Popped Balloons

Cappy Jack ©2002

Dad didn’t look so good. Mom looked worse. Nobody talked. We stood around the bed with him in it. I had to say something.

“What do you want to say?” He trained his gaze on me and I felt good. Can’t get the old man down, a refrain Frankie and I had had for a long time. We growed up together in another world from Bev and Mom. We worked in the basement. They stayed in the kitchen.

“Wanna a sip of water?” He looked parched but then he was near death, but we didn’t believe it. Dad didn’t either. Our family were optimists. Glad for that, we all smiled when he nodded his head, jerked a look to the glass and waited. I was gosh awful surprised when Beverley stepped up and gave it to him. Younger is quicker sometimes, Frankie feigned but gave up when she beat him. Dad  smiled. I thought Mom would cry, she screwed up her face so much, jeez, the wrinkles.

Dad took a sip from Bev, leaned up off the pillow, lay back down looking perkier. We all sort of watched him. Frankie looked sad. Dad smiled at him and he perked up too. We all felt better for a moment. He could always do that.

“You boys know that I am a drifter. I think your Mother knows too, but we never talked about it. Bev, you know best of all because I believe you are like me the most. But you and me never put a name to it until now. The boys and me have had a different relationship and they know how I’ve frittered away my time.” Now everybody’s lip was down and he saw that, raising his eyebrows, opening his eyes real wide. The windows were open and a fresh breeze blew in, seemed to invigorate him. The will was gone; the thrust back to life didn’t last.

“My Father gave me a gift we have never named although we have talked about it. Want to guess?”  Frankie and Bev, me too, I guess, thought right away about it. We were so serious that we didn’t make any guesses, not like most times before. Dad always did that to us, made us think. Decisions were like guesses, only easier. No one spoke for a long time, he finally gave up.

“I always thought that I was working for myself. Dad let me feel this way and encouraged it. Working for him, with a promise to succeed, gave me independence. The work ethic gave me credence. I have always felt unstoppable. Well, maybe not now.” His face faded a bit, he sank back, seemed to fold into the pillows. Mom leaned and then we followed. She wanted to go with him, the three of us felt unbalanced, wobbly, ready to straighten up.

“Lily, I love you. You know that already, but I wanted the kids to hear it one more time. My last thought is with you.”

Mom’s tears fell on his cheeks but he didn’t feel it. We all slumped onto the bed. His last breath collapsed us like popped balloons.