Duty.
It is my misguided grasp of the concept that allows me to disregard justice. I find myself in a series of robotic head nods. This is my price for being forced to sit in a small room full of incapable decision makers while pretending their opinions are of crucial importance. There is no way any of them should be in charge of human life. I hope I kept that cocky smirk off of my face. Fucking peasants.
Stifling my urge for truth, I depart the bizarre theatre of Neanderthal philosophy. Refreshed from having dispensed with another virtue, I wonder how many more as I navigate down the hall. My senses have a sharpening clarity and I feel a small surge of adrenaline. I can see the detail of the stained ceiling tile…that corner of grime on the floor where the mop missed…the colors seem to pulsate and give off an aura that is just a bit nauseating. In the distance I can hear muffled laughter…strangely out of place in the critical care ward. I make my way to Room 7 in Tupelo Mississippi.
The doctor is standing outside the room’s curtain and begins his condescending monologue. There must be a class in medical school that teaches this banal form of arrogance with such refinement. Speaking in a way that confirms an unlistening patient, he does his best to feign tenderness, though he is a little too tired to give a great performance. I get the impression that medical staffs huddle up in a conspiracy that gently presses the urgency in pulling the plug sooner rather than later. Assured that he has had the desired persuasive effect, he takes his leave and I move in front of the curtain.
There he lay in his final moments, unaware of his doctor’s opinion on his importance to the world. I wonder what it is that one reflects upon as the human mind slowly ceases its activity. Is it merely a machine winding down, the white noise intruding upon a poorly tuned UHF channel? Is there a gentle emotional stream coursing through the mind that negates the ill-shaven, obese body that lies before me? I can see his sweat is futilely trying to escape from him only to fall deeper into the maze of fleshly wrinkle and fold, collecting into pools of stench and mixing with the cocktail of alcohol and iodine in a way that will stay with my memory forever.
I forced myself to approach, and feel like one who would submerge underwater to an unbreathing murkiness, knowing that you can be here only a moment before returning to the world above. In that moment I could feel my eyes searching…. trying to find something worthwhile in the wreckage. Somewhere there is still hope for good and for that I am ashamed. Even the most worthless among us must have some point of merit. Something that proves our humanity…some noble portion of our soul that can be thought of on its own and separately from all those things that scream for forgiveness. The water seems too murky for me now. I can only give forgiveness as a commoner who has a subconscious filled with reservation.
If I allow myself the pleasure of standing in judgment, I would look rather contemptuously at the undeniable weakness that must still inhabit this body. I could feel my lips wording my mental muttering, ”piece of shit…” Turns out, you are not even my real father, you big bloated evil son of a bitch. I am a little surprised and embarrassed at how easily my weakness is exposes itself.
His eyes are opening.
As he gazes around the room his eyes fix on my face. I can see the recognition, though he has laid eyes upon me very few times in my adult life. I can also see that he is attempting to speak, though it is a useless attempt. I clasp his hand and tell him I love him. It is my sickening gift to a dying man who knows no better. As his eyes and face moisten with regret I feel the sense of dark satisfaction. At least he has the shred of humanity to know a life of regret. To seethe with the lack of accomplishment and sense his imminent and rapid fade to anonymity is my quiet joy. Such is the vile indulgence I allow myself in that little room on this day. For the last time, I move from in front of the curtain.
I look back those years ago with renewed vision. Having become a father late in life, I will soon face all the steely tests of fatherhood and lay claim to my own noble portion, though I am certain the “duty” will not reside there…
