Claire-Ann Soreson

The fluorescent lights in the hospital morgue were cheap, cold, and offensively bright. They were determined to wash the color out of everything, but they couldn't touch the stark, terrible gray of my father’s face. I stood there, gripping the edge of the sheet metal table, trying to memorize the sight of him—to burn it into my memory so I wouldn’t forget him, or perhaps, so I could never be happy again without him. The cancer had done its work, stealing the easy laugh from his lips and the warmth from his hands. But it was the silence, the absolute, undeniable, final silence coming from a man who used to fill every room with noise, that cracked me open. He was gone. All the fight, all the chemotherapy, all the whispered, desperate hopes—gone. I didn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t. I just turned and ran, blindly pushing through the automatic doors and straight into the sticky summer evening. I needed to escape the building that held his body, that held the last sight of him. My apartment was only ten minutes away, but it felt like the moon. I just drove. I had no destination, only a desperate, urgent need to accelerate away from the crushing reality behind me.. Now this was my new reality. My father’s dead. Everything was dizzying and blurry with tears and I felt like I was drowning in pain, as I got into my car and wailed a sob I never done ever in my life until now.. the dam broke and tears fell uncontrollably. This was my temporary Roman Empire. Until I suddenly crash into a car front of me as I didn’t see them until my windshield cracked. A guy got out as I flush in fear and embarrassment. “You okay?” He asked. I shook my head. “My name is Mateo, but don’t worry about this okay? We will get this sorted. Don’t worry about the car for now okay?” Mateo asked. I nodded.