October 18th part 1

Oct 17 texts

_____________

Patrick

I can't take it anymore brother. I'll see you on the other side


George:

You can't be a p***y your whole life. Everybody has problems. Shut up with that s**t


Patrick:

F**k you, you f*****g f****t. I'm going to do something with my life and be better than you.

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Waking up before the sun has always seemed over zealous but I have to be at work today by 7 am. I wake up dragging a*s like I have most of my life. I look at my cell phone and it's 6:15am. I look over at Carolyn. My 220lbs shifts the entire bed and she doesn't even move because she's lost in peaceful sleep. I make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and put on my wrinkled scrubs. I will eventually wake up at work.


The morning drive to the hospital is always as quiet as possible. No music, no sound, except the cool October air rushing against my window. My eyes are still heavy with sleep and the thought of quitting dances across my mind in a worn path. I've never been a morning human.


I arrive at work. Looking tired but not from the night, I pass co-workers and say, "Good Morning", in my best voice. The morning comes and goes, and with time the burden of sleep on my eyes eases. My body is awake and my mind is focus to get through another day in the life of George. I have my cell phone in my back pocket occasionally pulling it out in secret to text Carolyn, like an ordinary day.


Walking through the QC area my phone vibrates. I rush to the back reading area where privacy is warranted. The screen shows DAD. I hesitate to answer as he will probably just want to chat and because of policy number 5 section 2, that could be a problem with my supervisor. I answer it anyway.


George: "What up Pop."


George: "Georgie"


George: "Yeah dad, what's up. I'm at work"


George: "Georgie.....Patrick....Patrick committed suicide"


George: "What? What are you saying? Is he hurt? Where is he? What?


George: "Georgie, Patrick committed suicide. He's dead mijo."


George: "Ok! Where are you? Are you doing cpr? I'm on my way?!"


George: "I'm here at Jackie's apartment."


George: "I'm on my way, keep doing cpr, Dad!"


Blood is rushing. Blood is rushing to my face, hands, legs. Blood is rushing in my ears as if I can hear it. Blood is rushing away from logic. I push the exit door to the back. The thought of telling a co-worker before I leave floods an irrational surge to my brain. I run, not walk or fast walk or jog, I f*****g run to the front of the department. I pass by my supervisor and the front desk clerk. I pause for only a moment to utter the words, " I have to leave, my brother died." Saying those words made my eyes pour and my voice squeek. The reality of those words were still fresh as I was only repeating my father.


The drive towards forever seemed like a blurr. I was driving well over the speed limit, weaving in and out of caution. No matter how much I pushed safety, it still felt slow. These emotions were waves crashing against doubt and disbelief. My dad's intelligence questioned. Patrick wasn't dead. What if he was? How can he be dead? What the f**k is going on?

Author's Note

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