A Man Named Dave (12 page)

As I gently lowered the telephone, I could hear Grandmother erupt like a volcano. “David James Pelzer! Don’t you even think about hanging up on me! I’m sick and tired of everyone walking all over me, like some doormat. You’d think as much as I’ve done, that someone would be kind enough to think about my feelings….”

As I dragged myself back to the living room couch, Alice exclaimed, “My Lord, you look a mess!” Since I avoided mirrors as much as possible, I could only imagine my appearance. “You haven’t slept in Lord knows how long, and you eat like a bird. And now your face and neck are beet red …” Mr Turnbough placed her hand on my forehead. She shook her head in dismay. “… and now you’re burning up.”

As Alice disappeared into the bathroom, I exploded, “Man,
what is their problem?
” Returning a moment later, she presented me with some aspirin and a glass of water. With one swoop I tossed the aspirin into my mouth and gulped down the water. “I don’t get it,” I said to her. “They don’t care. Not one of them. Mother nor Grandmother even asked about Father. And now,” I shouted as my frustration spilled over, “it’s like Father doesn’t exist. It’s too much for them. Or he’s not important enough? I don’t know. They didn’t ask about him –how he’s doing, what’s going on, nothing. They didn’t offer to lift a finger. Everything, all the time, is always
them.
How they feel their pain. Poor pitiful them. Dammit!” I swore, hitting my knee.

I quickly caught myself. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t want Alice to think I was upset at her. Feeling myself run out of steam, I added, “I don’t know what I’m doing … I mean, about Father. I just wish I had a real family who loved each other or for once could bury their hate and do what’s right. That’s all I wanna do.”

“David!” Alice cried. “Wake up, we’re late. It’s after nine. We’ve overslept.” Before she could finish, I shot up from the couch, brushed my crumpled fatigues, which I had worn for the last four days, and bolted to the front door. In record time Alice and I arrived at the hospital.

Sprinting down the hallway, I met Steve at the entrance to Father’s room. Extending his arm, Steve blocked me from entering. “We need to talk,” he stated. Peeking in on Father, I noticed that except for his intensified breathing he seemed the same. But I knew by Steve’s forced smile all I needed to know. “David, you need to understand … sometimes they can’t … they won’t go … until they know the ones they love will be fine. You … ah, get what I’m saying, David?”

I fully understood, but the moment was too much for me. “Hey, David,” he went on, “your dad, he’s in pain. You have to tell him you’ll be fine. You have to let him go. You understand, right, David? He won’t pass until you do this. Ease his suffering. It’s the right thing for him. It’s the proper thing to do. He won’t pass until …”

I turned to Alice. “Could you go in and talk to him, please?” I begged, before fleeing to the far end of the hall, where I found a wooden bench. With a million thoughts running through my mind, I became fixated with my cheap Timex watch. It showed a few minutes to ten. Clasping my hands together, I prayed. “I’ve never really asked you for much. And you know what I’ve been through. I guess I thought I could save him…. So, if you could grant me this … if there’s no way that he can get better … then take him. Ease his pain and take my dad. Amen.”

Not knowing what to do next, I wiped away my tears, cleared my mind, and made my way to Father’s room. A small legion of nurses and specialists, who had probably been Father’s only contact with the outside world for the past few months, cleared a pathway as I stepped into his room. Alice turned toward me after patting Father’s arm. “You’re a good man, Mr Pelzer. God be with you,” Alice said with tears swelling in her eyes, then left the room. From behind me Steve whispered, “Let him go.” Everyone else filed out after him.

Alone now, I noticed how huge the room seemed. The drapes were wide open, and the sun poured through the windows. Besides the bed, all the other furniture and medical equipment had been removed. The sheet to Father’s bed was crisp, and his gown seemed new. The only sound to be heard was Father’s raspy breathing. Taking a long, hard look, I saw for the first time, below the left side of his neck, that Father’s bandage had been removed. It exposed the blackened area where the cancer had literally eaten his skin. Even then, as much as I wanted to ease his pain, I could not say good-bye.

Standing by his bed, I took Father’s trembling hand. From behind my eyes I could feel the pressure build, and fought to bury the pain.

“I, ah, got … some great news,” I lied. “The doctor says everything’s gonna be fine … and that … they can have you up and outta here real soon.” Part of me felt like a heel, and yet the more I talked, the more my fantasy seemed to take hold. Peering into Father’s face, I stated with confidence, “I didn’t tell you this before, but I got a home on the Russian River.” I paused, beaming at Father, who seemed to understand. “It’s got knotty pine walls and ceilings. A stone fireplace, your own room. It’s always warm and sunny. It’s really nice. It’s got everything. It’s on the river, and when the sun goes down, the water’s as smooth as glass. At night you can smell the redwood trees … it’s a piece of heaven, Dad. Heaven.

“Remember that time when I was a kid and you let me walk with you that summer at the river … you said it was like heaven. You and I can live there … and go fishing, sit at Johnson’s Beach, or do anything we want. And in the summer … we can go to San Fran and catch a game at Candlestick –just like you always said we’d do. We can be like a real father and son. Just the two of us.

“We made it, Dad! We really made it! Everything’s gonna be fine. We can be together … and live at peace. We got a home, a real home. No more fighting, no more troubles, no one’s gonna kick us out. We got it made! It’s gonna be fine. You just relax and … I’ll take care of you … I’ll take care of everything.…”

I broke off when I felt Father’s trembling fingers clutch my hand. Never before in my entire life had both of us looked deep into each other. His dark eyes were perfectly clear as they bore into mine. I could somehow feel the immense shame, loneliness, sorrow, and pain in Father’s gaze. “I’ve always been proud of you. You’ve always been my hero. And as your son, I swear to God, one day I will,
I will
make you proud. I always have and always will love you, Father. Now you relax … and I’ll meet you at the river.”

With whatever strength Father had, he strained to lift his head to mine to kiss me on the mouth. With my free hand I held him from behind his neck as delicately as possible. The two of us had finally joined as father and son. I returned the gesture by smiling at him and kissing him on the forehead. Then, like so many years ago, as he had that summer when we strolled together at the Russian River, my father winked at me before he slipped away.

I held Father’s body as long as possible before I eased his head back onto the white pillow. Looking at Father’s face, I felt so utterly stupid for thinking that I could have somehow saved him. Time seemed to come to a halt as I gazed at the man I had so long wanted to be with. After closing Father’s eyes, I thanked God for allowing me to be with him during his last moments. With the tips of my fingers I rubbed my lips, thinking how Father had never kissed me before. No matter what void had existed between Father and me in the past, I now had the memory of being with him when it counted most. It was something I would forever cherish.

Stepping outside the room, I saw that Steve understood. With a piece of paper in his hand, he dialed the phone and gave it to me. “What?” I asked in a daze.

Not looking at me directly, Steve muttered, “Your mother … she wanted to know as soon as it happened … the moment he passed away.”

Closing my eyes, I could feel myself drift. At the lowest point of my life, Mother, in all her grandeur, had maintained control of the situation. As always, I wasn’t even worthy of the privilege of her majesty’s unlisted line, but was somehow good enough to do her dirty work. At the other end of the phone line, I could hear Mother’s heaving voice. I swallowed hard and performed my function. “This phone call is to inform you that your husband, Stephen Joseph Pelzer, has just passed away.”

I stopped for a second, surprised by my deadpan tone and lack of compassion. As much as I prided myself on manners, at that moment I didn’t give a damn about Mother or her dramatic, self-centered exploits. Mother didn’t even flinch. “Well … yes. It’s really better that way, isn’t it? Uhm …” A moment later the line went dead.

I stared at the phone, which seemed welded to my hand. From behind the nurses’ station, Steve pried the phone from my fingers. “We need to talk,” he said with a bright smile. “Remember, when I told you that he wouldn’t go until he was ready?”

With tears now freely running down my face, it was all I could do to nod my head yes.

“Your father wasn’t ready. He held on … he waited … he waited for you.”

“For me?” I repeated.

“Yes!” Steve said with conviction. “Out of all the people he’s met during his life, your father hung on so he could say goodbye to you.”

“But,” I babbled, “he, ah … he couldn’t even speak, not even with his eyes. He couldn’t –”

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve replied as he came from behind the counter. “He knew what he was doing. David, listen carefully, your father fought as long and as hard as anyone I’ve ever known under those conditions. He could have given up a long time ago. He knew the outcome; he knew he wasn’t going to walk out of here. He waited. He waited for
you!

“You get what I’m saying?” Steve asked as he held my shoulders.

“Yeah,” I said, “I understand now. I really do.” Wiping away my tears, I said, “I appreciate everything you and everyone else did for him. At least” – I stopped to look at the small group of staff – “at least he wasn’t alone. For that I’m grateful. I truly am. Thank you. Thank you all.”

Shaking everyone’s hand, I saved my appreciation for Steve last. All I could do was nod my head, up and down. “It’s all right, man, I understand,” he said before embracing me. Reaching behind to my back pocket, I pulled out a faded piece of black leather. “It’s my father’s badge,” I announced triumphantly.

“He wanted you to have it. He told me so,” Steve said, taking my hand.

“It’s the only thing he had that was his … that no one could take away.” I paused to collect myself. Without warning I felt an overwhelming urge to crawl into bed, hide from everything and everyone, and sleep forever. “One day I’m gonna make my dad proud,” I adamantly stated. “I will!”

“David,” Steve said, shaking his head, “not to worry. You already have. He told me himself. He’s proud of you. He told me you made it … that you made it
out
of whatever situation you were in.

“Your father’s ‘up there’ right now. He can see you.” Steve stopped for a moment of introspection. “Maybe he was never physically with you. But up there, he’ll be with you … always.”

Four days later, on a foggy Monday morning, I parked Mr Turnbough’s car in front of the same Catholic church Ron, Stan, and I had briefly attended with our aunt years ago as preschoolers. Upon entering, I thought I was late – the services were apparently under way. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, in my olive green air force fatigues, I stepped with Alice lightly yet quickly down the left side of the aisle before sliding into one of the front pews.

While praying on my knees, I couldn’t believe that I had dishonored my father by being late for his service. After thanking God for relieving Father’s pain, I concentrated on the service. In an odd sense, I was excited to hear the good things others would say about Father. Maybe, I thought, I could learn something about him. I had always wondered about my parents’ pasts, their ideas, their outlooks for the future, how they met, fell in love, why things turned sour, how as a couple they seemed to have it all but lost everything. I especially wondered about the love that I felt they had at one time for each other. But instead the priest began to hastily run down a list of announcements. “This Wednesday evening’s sermon will be canceled. But the potluck dinner will still be served at the regular time…” I turned to Alice in disgust.

It was then that I noticed behind the pulpit there were no bouquets, wreaths, or even a casket for Father. “Look.” I elbowed Alice.

Mrs Turnbough leaned over and whispered, “Your mother said your father’s wishes were to be cremated.”

“No way!” I erupted. “He was a fireman! Get it,
a firefighter!
They’re paranoid of getting burned … No!” I said, trying to restrain my fury, “This is wrong. Totally wrong. Dad wouldn’t want this!”

“I know,” Alice gently replied, “but it’s too late. She already…”

Not wanting to hear my father’s fate, I turned away and caught a hateful glance from Mother, who sat directly across the aisle from Alice and me. By her look she seemed outraged that I was in the same building with her and her precious children, who for the most part appeared to be bored at the whole affair. My concentration returned to the priest, who cleared his throat before chanting his final blessing, “… of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. May the Lord be with you.”

“And also with you,” the congregation answered.

“Go in peace,” the priest concluded.

A surge of anger took over me.
How could I have screwed up and missed Father’s service?
On my knees I cursed myself for somehow misunderstanding the time of the funeral. Alice leaned over, saying, “I could swear that your mother said nine o’clock.” I nodded, checking my watch, which read a few minutes after the hour.

Turning from the crowd, the priest bowed before stepping away from the podium. But by the sudden change in his face, the priest must have looked at Mother. Without breaking stride, he returned to his pulpit and unfolded a paper. “Pardon me,” he said, “the church wishes to recognize the passing of Stephen Pelzer, who now rests in the hands of our Heavenly Father. A retired fireman of San Francisco, Stephen is survived by …” the priest paused to read his notes. “… Stephen is survived by his beloved wife, Catherine, and his four children: Ronald, Stan, Russell, and Kevin. Let us pray.”