Monday, August 22, 2011

Father Time

Johnathon Michael Espinoza:

I'm here again. In fear for my life only because he's at the verge of his. How selfish of me. Nobody can rekindle this light. Not that I know of. Many "suggest" that I pray. But I don't think my faith will determine his fate. Therefore, I wait. Unresponsive on a potential death bed. Pricked and tossed by the messengers that act so nonchalant and speak so reckless. That's always the opinion of the loved ones party I presume. I'd like to think he knew it was me that clinched his cold feet when I did. Was it wrong that I pictured them in an open casket? Could be. Your mind races and your stomach knots when your stressed I suppose. I felt like vomiting even before I got here. I asked for food earlier not for any other excuse I gave but for the simple fact that I was still a little light headed. Intoxicated, what have you. I kind of felt bad for not answering my brothers phone call last night. I just thought he was up late and thinking. He likes to include me in his thought processes from time to time. Especially weekends, he rambles. Mostly because he's so busy during the week. You know, having a full time girlfriend and a 9 to 5. The main reason I didn't answer is because I see him as a father figure. Answering drunk is bad for business. Family business. And not to mention the pussy I was about to get. I should have key worded that as "unmentionable". That would be clever. What if the God forbidden would have happened and I was wrapped up in. In. The unmentionable. I would have felt like shit. Well, even worse than I already do. I was awaken by my friend. So I rolled opposite of her and got dressed. He spoke of the scolding he was in for because he had the work truck his brother was suppose to take this morning. I spoke of the news I just received from my younger sisters phone call. I walked out of the waiting room because I don't want to share this pity party with the outside family. His immediate family. Those roots were never really deep. Doesn't matter. I've already burdened myself with digging those right up. I just want it to be me and my immediate family there. His girlfriend. Fine. They have a baby together so its understandable. Cold shoulders and stale kisses to them. Keep the peace due to the circumstances but don't test me. I'm on edge its expected. I'd rather listen to the chaos of strangers in a half empty room then sit in a silent room full of fakes. I don't know or care how I look in front of anybody right now. I have my dark shades on inside because I don't want them to see the pain in my eyes. My baby brother answered my call right after he answered my mothers. I wish I would have got to him first. He's a cold hearted little fucker. But we all are. To a certain extent. A realist, if you will. I imagine he'd have to be drug to the funeral. If necessary. The funeral. I pictured the gathering with a masterpiece I painted of him as the center of attention. The prints/paintings in this place are glorious. The long halls are full of them. I imagine it would be pretty depressing without the pretty things. I wanted to paint one for me too. Of him. But this one would have him with his eyes open and the tubes still in with bandages as well. It would be a powerful piece. The dry blood sprinkles the nurses act like they didn't notice. Just another patient, huh? I remember thinking this before I touched him. Ironically my peripherals lead me to his wrist band which I noticed said, Unknown. Never mind what it meant. Just mind the fact that, that could be devastating to a person such as myself. Though, I'm probably the only one that caught that. Just looking for other reasons to look at life from a downer's point of view. I guess people do that when your in a situation as such. So negative. Like my mother. It kind of hurt to watch her lip quiver as she asked to join in prayer for the chance that he might be able to hear. I told her I didn't want to. I folded my arms. Not in reverence, not in rebellion, not because the chills. Because it matched the furrow of my brow, my thoughts, my anger. I'm still jittery. That coffee really hit me. Even though it sucked. Nobody gets coffee at Jack in the Box. What the fuck. There was even a fine ass light skinned black lady who questioned our motives through friendly conversation. My sisters and I. I joked about her flirting with me as we pulled away and watched her float across the parking lot. With her Coach purse, green pants, sandles, big shades, etc. Hops in a Range Rover. Lucky passenger. Why isn't this t.v. On? Maybe they don't know which channel to put it on. Majority rule says Telemundo. Makes sense to put on the news at least. But that would be even more depressing don't you think. Don't you? That foam sanitizer is so tempting. Especially when there's a little drip hanging. I'd think it would have evaporated by now. This obese lady, whom I'm sure was previously eating, attacked it earlier. She handled it like a Cool Whip bottle. Ha. I keep looking over my right shoulder to see if anybody comes looking for me. Somebody I don't want to be. At the beginning of this sentence I see one of the fakes entering the elevator. Think he seen me? Egh. Who gives a hoot. I kind of want to go back to my sisters and mother. Because I'm bored. And these thick accents and shitty food smells are lingering. You would think you'd want to eat healthier given the location. Okay. They're here. Ttyl.