by A. Gorman
“Yes, our neighbor lady stays with him while I’m in class.” How did she grow up so fast?
“If you, not Dad, you need anything, call me, okay.” I look her in the eyes so she knows I’m being serious.
“I will. Thank you for coming.”
“Anything for you, Addison.” I hug her tightly and let her go. “Call me.”
“I promise,” she says, sniffling.
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
We walk out of the room, and I head straight for the stairs, going down them as fast as I can. I need to get out of this stairwell, out of the hospital. I feel like I could hit something, anything, as the words you’re worthless keep running through my mind. He has always thought I was nothing. Like I was a huge mistake in his life and that’s exactly why I strive to be the best I can be. To prove him wrong. I’m not worthless—I’m worth millions.
Once I’m in my car, I rev the engine and speed toward the exit. I want to be away from here as fast as I can. I head to the one place that I can get lost in what I’m doing, and only one person there who knows about the kind of relationship I have with my father or how I grew up, my office.
You’re worthless...echoes through my mind as I climb the stairs to the eighteen floor.
You’ll be nothing when you grow up…plays in my ears as I sit behind my desk.
You hear me, boy? You’re insignificant…booms in my head as I look at my credentials and awards on the credenza.
His words play on a constant loop in my head and they haven’t stopped since I left the hospital, and working hasn’t snuffed them either. My father will not break me—I refuse to let it happen. I look up at the clock on the wall; it’s a quarter till midnight, I’m sober, and I have been since I left here earlier today. I should have gone home to drown out his voice, but I didn’t. Instead of pouring a drink, I poured myself into work.
The veteran’s project is looking like it will help a lot more people than I originally thought after running the numbers most of the evening. I think I can work out partnerships too, making the money go even further. With Emily’s input, I’ll know for sure.
Emily Janes… She’s the drink I need.
The young beauty has to be right out of college. She doesn’t look like she’s had to face the harshness of the real world, other than her brother’s death. Probably grew up in a two parent home in the suburbs. She seems dear and innocent but someone I could see writhing under me in pleasure. Emily Janes would never have someone like me.
I would be too demanding of her.
I’d take away her enchantment, the light in her eyes…and scare her away.
The feeling of when you know something is going to happen, but you don’t know what it is so you have no way to stop it, comes over me as soon as I sit down at my desk. Dread fills my stomach.
Yesterday was a fantastic day, because the bank called and confirmed the deposit of the grant from CUGC, which allowed us to move forward with our plans for the money. Last week the board approved our ideal allocation of the funds. While a majority of the funds will stay in the community center and help with programs, sports, meals, and the kids, the remaining money is going to community outreach, stocking the food pantry, electric assistance, rent assistance, or anything else that might come up.
I try to my best to help anyone that comes through my door that actually needs help. I’ve had a few people try to slide into here and get free food or assistance, but I quickly caught on to their game. I find it so upsetting that people lie to receive free help. Anything to get something for free.
However, the icky feeling is still there. I look up and see it’s close to lunch time. Instead of sitting here worrying about what might go wrong, I kick off my heels and grab my tennis shoes. The kids will be in the gym playing basketball and I think a game of basketball will do my soul good.
Hollers and giggles of the children reach my ears as I get closer to the heavy gray metal doors of the gymnasium. I open the doors with a loud squeak and everyone looks to me, and a few of the children wave. I look around and see Victor talking with a few of the older boys on the other side of the gym, and I head in their direction.
Victor looks up as I’m half way to where he’s standing and his caramel colored eyes watch every step I make, with a grin on his face. He’s very attractive and looks good in gym shorts and a T-shirt, but I made it a rule of mine to not get involved with someone from work, especially after I dated my AmeriCorps team leader. That didn’t end so well.
“Hey, guys. How’s it going?” I ask, trying to avoid Victor’s stare.
“Good, Ms. E.,” a few of the boy’s reply.
“What brings you to the gym,” Victor asks.
“I was feeling a little restless and thought I would shoot some hoops,” I say in my best macho male accent, making everyone laugh.
“Here’s a ball, have at it,” Victor bounces the ball to me and I catch it.
“Thanks!” I reply with a little too much enthusiasm.
The dimpled ball feels good in my hands as I bounce it around the half court. I pull up and shoot a jump shot, swoosh. A round of hoots ring out behind me and I turn see Victor and the boys are watching me.
I shake my head and let my body sync with the rhythmic sound of the ball hitting the gym floor. Basketball has always been relaxing to me. Nate and I both played in high school and we would often practice together. Being on the court makes me feel closer to him.
I bounce the ball a few more times and shoot again, this time hitting it off the rim. I jog to retrieve the wild ball and grab it before it goes under the bleachers. I dribble to the goal and opt for a lay-up this time, and the ball kisses the backboard right in the middle of the box and goes straight in.
More hoots and hollers ring out and I feel better.
“Thank you, thank you,” I bow in front of them, making them laugh even harder.
“Ms. Emily, can you teach me to play basketball?” Tasha, a fifth grader, runs up to me and asks.
“Of course. First, you need to learn to dribble, okay? You do it like this,” I dribble the ball with my fingertips. Her eyes are wide with excitement. “Try to use your fingers,” I wiggle my fingers at her, “when you dribble. Your turn.”
She takes the ball and slaps at it. I gently grasp her hand within mine and gently push the ball down to the floor. “There you go. You got it.” I move my hand and she is bouncing the ball by herself.
She laughs in delight.
“Keep working on that and the next time I’ll teach you how to shoot, okay?”
“Yes. Thank you, Ms. Emily. See you later,” she says as she rushes off to her friends on the side of the court.
“You’re really good with kids,” Victor says from behind me, a little closer than I’d like, especially being around the kids.
“Thanks,” I say uncomfortably turning around, taking a step backwards.
“You should think about working with the kid’s full time instead of the office with all that paperwork.” He winks at me.
“If I didn’t enjoy my position so much, I would give it thought, but I really like working with everyone in the community, not just the kids,” I answer him truthfully
“I thought I would try. It would be nice to see you more,” he says as he reaches out and places his hand on my arm.
“Um. Thanks. I, um, need to get going, lunch time and all. See you later.” I try not to run from the gym, but my feet want to sprint.
I hope I read that wrong, but I’m sure he was coming on to me. No way, mister. As soon as I’m through the gym doors, my pace slows down. I walk into the main office and head straight to our restroom—I need to freshen up before I go pick up lunch. The sense of doom has left my gut and hunger has taken its place. I think I’ll ask the ladies if they want me to pick up their lunch too.
After picking up Chinese for everyone from the restaurant fifteen minutes away, I’m able to sit down and eat before my one thirty appointment arri
ves. The mail arrived while I was gone and I sort through it in between bites of my sesame chicken.
When I reach the bottom of the pile of the mail, there’s a letter I’ve been waiting for, or check I should say. A local masonic lodge donates to us yearly and their grant feeds fifty families a month. I take a few more bites of chicken before I push the container off to the side.
I rip the end off the envelope and pull out the inside, and I open the tri-folded sheet of paper and there isn’t a check inside. I read the letter included. “No no no. This can’t be happening,” I say out loud.
I knew I shouldn’t have planned to receive the grant, but it was a done deal or at least I thought it was. Even though I have CUGC’s grant, without the additional grant, I won’t be able to help as many families. There has to be a solution.
I drum my fingers on my desk and that’s when I my eyes catch a glimpse of a business card. Patrick. I was supposed to call his assistant to schedule a meeting to discuss the veteran’s project, but it completely escaped my mind until now.
I pick up the card and run my fingers along the numbers; would he be able to help me? Or am I chasing the impossible? I guess there’s only one way to find out.
This day can go to hell. If one more thing happens, I’m going to punch something. The projected numbers are fucked up, again. Someone is going to lose their job, beginning with Neil. Kristin told me she heard rumors he’s looking for a new position elsewhere, but she couldn’t confirm if they were true or not. I guess I could help him out by firing him. One more strike and he won’t have to worry about having a job here.
I quickly send an email to Kane, letting him know about the problems that I’m having with Neil. I want to make sure that they everything is documented to cover my ass in case he tries to pull something if I have to fire him.
After sending out the emails, I’m going over the numbers again. I employ people to do this. Why are they even working here if this can’t get this done correctly?
“Patrick, line one,” Kristin’s voice calls out from my office door.
I look up from the stack of papers that surround me and see she’s popped her head in my office. “Thank you, Kristin.”
I pick up the phone, wondering who the nameless caller is.
“Patrick Matheson.”
“Patrick…”
“Did something happen, Addison?”
“Dad had another stroke, and it caused irreversible damage this time. They want to transport him to hospice to live out his final days there. I…I can’t make these decisions by myself.”
“Do you know if he has a will?” Probably not, I cradle the phone between my shoulder and ear and rub my temples. My headache is going to be a migraine by the end of this call.
“I think he does. If he does, it will be in his office.”
I take a deep breath…she can’t do all of this on her own.
“Tell them to keep him there for at least another forty-eight hours. If it’s a problem with insurance, I’ll cover it.”
“What? Why? Especially after all he said,” she asks, baffled.
“I’m not doing it for him, remember? I’m doing it for you. Tomorrow, meet me at the house and I’ll help you go through his office. Hopefully we can find a will or something stating what he wants.”
“Thank you, Patrick.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay, love you.”
“I love you too,” I say, hanging up the phone.
“Argh,” I scream out, throwing my water bottle that was sitting on my desk at the door.
There’s a knock at the door and Kristin walks into my office. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. No. I don’t know. I have a lot of things to sort out. That was Addison, and our father is pretty much brain dead. We have to figure out how he wants to live out his final days.”
“Oh, Patrick. I’m so sorry. I know your father and you aren’t on good terms…”
“Thanks, Kristin. I’ll get it worked out.”
“I’m going to lunch. Do you want me to pick you up anything?”
“No, I’m okay. Thank you.”
“Call if you change your mind.”
“Will do.”
She closes the door quietly behind her.
The silence of the room is almost deafening. The guilt of how I treated my father the last time I saw him consumes me, darkening my mood. My jaw clenches as the pain he’d inflicted on me causes my temperature to rise, making me sweat. I take a shuddering breath, trying break the rage that has a hold on me. Eyeing the liquor on the sideboard, I start to stand up, but I don’t.
Taking a deep breath in, I hold it, and let it out. Deep breath in… As I soothe my temper, I realize I shouldn’t feel guilt for my actions. My father treated me like shit. He hit me; he screamed at me; he called me names. He wasn’t a father. He wasn’t even a friend. He definitely wasn’t a man. Even if he apologized for everything he has done to me, I don’t think I’d ever forgive him.
Why should I?
You’re worthless, Patrick. Worthless.
Why did he treat me like he did? Why did he have to take out all of his frustration out on me, his son, his child? I tried to be the best I could, and did everything I could to make him proud. Everything I did never felt good enough for him. I always had to prove myself, my worth.
I take another deep breath and reflect on everything I have today, everything I’ve accomplished and in all conscience, he’s why I am where I am today. His words, actions, lack of involvement fuels the rage that tries to consume me every second of the day. Instead of letting it take over the rage, the hate has driven me to be successful because I have to prove to myself daily that I’m nothing like he says I am. I’m not some insignificant, worthless, child. I’m a man, a very successful man.
The rages calms down, but the silence still begs for his voice to replay in my mind and my body still craves a drink. I won’t allow it. There’s no room in my head for his words, for him, and I shouldn’t let alcohol consume me like his words. I need to get out of this office for a few moments. I need fresh air. I get out of my chair with haste, pushing it backwards so hard that it hits the window with a reverberating thud.
I open the door and see that Kristin hasn’t returned yet, and I walk out of my office, shutting the door behind me. As I walk passed Kristin’s desk, the phone rings. I look down and see it’s my line. I pick up the receiver and push the button to answer the call.
“Patrick Matheson.”
“Um, hi, Mr. Matheson. It’s Emily Janes from Project Hope.”
“Hello, how can I help you?” All thoughts of my father vanish.
“I was calling to schedule a meeting with Kristin, but I guess I dialed you by accident?” she says, sounding embarrassed.
“No, you dialed the right number. I was by her desk and answered the phone.”
“Oh. Well, I was hoping to talk to you anyways.”
“Give me a few moments. Let me go into my office.”
“Okay.” Her reply is almost a whisper.
I put the call on hold and walk into my office, closing the door behind me. The silence has left the room, no longer toying with me.
“Ms. Janes?” I ask after picking up my phone.
“Yes.”
“What would you like to discuss?”
“Well, how serious were you about donating more money to the center?” she asks hesitantly.
“I don’t offer money just to be kind, Ms. Janes. I do it because I’m in a position that I’m able to help. So to answer your question, Yes, I was very serious.” That comes out a little harsh.
“Oh. I guess I’ll cut to the chase then. A grant we’ve received every year for the past five years has dried up. We are getting zero from it after being told we would receive a hundred thousand.” Oh, that’s all she needs
“So you need a hundred grand?”
“Yes.”
“Give me two hours and I’ll be over
to discuss details.”
“You don’t have to do that. We can schedule a time.”
“I did. I’ll see you around three.”
“Ah, well. Okay. Thank you, Mr. Matheson.”
“Welcome, Ms. Janes.”
I hang up the phone and prepare to leave for the afternoon. Maybe this day will be better after all.
“Kristin?” I bark through the intercom, hoping she’s at her desk.
“Yes, I just got to my desk,” Kristin’s caring voice replies.
“Clear my schedule. I’m going to meet with Emily Janes at Project Hope at three.”
“Done. Will you be in this evening?”
“No, I’ll head home after my meeting.”
“Have a good night, Patrick. And please try to get some rest.”
“Will do. You too, Kristin.”
I pull out my briefcase, put all my working files in the matte black leather case, and close it with a click. I turn off the screen on my computer and before I head out the door, I glance at the clock again, and I have two hours to get to the southwest side of Reno.
The community center today looks completely different from the community center I was at on Friday when I pull into the parking lot. All the décor, extra tables and chairs, games, and canopy are gone, and in their place is bare ground with sparse grass.
I park off to the side of the building and wait a few moments before getting out. I’m almost an hour early—I hope she doesn’t mind. I check my email, trying to kill a few more minutes, but I run out of time consuming tasks so I turn off my car and head in the building.
My eyes take a few moments to adjust to the dimly lit hallway void of light from the bright sun. I walk into the main office and don’t see anyone that screams I’m the receptionist. A lady in her mid-forties looks up from the computer screen and smiles.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes, I’m here to meet with Emily Janes.”
“She’s with a client right now, if you would like to have a seat in a chair behind you, she’ll be with you as soon as she can.”
“Thank you.” I turn to find the seats behind me are semi-broken down. They look like that might be from an era before I was born. I sit down and pull out my phone. Reading the emails, I didn’t read out in the car. I glance up and see the lady eyeing me under her lashes. I chuckle to myself and resume reading my mail.