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Ruminations
Coruscant’s strawberry mango skies swirl in austere, sullen silence around the Jedi Council Chamber where young Skywalker awaits restlessly for Mace Windu’s return, or even a call for help over the comlink. Anakin knew Mace couldn’t face the Chancellor – or Darth Sidious, whoever he is – on his own. Unbridled fear was clouding his thoughts, Anakin was sure of that much. If Master Obi-Wan were there, he’d go on about fulfilling their duty as Jedi and possibly even a long-winded anecdote about Satine – as if stories are of any help. Anakin allows himself to collapse in his council seat and recalls his training to refocus on the Force; his heartrate gradually slows to a normal rhythm, and he can feel fresh air coursing through his body – a profound sense of calmness soon followed until a familiar voice echoes inside Anakin’s head: Palpatine.
“If the Jedi destroy me, any chance of saving her is lost. But you already know this, don’t you?”
Full of unease, Anakin jolts out of his seat and paces to the oversized window overlooking the city. Anakin’s heart fired like an ion cannon, and all he could think about was her. Anakin’s gaze pierces across the hustle and bustle of Coruscant’s crowded skies to the apartment he and Padmé shared. He could sense Padmé inside their room also staring back at him, and feeling her distress fueled the electricity caged inside Anakin’s soul, releasing intoxicating fear that swelled into an all-consuming dissonant bliss. Hauntings of his mother fading in his embrace resurfaced hungrier for revenge than ever before, and the thought of losing Padmé how he lost his mother served as the beskar encompassing his fearful rage. Nothing else matters.
Coruscant’s rays illuminate the chamber, no shadows to be seen except for the darkness cast on Anakin’s left cheek. The sun’s warmth sears into his skin, reminiscent of Padmé’s loving touch, but is unable to melt his brumal shell. Faint honking and indistinct chatter from the air travel below howls like the torment wreaking havoc inside Anakin’s soul. Succumbing to his emotions is forbidden for a Jedi, Anakin knows this, but he welcomed this depravity like an old friend. This familiar taste of poison intoxicated his whole being, and he knew there wouldn’t be going back this time. Awareness of this reality festered, feeding into his raging whirlwind of emotions, and he began to mourn the man he once was. Anakin Skywalker: friend, Jedi Knight, teacher… husband. It was only then he realized how far he’d fallen, or soon would fall, but he knew he would trade his soul if it meant Padmé would live. And that’s what he planned to do. Anakin’s eyes swell, and he dismissively glances at the ground as a team streams down his cheek. Before Anakin could leave the council chamber, he felt a presence he hadn’t felt in a long time. He tilts his head, and his eyes widen, “Qui-Gon?”
“You have grown strong and powerful just as I imagined. Why have you not accepted your destiny?”
“Master… I-”
“Remember, always be mindful of the future, but not at the expense of the moment. If you continue down this path, you will have an opportunity to restore balance but beware your heart.”
Anakin stood in silence contemplating the wisdom from his old friend. Still, Anakin was determined to help Mace any way he can and still get the answers he seeks from Palpatine; but the fiery conviction he once had extinguished at the sound of Qui-Gon’s voice. Anakin was lost, and he wasn’t sure if the Force could help him – or if words from a dead man could, either.
Air underneath the speeder swirls and the engine roars as Anakin arrives at the Senate building landing platform, practically leaping out of the speeder before it fully shuts down. Anakin’s thoughts still elude him, but he was holding onto Qui-Gon’s warning with hope that answers would become clear. Palpatine’s office doors open, and across the room Mace is towering over Palpatine who’s lying on the floor, cornered in a crescent indent in the wall adjacent to a broken window.
“You are under arrest, my Lord,” Mace threatens, unaware of Anakin’s presence until Palpatine tilts his head.
“Anakin, I told you it would come to this...”
“… you have lost.”
Before Anakin could process what’s transpiring before him, Palpatine shoots tanzanite colored lightening from his fingertips. Mace deflects the streaming electricity with his violet blade, directing the shots back to Palpatine himself causing the lightening to eat away at his face until it looks like a Hutt’s backside. Anakin could feel his rage swarming inside, but instead of feeding the storm, he turned to the Force for guidance. Through the Force he found clarity, and his chains were broken. The unrecognizable man lying helplessly wasn’t Anakin’s friend or his mentor, but a man with a Changeling for a personality who never had his best interest at heart like he once believed. This was the man who was responsible for the war and likely responsible for other calamitous events: the death of his mother, the framing of Ahsoka… Anakin could sense various echoes in the Force surrounding the Sith Lord.
The man hovering his violet blade over Darth Sidious is no peacekeeper, but a solider. Anakin hadn’t realized how far the Jedi have fallen since the war began, but now he could feel the deep roots imbalance has weaved throughout the Republic, the Senate, and the Jedi – and in Mace as he continues his attack.
“I am going to end this once and for all,” Mace declares.
“You can’t,” Anakin interjects, slowly walking towards the helpless Sith Lord. He could sense Mace studying his movements, but Anakin’s gaze was fixed on Sidious’ crazed grin. Sidious relaxes the closer Anakin gets before he swiftly leaps from a prone position over Anakin’s head. Anakin instinctively calls upon the Force to immobilize Sidious midair and abruptly skewers Sidious with his cobalt blade. Sidious’ lifeless body collapses at Anakin’s feet as the Coruscant Guards storm in the office.
“Commander, take care of the Sith Lord and send out a call for an emergency senate meeting. Skywalker, a word?”
“Yes, Master?”
“What you told me was true, and you have regained my trust. I see now that facing Sidious and your fears was actually your grand trial. It’s known the Force works in mysterious ways, and because of this test, you have not only proven you are a great Jedi, but also displayed virtues of a Jedi Master. Once the council reconvenes, I will suggest to the rest of the council we bestow the rank of Master upon you.”
Anakin smirks, “I’m… humbled, Master Windu, but I cannot accept your offer.”
Mace cocks his eyebrow and curls his lip while crossing his shoulders.
“There is another path I need to follow.”
“Another path,” Mace questions.
“Away from the order,” Anakin responds before turning away and walking out of the Chancellor’s office.
The Senate held an emergency meeting not long after the death of Palpatine, who everyone now knows was Darth Sidious: the mysterious Sith Lord orchestrating the war. Senator Amidala led the emergency meeting along with her friend, Bail Organa, to guide talks of electing a new Chancellor as well as establish communication with the Separatist Senate to reopen peace negotiations. From the Senate hallways peered Anakin Skywalker smiling at his wife as she captivated the attention of everyone in the room. Democracy wasn’t going to die today, not for a long time.
16 Years Later
The warm sun sets over the Naboo hills as the rustling wind leaves a caressing breeze lingering among two young Jedi learning what Anakin was once taught. Padmé nestles close to her husband and he wraps his arm around her, kisses her forehead, and they continue to watch as Ahsoka and Obi-Wan review saber katas with Luke and Leia. Anakin’s future is free now, but when he closes his eyes, he sees what would’ve been: the deaths, the betrayals, everything.
Sibling Shenanigans
“Testing one two three… I hope this thing’s recording. I’m Kat Tee and this is log one-one-seven. Unfortunately, I am trapped in the backseat of a van full of weirdos. You may be wondering who these weirdos are and you also might be slightly concerned for my well-being, as you should be, but I assure you, these weirdos are just my bickering siblings – nothing new.”
“Kat, could you please shut up! I can’t hear Chad over your insolent mumbling,” Veronica snaps.
“Hey, leave Kat out of this, Vee. We wouldn’t be arguing if you just made a decision already or chose to compromise… for once.”
“Really, Chad? Always gotta defend lil sis. Just because Kat’s the youngest, it doesn’t mean she has to be babied by literally everyone.”
“Uh, guys – if you would have just tuned into 99.7 like I said- “Kat sighs.
“No, we are not listening to those dumb boy bands you are obsessed with.”
Kat brings her voice recorder close to her lips and whispers, “dang, at times like this I wish this bad boy recorded more than just audio. Veronica’s eyes practically rolled into the back of her head and she looked like those zombies from The Walking Dead – no cap.”
“Cap?” Chad questions.
“Yeah, like joke – no cap is basically saying not joking or not lying,” Kat trails off and rolls her eyes.
Chad’s eyes widen and his hands go in the air like he’s being interrogated. “Look, not everyone can be as hip as Miss Kat. No cap.”
Kat chuckles and dramatically looks at her recorder as if an inanimate object has the capability of staring back in agreement. “Chad's only 20 but I swear sometimes he seems like he’s 40. I mean, the dude listens to REO Speedwagon. That says everything ya need to know.”
“Ha, about the only thing we agree on, Kitty Kat," Vee interjects. "Yea their stuff is chill, but we need something more with the times, which is why I humbly suggest – “
“Hmm let me guess, Michael Bublé on 56.4 Bublé’s Greatest Hits?” Chad mockingly bats his eyes.
“Y’all don’t understand. He speaks to my soul.”
“Oh, we understand you just have a horrible taste in guys,” Kat spews.
The recording cuts to static and a mumbled, echoey audio briefly cuts in. “Hello, future Kat here – yeah, looking back this was probably not a smart move, but it seemed like a good idea at the time… well, everything will make sense in a moment. Okay past Kat – back to you.”
A long silence plagued the environment inside the car. No one dare broke the silence for a long while until Veronica’s piercing cries echoes within the tiny moving box. Veronica whips her head so she’s facing Chad and Kat – her eyes are bloodshot red, and her mascara is streaming down her cheeks.
“Michael was different, okay? We just had different life goals and he was obsessed with playing video games or whatever.”
“You say that about all the guys, Vee,” Chad exhales an exaggerated sigh. “We can listen to REO Speedwagon on 101.2, and I’m sure one of their love songs will come on at some point. Look, we always listen to what you want to listen to because the world is always ending for you, and I think it’s time we finally listen to some REO Speedwagon. It’s my turn to pick – hell, it’s been my turn to pick for the last ten years – and I want to cash in. Besides, back in the 80s, man, that was the good music.”
“Chad, no. The only radio station we need to listen to right now is Bublé’s Greatest Hits because that is the only thing that will help me work through my breakup with Michael. And I don’t understand how y’all don’t find his voice absolutely soothing, because it is, and maybe listening to him will make y’all chill out a bit.”
“And this is why I stopped asking to listen to 99.7 hours ago,” Kat curtly confesses to her recorder. “Would it be nice to listen to Harry Styles’ silky voice and plan my next One Direction concert? Of course. Listening to so-called boy bands is good for the soul – it’s even proven in Seventeen magazine – and my sister could definitely benefit from listening to some boy bands. This effort isn’t just about Harry Styles anymore, it’s about her sanity.”
“That’s it. I’ve had it with your stupid, pointless monologue. Give me that,” Veronica hisses.
“No, wait- “
The recording abruptly ends here with a sound similar to someone crunching a bag of chips.
Kat’s hand is lingering out of the frame while her arm blocks some of the picture, her face is pinched in on itself as she fumbles around with the buttons hoping she’s pressing the right one. Kat leans back and throws her hands in the air. “Testing one two three… I’m Kat Tee and I’m coming to you with video log number 1. Yes, you heard me correctly – video log – oh, and you can see me too! Just don’t pay attention to my clothes scattered about my room, this is a good day. The last anyone heard from me was roughly 6 hours ago when my wonderful sister broke my recorder. Hey Vee, the people would like to see you,” Kat mocks, directing her attention to something off screen.
Veronica groans as she pops her face in front of the camera. “Hello.”
“Good, now get out of the way, Vee, I’m recording.”
Veronica’s eyes roll deep into her skull and she strolls out of Kat’s room.
“So yeah, after Vee broke my recorder, I took advantage of the opportunity so conveniently placed in front of me. Vee felt horrible for breaking my recorder – well, she feared mom and dad’s wrath more than anything, if I’m being honest – so she agreed to my simple terms: she had to buy be a camera – not those cheap ones, oh no, but a handycam – to help me in my pursuit of perfecting the art of videography, and I get to choose the radio station for a whole month. Can you believe it? A whole month! But that’s not the good part – I mean, seeing my lovely face in 4K is a treat in itself – but we got to listen to One Direction on the way to Best Buy. You have no idea how long it’s been since I got to listen to Harry Styles in the car. Then on the way back, I decided to take it back to the 70s with some REO Speedwagon for Chad to show my gratitude for him always having my back. That about wraps up today’s car adventures, and be sure to tune in tomorrow for another episode of… shit what do I call this? Note to future self: come up with a name for this new production.” Kat leans into the camera, cocking her eyebrow and widening her mouth. “How do I shut this- “
Luckily, Kat finds the power button before the camera records the rest of her sentence.
The Missing Orb of Xaria
Long ago in a faraway land, Xadguardians were the protectors of magic harbored in their world’s core, and this power attracted magical creatures and humans alike to settle on the lands of Xadgar. One day, after a millennium of the Xadguardians’ devotion to preserving these magical lands, a ginormous dark brown tree bountiful with colorful leaves and abstract patterns carved into the trunk that glowed like honey in the sun sprouted in the center of a small village. Each individual leaf was a different shade of vibrant colors of the rainbow and had glitter-like specs decorating the whole leaf that pulsed like a heartbeat. The Xadguardians believed this tree was a blessing from the magic within Xadgar and the tree became the center of the village. News of this blessing reached settlements far and wide, and not before long, the quaint village transformed into the capital city of Xadgar, now known as Prax. Shortly after Prax was established, a great famine havocked the city until one day when glistening orbs of light appeared on the tree. The Xadguardians picked the orbs and planted them the ground, and within minutes of the orbs being planted, various vegetables ready to be harvested sprouted – it was a miracle. Henceforth, the Xadguardians devoted their lives to preserving the tree at all costs and began referring to the tree as Xaria, meaning lucky tree.
Since then, Prax has more than doubled in size, and a large kitchen was built at the base of Xaria to serve as a main food hub for the city. All is well in Prax when a Giant named Caitif, a mage in training, is on his way to the kitchen to investigate a report of a missing orb. Once Caitif arrives at the kitchen, he notices his teacher, Demre, is already waiting for him.
“Caitif, over here! We need to get to work. The kitchen sure is busy today, so we need to find this orb pronto,” Demre crosses her arms. “Do the looking-glass spell we’ve been practicing.”
Caitif sighs and clenches his face. The looking-glass spell would be helpful so I could see where this orb is. I’m afraid to even try… I don’t want to fail.
“Relax, Caitif. You gotta stop being so frightened all the time. Your fear holds you back.”
“I never know how you just… know.”
“It doesn’t take magic to see the fear in you. But go on, keep trying.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary, Demre. Your protégé is off the hook this time,” Redna, the kitchen’s head cook, echoes as she makes her way towards Demre and Caitif. “I’ve got something to confess… I gave an orb to a Frog named Illómen. He always comes by before the kitchen’s about to close and begs for an orb. I guess his crops died, and he knows that just one orb will provide a bountiful harvest. At first, I didn’t give him one because the orbs are so sacred and all, but about two weeks ago I gave him one because I… well, I caved.”
Demre scrunches her nose and snarls, “Where is Illómen now? I’d like to speak with him.”
“That’s the thing – he’s missing. I haven’t seen him in a couple days. Could you go to the old ruin and check on him?” Redna stares at her feet and twiddles her thumbs. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll find your friend,” Caitif yelps, and he sprints out the door.
Demre’s eyes roll to the back of her head and she turns to follow Caitif. After walking for what felt like hours, Caitif and Demre arrive at the old ruin: a cluster of demolished houses lying on a bed of charcoal-like dirt on the edge of Prax. Caitif kneels and places his left hand on the ground.
“Someone’s close and these tracks are fresh.” Caitif tilts his head towards Demre.
“This is all you, kid. Remember what I taught you.”
Caitif nods then closes his eyes. “Light the way to whom I seek. Hopefully this won’t lead me to a creek,” Caitif chants, causing a clover green light to illuminate the ground under his fingertips and form a path that shines bright like a fire in the night. Caitif grins and sprints down the path until he arrives at a colorful mansion in the Northernwood, a forest a couple miles outside of Prax. In front of the house there is a sign that reads, “RUIN – Reimagining Unluckiness in the Northernwood.” Next to the sign sat a purple and red spotted Frog wearing golden silk with a display of vegetables spread out in front of him on a long table.
“Hello, are you Illómen?”
“Ah yes, hello there! Who might you be?”
“Just a traveler. What do you have here?”
“Vegetables – corn, green beans, you name it! I got a bunch of extra harvest from my garden, and I have some other stuff if you’re into magical things.”
“Magical things?” Caitif raises his brow and places his hands on his hips.
“Oh, ya know, elixirs, wands, and I even got my hands on one of those orbs.”
Caitif squints his eyes and inhales deeply. “How did you come by this stuff? It’s not easy getting magical items, much less an orb from Xaria. That kitchen there is always hopping.”
Illómen leans back in his chair and smugly replies, “Begging. I gotta make a living somehow and it’s nice to have the extra cash. Might’ve used a spell with this old wand to convince the kitchen lady to cough up an orb. So what? It’s not like anyone’s going to miss one orb.”
“For sure,” Caitif trails off and scans Illómen’s impressive three-story mansion and the exquisite landscaping surrounding his house. “You mind if I see this orb? I believe it could enhance my magical abilities if I forge it into a charm of sorts.”
Illómen nods and grabs the orb from under his chair, then once Illómen has the orb in his grip, Caitif leans in and places his left index finger between the Frog’s eyes.
Caitif chants, “Return this magic to the planet. Turn his home into a gannet. How you’ve lived to date will be your fate.” A blinding light overcomes Cantif and Illómen, and once the light dims; the mansion is gone, the gorgeous landscaping turned to dirt, Illómen’s silk clothing turned to rags, and the orb was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is my orb? My fortune…” Illómen pleads, kneeling at Caitif’s feet.
“I returned the orb to Xaria where it belongs. Heed this lesson, Illómen, or your fate is sealed.”
Caitif leaves Illómen in his despair and later reunites with Demre in Prax.
“Redna informed me the orb was returned in one piece. I’m proud of you, Caitif. You proved you can set aside your fear to see a mission through.”
As a result of Caitif’s heroism, he became a full-fledged mage and was recognized for his efforts to preserve Xaria’s orbs. As for Illómen, he never returns to Prax and stories of his mischievous deeds spread throughout Xadgar. He lived the rest of his life as a beggar… which was perfectly just.
Holiday Delights
“My family is excited to finally meet you. This is a good step for us,” Nezuko insists.
“Of course… but springing a family Christmas on me is intimidating, I mean, look at all these people,” Ben chuckles as his cheeks flush.
“Don’t you remember the run-down I gave you?”
“Yep, but if I recall, there’s still someone you haven’t told me about…”
“Oh, Kim? Trust me, you don’t want to meet her.”
“Kim – so she does have a name. You gotta fill me in now.”
Nezuko sighs and makes sure no one is in earshot before she leans in close to Ben. “Alright, fine. There’s only two things you need to know about my sister Kim: One, she is literally a female Greg Heffley–“
“Greg Heffley… from Diary of a Wimpy Kid? The children’s books?” Ben furrows his brow.
Nezuko nods. “This one time I was at Kim’s house a few years ago I noticed what appeared to be a sizeable grocery list on her cluttered refrigerator, completely normal, right? But I get a closer look and realize it’s just a list of games she wants to play, games I’ve never even heard of – like what’s Metroid? But don’t even get me started on the rest of her house, or her car for that matter. It’s only gotten worse since she got a cat last year.”
“That’s it? I was expecting… I don’t know, not that, but she seems cool,” Ben challenges.
“Ben, she brings her red tabby cat, Samus, everywhere she goes. That’s weird, Ben. And her breath always smells like black licorice. Who the hell eats black licorice? Crazy people, that’s who!” Nezuko declares.
Rolling his eyes, Ben places his hand on Nezuko’s shoulder. “Alright, Nez, if you say so,” Ben replies soothingly. “How about you introduce me to your grandparents?”
Kim suddenly barges through the door nearly tripping over her untied boot laces, her face knotted and bunching in on itself, taking her a few moments to realize everyone’s gawking at her performance, but this doesn’t faze her. Along with snowflakes ushering inside, a potent mixture of fresh, chilling winter breeze and acidic rotten eggs filled everyone’s nose, only growing stronger as the winter air faded into the warm air inside the living room. There was no color to her face except for pinkish ice kissed cheeks and brown crumbs coating the corners of her awkwardly pursed lips. Kim’s festive cherry red and forest green lumberjack plaid shirt is soaked from snow melting into the fabric and long, tawny cat hair scattered like loose grass decorates the front of her shirt and pitch-black jeans. The culprit, Samus herself, is effortlessly cradled in Kim’s left arm while Kim frantically attempts to make herself look presentable. Kim looks up from inadvertently clustering Samus’ hair across her shirt and scans the quaint living room with a dopey expression allowing her golden almond eyes to glaze over a sea of astonished reactions. Great, here we go again. Why does this always happen to me, Kim thinks to herself. Kim’s spine straightens and she boxes her shoulders, but if anything, that draws more attention to her twitching lips and fingers dancing across her upper right thigh as if she is pressing piano keys, playing harmony to Samus’ purr-fect low hum.
“H-hello everyone,” Kim splutters, awkwardly jerking her free hand in the air for a brief second. “Sorry I’m late… had an incident in the kitchen before I left.” Kim tilts her head forward, audibly sniffing herself, and quickly draws her head back curling her nose and widening her eyes. The awkward silence ensues. A flash of discomfort crosses Kim’s face as her jaw slowly tenses. Kim immediately breaks eye contact and glances around the room unable to focus on anything until she shakily kneels to the ground turning her back to us, placing Samus in her lap. Eventually the party resumes as if nothing interrupted the excitement, but Kim’s still sitting on the floor clenching the back of her neck with one hand and petting Samus with the other. The back of Kim’s shirt has a giant green sewn-on Christmas tree covering nearly every inch of fabric; thankfully, Kim chose to wear her overgrown dark chocolate hair up in Princess Leia fashioned buns to fully display the festivity of her shirt. Now that the party’s focal point are the jolly tunes rocking from the speakers, Kim’s rigidness mellows out as she decides to join the festivities. Kim rose to her feet, leaving Samus to roam the house, and meandered over to Nezuko and Ben who were sitting at a small white round table a few feet from the door, swaying her torso from side to side with every step so enthusiastically she looked like a waddling penguin. Pulling up a chair, Kim sits down directly in front of Nezuko and Ben.
“Hi, I’m Kim, and you must be my sister’s boyfriend. It’s nice to meet you!”
Ben smiles and waves his hand. “I’m Ben. Your sister has told me a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet you. The Christmas tree on the back of your shirt looks good by the way.”
“Thanks, I sewed it on myself just for these parties. Ma always says my red and green shirts aren’t Christmas-y enough, but now that problem’s solved.”
Ben chuckles and covers his nose with his hand.
“Oh sorry – I ate some black licorice on the way here, and I forget not everyone loves black licorice as I do.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ben sees enough of Nezuko’s sass filled expression facing his direction to know better than to look her in the eye. Kim fumbles with a pack of gum, nearly dropping the stick on the table before she could toss it in her mouth.
“So, Ben, do ya like video games?” Kim gushes and bangs the table as if she were playing the drums.
Nezuko sinks in her chair and buries her face in her hands, groaning, “This is going to be a long night.” And a long night it was.
Despondence
A person gets out of the elevator and approaches a door. A pink stethoscope dangling around their neck reflects a beam of sunlight across a vast waiting room directly into my right eye. Of all the places light can travel its destination is my pupil. The universe must love me today. Light sears into my ocular tissue radiating warm discomfort throughout my eye and involuntarily tensing the right half of my face, but the slight pressure from my calloused fingers massaging my eyelid gradually dissipates the pulsing sensation. Briefly, the air surrounding me rapidly whooshes before the echoing smack of a hand colliding with my forearm scatters across the waiting room and sends tingly stings crawling under my skin. Pulling my arm back, I slightly tilt my head to the left and furrow my eyebrows.
“Dad, how many times do I have to tell you to stop touching your face? Here, take some hand sanitizer,” Sara growled. “There are a lot of germs in waiting rooms and catching a cold is the last thing you need.”
Clear sanitizer plops in my hand and the pungent scent of alcohol with a hint of daisies dances in my nose the more I smear the sticky liquid over my fingers and palms.
“Thanks, punk.”
Sara shakes her head dismissively then returns to her book. Her short golden-brown hair sparkles in the sun, revealing thin ginger highlights woven delicately into her loose curls that end at the base of her neck, where a single diamond was floating on a silver chain: her mother’s necklace. My eyes glance down at my silver band resting on my left hand.
If only the COVID restrictions weren’t in place, then we could all be here, together, but it’s probably for the best Carla waits at home - I know how she worries.
“Dean!” A short nurse in light blue scrubs calls out from the edge of the waiting room. I turn to my daughter who’s already facing me. She grabs my left hand, gently squeezes it, and stares into my eyes intently. We rise and make our way to the nurse.
“Dean?”
“That’s me.”
“Hi Dean, it’s nice to meet you! Who is accompanying you today?”
“My daughter, Sara.”
“Hi Sara, it’s nice to meet you! Right this way, please. We’ll be in the room on the left side of the wall across from the elevator.”
The clamor of our footsteps is somewhat absorbed into the floor as we parade into the office. A blinding white LED light illuminates the room leaving no corner for shadows to lurk. The wall across from the door is all window, from the ceiling to the floor, but today is a full overcast and looks as if it’s 6am despite being quarter to noon. Directly in front of the window is a large, charcoal desk with a silver MacBook in a neon pink case placed on the left side in front of a silver rolling chair. Picture frames of various sizes are scattered about the right side of the desk with one pencil holder conveniently positioned near the front of the desk close to two black chairs that are a few feet in front of us.
“Feel free to have a seat and Doctor Shepard will be with you momentarily.”
An abrupt thud of the wooden door behind me concludes the nurse’s sentence while Sara and I make ourselves comfortable in the black chairs. My focus is immediately directed to the office walls in attempt to combat the deafening silence. The office walls are practically empty with only two degrees hanging on the wall adjacent to the door, one for completing a bachelor’s degree at some random university and the other for a medical degree that reads ‘Doctor of Oncology.’ Both side walls have the obligatory medical poster diagrams littered with technical mumbo jumbo, yet still leaving a generous amount of open wall space.
“Dad – you okay?”
“Yep.”
“C’mon, you can talk to me,” Sara sighed, “I’m here fo-“
A hollow rap-tap echoed through the office before the click of the knob swung the office door open and in came a doctor with a pink stethoscope.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Shepard, and you must be Dean?”
She’s the one who tried to blind me earlier? At least she didn’t keep us waiting. “Yep, and this is my daughter, Sara,” I reply, gesturing towards my daughter.
“It’s nice to meet you both,” Dr. Shepard smiled. She sits at her desk, opens her laptop, and takes a few seconds scanning her screen. “Okay – Dean Kryze, 75, otherwise healthy except for a few underlying conditions. You’re seeing me today to get the results of a biopsy you had a few days ago. Does this sound accurate?”
“Yep.”
Dr. Shepard shifts her laptop to the side so there’s nothing between her and us, and her eyes study us intently. “Your results came in this morning,” she affirmed. “It’s cancer. The biopsy we took wasn’t the origin of the cancer, but we don’t know where it originated. We’re going to need additional biopsies and – “
I knew it wasn’t good, but cancer? Dr. Shepard’s words turn to mush and slowly seep into the background, synchronizing with the monotonous low drone of the heater. I feel my torso slump forward and my forearms rest on my upper thigh.
When did I start looking at the floor? Did Dr. Shepard just say radiation? I should be paying attention. But I can’t.
The rhythmic clicking of my nails scraping each other is like a metronome in my mind organizing scarce thought manages to form. My scatterbrain is now chaotic harmony.
How will my family handle this? I imagine they will be fine. But where will this leave me?
I feel a warm hand rest on my left shoulder that lures me out of my trance, and in response, I turn my head to see my daughter already looking back at me.
“Dad, do you have any questions?”
“Nope.”
“I know this news is a lot to process, but I’ll see you back here in two days for your second biopsy,” Dr. Shepard added, “It was nice to meet both of you.”
This meeting was rushed; I can’t believe she only spent a few minutes with us. Sara and I make it to the elevator and select the parking garage. The elevator doors close, I tilt my head, and curl my wrist to uncover my watch hiding under my sleeve.
How is it already one o’clock? A chime pierces my ears as the doors slide open, welcoming in the rubbery gas scented air. Sara and I walk out of the elevator and approach our car. Not a word is spoken between us, but I can feel her eyes watching me get into the passenger seat. I observe Sara get in the car, wash her hands, and buckle her seatbelt.
‘Hey, punk?”
“Yea?”
“I love ya.”
Sara’s eyes well up, but she manages to conceal her sorrow with a smile. “I love you too, dad.”
Sara discretely wipes her eyes and starts the car. I shift my head to look out the window, and we sit in sullen silence as we drive off.
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