In the hospital room, my eyelids felt heavy. I found my dad lying weak and frail, surrounded by the beeping monitors and the smell of antiseptic. As I looked up at the IV machine connected to his body, I had a dreadful feeling which I had experienced when many horrible things had happened, but this time, it was different .
I had a vague recollection of some distant memories: darkness enveloping me and a loud crash that had led to my dad getting bedridden. I remember being present when that accident took place, yet I'm sitting here, completely fine and he has been lying there, lifeless, for 8 years; I can't help but feel guilty.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I held his hand gently, trying to find the right words to express my feelings.
"Dad," my voice shook, "you've always been my hero, my role model. You've shown me what it means to be strong. Please don’t leave me here.”
I stared at him for a bit, almost expecting a response. After a little too long, my eyes drifted away from his face, hopelessly realizing that this very effort to bring him back had also gone in vain .
On the desk beside the hospital bed lay an old photo album, containing nostalgic childhood pics. Flipping along the pages, I stumbled upon a newspaper clipping from years ago. It was an article about a tragic car accident that had occurred in Georgetown. As I read the article, I felt an inexplicable sadness and familiarity wash over me. The accident had claimed the life of a young man named Daniel and the person responsible had fled away.
It had been 2 days and I still can't forget that article. I couldn't stop thinking about that man, Daniel. That name, that incident- felt familiar somehow.
Car brakes. A loud crash. Memories flitted through my mind like a film reel. I got up from my chair, by my father’s bedside, all too fast and lost my balance. I stumbled out into the hall, grappling at walls and tables- anything to constitute my body's balance.
I strain my focus to try and make out the murky details but every time I think I’m close to remembering, my brain constructs a mental barrier. It is almost like it is trying to protect me- like it doesn’t want me to know about what happened. I sit outside the hospital room with my head in my hands and slowly drift off to sleep.
My eyes jolt open and I am sitting in a car?!
As the car speeds down the highway, beside me, is my father, yanking the wheel left and right. I exclaim,
“Dad, watch out!”
With a deafening screech of tires, he turns the wheel to the right and with that everything turns black. I feel my eyes opening as I hear the door next to the driving seat closing.
“'Dad! Are you okay?” I say as I make it out of the car. Looking to my right, I see a young man lying lifeless, a blood pool forming around.
“Dad, who is that? He- he’s bleeding- a lot. We should take him to the hospital”. I looked at him, his skin pale, his eyes blood-shot; he seemed in some sort of a trance.
“Dad!” I almost shouted, only then he looked at me while starting the car.
“'Listen to me, you will say nothing about this again. Not a word, you saw NOTHING,” he snapped, his voice scarier than ever.
He was driving fast again. I gathered the courage to speak again, my voice breaking:
“'Dad, at least call 911”
His eyes narrowed and he replied,
“Do you not understand? NOT A SINGLE WORD”
Only when I looked ahead, did I see a truck moving towards us. My scream followed a loud crashing sound. Loud alarms were heard. While the paramedics got me out of the car, everything went dark.
My eyes jolted open, my hands sweaty, my breath shallow. This wasn't just a nightmare , it felt a bit too real to be one.
I walked back to my dad's room and sat next to him, my mind in a fuzzy state. I whispered my apology, burdened with guilt, but as I reflected on the painful memories of that night, I began to realize that it wasn't entirely my fault; I was young and scared. I vowed to seek redemption for both of us. It gave me hope and a sense of healing, knowing that I wasn't alone in carrying the weight of our past.
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