He lays limp with drugged sleep, his graying beard scratching against the pillowcase as he breathes and I let the door click closed behind me; set my backpack on the floor, stepping up to his bedside. My voice is barely a murmur, “Dad… hey.” I touch his hand and inwardly wince at how loose the flesh has become. He squeezes my fingers slowly, meeting my eyes with his own dilated pupils, “Hey, darlin’. How’re y’doing?” His voice is full of gravel, stumbling over itself and I manage to nod my words away.  

I let go of him for a split second to grab my pack off the floor and set it on the bed, unzipping it. He doesn’t ask me any questions, simply nods and holds a saline-filled hand out to take the items. After laying them in his outstretched grasp, I walk the short distance of the room and cross my arms over my chest, watching the horizon starting to blush over the tops of smoky skyscrapers.

When he’s finished, the process of disconnecting him from the machines leaves my stomach a bit queasy; the small grunts as the needles leave his flesh bring another cramp to my guts. When I finish, I dig the first aid kit out of my bag and bandage the backs of his hands, speaking quietly about our exit plan. He only nods at me, clenching his jaw and looking a bit pale. I suspect this is the freest he’s felt in months and soon, he’ll be rid of this place permanently.

“Ready?” He nods, and I turn the handle.









The car is quiet between the two of us, the sunlight splashing across our titled jaws. The steering wheel is chilly in my grip and I let my palm slide down, eyes habitually trained on the road. He takes a breath, passes a hand over his beard and I hum tunelessly. For nearly fifteen hours, I drive west until the ocean wraps her subtle evaporated ribbons around our lungs, bringing something very close to happiness into my father’s eyes.









We spend a couple days visiting his long-estranged family, and dropping in on long-forgotten classmates; we eat the greasiest vendor food we can wrap our hands around, and even smile at one another now and then. The smiles are rare, but I know them clearly—neither of us has been put back together right and we know it. The seams are coming undone and we both feel it’s finally safe to show a little heart even in the face of unbecoming.









Sitting on a bench, he puts his hand over mine and I hold his fingers carefully, speaking, “We’re not going back.” Not a question, merely an observation. His silence holds a few moments and he tells me that we won’t go back together, but he knows that mother will be missing me. I remind him that she misses him as well and this time his silence is long.

“I’ve been… horrible to her, these past few months.”

I don’t have to nod; we know that we don’t have to lie. I tuck a couple strands of my hair away and respond quietly, “She loves you in her own, hard way. Nothing could change that.”

He closes his eyes; I stare into the sun as it slides deeper into the water. “Tell her…” His voice cracks. He tries again and his voice refuses once more. I nod and spend a breath promising him that I know what to say when I see the lines of her face again.









In the middle of the night at low tide, we sit with our feet at the edge of land, our hearts staring openmouthed at the sky over water and wait. I never say the goodbye he never asks for as his last breath is swept out in the cadence of waves; my farewell is silent as I dip the heavy halo of my head and blink against the sand in my eyes.