SHORT STORY: Visiting Hours

“Why are you still mad at me?”

“You know why.”

“You hold a grudge.”

“You would, too.”

“It has been 30 years.”

“Somethings are unforgivable.”

“You survived.”

“You pushed the porta-potty I was in down the hill.”

“I can’t believe you can’t get past that.”

“I am still cleaning crap out of my ears.”

The two brothers looked at each other and said nothing else. Their parents had an Olympic-sized gene pool and they had come from different ends. The oldest brother, Don, emerged from the deep end. Thoughtful and quiet, he was awkward in social settings. Rusty came from the fun end. His life was a big water-slide. If there was a crowd, Rusty would be in the middle of it.

The two men were like America. When times were good, the drove each other crazy. Their differences made them like sand in your shorts to each other. Honestly, they just annoyed each other. To Don, Rusty was an irritation. To Rusty, Don was stuffy and dull.  But when things got bad, they worked together.  Sometimes the most irritating sand makes the most beautiful pearls.

Today was one of those times.

“Think Mom will pull through this?” Rusty asked honestly.

Don looked at his brother and said, “I can’t hear you. I have crap in my ears.”

“Seriously. You think she will pull through this?”

They sat in the hospital as their mother sat in ICU.  She had been in a coma for two weeks since her botched surgery.

“I don’t know.  I’ve called in three of my friends who are specialists. Even they are baffled why she won’t wake up.”

Don was a heart surgeon.  He had helped guide his mother’s care. But her weak heart had caused complications from the lung surgery.  It gone from bad to worse.

Rusty looked at his older brother. He was tall, thin and slightly balding.  He looked much like the photos they had seen of their father.  That man had left when they were ten.  At that point, Don had become the man of the house and lost his childhood forever. Rusty almost felt sorry for his brother. Almost.

Don drank another sip of his coffee and looked at his younger brother. Eight years younger than he was, Rusty had golden hair and a white smile.  He had made it big as a television personality in Denver and then transformed into an excellent novelist.  As much as it pained Don to admit it, he was proud of his little brother. The kid was a great storyteller.

Together they were unstoppable.  Unfortunately, that usually happened only during a crisis.

At the same time, both men senses something wrong.

“Mom?” Rusty said.

Don paused and said, “No. It’s him.”

Both men turned to see an old man in the doorway of the hospital cafeteria. And old man who looked suspiciously like Don.

“You have a lot of nerve showing up now.” Rusty growled.

The old man didn’t say a word. He just stood there with tears in his eyes.

Rusty and Don stood up and walked over to confront him.  It was a close to a Mexican standoff as the hospital would ever see.

“I have to see her. I’m so sorry for walking out on you. You’re are such fine men. I’ve watched your careers from afar. But I have to see her.”

“And that’s the problem.” Rusty said. “You had a lifetime to see her. But you screwed that up when you walked out on us.”

Don just stood there, looking at his old man. The man who stole his childhood. The man whose absence had shaped him like a potter shapes a pot. He felt the rage boil inside him. He had never wanted to beat a man to death more than he wanted to at that moment. But he didn’t.  He closed his eyes and took a breath. There was someone bigger than him and he knew it. And she was lying in a coma upstairs in ICU.

“Come with me,” Don said tersely.

The old man, stunned, followed sheepishly behind his two sons. Rusty had no idea what was going on, but sensed his brother had a plan.

He usually did. Except when the porta-potty rolled down the hill.

The nurses at the station saw the three men walking down the hall and started to tell them it wasn’t visiting hours. But even they saw the purpose in Don’s eyes.

Don grabbed his father by the neck and practically threw him in the room.

The old man limped over to the bedside and began to openly weep.

Both brothers stood there and watched their family be reunited for the first time in decades. And then their father began to speak.

“Lois, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I am sorry.  I know they are just words but my heart has been with you since I was a coward and walked out the door.  The war had stolen my soul and I couldn’t put you and the boys at risk any more.  I got hooked on drugs and lived on the streets.  I was a petty criminal and spent time and in and out of prison. But one day a man came and spoke to me.  I swear I think he was an angel because he words rang in my heart.  I cleaned up my life and began volunteering in his church.  I prayed daily and stared at this crumpled picture of you and the boys. Remember those anonymous deposits you received at the bank? That was me.  I began to rebuild my life but never could because you weren’t in it. I don’t expect you or the boys to forgive me.  How could you? But I am going to ask you for it right here and right now.”

Don, whose heart was petrified, felt his anger begin to melt. His eyes began to water. Rusty had lost it five minutes ago.

The old man held his old wife’s hand and squeezed it.

And she squeezed his hand back.