Sunday, December 12, 2010

The Request: Part three

  Daniel picked the phone up and listened. He could her his sister breathing on the other end.
  “I know you are there. We need to talk about this,” asked his sister.
  “There is nothing to talk about sis,” he answered, sounding hoarse.
  “I really think you should come to the funeral,” she pleaded.
  “You sound as if it is going to be fun,” he said, joking.
  “It wont be fun, funerals are never fun,” she said.
  “Why then?”
  “Dad’s attorney, asked that we come,” she answered.
  “Dad’s attorney?”
  “I know how far fetched it sounds, but the guy called me back while he was in court to make sure I would be there,” she said.
   “You think it is about he money from the bank,” Daniel asked.
  “I didn’t think about that, I was thinking dad won the lotto,” she laughed.
  “Dad, was a bum who left us.  He never cared about you or me. Even it he won the lotto he would never share it with us.”
  “I don’t know, it seems like it is time to forgive,” stated his sister.
  “Forgive him!” he yelled, as if on command the window blew open, knocking three house plants over.”
  “What’s going on?”
  “I have to go,” he answered hang up the phone.
  He didn’t really remember his father, he was three years old when the police came to the door looking for him. He only heard stories from his siblings of how they ripped apart the house looking for the missing money. He wished that they would have found him back then. But the coward had left in the night. Ran off with just under thirty thousand dollars. How could his family forgive him?
  He finished cleaning the mess up and opened the letter for the first time. He hadn’t needed to read it. He family had called him to let him know about his fathers death.
  Peter leaned into the computer, checking the departure times for the train. It would be a long trip to the station and then the ride itself. He packed his little duffle and tied it down. Laying on top of his feet and leaning it against his knees.
  He paused looking back on last time before closing the door.
  On the way to the station he thought of the first time he met Markus. It had been at Dixons medical center where he had first laid eyes on the man. He watched him run the other disabled almost to exhaustion.  
  “Why don’t you help me like you help them?” he asked to the man.
  “You never asked and you don’t need my help anyway,” answered Markus.
  “What, I am stuck in this chair like everyone else,” he said pointing to the everyone else in the room.
  “You are not like everyone else. You have already quit, you can‘t even get across the hospital in your wheelchair without stopping,” Markus announced.
  “What? I haven’t quit. I am here everyday!”
  “I know, you are trying to fit in, but you aren’t really here, are you?”
  “I have a lot on my mind,” Peter answered looking down and out into the parking lot.
  “Doesn’t everyone?”
  “Not everyone lost the use of their legs,” he screamed.
  “Everyone, in here did. You are nothing, but a loser.”
  Peter didn’t talk to him for a long time after that. He worked out harder than ever to prove that Markus was wrong.  He got there early and stayed late, Turning the light off at night gave him a sense of accomplishment.
  He moved into his own place and found a job. Something that he thought he would never do. Then weeks later he got the letter in the mail that said, “I knew you could so it.” signed Markus. It just clicked and he started to cry. He had given up and that man saved him. Okay he hated him but he needed that to get through the rehabilitation. He had giving the other at the hospital what they needed and he had given him what he needed.
  It was raining as he pushed his chair to the sidewalk.
  His front wheels caught the edge of the ramp and down the went. He heard someone running over to help.
  “You okay,” said the concerned man.
  “Yeah, and can you right my chair for me,” he asked.
  “No problem. Where you going so early?” asked the man as he pulled the chair up.
  “To the train station,” answered Peter, pulling himself back into to his chair.
  “That’s like 3 miles, you sure you want to be out this early going that far?”
  “Hadn’t thought about it. It doesn’t seem like it is that far. Thanks for the help,” he answered as he pushed off.
  When he had gotten the next letter, it requesting him to be a pallbearer at Markus funeral. He didn’t even know what the man’s last name was. It also said only come if he thought he could get from Spokane to Portland without any help. Markus wouldn’t have wanted to put himself out of his way.
  “Challenge excepted,” he muttered to himself, passing through the front doors of the train station.

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