The chilly wind of spring flushed across my body in the middle of the night and I wouldn’t have noticed the misfortune that had befallen father if I hadn’t heard the deep-throated noise of father throwing up by the corner. He was throwing profusely.
My lip curled.
At the time my eyes burnt with unsatisfied sleep as I rubbed my eyes to confirm my sight. It was actually father, even when I dared to doubt the figure throwing up in the dark a contrary voice said otherwise.
“Father! Father!” I called as I peered at him while I advanced to the corner. “Father! Are you there?” Horror hung over me as I wondered if he was going to spew out his intestines; the throwing up couldn’t stop and didn’t seem like something that would stop soon.
It was still late and the entire dark silent street churned my imagination. It was obvious father had caught the flu. For more than two months we had slept out in the cold; the spring and rain fell on us; the dew had our frail, skin as its destination. I stared around, snorted and had my hands on my hand as I wondered the easiest way out of this dilemma.
Drawn and exhausted, father stopped throwing up abruptly and, lay on the ground, with a deep whine and groans that depicted to me that he was dying. I paced from pillar to post, wondering and lost about what action to take. When I thought this storm was about to quell father started off throwing up again but this time no substance was spewed out because he had emptied his bowel in the previous session.
I scuttled to his side, rubbed him on the shoulders; I could see a fight in his eyes and even in his sick state he wanted to quarrel and if only he could, he would have done it. But he was already sucked away by this flu.
“Sorry father.” I patted his shoulders, and pulled a grateful look for not being lambasted this time around, “You have caught the flu, father. There is no medicine around and it is late already. You really need to be taken to the hospital. But if that is the case I don’t have a dime for your treatment,” I nagged, thinking he was going to suggest to me what to do.
I didn’t know my statement had only created, repulsive feeling than I thought. Father sighed and started off breathing uneasily. The moment I touched his body, it was as hot as pressing iron.
“Father, please you just have to be strong. We are in the middle of nowhere right now,” I said through sobbing voice as I felt his numb hands, “At dawn I will run to my boss to grant me a loan so I can rent us a house and get some warmth,” I said in an optimistic tone, as I stroked his hair and rubbed his palms.
I could hear his breathing now and it was like a boneshaker car holding a brake,. The noise was alarming that I almost thought father had a whistle in his throat. With his palm gummed to my chest, I wondered what was about to befall father. We just buried mother two days ago and I wasn’t ready to lose him. He was the only father I had. Although he had often reminded me I wasn’t his legitimate child, yet he was the only one I could call father. I had grown under his watch and care and he named me Brian. I was seven when he found me wandering on the streets of Rio Hondo.
I knew I would never find my true family. The Patrick was my family. As a matter of fact, I had no interest whatsoever to reunite with a family that left me wandering at the age of seven. I would never find them and I knew that was my fate.
At dawn, I ran down to Hoffers Food, and appeared before my boss demanding for salary advance.
With my weak knees on the floor, I pled, “Please boss. I need this salary advance. My father has caught the flu as result of excess exposure to cold. I begged for your garage to shelter us but you declined it based on reasons best known to you. You are the boss. Your discretion should be respected. But this time I need a salary advance. Please my father must not die like my mother…”
“Brian Patrick!” Hoffers snapped, slammed his hand on the desk, “Why do you pester me with your dilemma, uh? If you can’t handle your poverty go to hell and stop hounding me with it. I have been thinking about the punishment to mete to you for the loss you brought upon this group.”
“Loss?” I contemplated within myself. I raised a furrowed brow and couldn’t fathom any loss. What loss was he talking about?
He pulled out his drawer and flushed a white paper at me, “This is the surcharge deeds from the magistrate court fined against us by a guest who sued us for our inability to deliver the diamond she gifted Melissa and her husband. You abandoned the deliverables without any consideration of the customers’ welfare at heart. Now the guest lost her diamond and sued us.” He pointed at the amount, “Can you see it? One million dollars fine. Who is going to pay for it? Me! Now you stand here demanding for salary advance.”
Sorry boss it wasn’t an intentional act. News of my mother’s death hit me so hard that I couldn’t continue with the delivery…”
He grinned and briefly shook his head in disapproval before pulling out his drawer yet again. “Brian Patrick, it is the end of your services here at Hoffers Food. You have till the next thirty minutes to vacate the premises.” He Tossed the sack letter at me and turned his back on me.
My eyes lined with tears as I ground my jaw. “Please boss,” I glanced at the letter and doubted it right then, “Ple…ple…please,” I stuttered and wept at the tops of my voice. “You can’t sack me now. Please boss,” I pled but it fell on deaf ears.
Rather Hoffers Greenfield peered at his bottle of wine and poured a cupful for himself…