The Last Laugh

A story about a woman remembering her father. I always meant to expand on it. Maybe I will one day.

The Last Laugh by Nazca

     "Please remain calm.  We're only experiencing a little turbulence.  Nothing to get upset about,”  the pretty lady with the wide eyes and cropped short hair says to me as I close my eyes and roll my head back on the seat.  I never like these things, planes.  I ride them all the time, but I never did like them.  And this was the worst ride yet.  This wasn't just turbulence; this lady is full of it.  There's a storm out there, all it takes is one bolt of lightning...
     Funny how I only think of Dad at times like this, when I'm afraid I won't be able to think about him anymore.  He'd make a joke about all this.  He always knew how to make us laugh.  That was his one most endearing quality to those who loved him.  Always quick with the jokes.  I haven't thought about him in a long time...  The plane starts to shake.  The woman next to me grips the armrests, accidentally grabbing my hand.
     "Ladies and Gentlemen, we’re experiencing a little turbulence.  Please fasten your seat belts and remain seated."

     When I was growing up, even before I got sick, he would make me laugh at least once every day.  Sometimes by saying something, sometimes just by making the kind of face only he could make.  He was always strong, always pulling everyone else up with his own strength.  I always remember him like that, and I always remember being his favorite, his "Peg-leg."    You either hate or love a man like that, and I of course loved him.
     "Do you think we'll be landing soon?" the woman next to me asks, still holding my hand
     "I really don't know,”  I reply, but I'm distracted.  I let her hold my hand, but its mostly because I'm too engrossed with my own thoughts to care. 
      Looking out the window, into the darkness outside, I remember the last time I saw him.  He was in the hospital and I flew out to see him, just like now.  I remember the hospital well.  The stark white walls and the smell of ammonia.  The bleach white sheets and the stares from all the healthy people, wondering what you have.  The squeaky shoes of the nurses as they hurry past with the bedpans.  This time the people in the beds were staring at me as I walked past their rooms.  And I tried to keep my eyes ahead, hiding my limp with shame now that I was not in one of those beds. 
     When I walked into the room there were people surrounding him laughing.  The sun came in through the window and shone on his face.  Dad joked about being out of the hospital as soon as they gave him back his underwear.  Mother looked worried.  She always looked worried, but now she had an ashen look on her face.  It was the first time I realized that he wasn't going to be here forever.  While everyone got on the bandwagon and cracked jokes, I began to wonder what was wrong.  For once even he couldn't make me laugh.  The nurse eventually asked people to start leaving, as if that would stop Dad. 
     "Wait, Annie, I need to speak to you.  Stay behind for a minute,”  Dad actually looked serious  for a change.  Mother looked back for a minute, a worried look in her eyes, but then quickly left the room.
     "What's wrong, Dad?"
     "I have cancer.  Guess it runs in the family.  They want me to stay here for a while and try some new treatments.  I don't believe there's much for them to do.  I'm not complaining, I’ve lived full life.  You play the cards you're dealt.  I wanted to ask you though, because you're the only one here who can understand.  Don't tell mother, she’ll just get more upset.  The pain, Annie, it must have been terrible for you.  I imagine it will be coming for me soon.  How did you deal with the pain?"
     I stood there dumb.  I couldn't speak.  I could only remember when I was here so long ago, lying sick in bed, unable to move, barely able to think.  The pain was maddening, yes.  But it wasn't the worst part.  I became a nuisance in the background.  The worst part was the fight inside.  Part of me wanted to live, the other part wanted to give up and die.  Just to rest, and it all.  That was the worst part.  I was tearing myself apart inside.  The fear of death and the fear of living like that.  It was almost too much to bear even now.  I couldn't think of how to tell him.
     "I don't know, Dad.  They kept me pretty drugged up most of the time."  I was so ashamed.  The first item in my life he asks me for something, and I couldn't even give him that.  "It was a long time ago.  I really can't tell you how it was."
     Dad looked at me for a second with a sad feeling in his eyes.  I never saw him like that before.  Only for split second, though, he snapped out of it almost before I could notice it...
     "Of course you can't remember, what was I thinking?  You were just a little girl.  Now look what I did, I ruined your visit.  Now go out and go home with your mother before she gets nosey." 
     They let Dad come home while I was visiting.  For the next two weeks he was his old self again, making fun of everything and everyone in sight.  That was the way I wanted to remember him.  For the rest of the visit, he didn't mention anything of our little conversation, as if it never happened.  Life went on like there was nothing wrong.  The way I wanted, and the way everyone around him believed it to be.  The only thing out of the ordinary was what he said as I left for the airport to go back home:  "Please come back soon."  Dad NEVER said please.
     He got worse.  I went back overseas to visit him three months later, at Mother's request.  When I came to his room, I almost didn't recognize him.  The vibrant man who once epitomized everything in life that was alive for me was now a pale shadow of a man, skin like parchment on bone.  Mom sat by his side, and the other kids were all around.  His eyes were wide and blank.  There were no more jokes.  The drugs they gave him seemed to drain all the life from him.  He looked up at me and said, "Young lady, can you be so kind and get me the paper.  I need to see the paper,”

 

  He didn't even recognize me.  I couldn't see him like that.  I left as soon as I could.
I had to stay away from that.  No one could help him or understand what he was going through right now, and I didn't have the strength to try.  I didn't speak to anyone in my family for the next six months, until he called me.  It was a surprise really, for my birthday.  No on else was there.
     "Hello, Peg-leg.  I've missed you,”  He sounded like his old self again.
     "Hi Dad.  Sorry I've been away so long.  How are you feeling?"  I didn't know what else to say.
     "I'm fit as a mule, fit as mule!  Much to the discontent of the neighbors here.  Bunch of old farts waiting for their medicine!  There's a little something I wanted to tell you.  I know why you couldn't come see, I understand.  I know what you were through all those years ago, I think.  I wouldn't want to remember either.  You were young then, and could do it.  I can't.  But that's OK.  I just need you to promise me something. "
     "Yes, Dad."
     "You will come back afterwards.  I have a little surprise for you.  I think you'll like it.  I have to go.  Take care.  Love you."
     "Bye Dad."
     That was the last time I talked to him.  He died a week later.
     There was a loud crash and the plane bounced wildly.  We began to descend.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to make an emergency landing.  Please remain in your seats and assume crash positions...”
      The woman grips tighter.  The plane is shaking badly.  I notice the world again and I think  "All it takes is one lightning bolt..."  But remembering my father and how much it hurts losing him,  I really don't care.
……..

     The landing was rough but no one was hurt.  Interestingly enough everyone seemed happy.  The experience seemed to make them appreciate their lives all the more.  The woman next to me who grabbed my hand (I never even asked her name) thanked me endlessly for helping her. As if I did.  All I could think of was that I wanted to get out of there and get this over with.  Its like my emotions weren't even there. 
     As I climbed the hills to the one he wanted to be buried at, urn in one hand and shovel in the other, I wonder at the burial instructions I was given.  These things were heavy as hell.  The funeral was last year, and all that was left was in the urn, but I put this off until now.  I didn't want to remember or deal with the loss.  Now I could.  Why bury an urn?  He must have been under the influence of the painkillers when he thought of this.  I wanted to open the note that said "Do NOT open until you reach the top!"  But I had promised that I would see it through his way, and I would.
     I paused for a minute to look around the countryside and rest my weaker leg.  He loved it here, especially this hill.  Dad would call it his little piece of heaven.  We would come here from time to time, just me and him to show me the stars and make me laugh.  It was his favorite place.  All green hills, and blue skies, and this was the biggest of them all.  I think he would come here when he was down, even thought he would never let anyone know.  Now he's brought me back again, alone, just him, and me one last time.
     I did as the instructions stated and dug the hole at the highest point of the hill.  Now I could open the note:  "It must have been tough carrying that stuff up the hill all by yourself,  Peg-leg!  Just cast my ashes to the wind.  What are you crazy, bringing an urn that heavy all the way up a hill to bury it?  Ha ha ha!  I just wanted to see if you could do it.  By the way, I want you to carry that thing all the way back down the hill now!  And don't forget the shovel, Peg-leg!"
It was all a joke.  That figures, just like Dad to make a joke out of it all.  I look down at the landscape before me, the one he loved so much, laugh to myself, and with tears in my eyes I whisper, "You got the last laugh, Dad.  You got the last laugh."

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[Liza]

you have a natural talent for story telling