will and determination.
But a voice in my head always told me that he was too harsh for my weak heart to handle.
"I shouldn't have left him alone," I muttered to myself. "Not when he doesn't have anyone to look after him."
As I sat on the sofa, with laughter from the television at a soft roar, I tried to collect most of my thoughts. I knew that there were things to look forward to, but I was also unsure how the other side would go.
The doorbell rang, to my surprise. I wondered who would visit my dad this late at night. I opened the door, much like opening one to my past. There was no point in running away from it now.