A Plea Bargain

I wake up to a tap on my shoulder. It is my father. My neck screams in pain as I attempt to wake up. I wince, but I open my eyes. It takes me a second to realize where I am. The insistent rhythmic beeping quickens my realization. As I shift in my chair, a book falls off of me. I must have fallen asleep while studying. I looked at my father, but he had already walked away. From the doorway, he tells me I'm going to be late. I look at my watch. It is 4:57 am. I take a long breath to prepare for the day. I finally dare to look next to me. A shadow of my mother is lying in a hospital bed. Head shaved and at least thirty pounds lighter than last month, with wires and tubes everywhere. Her eyes are closed. She is asleep. She has this expression of anguish on her face even as she sleeps. A wave of emotions crashes over me as I look at her closely to observe the soft rise and fall of her chest. My heart aches as I struggle to say something and express my feelings of love and gratitude. Unfortunately, no words can escape the prison of my mind. I shook my head and asked my father if the Doctor had stopped by. He just shook his head helplessly. I put my book in my bag, looked at my mother again, and left the room as quietly as possible.  

My dad is standing outside the door, looking out the window. He asked me when is my exam. I lie and tell him it's next week. It is today. He nods. I can tell he wants to say something but doesn't know how so I nod as well. He makes an effort to smile. We both stand there in awkward silence, pretending to look at something outside. I finally broke the awkward silence and told him I should be back by one, so hopefully, we will have good news by then. He fakes another smile and nods again. He tells me in Greek to have a good day. That's how I know he is sad. He speaks Greek whenever he is sad. 

I walk down the hallway and pass the nurses' stations. Two are staring at a computer screen quietly while the other two are giggling about something. I feel an unjustifiable anger that they can giggle amid all this pain and suffering on this floor. Their low murmurs fade into the background as I continue walking while my mind is consumed by thoughts and memories of my mother- shared laughter, childhood joys, and promises. 

I arrive at the elevator and press the button. A moment later, the metal doors open, and a priest stands there grimly. His eyes shine brightly behind his circular glasses and he manages a smile when he sees me. I don't acknowledge the smile and stand in the elevator's corner. I watch as the doors close, and the ache of separation begins to gnaw at my heart. The elevator starts to move, but each level feels like a descent into hell. 

Once we arrive at the ground floor, we walk out and separate. I pass a hospital "chapel" and feel an invisible tether pulling me towards it. I walk hesitantly towards the open glass doors. The space is adorned with rows of ugly golden metal chairs cushioned with green velvet, matching the uglier plush green carpet. I can't help but feel out of place.  

I sit on the last chair and put my book bag beside me. My tired eyes appreciate the soft light in the room. I look at the center of the room towards the stained art glass of a tree. I hesitate for a second, and I start talking. "I am sure you know this already, but I am not a huge fan. My mind is already questioning this. Honestly, I don't know what else to do. I am at a loss. If you are real, if you are truly there, then hear me out. . please."  

I pause for a response. Of course, there is none. I shake my head at my ridiculousness and continue: "We are supposed to be getting the results today. It is her last hope. I am not looking for a miracle or something big. Just give her a fighting chance." I pause again, this time to collect myself. I feel like more is to be said, so I add more words. "Look, I know this is not how things work. I know I am not the best of people or even a believer. So, if you are listening to me, help her and I swear I will become the biggest believer ever. I will even go to church every week. But please, save her." 

I get up quickly and forget all about my bag. I leave the hospital and get blinded by sunlight momentarily as I walk to the bus station. I reach in my bag to get my book…shit my bag. I run back and can't help but blame myself for stopping at the Chapel. Luckily, my bag is where I left it. I return to the bus station and take my book, "On The Genealogy of Morality," out. I sigh. I really don't have the brain power for Nietzsche right now.  

I arrived at class fifteen minutes late. I sit down with my blue booklet and look at the first question, "Explain Nietzsche's distinction between noble and slave morality." I shake my head and start writing, but my mind wanders away. I try to refocus, and the next thing I know, I am looking at a whole page of frantic writing comparing my faith and my ignorance to my mother's fight with cancer. I look at the clock. There is a minute left. I write another sentence. I stand up, grab my things, and apologize to my professor for my nonsense response, saying I would gladly retake his class.  

I run out of there. The train station is pretty close, but every second feels like an eternity. I hop on the first train and collapse on an empty seat as the train jerks forward. 

I rest my head on the window and stare blankly as the city, along with the journey, blurs past. My mind races with scenarios, from hoping and wishing to fearing the worst. I shake my negative thoughts away and try to focus on the calmness in my mother's voice or the warmth of her smile. My chest tightens as I wonder if I will see her smile again. I close my eyes and drift to dreamland to escape my negative thoughts. 

I wake up at my stop and take the bus back to the hospital. I walk anxiously into the hospital. The cool, dry air feels good on my sweaty neck. I walk past the Chapel and give it a slight nod. I finally arrive at my mother's room, only to find the door closed. I slowly and hesitantly open the door. The Doctor pauses for a second and summons me with his hand. His face is serious, but there is a softness in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, the Doctor begins to speak. I will not forget the following words: "As I was saying, given everything, we would advise her to return home for her last few days as there is nothing else we can do. . ." . Did he say "last few days? Not months or even weeks?   

My brain goes haywire with questions, but suddenly, everything turns off. I feel nothing. My fear, my anger, my anxiety, and my pain disappear. Everything becomes a blur, but one thing is clear. I definitely lost whatever faith I had left at that moment.