I know I already posted (a much-needed update) today, but I found this old fiction short piece and felt it belonged here. Enjoy!
The world rushed by in the form of a narrow hallway packed with people. Everything blurred through Tezu’s tears. He weaved through the faceless white coats to room 208. Through the door and behind the curtain two white beds stood awkward yet belonging, vulnerable among machines. Approaching the bed on the left side, Tezu sat carefully as not to disturb its sleeping occupant. Jerry had never looked liken this before: so small and sick. A machine measures his heartbeat, pulsing, dropping, repeating. It told his life story. Jerry had his ups and downs, but in the end nothing ever changed. Pulse, drop, repeat.
Tezu reached for a tissue on the bedside table, pushing away “Get Well” cards, all apologetic, from his siblings who were studying abroad. He knew they had no control over the situation, but with one parent already gone Tezu had thought Rachel and Dan would come.
Nose sniffling, tears flowing, Tezu gently grasped his adopted father’s hand. He felt the wrinkles, baggy and smooth, that normally wouldn’t be there for another couple years. He followed the pattern of his scrub up to his face and neck. Tezu thought his father’s appearance reflected his age. His grey beard was uneven, evidence he had been sleeping for some time. His eyes and mouth looked warm even when he was asleep, his aura always active. Jerry was always smiling, but somehow never at Tezu. Jerry’s breathing quickened, the heart monitor jumped, and the sick man awoke: Recovering, smiling, welcoming.