It Must Be A Sign

Penny Brown was on the way to see her dying dad when she hit her head on a giant sign. She whisper-yelled, “Ow! Shit!’ and hastily wiped away her reactionary tears. Penny looked up at the sign. It was bright orange and read, “IT’S A GOOD DAY TO TRY A NEW SANDWICH.” Penny stared at the sign for 17 seconds, then whacked it with her hand. She whisper-yelled, “Ow! Fuck!” She watched the absurdly large sign swing sadly, and then carried on walking.

The sign wasn’t there yesterday. Or the day before. Penny didn’t like the sudden addition to her mid-afternoon trek. She spent the remaining 11 minutes of her walk thinking about the stupidity of the sandwich proclamation, how it wasn’t even clever, how the orange was offensively neon, how anyone her height—give or take a few inches—was in the danger zone of hitting their head. By the time Penny arrived at the hospital, she had almost forgotten what she was walking towards.

“Penny,” said Sara, the receptionist with old lady glasses and a kind smile. “He’s resting, but I’m sure he’d like to see you.”

Penny gave a smile that looked like a grimace and trudged up the two floors of white, dimly lit stairs to her dad’s white, dimly lit room. She found him swaddled in his blankets, just his head poking out. He turned when she opened the door and grinned at her. Penny thought he looked like an infant, too small and too frail for his bed, and she looked away.

“Well, hello!” her dad said.

“Hi, dad.” Penny kept her head down, avoiding his gaze, and busied herself with tidying up her dad’s bedside table.

“And what brings you in today?”

“Just visiting you, dad. And I got you these tulips. They’re wilting a little and I’m sure they’ll die soon, but—”

“Put them on the table! They’ll look great next to my heart monitor. That thing is depressing.”

Penny shuffled over to his side table and laid the tulips down. She thought they made the room look even more depressing.

“How was the walk over?” her dad asked.

“Fine,” Penny said, and it came out harsher than she wanted it to. “I hit my head on a dumb sign. And a Tesla cut me off when I tried to cross the street. But other than that, fine.”

“A sign for what?”

“Sandwich shop.”

“Did you get a sandwich?”

“What? No, I hit my head.”

“Get a sandwich next time.”

“How are you feeling, dad?”

“Oh, spectacular. Great. Fine.”

“Good.”

“Pen, you know it won’t be long before—”

Penny swung her arm into the bedside table and knocked the flowers off, which flung themselves across the tiled floor. She bent down and picked them up frantically, placing them back onto the table.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she said.

Penny grabbed the clicker from the foot of her dad’s bed and flipped the TV over to NBC. She wasn’t sure if her dad liked watching the news, and she wasn’t sure if she did either, but it’s what they watched every time.

****

Penny stood still, watching the sign flap around with the rain. She’d been thinking about it the whole walk over. She imagined ripping it off its dirty hinges and stomping on it until it was only dust. She imagined tearing it up, piece by piece, and putting it into a woodchipper. She imagined throwing it a million miles into space so that it fell into orbit around some other unlucky planet. Instead, she balled her hand into a fist and hit it once, then again, then again, then again. She yelled at it and called it stupid, her voice breaking with each shout.

The store owner came out and shouted back, asked her what the hell she was doing. Penny said the sign was stupid and the store owner’s voice softened and quieted. Penny didn’t really know why. He asked her to stop hitting his sign and to leave.

When Penny walked into her dad’s room, his eyes were closed. She slowly walked over to her uncomfortable chair and sat down, turning on the TV.

“Hi, Pen.” Penny turned to look at her dad, who was smiling at her and unsuccessfully trying to sit up.

“Oh, dad, stay lying down, please.”

“How are you today?”

“I’m okay. Dad, you’re messing up your blankets.”

Penny got up to fix his bed, tucking them around his bony body. She shuddered and hoped he didn’t notice.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Physically, eh,” he said. “Emotionally, woo! Nurse gave me a cup of lime Jell-O today. You know I love lime Jell-O.”

“I know you love lime Jell-O. How’s your back feeling?”

“I lied. She gave me two cups of lime Jell-O.”

“Is it too hot under there for you?”

“She said she’d sneak me a third.”

“Dad, are the blankets too hot for you?”

“Oh, no, no. Isn’t that exciting? About the Jell-O?”

Penny adjusted one of the blanket corners, not meeting his gaze. “Yeah, I guess so.”

She felt her dad looking at her, the same look he’d give her when she was five and wouldn’t admit when an accidental tumble hurt her. Penny thought to herself that his body, his face, his stature all looked so ancient and old, but his eyes would never change.

“Penny, I’m going to die soon.”

“Dad, that’s not—”

“It’s okay, I’m pretty sure it happens to everyone,” he said as he smiled and tried to nudge her with his elbow, falling a little short.

Penny tugged at her skirt, pulling a string further and further until it snapped off. She held it in both hands, completely still.

“But I don’t want you to,” she said. She looked at her dad, then quickly looked away. An image of the sign flashed in her mind, bright and pointless and swinging, and she wasn’t sure why. She dropped the string to the floor.

“It’s alright,” he said.

“Why?” Penny asked, and she was too aware of how high and childish her voice sounded.

“I’ve got my Jell-O,” he said with a chuckle, bringing a wobbly spoon to his mouth. “And you. Today’s a good day.”

Penny felt her throat start to burn and her mouth turn slightly upwards. She grabbed the clicker and turned up the volume, but stayed facing her dad.

On her way back home, Penny stopped outside of the sandwich shop. She read the sign over and over until it didn’t mean anything. She tapped it slightly with her hand, outlining the word SANDWICH with her pointer finger. Penny looked into the store and saw the shop owner watching her. He gave her a small smile, his eyes crinkling. Penny looked at her shoes, brought her hand to her side, and tried to give a small smile back.

****

The next time Penny visited her dad, he was asleep. She turned on the news and stayed for about an hour. She could hear her dad breathing heavily, and she listened to it. With every labored breath, she soaked it in and remembered it. She pictured him as he was when she was a kid, scooping her up in his arms and plopping her onto his shoulders. She pictured him as he was last year, looking frailer and older but still standing, still grinning. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw him gazing at her.

“Today’s a good day,” he said.

Two days later, Penny got a call from Sara, who cried as she relayed the news. Penny appreciated her empathy. Sara told Penny that he smiled until the last second, which made her laugh. After they hung up, Penny put on her coat and mismatched socks and sneakers she hadn’t worn in years and she walked. She saw her neighbor along the way, and she waved. She saw her neighbor's dog, and she waved at him too.

Penny walked until she found herself at the sandwich shop, underneath the bright orange sign, mascara smudged. She put her arms up and covered the last half of the sign with her hands. “TODAY’S A GOOD DAY,” the sign read. “Today’s a good day,” she said quietly, and entered the store to buy herself a sandwich.