by Andrew Gates
It’s not the halls that’ve changed. It’s me, Iris quickly realized.
She took a moment to mentally prepare. She took a deep breath, stepped up to the door and knocked.
Knock, knock, knock!
The door felt cold on her knuckles. Iris guessed the air inside was cool and set to a high oxygen percentage. That was common for most people their age, especially when sickness was involved.
“Hello!” she heard her mother say from inside. Iris could hear someone moving around the residence. She took a step back, brushed off her clothes, stood straight and ran her fingers through her now half blonde, half black hair. The nervous daughter could feel her heartbeat pickup as someone fumbled with the door. This is it, she thought.
The door opened and Iris’s mother stood before her. The first thing that stood out was how different she looked. Iris’s mother had very few skills and just a basic education so throughout her life she relied heavily on her physical appearance to get ahead. She looked much older now, very different from what Iris remembered.
She wore a long white robe that came down to her ankles. It was open in the front, revealing her red tank top and black pants, both of which seemed a little too tight for her. Her dyed blonde hair looked longer than Iris remembered and did not completely wipe out the patches of grey coming through in the roots. Her hair came all the way down to the top of her enlarged breasts, filed with silicon and propped up for the world to see. Her cheeks and lips were enlarged as well. They seemed almost immobile.
“Iris!” her mother greeted with a smile (or what passed for a smile with her altered face). She opened her arms wide.
Iris embraced her and held her tight. She could feel the hard silicon in her mother’s breasts press against her own. The feeling made Iris uncomfortable.
“It’s good to see you. I came as fast as I could,” she replied as she broke the embrace. She looked into her mother’s light eyes for the first time in a long time. We have the same eyes, she thought.
“It’s good to see you too.”
“Where’s dad?” Iris asked, not wanting to waste time with formalities.
“He’s in the bedroom,” her mother answered as she closed the door. “But Iris, you should know… he’s…” Her mother searched for the words. “Different.”
“I know, mom,” Iris replied.
“It might scare you. There’s a lot of machinery and… well, you’ll see,” she said. But for a few moments, she did not move. She stood still and stared at her daughter. “I’m very glad you came.”
“Thanks. I am too.”
Her mom turned and led her to the bedroom. Iris realized she was shivering. She let out a deep breath and noticed she could even see the water vapor in the air as she exhaled. Good thing I’m wearing a sweater, she thought as she followed her mother through the elaborately decorated living room full of familiar furniture and decorations from her youth.
“He’s been asleep most of the day. That’s all he does anymore,” her mother explained as she led her to the room. “But when he heard you were coming, he was full of energy. He’s excited to see you.”
“That’s good,” Iris replied as her mom pressed against the door. “Salmann,” she said as she pushed it open.
Her father, Salmann Vitneskja, lied in the center of a large bed. The mattress angled up at the back so that his head was propped up. He was completely hairless. Not even an eyebrow remained. His skin seemed lighter, almost translucent. But the scariest part was how wrinkled he looked. He seemed more like a man of 90 than 67. Seeing him like this made Iris freeze in place for a moment.
The room itself was dimly lit. To the left of the bed was an old antique bronze lamp, providing the only light in the room. It looked like it had come straight from the surface. To the right of the bed was an IV bag dangled on a metal stand next to a series of large flashing equipment.
“Dad!” she exclaimed as she found the courage to approach him.
Her dad slowly adjusted in his bed and peered up at her.
“Iris,” he replied in a weak voice. He held out his arms into the air.
Iris embraced him, trying hard not to hurt him. His skin felt cold even through her sweater. He smelled revolting too. Iris wondered when he had last showered.
“It’s good to see you,” her dad said. His voice was quiet and his speech was slow.
“Yes, dad. It’s good to see you. How are you?” she asked.
“Well I was supposed to be dead a few months ago,” he answered with a sense of humor, “so I guess I’m good.” He put two thumbs up in the air. It seemed despite all this, the dying man was still in good spirits.
“Dad, how can you be so happy about this?” Iris asked.
He shook his head.
“Oh, I’m not happy,” he replied truthfully, “but I’m glad I’ve gotten to stay this long. It’s funny how precious every minute awake becomes when you have so very few of them left. I feel these past few months have been… have been some of my most appreciated.”
Iris put her hand on his head to comfort him.
“Mom told me they gave you seven weeks to live.”
“Those damn doctors! Seven weeks!” her father replied enthusiastically. “But here I am and it’s been…” he turned to his wife, “how long’s it been, Kathleen?”
“Half a year,” she answered.
“Half a year!” the dying man replied in shock. “Oh boy, those doctors sure were wrong.”
Iris could tell her dad was excited about proving the doctors wrong. Though his face showed no signs of color, she could just imagine him lighting up.
“But dad, how come you knew about this so long ago but you never told me?” she asked. Iris knew it was a blunt to ask so soon but she needed to know.
To her surprise, her father seemed confused by this question. He turned towards his wife and then back to Iris again.
“What’s that?” he asked.
Iris’s mom stepped in and placed her hand on Iris’s back.
“Uh, uh, let’s not worry about that now,” she interrupted. “Let’s just be glad that we’re all together.”
Iris pulled her hand away from her father and turned to her mom.
“No, let’s not,” she argued. She looked at her mother in the eyes again. “Mom, did dad know that I didn’t know?”
Her mom seemed nervous. She did not say a word. For a moment all three of them were silent.
“Kathleen?” her dad eventually added.
“Well…” her mom replied hesitantly, “no, Iris.” She turned to face her husband again. “Salmann, I didn’t tell Iris that you were sick. That’s why she never visited.”
“Oh,” her dad replied in a surprisingly calm tone. “That makes sense. All this time I thought she didn’t want to see me.” He looked up at his daughter again and reached out his hand. She grabbed it. “It’s good to have you here now,” he said. “I’m glad to know you still care about me.”
This was not what Iris expected. As she held onto her sickly father’s hand, she suddenly felt a strong connection to him. Moments of the past burst into her head. She remembered him sitting with her late at night, showing her new books on the Meganet. She remembered him inviting Trace over for videogames that all three of them would play together. She even remembered him on her graduation day standing in the crowd with two thumbs up, higher than anyone’s.
That’s when it hit her.
It’s not both of my parents that held me back in life. It was all just mom. Her mother was the one who encouraged her to stay home, to avoid Trace, to avoid college. Her dad had always supported her. Iris was just too blind to see it before.
“Mom,” she said, turning towards her. She felt angry. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Iris, I don’t think now’s the time,” her mom replied. But Iris did not care.
“Mom, why didn’t you tell me?” she repeated.
Her mom took a step back and held her hands in the air.
“Iris, you’re scaring me. C
alm down and talk to your-”
“Mom, stop telling me what to do!” Iris snapped.
Her mom gasped and stood there with her jaw wide open. Iris turned to her dad to see his reaction. To her surprise, he was laughing.
“Iris, I have never heard you talk back to me!” her mother responded, as if Iris were still a young child.
“Don’t worry about it, Iris,” her father interrupted. He adjusted in his bed again and glared at her mother. “I’m curious too. Kathleen, why didn’t you tell Iris that I was sick?”
Her mother took a few steps back, bowed her head and lowered her hands in front of her. She looked like a child nervously apologizing for breaking a glass. She’s like a kid, Iris realized. For the first time, Iris felt like she was seeing her mother for who she truly was.
“I wanted Iris to come on her own,” her mother quietly explained. “I thought it wouldn’t bear any meaning if Iris just came because you were dying. I wanted her to come because she wanted to see us, not because she felt sorry for us. That’s how it’s supposed to be. We’re a family.”
“Kathleen, I’m dying!” her father shot back, finally showing that he could be upset. Iris wondered why he had been so calm until now. “All her life you’ve pressured Iris to do this or that. Don’t you see why she avoided you? She finally broke free of you. Don’t you get that?”
Iris was surprised how accurately her father described the situation. All this time she’d blamed her father for her problems just as much as her mother. How could I have been so oblivious?
“I just wanted our family to be the way it used to be,” her mom added, now crying.
Her father sat up and raised his hand in the air. He took a deep breath.
“Kathleen, can you just give us a moment alone?” he asked.
Her mother nodded and slowly walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
“I’m sorry about that,” her father said.
Iris leaned over him and placed her hand back on his head. She had forgotten how cold he felt.
“It’s fine, dad.”
“No, no it’s not. She speaks of having a happy family, but she was always… what’s the word?” He paused for a moment. “Terrible, that’s it! She was always terrible at being a family woman.”
“Dad, do you need anything from me?” Iris asked, wanting to help.
Her dad shook his head from the bed. A smile formed on his face.
“Just having you by my side fills my heart with joy,” he explained. Iris smiled and sniffled. “Your mother was always one to get what she wanted. When we first met, she was still living with your grandparents. I was a few years older with a high paying marketing job. She saw me as a way to escape her parents and she clung to me as much as she could. She’s a clinger, your mother. So when you went away, it was no surprise that she tried to cling to you too.”
“But she didn’t cling to her own parents,” Iris added.
“That’s right. They’re the one thing she didn’t cling to. I always thought it was a bit… what’s the word?” He paused again. “Hypocritical, that’s it. Hypocritical the way she tried to make you stay with her.”
“And what’s with all the… you know?” Iris asked, waving her hand over her breasts. Her father chuckled at the question. “Was that all to impress you?”
“You know your mother wasn’t the brightest bulb. I think she was always worried I’d leave her otherwise.”
“But why did you stay?” Iris asked. If he was aware of her craziness, surely he would have had the sense to break it off.
“Why did I stay with your mother?” he asked.
Iris nodded. Her father adjusted in his bed. She pulled her hand off of him.
“Well it might sound silly to you, but I stayed with your mother because I loved her. That’s all there is to it. She might not be smart, she might be clingy and at times a bit crazy, but do you know what else is crazy?”
Iris shook her head.
“Love,” he answered.
Iris smiled. She was slowly discovering that.
“And I love you too, Iris. I’m proud of you and I’m glad you came today. I hope you don’t think I’ve been holding you back in life,” he continued.
“No, no!” she replied. “I mean… at first I thought you were, but now I can see that’s not true.”
“You’re doing great things,” her father said, reaching out and touching her cheek. “A teacher! There’s never been a teacher in our family before.”
“Thanks, dad.”
He smiled.
For the next hour, they talked and laughed, sharing memories of the past. In that hour, Iris forgot about the world. She forgot about the mantises, about undiscovered languages, about Dan and Trace and Ophelia. All that mattered now was her and her father.
As the night went on, her father became less and less expressive. Iris could see that this encounter was taking a physical toll. His classic thumbs up came less and less. His smiles became shorter. His voice grew quieter. As the hour winded to an end, Iris glanced at the time on her pod.
“Dad, it’s 21:00. Is there a time you have to get to sleep?” she asked.
He yawned and kept his head flat on the bed.
“I’m always asleep now. But I’ll take it to being dead any day. At least asleep, I still get to dream.” He turned to face her. “Do you know what I’m afraid of most, Iris?”
She shook her head.
“What?”
“Not being able to dream,” he answered and put his head flat on the bed again. He kept his eyes open, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m getting tired. I probably should get to sleep.”
Iris stared at him. He looked so helpless, yet so content. She felt her eyes water. She knew deep down this was the last time she would ever see her father alive. She was glad they had this time together, but wished it could go on forever.
“Goodnight, dad,” she said as she leaned over and kissed his face. “I love you.”
He smiled.
“I love you too, Iris. Whatever you do, cherish each moment and never stop dreaming.”
“I will,” she replied as she stood up. “I will.”
Her dad closed his eyes as Iris looked down upon him for the final time.
“I will,” she repeated again.
Iris left the room quietly and closed the door behind her. Once the door was thoroughly closed, Iris broke down. She toppled down onto the floor, losing all ability to balance. She pushed herself up with her arms and sat flat on the ground as she gasped for breath.
Her mother quickly stood up from the old ottoman and rushed over to help her daughter. Not knowing what to do, she sat on the floor next to Iris and gave her a big hug. Iris leaned in, accepting her embrace. Despite all the disdain she held towards her mother right now, what she really needed was somebody to be there, somebody to hold.
For what felt like minutes, Iris and her mother held this position. With each gasping breath of oxygen-rich air, Iris could feel her tears flowing like a fountain and soaking into her thick black sweater. She had never felt so emotional.
Eventually her mother broke the embrace and looked into her daughter’s eyes.
“What did you talk about?” she asked.
Iris struggled to answer.
“We… we caught up on… old times,” she eventually said between breaths.
Her mother smiled.
“It was very nice of you to come. I’m glad you stopped by,” she said.
“Didn’t… didn’t do it for you.”
Iris’s mother nodded silently.
“I know. You did it for your father. I know.”
“No!” Iris said, standing up. She wiped her face of tears and mucus. “I don’t think you do know. I don’t think you know anything!” she hollered. Her mother’s face turned as white as the walls around them. “You don’t realize it, do you? How this is all your fault!”
She stood up, joining her daughter.
“Are you suggesting that I
had something to do with your father’s sickness?”
“No, mom! I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about me. You don’t even realize your effect on me, how you’ve pressured me to stay with you, to never leave! All this time I could have escaped, but I felt guilty. I felt like I had to stay. I’m glad I finally got out when I did.”
“What are you talking about, Iris? You could have left whenever you wanted.”
“I know that now,” Iris replied, “but you made it so hard. If you really ever cared for what’s best for me, you would have encouraged me to start my life sooner.”
“You did start your life,” her mother argued.
“Yes, thanks to me. Thanks to my actions, not thanks to yours!” she debated.
Her mom backed away and glared at her with disgust.
“Why are we having this conversation now?” she asked.
“Because we’ll never have it again,” Iris replied. “I’m glad I got to see dad. I realize now that he was always a good parent to me, but you… I will not be talking to you again. Trace was wrong. I should have never given you another chance.”
“Trace?” her mother asked. She backed up some more. “Do you mean Trace from down the hall? Trace from back when you were a kid?”
Iris realized she should not have said his name but it was too late to correct that now.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“You two aren’t… together, are you?” she asked. Iris decided not to answer. She would let her mother form her own suspicions. “Fine, don’t tell me,” her mom eventually said. “I just want you to know... you should watch out for him. I saw his name in the news today. He was the one who killed those people and escaped from prison. He’s no good, Iris.”
How does she know that? His name isn’t written in any of the stories. His name was kept out.
Suddenly Iris’s pod started to vibrate. Instinctively, she reached into her pocket and glanced at the screen. It was Dr. Parnel. She looked back up at her mother again.
“Sorry, mom, I have to take this. It might be important.”
“Fine, ignore me!” she shouted back. “Ignore me!”
Iris accepted the call and held the pod to her ear.
“Iris Vitneskja, it’s Dr. Parnel.”