It's Cold Outside

I sit around in my bedroom drinking my favorite hot beverage, pomegranate chamomile tea, while listening to Christmas music as it played over the radio. I love this time of year, the festiveness, the weather. It means I get to wear my favorite cream colored sweater and my pink leg warmers. I set my drink down for a moment and go over to the bookcase, pulling a personal favorite holiday book from the shelf to read. I then sit back down and begin reading, drinking my tea at intervals. Suddenly, as I'm deep inside the world of the story held within the pages of the book, I'm jerked back into the real world by a horrible sound coming from right outside my window. At the unmistakable sound of cars crunching and tires squealing, I set the book down and hurry over to the window, peering outside. The snow is falling down rather heavily, but I can clearly see that there has been an accident. My heart stops as I notice what appears to be the lifeless form of another Kitsuneko Chimera laying on its side on the road. I squint, trying to see if I recognize who it is, but I can hardly see. The curiosity gets the better of me and I pulled my hood up. Going outside, I begin rushing over to the scene of the accident. As I neared, I realized that the lifeless form seemed oddly familiar to me and wasn't quite so lifeless, there seemed to be some shallow breathing. My heart begins to quicken as I draw steadily close. When I am standing only a few feet away, I realize that I know who it is. It's my father, the one who had rejected me when I came out of the closet and announced that I am gay. I still love him despite the pain he had dealt to my heart when he had denounced me as his son, told me that he never wanted to see or speak to me again and had left my mother because she stuck by and supported me. I had hoped, almost every day, that he would change his mind. That he would realize that he still loves me and would want to see me. Maybe that was why he was here, maybe he was coming over to visit, maybe he had changed his mind. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes and begin steaming down my cold face as I rush over to him; he still seems to be breathing, not quite as lifeless looking as I thought. I stand over him and gently nudge him.

"Dad," I begin. "Dad, it's me, Xander."

He groans and whimpers, presumably from the pain. "Xander," he begins weakly. "I'm...sorry..."

"Dad, it's okay, I'm going to make sure you get taken care of."

"There's nothing they can do. My body is broken, I can tell," as proof, he wheezes and begins coughing some blood onto the asphalt. "I wanted to say...I'm sorry...for what I did. I shouldn't...have...acted the way I did...Can you...forgive...me?"

Tears roll down my cheeks as I nod. "Of course I can dad, I forgave you a long time ago."

"Good," he said, a slight smile on his muzzle as he lets out a weak sigh of relief, closing his eyes.

No, no, he can't die! I frantically think to myself, hurriedly shoving a paw inside my sweater and grab my cell phone to dial for help. As I wait for someone to pick up, I feel like time is ticking by slowly, that every second my father is growing closer to death. In actuality, it wasn't very long and when an operator finally picked up, I rapidly gave them the information. After hanging the phone and shoving it back inside my pocket, I stand there, fretting. I didn't want to lose my dad, not this close to Christmas, not when we could be spending the holidays together as a family again.

Please, I silently pray. Please let him live.

A spluttering cough from my father causes me to return my attention to him and I hurry over to him. I begin patting his back, unsure of what else I can do to help.

"Don't worry dad, help is coming soon," I tell him, trying not to let him hear the fear in my voice. "They're going to take care of you."

"What part of 'my body is broken' don't you get?" he grumbles irritably.

"Dad, they have full body casts for a reason," I reply, trying to make him laugh, or at the very least myself because I am beginning to feel stressed out and I need something to keep my mind off it, or at least lighten the mood.

* * * * * * * *

This is pure torture! I think to myself in agony, I can't stand all this waiting, not knowing how things were going or whether my dad is going to make it. I sit down in a chair and begin absentmindedly bringing a paw to my left ear and run my thumb and forefinger along the border of my ear to touch my two earrings on it, then I drop my hand back down to my lap and begin playing with the sleeves of my sweater as I look around the large waiting room. There are wreaths hung up on the walls, a fully decorated tree with a topper and a skirt in there too. It actually eases my mind to see all of these holiday decorations, it also helps me to keep my mind off of worrying about my dad. My mom is sitting in one of the chairs and is nervously watching the television set that is mounted high up on the wall, trying to do the same thing I am as I gaze about at all the decorations. Keep our minds off of worrying. Finally, a doctor came in and began telling us the news. Basically, they don't expect him to survive his injuries, that they are too severe and he will eventually die from them. I look over at my mother, who looks like she is about to break down into tears.

"Mom, it'll be okay," I tell her, not sure if I'm trying to comfort her, or myself as well. "We can spend Christmas with him here."

She nods quietly and I know that she's afraid to talk, for fear that her voice will break.

I look up at the doctor, "Can we see him?"

"Of course you can, he's in room 1240 of the ICU."

I nod and thank him before I start heading over to the room with my mom. Arriving at the entrance to his room, there is a drab curtain blocking us.

"Dad," I begin tentatively. "We're here."

"Come in," I hear him say, he sounds weak, but I suppose that's to be expected when your body is broken. "I was afraid you wouldn't come."

"Why wouldn't we?" I ask as I draw back the curtain to come in, holding it open for my mom.

"Because of the way I treated you," he replies simply. His pale eyes that I inherited from him seem to melt with sorrow and regret.

"Dad, I already told you," I say, trying to summon a laugh. "I've forgiven you, we both have."

My mom nods her head in agreement. "We're worried about you sweetie."

"I know, I don't know why, but I know," he sighs wearily, wincing at the pain from the action, causing my mother to nearly lunge to his aid.

"You need to be more careful sweetie," she tells him.

"I'm sorry I'm ruining your guys's Christmas," he mumbles.

"Don't be dad," I say, interrupting him. "We can celebrate it with you, here in the hospital, right mom?"

She nodded, "Yes, we won't leave you here alone without us here to celebrate with you."

"Not that there's much to celebrate about," he grumbles, classic dad.

"Sure there is, you're still alive and we're together again," my mom tells him.

"That's definitely worth celebrating the holidays for," I say, smiling at him.

* * * * * * * *