Brooklyn Sunrise

Son, Rise

“I’ve hated you for a long time.  Do you know what that’s like?”  The absence of sound from the room heightened the pitch of everything within it.  As Marcus paused between his thoughts, the monotonous tone from the ECG monitor gave him some resolve that his audience of one was still in attendance.  Seated at the bedside, Marcus felt a tidal wave of emotion as he stared onto a face too familiar to his own.

“We never spoke about you.  Shit, I used to make up stories about who you were just so that I could feel somewhat complete.  And now look at me.”  With too many thoughts running through his mind, Marcus felt himself ready to cry, but he made a promise to himself long ago to never shed a tear about any of this.  Instinctually, he bit his tongue as he’d grown accustom to, to prevent himself from succumbing to sorrow.  Standing up, he walked a few paces around the bed as he tried to collect himself once more.

“Everything was perfect you know. You being this mystery and all.  And then BAM, you show up and change the entire game up.  And what?  What did you expect me to do?  I wasn’t a boy anymore.  It was too late.  Too fucking late to matter.”  Marcus stood at the foot of the bed, staring in anticipation as if expecting some sign of life.  After a few uneventful minutes, he sat back down, and stared off in silence.

A knock on the door stole Marcus away from his thoughts.  Standing in the doorway was a nurse that caught both his attention and his eye.  With a smirk, knowing he was not supposed to be in this room at this time, he rose from the chair to meet her by the door.

“It must have been hard growing up for you.” she said nonchalantly.  Marcus gave a puzzled look, wondering how much of his conversation she had heard.

“Ummm, why do you say that?” he replied

“The kids must’ve teased you with a name like Denise.  Because right here – ,” she pauses as she shows him the list of allowed overnight visitors, “it says that a Mrs. Denise Parker is the only visitor allowed in here right now.”  With a smirk of her own, the nurse stands ready to hear any explanation Marcus had.  Although slightly amused by her sense of humor, everything else about his being there pressed more on his mind than indulging her at that moment.

“Yea, look.  I’m sorry about that.  That’s his wife.”  He points his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the patient he just walked away from.  “She sorta let me take her place for a little while to see him.  Figured it would be good for the both of us.”  As he talks, his gaze drifts from the nurse.  Listening intently and noticing his shift in demeanor, the nurse – Marilyn – deduces that Marcus’ being there had to be very hard for him.

“So then, who are you?” she asks sincerely.  Marcus looks at her momentarily and then slowly bows his head and looks at his feet.  Marilyn looks at him strain to speak, his face giving the appearance of an internal battle as he tries to answer her.

“Marcus, my name is Marcus.  I’m his son.”  With the words finally out, Marcus walks away to return to the bedside.  Seeing his pain, but not knowing why, Marilyn follows him into the room both to complete her chart and to make sure Marcus is okay.  As she fills out her sheet, Marcus sits back down with a conflicted look.  Not knowing whether to interrupt, Marilyn decides to help anyway she can.

“I take it that you two had a hard life together?” she asks, not expecting any type of answer.  Marcus lets out a sigh but never gives her his full attention as he speaks.

“We actually had no life together.  I’m his son, but this guy has never been my father.”  Clasping his hands, he leans forward to stretch his back while he continues.  “I only met him a few months ago for the first time.  Graduated college and got a father as my lifetime achievement award.”  His attempt at humor did nothing to hide his pain.  Marilyn wanted to interject, but it was clear all he wanted to do was talk.

“My whole life I spent conflicted about this dude until one day I just stopped caring.  I made my peace with the cards dealt and played on.  Didn’t need him, ya know.”  A slight visage of anger began to take over his face as he continued speaking.

“Peep this.” he says to Marilyn, but never really bringing her into the conversation she knows he is truly having with his father.  “He shows up, tells me who he is and all that and then stands there like I’m supposed to be so grateful.  Fuck that.  I shook his hand and was like, ‘Nice of you to finally show up, hope the rest of your life is well.’  Twenty-four years of dreaming and imagining that moment and that’s what I end up saying?  And I walked off and we haven’t spoken since.  Denise reached out a few times, especially when this happened.”  As Marcus sat, trying to hold it all together, Marilyn felt powerless to help.  Sensing that she needed to tell him something, she put her clipboard down and rested her hand on his shoulder.

“Marcus, I don’t know you or this situation well at all.  You sound so hurt and so full of regret.”  Her pause allowed for Marcus to react in any way he needed to, but his head stayed buried in his palms.

“Whatever this man has done to you, or hasn’t done for you – I think what’s most important is that despite all of that you are here with him right now.  Life is too precious, too short, to live with the pain of the past holding us back.  I can already see how conflicted you are about all of this.  I don’t know what your goal is, but I would argue that in some way you need to resolve things with him while he is here.  Whether you like it or not, you’re his son.  In order for you to move on with your life, you’re going to need to rise above your pain and accept that.”

The words hit a cord with Marcus as he lifted his head and peered out of the window.  The cresting sun worked to erase all traces of the night and Marcus sat back in the chair as a satisfied Marilyn left him to ponder on her words and whatever thoughts he may have had.