Sorry it’s been awhile since the last chapter, but none the less here is chapter 27, the last part of act 2. A special thank you to Mirage for his brilliant proofreading and editing, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated.
Enjoy!
On a Roll of the Dice
I’ve never wanted to fall asleep more - to let the world disappear and escape my chaotic thoughts. Resting her head against my shoulder, mum is still, but I can’t tell if she’s asleep or not.
It doesn’t seem to matter either way. Exhaling softly I try closing my eyes and hope my body complies.
Which of course it doesn’t. Images of a faceless doctor striding into the room and shaking his head flash across my mind; stabbing at my gut. With a growing resentment for my subconscious I open my eyes, the city is lit in a cheerful morning sun behind the window. Dad has been in surgery throughout the night. With no indication of how things are going me and mum have little choice but to wait.
I’ve used the time to try and plan for my father's death, to accept it in advance.
As if it might ease the pain. Because that's how this ends right? The chances are so low, yet I can’t help but hold on to a tiny ember of hope that smolders in my chest, a kind of trapped excitement that everything will be okay.
It’s a childish hope.
A knock on the door forces me from my revery and causes me to jump, disturbing mum, who blinks at me confusedly. I try to give her a reassuring look, but I don’t feel reassured - not at all. Jumping to my feet I make my unsteady way to the door, pins and needles playing around my numb legs.
Feeling unnaturally cold beneath my palm the handle moves easily, as I pull open the door to reveal Dr Yamanaka. His expression is impossible to read as he steps into the room, closing the door behind him. I retreat quickly to Mum, who is now standing with her weight lent against the armchair, her dark bloodshot eyes seemingly out of focus.
“I’m happy to say the surgery was successful and we were able to remove most, if not all of the tumour.” His flat tone gives nothing away, but that has to be good news right?
“However I’m afraid to say that your father suffered complications during the procedure and has fallen into a coma.”
“Will he wake up?” I ask, hearing my own voice as if it’s a thousand miles away.
“Well, the prognoses is not good for a man of his age and condition, but we are not giving up on him Miss Miura.”
How can he survive the surgery, the procedure that had the highest chance of killing him, only to end up in a coma to which he may never recover?
“What about the tumour, is it..?” I can’t bring myself to say the word, cancer.
“We are awaiting the lab results, we should know later today.”
“Right,” I say, feeling bile rise in my throat.
“Is there anything you would like to know Mrs Miura?”
I go to answer, before I notice he’s addressing my mother for the first time. She jumps, startled at the sudden attention. Gone is the newfound confidence I had grown to admire in her, replaced with an uneasy look of desperation. A look she would wear when the drink had dried up and reality had crashed back around her.
Shaking her head she sits back down, deliberately not looking at me or the doctor.
“I’m sorry,” I say, not feeling apologetic at all, “This is a difficult time for us.”
“I quite understand,” Dr Yamanaka replies, “You will be able to see your father soon once he is settled in intensive care.”
I nod numbly, half tempted to sprint past him out of the door, to run until I pass out. A desperation for the rush of relief that only the track can bring burns in me as bright as my mother's desire to lose herself to a bottle. But I can’t, Mum needs looking after and my phone needs charging. Escape is not an option.
After seeing the doctor out with as much thanks as I can muster - after all he has been here as long as I have and looks just as tired for it - I return to mum, who is weeping softly into her hands, defeat visible in her body language.
She’s lost hope already. Forgoing my own grief I sink to the floor, leaning against the chair as to lay my head in her lap. Momentarily she stiffens, before I feel a hand resting on my unkempt hair.
I can’t do anything other than to try and bury my feelings - to lock them away until I have my own time for them - and be there for my mother, who stands on the very edge of oblivion, back into a world of booze fuelled sleep.
I can’t support her. The truth burns at my eyes, I cannot support her if she falls again, I’ve seen too much of what life can be like, I’ve seen where her path will take me.
I’m finally understanding that I’m not a good person.
My tears fall freely onto the fabric of her skirt. As if in retribution or spite, my hand begins to twist and contort. Pain shoots up my arm, into my chest, unforgiving and unrepentant. Forcing my stump into my empty stomach I shudder, desperate to keep myself together.
But the cracks are starting to show.
— — —
I wake with a start, surprised to find I am no longer trapped in an overturned truck rapidly filling with icy water. It takes me a moment to realise I am still sitting on the hard plastic hospital flooring, with my head resting against my mother's lap. Peering up I can see that she is asleep, a peaceful look on her troubled face.
With joints cracking audibly I pick myself up off the floor, stretching my arms above my head and taking in the room. I find myself looking into the kind eyes of Miss Kita, who sits in a chair by the door, knitting needles in hand.
How long has she been here?
“Oh, hello dear,” she whispers, the gentle click of the knitting a somehow comforting sound in the erie whiteness.
“Have you been here long?” I ask quietly, wandering over to pick up my backpack that has layen discarded since last night.
“About half an hour or so, you two looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.” Her needles halt as she pauses, “They say you can go and see your father when you’re ready.”
“Not yet,” I say quickly, feeling a wave of uneasiness shiver through me. “Can you keep an eye on mum if I leave for a bit?” I ask, glancing back to the armchair.
“Of course dear.” A strange look plays around her face, the corners of her mouth turned down slightly. “You’ve spent a lot of time looking after her, haven’t you?”
“I guess.” I shrug, thrown by the slightly odd question.
“She’s going to be strong for you Miki, as you have been for her, she just needs to find it within her.”
The hell? This is not what I had imagined I would ever talk to Miss Kita about, she was so keen to treat me as an invalid when we first met, now she’s what? Telling me I can take a break from being responsible for my mother? She wants to reassure me I guess, it’s understandable, but I really can’t see mum coming out the other side of this a stronger person.
It’s just a sad fact of life.
I shrug, unsure how to answer. “I was going to get a coffee, did you want one?” I ask.
“No, thank you dear.” She begins her knitting again, her eyes focussed on a woollen hat that is beginning to take shape. I think we misjudged each other when we first met, she thought I required care, I believed she was set in her ways. But she has a warmness to her, a subtle sign that she still believes things can and will work out, even after a life of being shown otherwise.
My grandfather was right to trust in her.
Saying my goodbyes and promising to be back soon I push out into the corridor.
* * *
The cold water feels as refreshing as a mountain stream, as I cup my hands under the restroom tap before splashing the water onto my face. I catch sight of myself in the mirror, I look awful, the bags under my eyes that have been brewing since yesterday morning are now almost the same shade of purple as my hair, which is itself a tangled and knotted mess.
I should have packed a brush.
Pulling my fingers through the dry strands as a stop gap measure I lament on not bringing a toothbrush either. I’m so wilfully and completely unprepared, despite repacking my bag. Having also neglected my phone charger, the device has died and I have no idea how I’m going to get power back into the thing.
The nurses were less than useless when I asked.
Stepping into a cubicle I change into fresh clothes, a worn but well fitting blue t-shirt and baggy jeans; complete with torn knees from an ill conceived attempt at skateboarding years ago. I shiver slightly with the cold tiles beneath my bare feet, hoping against hope that this floor is cleaner than it looks.
With yesterday's outfit stuffed into my backpack I slip into my socks and shoes, heading out to find something to help me stomach whatever might be waiting for me in intensive care.
* * *
The hospital canteen is packed when I finally find it. I can think of about a million places I would rather venture than into the roaring mass of staff and patients, battling in a very polite way to secure breakfast and coffee.
However my stomach triumphs over my mind, and I find myself lining up to pay for my food - miso soup, rice and a take away cup of coffee - sliding haphazardly as I balance one end of the plastic tray on my stump, while keeping a firm grip with my remaining hand.
I have to dig deep into my backpack to retrieve my purse, much to the irritation of the dinners behind me. Waving my bandaged arm and saying sorry has the desired effect, they look down, guilt all over their impatient faces.
It’s a cheap trick, but my deformity might as well be good for something.
However my victory is short lived, finding a place to sit seems to be next to impossible; every time someone stands up their place is immediately taken by people more eagle eyed than I am. Finally out of desperation, I ask a women dressed in scrubs, whose blond hair and foreign features are strangely familiar, if I can use the empty seat at her table.
“Oh sure,” she says cheerfully, looking up. “Oh my god, Miki?” She blurts, her eyes fixed on mine.
She knows me?
“Err, yeah,” I say nervously, feeling a deep regret for not having more time for my appearance, now that my anonymity has been striped away.
“Oh, wow, how have you been doing?” She asks, taking a large bite of toast.
“I’m sorry, have we met?” I ask, feeling very rude.
I draw little comfort from knowing that remembering things is not one of my strong points.
“Oh shoot, I’m Jullie Montrose, I was your physical therapist?” She answers hopefully.
How could I have forgotten, this is the women who through advanced torture techniques and endless enthusiasm helped me to learn to handle my new lopsided life. I’m surprised she remembers me though, it’s been nearly a year and half, and I was hardly the most cooperative of patients.
Or even a particularly nice person to be around.
“You recognised me? It’s been more than a year,” I say, with a touch of awe in my voice.
“Heh, yeah, well I tend to remember my patients, especially those who were a pain in my backside,” she winks.
Using my stump to pin down the package containing my chopsticks I peel the paper away with my good hand, freeing the eating utensils, an action I have performed so many times now that I hardly notice. However, I catch Julie watching me, a sly smile on her face, freckled cheeks bulging slightly.
“What?” I say, meeting her gaze with a puzzled look of my own.
“Oh nothing, just impressed by how far you’ve come along since you worked with me.”
“Oh, right.” I take a bite of the tofu floating in my soup, mulling over her words. “I guess I’ve just adapted over time, but you definitely set me on the right path.” It would be impolite to not even acknowledge her help.
“Mmm, well it’s not very often I get a positive review, so thanks.” She grins, taking another bite of her toast, tearing at the bread like some kind of wild bear. “How are you getting along at your new school?” she asks.
Now how the hell did she know that…
“You know I transferred to Yamaku?” I ask, slightly stunned.
“Heh, yeah, your nurse spoke to me on the phone, he’s very diligent about his charges. I like that.”
Figures if there was spying being done Nurse would be behind it.
“Well, I can introduce you if you like,” I say absent mindedly, the soup isn’t great… but it's at least filling.
Jullie laughs, her eyes sparkling like moonlit water, “I might have to take you up on that if I’m ever in the area. it’s a nice area up there, right?”
I nod, “Yeah,” I reply, not sure what I’m supposed to say, “It’s nicer than this place anyway.”
“Ah, it isn’t so bad here.”
Poor dulled fool.
“So what brings you back?” she asks politely, wiping her mouth with a napkin before throwing it onto the plate in front of her.
I could lie, in fact I can say it’s personal and move on. But Julie, for all that she’s a stranger, feels like someone I might be able to talk to. Miss Kita is kind but I can’t see me sharing my worries, mum is less than useless in that regard; if grandad were here... Well, then things might be different.
“My dad,” I answer, keeping my eyes fixed to the bowl of rice, stained black with a trail of soy source.
“Oh. Nothing serious I hope?”
“He’s in intensive care,” I say, before proceeding to tell her about his condition and the surgery. She nods politely as I explain, grimacing when I mention the coma, it’s hard to tell if she really cares.
Or if her concern is purely courtesy.
“Are you on your way back to see him?” she asks as I lift the carefully balanced bowl to my lips, taking a sip of the still warm liquid.
With my mouth full I shrug.
“Anxious?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I reply, realising how much I’ve been putting off going to see him.
It’s not that I don’t want to be there for him. But I don’t know if I will be able to hold myself together, to be the person my parents need me to be. What if, seeing him like that breaks me?
“Before I left for Japan, I was so nervous that I almost turned around at the airport and got a taxi straight back home.”
I nod politely, not sure where she intends to go with this.
“Well, look, all I’m trying to say is that even though something makes you feel rotten, you might regret not doing it,” she peters out at the end, apparently unsure if she’s overstepped the mark or not.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, “I guess its not really the same thing.”
“No, it;s okay,” I reply, “I just, well, I thought the surgery would be the tipping point, you know. I thought if he could get through the night he would be fine, but now I’m not so sure.”
Julie nods.
“Well he’s made it through once, no reason he won’t do it again. Not if he has your stubbornness.”
I chuckle softly, finishing the last of my rice. Sometimes I think you’ve already decided the route your going to take in your head, but you need someone to bounce off to confirm your making the right choice.
“Would you like me to walk you down to intensive care?” she asks softly, catching me off guard.
“Could you?”
“Of course,” she gets to her feet, brushing toast crumbs from the front of her pink scrubs.
Following her gratefully my phantom hand starts to twist and contort, sending wave after wave of pain shooting into my chest. It feels like the closer we get to my father the more my body resists, as if there were a giant magnet repelling me.
I hope I’m doing the right thing, for everyone's sake.
— — —
The intensive care unit resembles the experimentation bay of some alien spaceship. A series of glass walls separates the area into rooms, each containing ultra modern looking metal beds and numerous monitors and screens protruding from the all on clean metal arms. You get a feeling of a lot of money having been spent very recently. This place is the optimally of cold and clinical.
I can’t imagine a worse place to die.
Julie leaves me at the head of the corridor with a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder - must be an Australian thing - and a promise to try and hunt down a charger for my phone. Somehow I doubt she’ll be successful; it’s not exactly a recent model.
Nurses, dressed in green scrubs with their mouths covered slip seamlessly between glass cells, doing their level best not to notice me; lest I might disturb their important work with stupid questions. Walking down the corridor I check each room, looking for a familiar face while at the same time trying not to stare any longer than I have to.
Most of the people here look like they are on the very brink of death.
I find my father in the very last cubicle, he’s not alone. Mum and Miss Kita sit to one side of the bed on uncomfortable plastic chairs, while to my surprise the rugged muscular frame of my grandfather sits looking ridiculously out of place opposite them.
Dad looks even more lost in his bed than last time, his head wrapped in thick white bandages. He looks like he’s sleeping, peaceful and relaxed, but knowing the truth turns the image before me into a sickening parody of sleep.
The heart monitor’s gentle beeps are the only signs that he is truly alive.
“Grandad,” I say, walking over to him; my voice shaking.
We embrace in a one armed hug.
“Miki, I tried to contact you but I couldn’t get through?” he says, more worry than anger on his voice.
“My phone is flat, I’m okay, just needed a little time.”
“I understand, I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.”
“No, it’s-“ I pause for a moment, looking into his warm eyes, “I’m glad you're here.”
And I mean it, my grandfather has always been a veritable rock, supporting not only me, but my mother as well. With him here I feel a sudden relief flood into my chest. It’s like diving into deep water only to find there is a buoyancy aid not far off, I can tread water for awhile, but when it gets too much I can swim to relative safety.
I take the seat next to him, folding my arms in front of me on the soft bed and watching dad, hoping that at any moment he’s going to wake up and smile at me.
I think I’ve been watching too many of Ryouta’s movies.
“Have they said anything more?” I ask no one in particular.
“They say the tumour was benign, so it’s not cancerous,” my grandad answers quickly.
“Thank god,” mum adds, I notice she has knitting needles in her hands and is attempting to follow Miss Kita.
“That’s really good, so he will be better when he wakes up?” I ask, smiling brightly as the joyful news fills my chest.
“I would not quite go that far, if your father wakes up its going to be a long recovery,” grandad says, eyes flicker to my father. “He has had brain surgery after all.”
“Oh, well I’ll be here for him when he wakes up.” I reply resolutely.
“You have exams coming up Miki.” A stern note creeps into his voice.
So? What possible meaning could exams have when compared to my father's life? They don’t matter, it’s not like I would even pass them anyway, and mum will need me at home. I should probably just take the rest of the term off to help out, then if dad’s doing better.
Because he will wake up, I know that now. I can go to Ikuno’s for summer then return for the last term of school.
“Did you hear me?” Grandad asks, disturbing my planing.
“Are they really that important?” I say offhandedly.
“Yes!” he snaps, causing me to sit up and stare at him.
“Miki, these exams reflect on your performance at school and can affect the university entry exams.”
I snort in derision, if there's one thing I’m sure of it's that I will not be attending a university. For one thing I’m not smart enough, and for another I have much bigger problems than my education.
Though even I can’t say that the alternatives are very tempting. Either a dead end job, or worse, a concrete cell.
“Don’t you give me that look young lady, you are going back to school if I have to drag you there by your shoelaces.”
“Like to see you try,” I mutter.
He very clearly flexes his muscles under his thin white shirt.
Show off.
“Well, I run faster than you,” I say, not giving him an inch.
An argument is not what I had envisioned at breakfast.
“Enough!” Mum says with a force to her voice I didn’t know she had. “Miki, you will go back to school and dad, you can at least give her a week can’t you?”
“Yes, mum.” I mumble, her outburst so shocking it knocks all the fight out of me.
“Well, I suppose I can get the school to fax through her worksheets to be competed here, but only a week mind.”
Grandad and me share a look, like too naughty children. I give him a weak smile, which he returns with a familiar twinkle in his soft eyes.
Tutting, but clearly proud of herself, mum goes back to her knitting.
— — —
Days pass in a seemingly endless blur, each moment as boring as the next. After three full days in intensive care dad is moved back to the room he was in when first admitted, though he has shown no signs of coming round. The room is at least more comfortable than the cold impersonal glass cell the floor below.
Mum and I have formed a kind of honour guard, keeping a near constant vigil at dad’s bedside, with only brief respites when grandad drags us home to shower and get a few hours sleep. I’ve started to get used to living on junk food, even if it is making me feel incredibly fat I have a certain amount of nostalgia for my cities take away joints.
A reminder of when I had to fend for myself, before Yamaku.
True to his word grandad arrives each morning with a fresh pile of worksheets. Having claimed the comfortable armchair as mine, I spend long hours using the wide windowsill as a desk, trying to decrypt increasingly difficult homework. Happily I don’t have to do it alone, coming through after only half a day Julie managed to find a phone charger for me.
Borrowed from one on the nurses in radiology apparently.
“This is impossible I grumble,” hearing familiar snorts of laughter from Hisao and Ikuno on the other end of the phone. What started out as a desperate text for english help from Hisao has turned into a sort of conference call study club. Not that I mind, Ryouta needs nearly as much help as I do, and it’s nice being able to talk to my friends everyday; even when the subject matter isn’t very interesting.
“It’s not so bad,” Hisao says, I can almost see the warm smile on his face. “You already know most of this, it’s just putting it together in a way that makes sense.”
“Right…” I look at the maths problem again, right if thats that, and I do that to that, then.
Oh nice! I read my answer back and for once manage not to embarrass myself.
I will have a week of exams with publicly posted results for that.
“Told you, you could do it!” Hisao says as Ikuno adds her own encouragement.
“Err, Miki?” Ikuno says, a hint of shyness deflating her voice. “You're meant to be coming back tonight right?”
I grimace, it’s Saturday, more than a week since I was pulled out of class.
I had hoped, perhaps stupidly, that dad would be awake by now. I don’t think I can get out of traveling back tonight, but I’m feeling increasingly uneasy about leaving dad like this and no amount of talking will convince mum or grandad that I should stay back and help.
“Yeah, I guess, dad's not awake yet, so I don’t really know.”
I ended up telling them about dad, even though it feels personal. Ikuno, I would have told anyway and she would have told Ryouta whether I wanted her to or not. Having had to cancel our date I felt I owed Hisao an explanation, boyfriend and girlfriends are meant to share stuff right?
I trust him.
“Well, if you do get back tonight come see me okay? I will stay up late anyway to study.” Ikuno says softly.
“Of course, now I was having a bit of trouble working out the next question.”
“You mean question two?” Ryouta asks with a snort of laughter.
“Yes, that would be the one…”
* * *
“Miki, come on you're going to be late.” Grandad says from the doorway.
I’m dressed to travel and my bag is packed, but I’m not ready to go. Instead I lean over dad’s bed, tears running down my face.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, “I don’t want to leave you, but I don’t have a choice.”
I take his cold hand, being mindful not to disturb the drip buried into his wrinkled flesh.
Can I really leave him like this? Pressing the back of his hand against my wet cheek I close my eyes, trying to will myself to stand up. To turn away.
I can’t.
“Miki, please,” my grandfather repeats, his voice is not unkind. But he’s been able to detach himself from this whole situation from the start; I don’t think he really understands how this feels.
In my imagination the heart monitor picks up its steady beat slightly, and his hand twitches in mine.
Wait. I open my eyes quickly, as with a slow grogginess, so does my father. Staring at me clearly confused, but beautifully, wonderfully awake.
I don’t know if the universe has my back, or it’s just playing a very long con, but for the moment, I’m happy.
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. I’m learning as I go 
. I think once I’ve completed the story I will have to go back and clean those up. 
