“Oh my God. Did he just die?” Vance asks.
I hover my hand over Dad’s mouth. Nothing. There is nothing.
“Do you feel anything?” he asks.
“N-no,” I choke. Unstoppable tears dump onto my cheeks.
Vance crumbles into the chair behind him and buries his head in his hands. His sobs are deep and choppy. He repeats, “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
I don’t want to release my father’s hand. It feels exactly like it did a moment ago, when he was alive. How can that be? I’m so sorry for wishing you dead, Dad! What kind of an asshole son am I?
Dad’s head has dipped down, and I don’t like it. When I go to “rearrange his melon” Vance shrieks, “What are you doing? Stop! Stop! Don’t touch him!”
I’m so startled that I drop Dad’s hand, and his arm flops out to the side. It’s dangling over the edge. There’s a knock on the door, and Jacque Beaufort walks in. Vance yells, “Not now!”
This scene has obviously freaked her out because she recoils, apologizes, and runs out.
Peggy is suddenly at Vance’s side, but she takes a step back. He is in a full-on rage. His face is purple, he keeps punching the seat of the chair, and he’s actually growling. She lets him carry on for a good two minutes before trying to calm him down. “Vance? Vance!” she shouts. He freezes mid-punch and lifts his eyes. “You can either try to calm yourself down, or I can call down to Thomas and he can help you calm down.” Peggy turns to me. “Thomas is six-five and three hundred pounds.”
Vance releases his fist and falls on his knees. He sobs into his elbow. Peggy sits in the chair and talks softly to him. I reach over and straighten my father’s head. His skin is noticeably cooler. He is really, really gone. My stomach lurches. I need out of this room.
I barrel around the bed and stumble into the hall. Jacque is nowhere to be found, and for this I’m thankful.
Where can I go? Vance’s car is locked. School is in full swing over there so I can’t walk outside. Is there a bathroom close by? I have no destination but I move. As I’m about to pass the empty Common Room, the piano catches my eye. I pause and stare. All of a sudden, another Mozart piece plays in my mind: Requiem in D minor. I can actually hear the beginning with the violins, the choir. I pull my phone from my pocket and type the name of the piece into iTunes search. I tap the play button, and the sad notes fill the quiet room.
I drag one of the chairs over to face the window. I sit and cry and listen to Mozart. I would give anything for my music to have its normal effect on me. Calming yet thrilling. Peaceful and fulfilling.
Right now, it’s simply recognizable noise.
Dad is gone. I never got to look him in the eye and get to the bottom of our layered and complicated relationship. The most important consistency in my life—having a living parent—no longer exists. Dinners at home, having a home, my job at the bar were constants, things that equaled family to me. Will any of them continue? How can they without Dad? He was the last bit of glue we had.
I shake my head as this realization takes shape.
Dad, my God, I can’t believe you’re gone.