Blinding lights

“For the millionth time, turn off the lights, they’re blinding!” To him, it was unbearable how dumb they were. They were short on money and not so short on all the bills. If they wanted to survive, they’d have to cut down on the expenses a bit. More like… if they’d wanted him to survive, he knew that they probably wished him dead by now. He knew he deserved it and he knew how he acted, he is a grown 50-year-old after all. But he hated seeing that look in their eyes and in order to not have the time to see it, he’d shout. He’d scream. Whatever it took for them to walk away and leave him to rot in his room that seemed more and more of a prison cell to him with each passing hour. It smelled like hospitals in here, smelled like death. It was just as slow yet intoxicating to him and it took all of his willpower not to scream in agony or despair. At least he’d save his face. He blamed it on the cancer, just like he blamed his failing marriage and the way his kids don’t like being in the same room with him and how his neighbors never stop by and how his work acquaintances moved on with their lives as if he was never there. It’s the lung cancer, that little monster. It scares his little daughter with its demanding loud voice and annoys his older sons with orders that never end and critique that never seems to find anything pleasurable, it threatens his wife to kill itself if she leaves and drives him crazy with paranoia and hatred towards each and every one; the universe, his family for still trying to support him although he is been nothing but horrible to them, his mother that brought him to life so that he could see the day the cancer fed on his body piece by piece, his friends that never cared what became of him, all those who knew him that seem happier now that he’s gone. It’s not fair that they get to live and laugh and love while he is bed ridden. The doctors say his luck is terrible because the cancer metastasized and caused fractures that ended up paralyzing him. they said that rarely happened. Not only is he dying and they are dumb enough to not have found a cure, he would forever be stuck to this bed. This awful bed he and his wife bought 25 years ago together when they got married and were in love. Such stupid emotions, love. Does love pay for their bills now that he can’t work? Does love send his older kid to college and his two others to their schools? Does love feed families and put a roof on their heads? Or does love pay mortgage? Does love pay for gas? Does love cover the cost of his treatment and chemotherapy, because the government sure doesn’t where he lives! He lost his faith in love, the ever so practical man. That’s when he failed to realize that his family stayed for him out of love, that his mother that is now 75 years old comes to check on him daily out of love although she can barely walk. He sees them as fools, wasting their time on him. And yet he blames and manipulates them. His life changed after cancer, everything is different now. But the one thing that cancer didn’t manage to take away from him were his lighters that lit even his darkest days and placed his mind and soul in a wave of nicotine he couldn’t fathom. And although cancer lights his cigarettes while lighting him on fire with pain, he didn’t care, he is a dead man either way. Maybe, since cigarettes are slow death and cancer is, what, mediocre, it’d add up and finish him off faster. So that his family can go back to paying bills and mortgage and find “true love”. He didn’t know.

The next morning was just as bad. “For the millionth time, turn off the lights, they’re blinding!” He never heard an answer or the click of the lights. He opened his eyes to a dark room and smiled despite the situation. They finally remembered, took them long enough. It’s not that hard, anyways, is it? He has been feeling a little headache lately and didn’t want to tell his wife about it, now that they finally closed the light maybe the headache would go away? His eye sight was also getting weaker, he thought to himself that he needed new glasses. One of the kids sure can buy him one when they come back.

And then he heard the door unlock. Heavy footsteps, probably his eldest son, followed by some lighter ones of his second one. A little laughter of his little girl and a lot of rumbling keys, indicating his wife’s arrival. Distant noises that filled the house with happy laughter that they tried toning down. It pained him to see that they toned it down because they were scared of him and he vowed to be nicer today like he does every day but when his son came to give him the medication, he just shrugged and told him that it’s about time. Even in the dark, he knew he was shaking his head and rolling his eyes, one thing he’d scold him for if the lights were on. It’s crazy how much the lights can hide, how our lives seem to be better just when we decide to turn off the crazy lights and dim everything down a little. “Where were you all?” He heard his son rummage through the box of medication and wondered how he was so fast despite it being dark. It must have been all the years of practice. “Church, dad. It’s Sunday. Granny is also here, we picked her up and she is helping mom downstairs.” Right, Sunday. It’s like he forgot the days and seemed lost in all the numbers. Sundays are just as boring as Mondays and as awful as Tuesdays. Does it really matter? But he reminded himself to be nicer today and cleared his throat. “If you want to turn the lights on to see my medication box better, do that.” He felt his son stop what he was doing and then there were no noises. “Boy, do you hear me?” “Yes, dad, I hear you. The lights are on, dad, you know we never close them” He panicked and fumed. And while flailing his arms around, he felt it collide with a vase he never knew was there. Or was it a medication bottle? What does this mean? What happened? He didn’t know. He turned to the direction he thought his son’s voice came from. ““For the millionth time, turn off the lights, they’re blinding!”