A Game of Revenge

Life

Life.

This was something that tortured us in inexplicable ways, but also gave us brief moments of hope, laughter, love, and feeling- otherwise known as happiness. These brief moments kept us going, through the dark times. Hope is what helped us cope with the reality sitting right in front of us.

That is what I was doing- coping. It is difficult to explain the feeling. I felt this the entire way home. It was as though I was in a numb state. I was in pain and I knew that, but it was as though I was feeling it through a barrier. The pain was there, and it would always be there, but I was numb to it. I had to be. My father was at his weakest point, so I had to be at my strongest. I had not cried in a year since the incident, and even through the realization of my father's condition, I would not start now.

I had to be strong.

...

It was late, I knew that much. I looked up at my home, the place I had grown up. The place I had made many memories of laughter, happiness, and love. It was also the last place I was at when my heart was broken. It was the last place I had cried at. It was the place that held some of my darkest memories. It did not feel the same as it did when I left. I felt disconnected. Like the girl who left here a year ago is not the same girl who is coming back. I stared at it for a few more minutes, before deciding it was time to step in.

I stumbled up my front steps, and wrestled my keys out of my bag. I struggled briefly unlocking the door, but I eventually accomplished it. I stepped into the threshold, and pulled out my phone. It was 3:27 A.M. I creeped quietly through the house knowing my dad was asleep. He didn't even know I was moving back home, so I don't know how he'll react to my appearance in the morning. I gathered my bags into both hands, and climbed the stairs up to my room. Before, I entered I heard small groans coming from my father's bedroom. I walked over slowly, and nudged his door open so I could peek in.

I didn't know what to expect, but the man lying in the bed in front of me did not look like my father. I had to stifle my gasp as I entered his room. My father was curled up in the fetal position shivering. He looked much thinner, and it killed me to see how small he'd gotten. The once large man who was full of life and energy, had become a small, frail being- and it was chipping away at my heart. The other difference-which I knew would be coming-was that he was bald. The thing about this is that people usually associate cancer with baldness, but to actually experience this is different. It was not some horrendous thing to look at, but too see a person you love change so drastically due to illness, just goes to show how grave the situation really is.

I walked in and saw him shivering painfully, and felt my eyes water. He looked so small, like only pieces of the man he used to be. I remembered that I had to be strong, if not for me, I would do it for him. I sucked up my sadness, and decided that I need to be devoted to getting him better. I took the thick, woolen comforter at the end of his bed and pulled it over him. I watched his shivering slow, but it never ceased. I don't know how long I stood there, it could have been mere seconds, minutes, or even hours. At some point I felt myself robotically leave his room. I left his door cracked just a bit so I could hear his soft snores- they gave me some small semblance of comfort.

I turned toward my bedroom door, grabbed my bags and walked in. It looked exactly the way I left it. My walls were a soft pink, there were pictures of me and Nora splattered all over my walls, and it was just a reflection of my past life. I did not feel a connection whatsoever to the room in front of me. I felt nothing for this life, but for some reason whenever I looked up at the pictures and my ex-best friend I felt a slow, simmering rage. I decided it was time to leave the room, before I "accidentally" set the walls on fire.

I changed into some sweats and made my way downstairs. I grabbed a blanket and cuddled up on my couch. The familiar room in front of me slowly faded into darkness.

...

It started with the crash, and I was ripped from my dreams. I shot up, startled by the loud sound and worried for the reason it was caused. My eyes quickly scanned the room and found nothing. Then I heard rough coughing coming from below me. I then saw my father in a bundle on the floor, coughing his lungs out. I guess my appearance must have really surprised him.

I rushed over to him quickly and helped him up. "Papí, estás bien?" I asked worriedly. He didn't respond, as I helped him into a chair. He just continued to cough painfully. I patted his back reassuringly, "Do you need a glass of water?" He waved me off, and after about a minute his coughing fit halted.

He looked me straight in the eyes, and said "Mija, what are you doing home? You are supposed to be with your abuelita in Chicago..." The slowly his eyes became clearer as though he realized the reason for my surprise visit. "No," he whispered in denial, "she told me she wouldn't tell you. You know, don't you?" He had tears in his eyes at this point.

I nodded solemnly.

He ducked his head in shame. "I wanted to keep it a secret from you mija. I never wanted you to find out like this," he said, his voice breaking. "I thought I could take care of this myself, without you having to see me sick. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you. I thought it wasn't a big deal, and if I did get sicker, which I have, I didn't want you to see me like this." My heart was breaking after hearing his reasons for wanting to be alone. Nobody should be alone while they are sick, and I cannot imagine the pain my father has suffered these past few months, alone.

"Papí, why did you hide this from me. I could have been here these past few months helping you, getting you better! I understand you didn't want me to see you like this, but that decision was not for you to make." I grabbed ahold of his hands and made him look me in the eyes. "We are a team, Pa. You cannot shut me out. From here on out, I will go to every doctor's appointment, I will go to every chemo session, and most importantly I will take care of you-even if I have to leave school to do so."

My dad immediately looked up. He had some of his old energy back in his eyes. "I will allow you to stay here and help me, but I'll be damned if you drop out of school like I did. You will go to school starting Monday, and I will schedule my appointments for afterwards. That is the only deal I am willing to make. Otherwise, I will ship you back with your abuela. Understood?" he said with a determined look.

I looked at him strongly, "Fine, we have a deal."

At this point I believed taking care, and bettering my father's condition would be one of the hardest things I have had to do in my life. This in no way prepared me for how difficult going back to my old high school would be.