I Was Last [Rhett and Link]

Chapter 1

My name is Lando. I was last.

I'm going to start by being completely honest with you. I don't think about my family that much. It's not as if I have all this hatred or bitterness brewing under the surface all the time...at least, not anymore. Maybe I left that back with my angsty youth, or maybe I've just repressed it. I don't know. Maybe I should call my therapist again.

It's not like I never think about them. I do care, really. But it feels like they're a part of my past, this old life I barely remember, barely have the time to think about, so it gets crowded out. But that doesn't mean I'm unaffected when I get the phone call.

"Hey Lando, it's Lincoln." I knew it was him. I may be a useless brother but at least I still have him in my contact list for God's sake.

"Hey man!" I say, forcing the chipperness a little. "What's up? How's Katie?"

"Katie's fine, the kids are fine, we're doing okay," he says in a less-than-okay tone.

"Good, good, that's good. So..."

"Yeah...um, Lando, you're going to need to come home."

All my impossible-to-shuffle, pressing obligations file through my head, and while my instinct is to lay them out, to argue why that is just not possible, something in his tone tells me that my priorities are going to have to change.

"Mom's dying."

---

I'm on an overnight flight from Philly to LAX, sitting next to a large man who just may have an apnea issue and a salt-and-pepper brunette reading a book. She's probably in her sixties. I'm fidgeting. I get that from my dad. Damn. I didn't even call to see how he's doing.

The woman glances at my fidgeting hands once or twice before smiling up at me. "You wouldn't happen to have a mint or a piece of gum, would you?" she asks.

"Oh, um," I mumble, patting my pockets and thinking through my carry-on. "No, I guess not. Sorry."

"Well, I don't mind if you don't. I just figured if I was going to talk with you I should make it as pleasant for you as I can!"

I chuckle in spite of myself. "You were conspiring to talk with me? You looked pretty into that book."

"Ahh, the book can wait. Where are you headed?"

The plane's going to LA so initially this seems like a dumb question, but then I figure it could hypothetically be a via point, and also she's just making conversation. "Well, home. Sort of. I don't live there anymore. I'm...my family is there."

"That's nice. What's the occasion?"

I pause. Is this small talk polite, like a "How are you?" sort of insincere question, or does she really want to hear bad news from a stranger? Well, she asked. "My, um...my mom, she's...dying." My voice cracks on the last word. I look at my lap, embarrassed. Her smile fades, and she puts her hand over mine.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Is she ill?"

"Yeah. Terminal breast cancer. I haven't really been in touch, but I think they just found out not too long ago and it turned out it was really advanced. She just went downhill fast."

"My dad went fast too," she says, looking absently out the window beyond me. "He woke up sick one day and was gone by the next. It was like emotional whiplash. Happened just a few months after I got married. Are you?"

"Married?"

"Yes, sorry. I don't see a ring."

"No, ma'am. Never been."