Booze, Pancakes, Obi Wan, Cancer

About two months ago after graduation I went up to visit Simon just outside New York City. He was a complete mess-working about 60 hours a week at the financial news desk of the local paper as an intern, making about $15.00 per story, and living in a shitty over-priced loft-style apartment with a co-worker. Simon was more depressed than I'd ever seen him, and the only thing that seemed to give him solace was beating his roommate on Playstation. It wasn't hard for me to get him to go out drinking, so we hopped into his 88 rust colored piece of crap Volkswagen and headed down Main Street to a bar I used to frequent when I was an undergrad, called the Rusty Spigot.

I knew he wouldn't be my wingman unless I got him really inebriated, so the minute we got there I ordered him a couple of Long Island Ice Teas because the guy has no tolerance and I knew they'd loosen him up. We sat down on two of the closest stools and put our feet up on the metal railing under our seats. He looked at me with fear in his eyes as he noticed the pieces of crushed pretzel and the sticky sensation of the bar counter on his elbows.

"I can't sit here," he said. He began sweeping the pretzel crumbs onto the floor and was about to ask the Bartender for a wet rag to clean the counter until I smacked him in the side of the head.

"Dude, relax. Can you please get over your OCD for one night so we can have some fun?" I asked him. He gave me the look of death for a quick second before he pulled a wet-nap out of some mysterious hiding place and began wiping down a small square big enough for his elbows.

As if his actions weren't bad enough, the way that he was dressed pretty much ruined all chances we had of meeting any women. The guy was wearing skin tight blue jeans that stopped about 3 inches below his knees. I could have dealt with that, but he insisted on wearing his green knit socks that reached almost all the way up to where his jeans ended, but left an inch of pale ass-white leg exposed. To top it all off, he was wearing a Batman T-shirt that he'd had since the 5^th grade. Over all of this he wore a faded Cleveland Browns winter jacket because he swore that someday they'd come through for him.

In between realizing how screwed we were because of his attire and wondering how long it would be before he got drunk, it him me. The thing about Simon is that there is a place somewhere between completely obliterated-drunk and happy-drunk that he is actually a normal human being. My goal that night was to find the normal Simon and get him to meet some women. I nudge Simon and tell him to look at these two cute girls that were walking by us, when I notice that they were looking at us too.

"Hey ladies, can you please come sit with us so my friend will stop contemplating suicide?" I say to them, hoping they could take a joke. Thankfully they thought it was hilarious, but Simon didn't appreciate being the brunt of a joke. The taller of the two girls was much more attractive than her friend, in a Daphne versus Velma from Scooby Doo kind of way. She wore a short pink skirt that was just long enough to make you wonder what she had on underneath, that clashed with a forest green tube top that seemed to overemphasize her tubes. The red knee high boots she was wearing pretty much let me know the kind of girl I was dealing with. Her friend was dressed in the complete opposite way. She took the more conservative route, sporting a plain blue T-shirt that had the word college stamped across her chest, and plain Jane blue jeans that were too tight and tried to call attention to her lack of an ass. The glasses she wore made me think she had some sort of sophistication, and I was starting to think that our luck was changing. It seemed to be going well at first, the taller more attractive girl seemed into me, and the Velma look alike was for some reason laughing at all of Simon's jokes. Everything was going smoothly until the taller girl decided to share her life story:

"The only reason I come to bars is to hook up with strangers and cheat on my boyfriend. He goes to a different school so he'd never know." Simon swiveled his stool around so fast that I thought he was going to fall off. He hated people that cheated ever since the time his ex-girlfriend did it to him. I knew the shit was about to hit the fan.

"Well I bet you think you're just wonderful. I'm glad to see those slut lessons you took paid off," he said, getting more pissed off by the second. The thing about Simon is that when he gets mad, his comedic genius comes out to play. Add this to the fact that he was by this point at the completely-obliterated stage, and you have yourself a stand-up comedy show.

"You can't make fun of me, you're wearing a Batman shirt," the girl said defensively.

"Listen here Mrs. STD; I'd rather stick my dick in a Lion's mouth than take fashion tips from you," Simon shot back. At this point I contemplated stepping in, but I decided to let it play out. Besides, Velma seemed to be enjoying it.

"Well I'm pretty sure you need it, you're wearing clothes that belong on my little brother!" she screamed, and that send Simon over edge. He was about to give it right back to her when she interrupted him at the top of her lungs, "Why don't you go home and watch Batman?!" If there's anything I know about Simon, it's that you never make fun of superheroes, especially his beloved Batman.

"Woman, do not belittle Batman, or you will find my fork sticking out of your eye," he said in a calm voice, although I knew he was furious on the inside.

Velma fell off from her stool at this point from laughing so hard, and I was so close to pissing my pants I got up to stop them. I grabbed him by the arm and led him out into the passenger seat, where he rambled on about how terrible women are all the way back to his place.

I woke up relatively early the next morning to the sound of pots and pans clanking together loudly in the kitchen. I unstuck my sweaty body from the leather sofa and stumbled out to see what the hell was going on. Simon was already showered and fully dressed, actually wearing clothing without any of Marvel comics' property on it. He was making pancakes, and he had already brewed a fresh pot of coffee and poured me a mug. I strolled over to the table and sat down, staring at the black Punisher mug and sipping my coffee, wondering how Simon was able to function after how tanked he was last night.

"Dude, what the hell is going on? How are you even moving right now?" I asked him. He didn't turn around to look at me but instead flipped over a rather browned pancake.

"I think I pissed out most of it during the night. I feel fine," he said, turning to look at me. I could see dark bags under his eyes and I knew he was seriously hung over.

"Why are you even awake, don't you have the day off?" I asked him, sensing something was up.

"Oh yea, I have the day off, but I thought we'd take a drive a little bit south. There's a town wide yard sale not far from here and I want to get there before all the little nerds do so I get all the sweet toys," he said. I nodded my head in a sort of strained agreement and downed the rest of my coffee. It didn't matter that I hated toys, or that I hated waking up early on Sundays-I knew I'd have fun because I was with Simon. It was nearly 9:00AM by the time I had showered and Simon determined that I was sober enough to appreciate what he referred to as the immense value of classic action figures.

It wasn't until after our stop at the gas station that Simon's mood went from excited about yard sale hopping to somber about life. I studied him for a few minutes, trying to figure out what he was hiding from me, and why his mood changed so quickly.

"So what aren't you telling me? I know something is up," I said, staring out at the forest beside me. He took one of his hands off the wheel and reached up to scratch an imaginary itch just below his hairline. He took a deep breath, and I could tell whatever he had to tell me must be important to him.

"Late last night after we both passed out, I had to get up to use the facilities. On my there I noticed your cell was blinking from a voicemail so I listened to it," he said. As he finished talking, he seemed to tense up, almost expecting something to happen.

"Okay, so what. It wasn't those girls from last night was it?" I said, hoping a joke would lighten his mood.

"No dude. It was your Dad. He sounded upset, and I think you should call him," he said. Simon knew that the relationship between my father and I had always been a bit edgy, but over the last 6 months we'd really begun to distance ourselves. My mom was diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer, and neither my father nor I knew how to handle it. I became the heavy drinker that I am today, and my father never left the house. She had always been the negotiator between the two of us, and when she was forced to live-in at John Hopkins Medical, we just stopped trying.

"Yea, I'll call him when we get to the next stop. I don't have much cell service here anyway," I said, even though I had full service. I could tell Simon knew I was lying, but he didn't push the issue. He kept his eyes on the road, but decided to make my ears bleed by playing some Elton John. I pleaded with him to just turn on the radio, but he insisted that

Benny and the Jets somehow got him in the zone for yard sales. I didn't argue with him too much because I knew on the way back I would get to pick the music. Just as

Rocket Man came through the speakers and into my defenseless ears, I noticed a few small tables set up ahead on the right hand side of the road. The music gods were being nice-only two Elton John songs and I was free. We got out of the cramped car simultaneously, him heading straight for a large plastic Rubbermaid storage tote full of plastic wonders from god, me heading just behind the car off the road a bit to make a phone call.

"Hey, it's me. Sorry I didn't call you back any sooner. I just got your message," I said, knowing pleasantries were useless. The voice on the other end of the phone sounded tired, and upset.

"You should have called me back sooner Michael. Your mother's CA 125 numbers are some of the highest they've ever seen. They've doubled overnight. She has surgery schedule for Monday morning," he said, almost yelling.

"Okay, well what can I do about it?" I asked him, noticing both the concern and annoyance in my own voice. He didn't say anything for a while, and we let the static of the phone connection do the talking for us.

"It would be nice if you could be here. I know your mother would really like to see you before-well I know she would just like to see you," he said, catching himself before saying something I knew we were both thinking. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Simon on all fours digging through the same box he had headed toward when we got there. He was getting dirty looks from the little old woman who I assumed was the owner, as she rubbed the tin money box in her lap.

"I'll be there," I said. The line immediately went dead, and part of me wished he had said something back. I headed over toward Simon, and tapped him on the shoulder.

"So did you find anything worth while," I asked him. I looked at the old woman, who seemed intent on hearing his response. She inched her chair closer to us, and I'm pretty sure she pegged us for crooks.

"Of course I did. This one here is a 1974 Hulk complete with original flying fists, and this little lady over here is Jean Gray as the Phoenix from 1987!" His excitement brought me out of my thoughts, and I laughed for the first time since we got into the car.

"Okay you little freak. Go pay for it so we can get out of here," I said, hoping he would just pay the sticker price of $10.00 each.

"I want to, but these prices are a little steep-I'm going to talk grandma over there down a bit," he said, winking in the old woman's direction. I left him there, wallet in hand, and headed back into the car. My thoughts were racing, and I found myself thinking about my Mother. She had undergone a regimen of 6 hours of Chemotherapy once every two weeks for the first month, and then every month thereafter until her numbers decreased enough for her to go into remission. Her hair had begun to really thin out, but she was too proud to wear a wig, despite my constant requests.

"Mom, please buy a wig. They make them really well nowadays so people won't even be able to tell. There's nothing wrong with it," I said, saying the same thing for what seemed like the tenth time.

"Michael honey, there's nothing wrong with not wearing one either. I want people to know what I'm going through, so my strength can help others succeed," she said, her voice confident and strong. The same tears I had then started to fill my eyes while I sat in the passenger seat of my best friends' car. The sound of his car door brought things back into focus, and I managed to wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater before Simon was able to notice.

"Dude, I told you I would hit the jackpot. Old ladies never know what they've got stuffed into the bottom of some filthy bin," he said, looking at me and noticing the red and swollen detail of my eyes.

"How do you feel about a road trip?" I asked him, trying to sound optimistic. I knew Simon hated his job, and I was hoping that he would take any excuse he could to miss it. I was right.

"I feel like that's a great idea, he said, rubbing his newly acquired action figures clean with alcohol wipes he had brought along for that very reason. I didn't have to explain the phone call to Simon; over the many years of our friendship we had developed a sort of understanding about each other that allowed us to know what the other is feeling.

"Her surgery is Monday morning at 10:00AM," I said, waiting for his response.

"Good, that means we should have time for a couple more stops along the way. I only need a few more characters until I have the complete X-Men," he said, smiling at me in a way that meant he understood how I was feeling.

I knew the trip to John Hopkins would only be about 3 and a half to 4 hours from where we were outside NYC, so I let slowpoke Simon do all the driving. Besides, his little VW rabbit faired much better on gas than the massive Expedition I'd bought just before the Economy decided to fuck me over. We hit a few more yard sales along the way, but nobody else seemed to have any action figures from the important times in history when they actually mattered. I wasn't really convinced that there was such a time, but I decided not to argue with my resident expert on the issue. The last place we stopped had more clothes than the Salvation Army, but didn't seem to have any toys of any kind.

"My god, what are these people-Monsters? What kinds of people don't have any toys?" he said, with only a hint of sarcasm. I thought telling him that NORMAL people are these kinds of people, but I bit my tongue. We were on our way out again after he meticulously inspected every inch of that place when I accidentally tripped over this filthy doll sitting underneath this card table.

"Use the Force!" it chirped out at me.

Simon looked over at me to see where the sound came from and nearly fell over in his attempt to reach me fast enough.

"What's the matter," I said to him. He looked at me for a brief second before pushing me out of the way.

"Are you kidding?! Do you realize what you just kicked?"

"Thankfully, no, I don't. But I'm afraid you do." He picked up the dingy doll and took an alcohol wipe out of the travel pack in his back pocket, carefully wiping it down from head to toe like a shit covered baby. I noticed this cute girl sitting behind the card table staring at the two of us, and I mouthed the words "I'm Sorry" to her. She laughed.

"This is an Obi Wan Kenobi doll, and it's older than we are!" He handed it over to me to look at and I punched it in the face.

"Who's the more foolish, the fool, or the fool who follows him?" it asked me. I looked up at Simon, who was at this point in extreme ecstasy. He grabbed it from me, and threw 50 bucks down on the table.

"Umm, this is only $15.00," the girl behind the counter said stupidly.

"I know, but I would go to hell if I paid that little for him. Keep it, please." Simon turned right around and walked quickly to the car like he stole something. I smiled and said thank you to the girl behind the counter, and followed Simon back to the car.

"Are you fucking retarded?" I asked him, quite serious. Simon is actually the smartest person I know by far, but sometimes I question his common sense.

"Dude, this sells for about 900 bucks on eBay. I just made like an $850 profit. Now let's get out of there before Barbie out there notices and calls the cops!" he said. I studied him for a moment, seriously wondering why I keep him in my social circles. I came to the conclusion that Simon's easy going personality and generally good outlook on life help to make the more complicated things in my life make sense.

The grumbling of my stomach told me that the nourishment of Simon's pancakes was wearing off, so we decided that we'd travel for an hour or two and eat at the nearest restaurant we came across. I closed my eyes to catch up on the sleep I had missed, and was awoken about 2 hours later to the sound of Elton John, yet again, in my eardrums. I opened one eye first, and then the other, careful not to let Simon know I was awake. He was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, and rocking his body back in forth to the beat of the piano notes in Tiny Dancer. I felt like reaching over and slapping him, but instead I just looked at him through squinted eyes. He was so happy and so carefree about everything. I longed for this feeling, even if only for a second.

"Wake up sleepy head!" he shouted. I opened my eyes all the way up and rubbed at them a bit, readjusting my contact lenses.

"Where are we Tiny Dancer?" I asked him, my voice packed full of sarcasm. He looked over at me and tilted his head, as if to say touché.

"This would be the only place to eat for about 60 miles, and we are just outside of Maryland," he said. I looked around and saw that we were at a little no named run down diner with dim lights and even dimmer prospects.

"Dude, you can't be serious. This is bad, even for you," I said. I looked over at him but he was already getting out of the car. I unraveled my long legs out from underneath the dashboard and crawled out after him. He was looking at the faded menu plastered to the shingled exterior of the building, and I knew already what he was looking for.

"Simon, please don't tell me you want more pancakes. I swear that's like the only damn thing you eat," I said. He smiled at me in a way that meant I was right, and we both headed inside and found two seats at the cleanest table we could find in the corner. After 15 minutes of us waiting with no service, Simon all of a sudden stood up.

"Where are you going?" I asked him. He walked a few steps toward the kitchen and turned around to face me.

"I'm hungry. I'm going to make some pancakes," he said. I knew this would lead to trouble, but I also knew there was no convincing him otherwise. He waltzed right in through the double doors of the kitchen with a thud and looked around. There was literally no one in the kitchen, and it seemed like the whole restaurant was abandoned. I walked up and peaked in the little porthole in one of the doors. Simon was rummaging through different cupboards and suddenly stopped after he found what he was looking for. He twisted a bunch of knobs until the griddle fired up, and he slowly poured the pancake batter into 3 small circles.

"Silver Dollar are my favorite!" he shouted out at me through the closed doors. He managed to cook one side and flip them onto the other before a man and a woman came out of what looked like a refrigerator in the back of the kitchen. The woman's dress was extremely wrinkled, and the man made no attempt to hide the fact that his pants were still unzipped.

"What the hell are you doing?" the woman asked. She stared at Simon with disbelief in her eyes, and he grinned at her.

"I could ask you the same thing. I was hungry, and there was nobody here. But what's your excuse?" he said. He looked first at her, and then her male companion, not once stopping what he was doing.

"Get out of here before I call the cops!" she shouted, more because he insulted her than because he invaded her kitchen. Simon grabbed the 3 pancakes he had managed to complete and took off running out the way he came, but not before grabbing a pitcher of maple syrup off from the closest table. I looked at him in disbelief before running after him, getting in the driver's seat so he could eat his fucking pancakes.

"Way to go asshole. I'm starving and there's nowhere to eat until we get to Baltimore," I said. He looked at me with his mouth full of pancake before tipping his head back and letting the maple syrup fall into his mouth.

"You're a big boy, I think you can handle it," he said. I didn't appreciate his sarcasm, so I took my irritation out on the road. I sped the rest of the way there, cutting our hour left of driving down to about 45 minutes. Simon was relatively quiet, and I could tell he knew I was thinking about why we were going in the first place. He gently poked Obi Wan, our quietest companion, to help lighten the mood.

"The force can have a strong influence on the weak minded," it said. I laughed because I needed to, and Simon could tell it was forced.

"Listen buddy, things will work out. You'll feel better about everything once we get into a hotel and relax," he said. I wasn't really sure how to react to him saying something like this because I've never had to before.

"Thanks," I said. I could tell this moment was awkward, and I just wanted to find a place for the night. Simon was looking out the window; his black curly hair somehow always a mess, regardless of how many times the guy drags a comb through it. We were about a mile from the Hospital when I decided to pull into the first semi-inexpensive looking Hotel I saw. It was called Biltmore Suites, and the name scared me because we only had about $200 bucks after we pooled our money. We decided that if the room cost more than that then they were mother fuckers for charging so much, and we would somehow manage to sleep in the car. The two of us got out simultaneously and headed into the lobby, where a perky young woman flashed us her bright whites and welcomed us to the historic Biltmore Suites.

"Oh shit man, this could be bad. History is never cheap," Simon said, as we approached the desk. I looked at him with a half grin as we reached the desk.

"Hi, my friend and I are looking for your most inexpensive room for one night," I said. She looked from me to Simon with a curious glance.

"Will you be requiring two beds, or just one?" she asked, and her emphasis was clearly on the latter. I look over at Simon who was immediately offended, but instead chose to let it play out. I was about to answer before he spoke up loud enough for anyone in earshot to hear.

"We only need one bed. This isn't our first rode-o honey," he said, wrapping his arm around my back. I smiled uncomfortably but let him continue with the antics.

"Okay, well that will be $155.00 for two adults for just the one night," she said. I could tell she was hoping we wouldn't accept, so I nodded to Simon who continued.

"That will be Marvelous darling," he said, quite phonetically and in his best impersonation of Carson Kressley from Queer Eye for the Ridiculous. We headed back into the car and gathered up what little we had with us.

"You know dude, sometimes I think you do that a little too well," I said jokingly. Simon looked over at me and laughed as we headed back inside. We filed into the elevator with a couple other people and pressed the number 3, stopping at our floor and heading to our room. Surer enough, there was one bed, a table and matching chair in the corner, and a pull out couch.

"I get the bed," I said. I figured Simon would put up a fight, but instead he set his things down next to the couch.

"It's cool. I got the pancakes!" he shouted. We laughed for a while, and flicked on the TV. Simon insisted we watch the Sci-fi channel for the rest of the night because there was an Incredible Hulk marathon on, which I really didn't mind because I needed an escape from the real world for a while. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was looking over at the clock and seeing that it was 8:30. Simon had pulled out the couch and was laying on his stomach, his face resting on hands as he watched his green idol on TV. I didn't bother saying goodnight, but instead rolled over, and let the sound of panic and chaos fill my ears.

I awoke the next morning to find Simon crashed hard, basically in the same position as last night, except now he was only wearing his undershirt and his ninja turtle boxers. I showered, got dressed, and looked at the clock. It read 6:30, which meant we had about 45 minute before we needed to head out. I walked over to the still slumbering Simon and nudged him with my foot. He rolled over, and I immediately regretted waking him up.

"Shit dude, cover that thing up!" I yelled, shielding my eyes. He noticed that his little turtle was exposed, and quickly tucked it back deep behind its shell. I faced the wall and counted to 10 before turning back around.

"You have to get in the shower dude. Her surgery is scheduled for 8:00, and they are always on time with shit like this!" I shouted after him, as he scampered into the bathroom, one hand covering his ass, the other his dick. I smiled to myself and sat down on the bed, noticing myself in the mirror on the wall across from me. My face looked much older than it was, and the bags under my eyes only seemed to get darker with each day that passed. I knew my drinking was no solution, but it did help to numb the pain. It wasn't a neighbor from down the street, or a teacher who I bumped into the grocery store. It was my mother-the woman who raised me the best she could, who made sure Santa Claus stayed real for as long as possible. It was her who was diagnosed with this unfair disease, but it was me who acted like I was suffering. I heard the sound of the shower curtain and hopped to my feet.

"Let's go man. I want to hit up the Continental breakfast before we head out," I said through the closed bathroom door. I finished packing up my things and made an attempt at throwing the bed together. I shoved all of Simon's personal items he had strewn about the room into his bag. He came out with his towel wrapped around him, so I took the opportunity to brush my teeth. When I came out of the bathroom he was fully dressed, in a nice dress shirt that made me look like crap. We took once last look around the room before grabbing our things and closing the door behind us.

When we got to the Continental breakfast, Simon was pretty upset. The only thing they had was plain bagels, cheerios with Low-fat milk, and grainy coffee that tasted too burned to get past my tongue. Simon sat down, discouraged, while his bagel toasted. I grabbed a cup of coffee and an extra filter. I poured the coffee through the filter to get rid of the grains. I used the Low-fat milk as creamer, and enough sugar to feed an army of ants. I managed to get a few sips in before Simon's bagel popped up. He buttered the shit out of it and started rummaging through the drawers below the counter for Jelly.

"Dude, remember what happened last time?" I asked him, referring to the pancake-sex debacle at the no-name restaurant. He looked at me like he had no idea what I was talking about, but stopped what he was doing and sat down to eat his bagel. He ate half of it before declaring that it was far too stale to eat any more of. I drank the rest of my coffee somehow before we headed back into the lobby and handed our key over to Ms. Perky. She told us thank you for staying and we nodded in a faked appreciation. We got into the car and I asked Simon to drive because he was a better city driver. The clock read 7:30, and I knew we had plenty of time to travel the mile and a half to the hospital.

"Thanks again for coming dude," I said. He looked at me for a moment, and I could tell he was really thinking about what he was going to say.

"Are you kidding? I never would have got Obi Wan," he said, smiling in a way that I knew meant you are welcome. He pulled out of the hotel parking lot and onto Wolfe St., heading north towards the Hospital. We had gone about a half mile before stopping at a red light. A cop pulled out in front of us from a road to our right, and once our light turned green we began following him towards the hospital. There was a stop sign up ahead, and I watched the cop roll right through it. I laughed to myself, but thought nothing of it. Simon, on the other hand, seemed to think everything of it. He began flashing his brights and honking his horn in rapid succession.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing? That's a cop!" I shouted. He kept on doing was he was doing, only now he rolled down his window and began motioning the cop to pull over.

"I know it's a cop. But that doesn't give him the right to disobey the rules of the road," he said calmly. The cop pulled over, literally a half mile from the hospital. Simon pulled over behind him.

"Do you have any paper? I want to get his badge number so I can report him," he said. Simon has always been a very moral person, and sometimes his morals and my lack thereof really clash.

"Simon, do not do this. Not now. Can you be a real fucking human for once in your life!?" I screamed. He ignored me and took a piece of scratch paper out of the glove compartment. Instead of getting out to see what the problem was, the guy assumes we are drunk and a threat and comes at us with his little nightstick, all ninja-like and shit.

"God damn it Simon. I swear to god if you fuck this up for me..." I started to say, before I was interrupted by McGruff the asshole.

"Get out of the car and put your hands on the roof where I can see them. I thought about just running to the hospital. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 7:40. I needed to see her before she went in for the surgery. The last time she had a surgery like this they made her sign papers saying she understood the major risks involved. Now it was me who understood the risks involved.

"We haven't been drinking Officer; my friend here simply wanted your badge number so he can cite you for rolling through that stop sign back there," I said. I looked over as Simon who looked apologetic, like he didn't understand the magnitude of what he just made happen, but was sorry that it did. The cop walked over to us and frisked us both, after which he made us take a breathalyzer. He asked us why were here from New York, and I told him we were visiting relatives. All of this took nearly a half an hour, and I was really fucking mad at this point.

"Can I please go? You can take him, I just really need to leave," I said, and I heard for the first time a real fear in my own voice. I think Simon heard it too because he finally apologized to the cop.

"I'm sorry officer. There was no reason to do what I did, and I can assure you I will never do it again," he said. The cop seemed to think this was enough of an apology because he stopped checking us over and returned to his car. We jumped back in the car and sped away, reaching the hospital when my watch read 8:15 . I couldn't even look at Simon because I thought I might hit him, so instead I sprinted into the hospital elevator, leaving him in the car to think about his actions. When I got to the floor where her Surgery was scheduled I found my father sitting outside the operating room in a red chair. He was staring at the floor, and seemed to be counting the tiles. When he heard footsteps he picked his head up and looked at me with complete sadness in his eyes. I stood there for a minute, not sure of what to make of it. I started to open my mouth, but before I could say anything he began shaking his head slowly from side to side. I sat down next to him, unable to process what was happening. Neither of us spoke for a long time, and when he did it was practically a whisper.

"They tried to remove a tumor they missed the first time. All the Chemo was supposed to make it easier to remove, but it metastasized itself onto the wall of her uterus, and has spread into her bladder and bloodstream. When they tried to remove it, her body went into shock, and..." he said, his voice trailing off into a mere whimper. I didn't understand what was happening. I couldn't process any of it. The two of us sat there, not saying a word to one another, not making a sound for nearly an hour. The hospital seemed to sit still, and the world seemed to stop. I heard the faint sound of cheap flip flops, and I knew it was Simon. He was coming to check on me, to make sure everything was ok. By the time he was in view, I picked my head up just enough to look at him. He knew by our body language and the look in my eyes that she was gone. He kept walking towards us, my father holding his face in his hands, me just staring at Simon. When he got into earshot, he apologized.

"Mike, I want you to know..." he began to say, before I stood up. He looked me right in the eyes and I began to cry. The tears I'd been holding in for the past 6 months finally came, and I couldn't control them. Standing there, in the middle of a crowded hospital, I cried. He stood there, not quite sure of what to do but listen. When I settled down the two of us sat down next to my father. A couple of minutes passed in silence, before Simon spoke.

"So I did get his badge number," he said, in all seriousness. I looked over at him sitting there next to me, his face still brightly lit. All I could think to do was laugh, so I did. And he did too, and then I cried some more. And I realized that at that very moment, when I lost the person who meant more to me than anything, I was somehow happy that he was there with me.