Music to My Ears

Chapter 17 On That Day She Received a Grim Reminder

I remember the day my dad died all too well. More than I would like to. Honestly, I think I remember the feeling that struck me and engraved itself inside of my being more than I actually recall the whole horrible situation.

I don't know which one I would rather chose. But the emotions I felt haunt me to this very day.

I remember the night. The hot and sticky July night. We were having a heat wave that week, and it even carried on after the blazing sun went down. I laid eagle-spread out on my bed, my fan pointed directly at me. I was having a difficult trying to sleep due to the hot and humid air. I had The Beatles playing from my phone, reminding me of my dad. It was one of his favorite bands. I loved his passion for music that he passed down to me. I loved the sunny Sunday mornings where we would get in his convertible and drive around on the country side of  Shiganshina and listen to them. My dad's shinny black curls rustling in the rapped wind (my mother always nagging him to get it cut) while singing along to "I am the Walus". His voice was amazing, something I wish I had. But at least I had his to enjoy. I looked up to my father more than anything in the world. He was my hero. He taught me everything I know. He taught me that Jimi Hendrix was the greatest guitarist in music history, that it's okay for me to be differnt and odd from other people, and that everyone is good deep down; no matter who they are, and that to never give up on what or who you love. He was the reason why I am the person I am today. I was proud to call him my father.

Time seemed to slow down when my mother bust through my door, tears fallen down her hazel eyes. I sat up from the bed, and it felt like I was being pulled out of thick mud as she spoke the words: "Your dad was in an accident."

I had put on two different flip flops when we left my house. I didn't notice until we were in the car on the way to the hospital. I only figured it out because I kept my eyes down. I was scared to look up. I was fearful of what would happen next. When we got to the hospital my mom and I rushed in. I skipped the secretary's desk and bolted down the white hallway. I could faintly hear my mom calling me, but I felt like I was underwater; her voice only a blur to my ears. I searched for my dad's room, mom close behind as she chased me down. A doctor spotted me as he left a room, and I could tell he could recognize me instantly.

"Where's my dad?" I demanded from the middle aged doctor.

"I'm so sorry." He aplogized with deep sincerity. "He's gone. There was nothing we could do."

His cruel words echoed throughout my head a few times until it became a ringing sound that stung like a bee sting. My eyes found my father's lifeless body behind the doctor through the black lined window. His curly hair was bloody, his tan cheeks were destroyed. I could see his white teeth stained with dark blood through snarls of open flesh. Mom grabbed me from the back as I started running to him, screams I could not hear myself gutting my throat at its release. I crumbled to the ground as my legs gave out and wailed into my mother's arm that was secured around me like a seat belt. I felt her cold tears prick my shoulders; and we cried over the man we loved so much lost life on the cool, white floor.

I never imagined I could ever feel the pain I did then. The feeling of what was like someone clutching your stomach tightly, the dryness of your throat that felt like sandpaper weld in there, and the feeling of broken glass mixed in your blood as it pumped into your heart.

I couldn't bear to feel that feeling again.

My eyes shot open, and I let out a snort as I heard someone knocking on my front door. I let out an unsteady breath, my body shaken from the loud noise. I groaned and glanced at my radio clock, reading 5:14 am.

"What the hell?" I mumbled to myself and crawled out of bed. I opened my door and peaked into my mother room. "Mom, there's someone at the door-" I froze when I saw she wasn't in her room. Was she...still at work?

My attention was shorty cut off by another impatient knock at my door. My mind was more alert now and my focus was clearer as adrenaline woke me up. I opened the door, seeing Mr. Smith standing there.

"M-Mr. Smith?" I stuttered, alarmed at his presence at this hour. "What is it?"

"It's your mother." He explained seriously. "She was in an accident. I need you to come with me."