FUCK!

2. PARENTALS

"So, Timothy is engaged. I think you only ever met him once. He's nice. And he's getting married soon. He's getting married to this girl named Theresa. I'm sad you didn't get to meet her; you'd have had some pretty colourful words to say about her. Yesterday was their engagement party. I enjoyed myself, I got to see all our friends again. Miguel was even there. I don't know if you remember him. He's the bald guy, with the screaming beer belly who broke his arm at your 50th birthday party last year. Uhm, other than that, I must go to work tomorrow, but my car broke down so I've been taking the train. It's not so bad. You get your creeps but on a good day a small child will smile and wave and make my day."

I smile at the woman lying on the hospital bed connected to all kinds of machines. There's a sad and lonely feeling that succumbs the air when you sit on one of these uncomfortable hospital chairs and talk to someone like this. Ultimately you are speaking to yourself.
I want her to wake up. It's something I pray for every single day, but I've learnt to accept whatever life throws at me. I gaze outside through the window, looking out onto the car populated streets. I envy everyone else out there. I might not know what their daily struggles are, but I know they're not sitting in this chair right now.
It's lonely.

The traffic is slow and the pedestrians are trying to get to a safe place without getting wet or being run over.
I shift my gaze to the water droplets running down the window plane, draining out the chaos. Mine is a quiet chaos. Heartbeat monitors and oxygen tanks. Heart ranching and mortifying.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't bring May," I breathe in deeply, "I think it's just all too much for her, but I promise I will bring her-," I stand up and place a small kiss onto her temple, "I'll come to see you again before next week. I love you, mom."

The rain has stopped when I walk out of the hospital. I didn't bring an umbrella.
Stepping onto the curb my lungs are immediately filled with the humid air and I let out a sigh of relief. I've always hated the smell of hospitals. Death really does have a distinct smell. Since my childhood years, I have always detested coming to hospitals, but with mom's COPD and resurfacing pneumonia, I've gotten used to it.

Nothing good ever happens in hospitals.
You have the deathly atmosphere and the backless gowns. No one goes to hospitals to see bare ass. You also have children screaming from injections and grown men too.
Births maybe, that could be something good. That's if they don't grow up and start planning your death because of that life insurance they found about so they can buy more crack and meth.

"Can you come to pick me up?" Sharice answers on the second ring.

"Lilah, you need to get your car fixed. Just because I'm foreign doesn't mean you get to use me as your personal chauffeur," she replies with an annoyed voice as if she's just woken up.

"Really? Then why are we friends?" I laugh, but soon realise I'm laughing on my own. "I will get it fixed, soon, I promise," I clear my throat.

"When?"

"When I get money. That's the whole point ain't it? And I don't have any at the moment."

"Lose the attitude and take the train."

"Shar," I sigh, "I was with my mom."

I can hear her sigh on the other end, "Give me 20 minutes."

After twenty minutes of watching patients get in and out of the hospital, two ambulances parking at the ambulance bay and getting two people out, Sharice finally arrives and I can spot her from a mile away with her small blue car that was last washed when goggle was invented. Depressing.

"Thanks," I say climbing in. The car is warm and the static coming from the radio is somewhat numbing.

"How's your mom?" she asks.