The Art of Being a F*ck Up

26. Ugly Things

My mind still swims with doubt when I start on the way to the hospital to visit Bill. Even though I'm sure Lilah would've gladly taken me, she would've had a million questions with that keen perception of hers, and I'm too tired to play that game. Instead I take the bus, and while it's not that long of a ride it at least provides a short break where I can collect my thoughts the best I can so I can put away this thing with Maddy, and the thing with Jonah. It's still not lost on me that he hasn't texted back, whereas Maddy graciously volunteered her time to come along for support. Either way those thoughts aren't going to help me now, so I put them away too when I arrive.

I've never really liked hospitals, they're sterile and smell like antiseptic and I have too many bad memories of being here when I was a kid. My dad would always coach me on what to say, how to hide the worst bruises, but it didn't matter, they always had questions I never could quite figure out how to answer. Like, I remember the time he brought me in for a broken arm and I told them I got it falling out of a tree—even though there weren't any trees near our apartment. They didn't buy it, I could tell, maybe because it was just one in a long line of lies I'd told them about my constant injuries, but it was never enough for them to do anything. Nobody ever does.

I check in at the front desk to find out where Bill's at, then take the elevator to the correct floor. I'm still struggling with what I'll say to him, or what he'll say to me, but I'm reminded that he's not the only one I have to worry about when I approach the room to spot my dad standing out in the hallway. Slouched against the wall with his head in his hand, I feel something totally inappropriate when I see an expression written across his face that I've never seen on him before in my entire life. Sadness. What could drive a man as cold and callous as him to any kind of misery? The sight would maybe be enough to break my heart like he did my arm, but I know better.

All that agony pales and drains away when he gets the sense that someone might be watching, and when he looks at me the pain that had been so clear on his face twists to become a hateful scowl. I stand completely still, helpless almost, holding my breath in anticipation for whatever cruel and spiteful thing he's thought of to say. Yet he can't get it out, it won't come to him, so after it occurs to him that I'm not just going to disappear he shakes his head and storms off down the hall.

Again there's a stupid thought that flits through my mind about going after him, but I dismiss it in the same breath when I finally exhale, taking a few steps closer to the room. The door is just barely cracked open, but I give it a small push, glancing inside to find my uncle sitting quietly in the bed, staring up at the silent TV on the wall. He doesn't seem to notice the intrusion, and while seeing him there in that hideous gown makes my skin crawl every bit as much as being here, I still go farther in to make myself known.

"Brent, you came. Come take a seat, kid." His eyes widen uncharacteristically as he finally notices me and switches off the TV. He's like me, I bet he's hated every minute he's been forced to stay here, so it's probably a relief to see something—anything—from outside.

"Hey, Bill. They treating you okay? I hope the food doesn't suck as bad as the last time I was here." I crack a joke, hoping to lighten the glum mood that hangs in this room like a dense fog. It's not actually that much of a joke though, this is where I stayed after I busted my knee and I'm suddenly swamped with even more bad memories that I don't want. Regardless, I give all my attention to my uncle as I take the chair beside the bed.

"They have me on this low sodium kick, I told them that was the least of my worries. Next time you come would it kill you to bring me a burger or something?" If I didn't know any better I might think he's actually joking back, but I get the distinct feeling he wouldn't say no if I smuggled something in under my shirt.