Second Chance

Is it push-up?

On my 18th birthday, I spent the entire day in the hospital. It was the beginning of senior year, and I walked downstairs to my father puking up blood all across the floor, the scarlet crimson soaking into the white carpet. The doctors ended up having to do pump of his stomach to limit the severity of the alcohol poisoning, and tested him for several intestinal diseases-- many of which came back positive. He was sent into emergency surgery, clinging to life by a single thread.

I remember sitting in the cold white room, missing the second day of school, conflicted. Not because I didn't care one way or another, but because I didn't think he did. Did he even care if he lived or died? If he left me behind to live on my own before I really knew how?

The minutes had passed into hours and still I sat there simply staring at the bleak wall in front of me, questioning everything to do with my so-called life. A low vibration in the pocket of my sweatpants startled me from the silence, interrupting the internal war raging within my mind. Clumsily pulling the phone from my pocket, I had stared at the flashing screen in confusion: an unknown number blinking back at me in the white light.

No one called me anymore, and that's how I wanted it to be. Cautiously lifting the phone to my ear, I waited, the other line only filled with the sound of rustling papers and murmured voices.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Is the miss Savanna Kane?" A rushed voice grumbled on the other line, the irritation and impatience clear in his deep voice.

"This is she."

"Hi, Miss Kane. This is John Sanders from the SG Private Bank in Miami. I'm calling to inform you that your presence has been requested at our downtown office as soon as possible to discuss a new account made available in your name." Stunned, my voice caught in my throat as I sat there gulping in air like a dying fish, my mouth opening and closing in silence.

After several moments of silence, Mr. Sanders cleared his throat impatiently, pulling me from my shock.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I think you have the wrong person," I muttered, shaking my head in denial. "I haven't opened any new account recently." None of it made any sense.

"Is this Savanna Kane on 1402 South Miami Avenue?" He asked distractedly, his voice remaining bored over the line. "Listen ma'mm. I am not allowed to say anything over the phone, but please come into our office at the soonest availability and we can sit down and discuss any questions you may have. You know where our building is, correct?" He paused, waiting silently.

"Yes." I sighed, exhaustion taking over from my long morning. Why couldn't I ever just have a simple morning, easy with no stress or conflict?

"Good." He said, ruffling more papers quietly in the background. "I hope to see you soon Miss Kane. Good day."

Hitting the end button quickly, I sat back in the uncomfortable chair, utterly confused. Who would open an account in my name? I didn't have any distant relatives that I knew of, and it obviously wasn't my father.

"I'll just have to go." I muttered to myself, standing and stretching before making my way towards the receptionist-- a young nurse sat busily filling out paperwork on the other side of the desk.

"Hi." I smiled, desperately trying to hide my internal struggle behind a calm facade. "Is there any news about my fathers surgery? About how much longer I can expect?"

"Sure," she smiled, her pearly whites blinding me as she turned towards her computer. "Name?"

"Randall Kane." I nodded and waited patiently as she typed away for several minutes.