A Man Named Dave

assistant at the nurses’ station at Kaiser Hospital, in the heart of San Francisco, who stood in front of Alice Turnbough and me as if we were invisible, while refusing to say if Stephen Pelzer was indeed on that particular floor, let alone admitted to the premises. Because of my insomnia, zigzagging across the country in the middle of the night, and the anxiety of seeing Father, I was ready to explode.
    Whatever scenarios I had formulated during the flight over, dealing with the actual situation was far more stressful than I had planned. Aboard the plane, every option seemed cut and dried, but now, I strained just to lean my upper body against the counter to keep from collapsing. I could feel my resistance to stay razor sharp, to retain a crystal-clear focus, drain away. The sterile pine smell nearly caused my nose to bleed and triggered memories of being trapped in the bathroom with Mother’s concoction of ammonia and Chlorox. The thought of not only coming face to face but actually dealing with Mother whenever she showed up would be hellish at best. My only wish was that somehow Mother would for once find it in her heart to bury her immense hatred and permit me a few moments alone with Father without unleashing her explosive fury.
    But maybe, I imagined, I was the one going too far. It was in fact Mother who had called Alice to tell her of Father’s condition. Maybe, there was already a crack in Mother’s defensive armor. When I had spoken to her before joining the air force, she had seemed overly pleasant, even proud of my efforts. For a fleeting moment her soothing tone reminded me of the mommy I had once adored. What if, I thought, Dad’s condition brought them back together? As a small child, before events turned the family upside down, I knew my parents had been deeply in love with each other. I had always heard that a crisis could bring strained relationships back together. There had to be a reason why Mom and Dad never divorced after all those years of separation. So now there was hope. I knew it! The scare of Father being in the hospital could be the best thing to happen for the entire family.
    The more I thought about this possible outcome, the more my anticipation of seeing Father grew. Like a lot of folks in similar situations, I, too, had initially overreacted. As my optimism grew, I pictured myself with Father, checking him out of the hospital in a few days, spending time with him one on one, then maybe … one day soon … I could return again on military leave, and all of us could sit down to a dinner. I told myself, feeling replenished with energy, that no matter what the consequences, nothing was going to be the same. The winds of change had begun to stir the moment Mother broke down and telephoned Mrs Turnbough. The entire charade would be over. Nodding my head in agreement to myself, but nodding more to the deranged woman at the nurses’ station, who continued to act as if she was engaged in more important matters, it no longer fazed me. I was in control of my emotions, and I knew that everything would work out for the better.
    From out of nowhere, a male nurse wearing a name tag STEVE slid behind the station and took immediate control of the situation. Before I could badger him, Steve read my name, stitched on my green air force fatigues, and let out a heavy sigh.
    “My father, Stephen Pelzer, he’s here? I mean, he’s okay and he’s in this hospital on this floor. Right?” I blurted out. I stared down the arrogant woman, who turned away after tossing her hair in disgust.
    Steve began to reply but raised a hand to his mouth as if to first collect his thoughts. “Man, we’ve been waiting on you. Yeah, kid, your father’s here, and … yeah, he’s on this floor. But chill for a sec. There’s a few things you need to know.”
    I rolled my eyes as if to say, Yeah, yeah, come on, out with it. “So …” I nagged, “what’s the deal? What happened? He fell down, broke an arm? What is it? When does he check out?”
    As Steve rapped his fingers on the countertop, wondering how to deal with me, my ears picked up the faint sound of a hacking cough. Without thinking, I spun to the right and marched into the room next to the nurses’ station. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. Before me, shaking like a leaf in a flimsy hospital gown, was the skeleton-like figure of my father. His arms were twitching uncontrollably as he struggled to slide his bare feet in front of him. He seemed to be using whatever