Drama between middle-aged man and his dyin father.
North American (General)
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
his father's sunken eyes were closed. Maybe he'd just sleep through through whatever Steven had to say. What did he have to say? Eyelids fluttered, revealing his father's milky eyes. They met Stevens, and confusion played in them. It then gave way to recognition. Hey, Dad! His father opened his mouth, moving like a fish stuck on the shore. Great tongue poked through, trembling as he licked his lips. Stephen glanced away, found a glass of something clear and bubbly on the bedside table. He picked it up and lifted the straw to his father's lips. Here, his father drank the motions and the sounds both painful and gross. When he pulled away, Steven returned the glass to its place. Stephen, you made it the raspy and quiet. His father's voice was surprisingly clear. Of course I did. His father made a noise, maybe a laugh, then choked. Stephen started to get the drink once more, but his father spoke. I take it you will do whatever your sister tells you to do. He's dying. Be kind. He's dying. Are you in a lot of pain, Dad? Do you need me to get the nurses to give you medicine? His father's gaze searched his and again Stephens Will was tested. He didn't look away. You know, I was ******* you because I loved you because I wanted the best for you. Terror broke through anything else Stephen was feeling of all the possible things his father might say. This was the one Stephen prayed wouldn't happen. The request of understanding the plea for forgiveness. Stephen didn't think he could do it, not even pretend not even to make a dying man's journey into darkness. Easier he couldn't do it, wouldn't. And he knew it meant he was is bound for ****. As surely as his father. He tried to find the words. I know I forgive you. It's okay, rest now, anything. It's not too late, Stephen. You can still be the man you were meant to be. All worry about how to forgive flitted away in the hardness of his father's gays. You can have a son guarantee the Conley name continues on. Get a real job again and leave that queer thing you started. It's not too late to be the man you're meant to be. Stephen started to turn away, but Pat's words echoed in his mind. You need this. Your soul needs this. Dad, let's not say goodbye this way. Please let me go get Pat and we could be together as a family for a bit longer. Stephen hadn't noticed it before, or at least hadn't been able to name it until it left. His father's eyes hardened further. And only then did Stephen realize there's been hoping them somewhere beneath the cloud of cataracts and Hugh of John Dis still going to let your sister be the man of the family, huh? A disappointment to the end. A million images played through Stephen's mind, smashing the lamp over his father's head, throwing the bed over, dumping his father to the floor, spitting in the man's face, begging for forgiveness. Stephen swallowed the sob that tried to form in his throat. Good bye, Dad. He left the room. If his father called out to him. Stephen didn't hear, but he was certain that wouldn't happen. Pat's face fell even further as she met him outside the door. Stephen cut her off before she could speak. Go be with him. Don't mention me. He rushed past her with a little more than a squeeze to her shoulder. Stephen