Chapter 12: Isamu

The trees have lost alltheir leaves. I used to climb up high into the trees and tuck myself away against the leaves, scared that if my parents saw my tears from unbridled typical teenage angst, they'd worry.

I guiltily fall back into my childhood habit as I wallow.

It was beyond stupid of me to confess to John. All my patience has been thrown out the window on a whim and a broken camera strap. But he's more than just a whim. If I had only had the chance to get everything out, maybe he would've understood. Now, it's too late.

My mother and I have always been obsessed with dramas. Doesn't matter the kind: Japanese, Spanish, Korean, American—we watched it all. But I'll never forget the day she held my face in her hands as we watched a soap opera.

"Isamu, listen to me. If a girl ever says ‘no,' you listen to her and walk away. End of conversation, no questions asked. Do you understand?"

I had understood then, looking at the severity in my mother's eyes and I understand now. John said his two cents before I could, and that's that. Now, I only have this deep, unforgiving forest to comfort me and a van that I can only hope he'll still work on.

Not like there is much left. Spring is a few months away, but last night, I went ahead and reserved a campground in Death Valley National Park, starting the second finals are over. My old man and Gonzales will be upset that I'm missing another Christmas, but there's barely any work left on the van and California doesn't get cold enough in the winter to snow. At least Death Valley doesn't.

"Son," my dad calls from below me.

I was hoping that by ignoring the opening and closing of the backdoor, he'd miss me hanging out high in the trees above his garden.

"Your phone is ringing. Do you want me to answer it?"

I look down, barely making out that the call has already been answered, but I can't see the name. Waving him off, I turn back to the sky. Soon, every night I'll look up and see nothing but stars.

"John, he is in a tree and he is not coming down. Should I take a message?"

My fingers grapple into the hard bark as I nearly fall.

"Dad. Stop, shut up! Don't say anything else. I'm coming down." I scramble down the tree as fast as I can, my movement less than ideal with my prosthesis.

He hands me the phone, and I grimace as I look down at John's name flashing across my screen.

"Hey, what's up?" I ask, clearing my throat.

My dad stares at me and I shoo him away.

"I'm on my way to the storage unit. Just wanted to let you know since that's what's scheduled," John says, his voice monotone like it was at the beginning. It makes my entire body ache with loss.

"Of course, yeah. I'm, uh, there right now," I lie, which he obviously knows because he just talked to my dad about me being in a tree. "Or, uh, yeah. I'll meet you there." I hang up before I have to hear any more of his monotone voice.

Rushing into the house, I call for Inu. She's already there, vest in mouth. "Good girl," I say, scratching under her chin.

She noses at my palm and I groan as I check my watch. "It's not that bad," I tell her, now slowing down to give my heart a chance to catch up. I'm forced to take my dad's car since we're running late, and there's no easy way to get to the storage unit from his house.

By the time I get there, John is already standing outside, hand wrapped around his backpack strap, staring blankly at the ground. Despite the cold, the sky starts to sprinkle rain on us.

"Shit, sorry man," I say in a rush, unlocking the storage unit. "I know how much you hate having your time wasted. I just didn't think you'd come after... sorry." I run my hand through my hair and grimace as I pull out a twig, now wet from the rain.

"We had an agreement," he says, walking into the storage unit. "Besides. This is the last day you'll need me."

I stop putting on Inu's vest, having forgotten it earlier in my rush.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

He doesn't look up as he drops his bag to the ground and pulls his jacket off. Unsurprisingly, his arms don't look any less appealing just because he rejected me.

"After the countertop is installed, all that's left is décor. You don't need me for that, Isamu." He hops into the van, quickly getting measurements that I've seen him do a million times already. "It's better for me anyway since I have finals coming up, and the protest."

"Right," I say, voice lost in the sound of John snapping the measuring tape back.

The silence between us builds as we install the countertop. It builds like a tension that sears through my heart and my gut, taking me apart bit by bit, only broken by the sound of heavy rain falling on the storage unit. I'm nearly trembling with the need to say something—anything—but every thought is aborted before I can put them into words. Before I ever get the chance, the new countertop is shiny and installed.

"John," I start, feeling the impending end like a gunshot. I won't ask him out again, but I just want to try and be his friend again before I go.

He looks up at me, eyes pleading—for what, I'm not sure. Maybe he wants me to shut up. I'm probably supposed to shut up. Before I've decided what to do, John's phone starts to ring.

His brow furrows as he pulls it out of his pocket and jumps out of the van.

"Hello?"

I can't hear what the voice says on the other end of the line, but I get out of the van just in time to watch John's uncaring mask fall from his face, eyes widening and mouth dropping in unbridled fear.

"What hospital?" he asks, voice hardened.

John hangs up, face set in determination and turns away.

"John?" I call, but he doesn't turn, instead walking steadily into the pouring rain. "Is your dad okay?" I ask. He's the only one I could think of that would be in the hospital, but I thought he didn't drink anymore.

John gets into his rust bucket and turns the key, met with nothing but spluttering. John turns it again. More spluttering. He slaps the steering wheel and begins to yell.

"John," I shout, tearing open his door, my fingers slipping on the handle's wetness, but he's still screaming, tears running down his cheeks. I grab his bicep and haul him out of the car.

"It's fucking dead, Isamu," he sobs. "It's never died. Not once. It's my dad's. It's my dad's car."

I'm still manhandling him into my own dad's car, the rain pelting onto us as he keeps crying, fists closed tightly against his eyes, digging in so hard that I just know he's seeing spots. I can't tell him it's okay because I don't know that it is, and I can't tell him his dad is fine because he might not be. But I would do anything to make it so.

Inu is attentively standing beside me, and I open the door for her to hop in before going to the driver's seat.

"John," I say but he isn't listening, still sobbing uncontrollably beside me. "John," I try again, grabbing his thigh. "What hospital?" I really hope it's a hospital and not a morgue.

"Duke. By the VA," he says, breath gasping.

I throw the car into reverse and peel out, water splashing out below my tires. I'm good in emergencies. Emergencies are the only language that feels normal to me after Afghanistan, and I smoothly put us on the freeway and through the tiny roads until we're at the hospital, John's sobbing the only thing keeping me focused.

When I throw the car into park, I expect John to rush out of my car, but he's frozen in fear.

"What if he's already dead?" he sobs. "Why does everyone keep fucking leaving?"

I try not to think of how I'm leaving him. I try not to think of his camera that's in my bag. I only think of what I can do for John in this moment and realize there isn't anything but just being here for him.

I wrap my arms around him, clinging tightly as my heart sobs with him. Burying my face in his shoulder, I let his tears join the rain on my shirt until he's ready.

John

My dad laughsfrom where he's hooked up to a bunch of tubes, hand in mine as I lay with my head on his bed. We've been here for fourteen hours.

Isamu is curled up in a corner sitting on a chair, mouth wide open as he snores in what's possibly the least comfortable position in the world. His snoring rivals the thunder that's been rumbling throughout the night.

"And so, I told your ma that we should name you Tyler because I thought it was a perfectly acceptable name for a girl. But, no. I'm never right. We named you—well, you know what we named you. Bet you wished we named you Tyler, huh?"

I yawn and shake my head at my dad's antics. "I probably still would've changed my name, pa." There would've been too many female memories tied into that name.

He laughs and then coughs, trying to hide that he's clutching at his stomach.

"Don't talk about that right now anyway," I tell him, eyes flitting over to Isamu, but if he's faking his sleep, he's the best actor I've ever met.

My dad catches my gaze and looks over at Isamu. "You know, I have eyes." He waggles a finger at me. "That boy is a looker."

I roll my eyes at him, annoyed that he can be so jovial when he's dying this week. I run my hands over his sunken cheeks and let my tears fall down my face. He wipes them away like he's been doing all night, regret painted into every wrinkle.

"I'm sorry, John."

"Don't," I say, stopping him. "Not yet. You've still got time." I press my lips into his boney hands.

My dad sighs, laying his head back against the pillow as Isamu's phone begins to ring. He wakes with a yell and the phone hits the floor, but Inu is already on her feet, head caressing Isamu's hands as he gathers his bearings.

"That would've been nice," my dad comments as we both stare at Isamu, thinking of all my dad's PTSD.

"Wouldn't have gotten approved with all the drinking. I looked into it once," I tell him.

He grunts as Isamu finally picks up the phone from the ground, eyes carefully avoiding us. "W'ass up?" he asks, voice thick with sleep. "Mmm, yeah. I texted you the room number."

Isamu hangs up and puts his head back against the wall as he rubs Inu's head.

"Is that Aaliyah?" I ask.

"Mhm, she brought Gonzales," Isamu responds, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

I cringe and he shrugs in apology. "She's your friend, man. Blame her for not being able to keep her mouth shut."

Internally, I smile at Isamu's morning crankiness. Externally, I roll my eyes as he stands, taking Inu with him.

"You should go," my dad says. "I'll still be here when you come back."

I hum in thought and squeeze his hand before standing.

The scene outside my dad's room is not ideal. Gonzales looks like he's barely holding onto sanity. Aaliyah's eyes are clearly bloodshot from crying, and she's carrying a bag of dog food. They're both wet from the rain.

"Aaliyah, I said I needed food for a week, not a whole month," Isamu teases, impish smile on his face as he reaches for the bag.

"You're staying the whole time?" I ask, shocked.

Isamu looks back, surprised to see me, before turning away, not fast enough so I don't see his blush. Before I can comment though, Aaliyah is wrapping her arms around me.

"John," she wails against my shoulder, covered in grime, sweat and Isamu's face where he dug in hours ago. I can still feel the heat from it.

"I had no clue. I should've been there for you," Aaliyah continues as we cling to each other.

I shake my head and cling tighter, knowing it's my fault that she didn't know. But now she's here and her arms embrace me, keeping everything I'm feeling from spilling out. I've never thought of sharing this with her, too worried about her judgment to stomach it. She may not get along with her family, but her dad's a politician who is successful and capable. My dad's dying because he couldn't get his shit together.

My dad and I's relationship may not be rock solid, but the only person who can judge him is me. I've been letting that fear of judgment keep me from this. This intimacy with my best friend where I don't have to be alone. I don't have to face the pain of what's happening to my father alone.

Gonzales comes over and puts his hand on Aaliyah's shoulder. She pulls away from me slightly, still keeping her hands on my shoulders.

"Sorry," he says. "Aaliyah was in no state to drive. We brought your clothes and the textbooks you asked for. How is he?" Gonzales asks.

"He's going to die," I say, tasting the truth on my tongue and finding it bitter and cold. I turn to Aaliyah and say, "You should go say hi to him. He knows a lot about you. I'm going to change." I motion to the clothes.

When I come back to my dad's room, they're crowded around him and, for a second, I'm scared he's outed me as they laugh at something he says.

"But let me tell you, John was a force of nature. You know, he used to get into a lot of fights at school and everything."

"Our John?" Aaliyah exclaims, grabbing me and wrapping her hands around my forearm. "He's a softy."

Gonzales nods. "I can believe it. I thought he was going to swing on me that day I went and asked him to work on Isamu's van."

I lean closer to Aaliyah.

"Where's Isamu?"

She smiles at me. "No clue. Why don't you go look for him?"

I roll my eyes and wander out of the room. There's a lot of things I should say to Isamu. Thanks would be a start, but when I find him in the bathroom, there's dog food spilled all over the floor. I rush over to help him.

Inu watches us fumble the torn open bag, her leash in her mouth as she looks up at us sweetly. I might have pet her if my hands weren't so full.

"Thanks," Isamu says with an awkward laugh as he wrangles the bag and begins to pick up dog food.

He's been doing his best not to be awkward, but I can hear all the moments he's hesitated to exist near me. Like stop-start traffic on the highway to the beach, but he's too scared to move forward and I can't blame him. In fact, I'm glad he's at a full stop. I can't handle trying to parse through what his being here means.

We look at each other, the moment heavy with the things we haven't said, but my dad's in the other room. Isamu is something I can deal with... after.

"Thanks for being here," I manage before I turn and hold the door for him to exit.

He gives me a tight-lipped smile and leads the way.

"I hope I'm not overstepping," he says, barely discernible as he moves away from me. "Figured you want someone to be here for you. But now that Aaliyah is here, I can go home. If you want that, I mean. I'm okay with whatever."

I grunt and keep following silently, not sure how I feel about what I want.

"We have class soon," Aaliyah says sadly as I come in, and she presses her arm against mine. She's warm against the chill of the hospital. "I can call out though, I just don't know if you want space or company." She looks up at me questioningly.

Now that she knows, I realize I want nothing more than her comfort—nothing more than her nails scratching at my skull while she holds me. But finals are coming up and she needs to study, not sit around here and watch the inevitable.

"It's fine. I'd like to spend some time with him," I tell her, giving her a hug.

Gonzales, surprisingly, also gives me a hug. His bulky arms, rivalling mine, embrace me as he squeezes all my pain out for just a few seconds.

"I should walk them out," Isamu says, awkwardly pointing over his shoulder.

"See you in a bit," I tell him, making my decision.

He nods and turns away as I return to my father. His stomach is swollen underneath the blankets which are piled high on him. I look away, grabbing at his thin hand instead, thinking of all the meals he had skipped.

If I had been more insistent on it, he wouldn't be here so soon. If I had been braver as a child, less self-absorbed in my own survival, I could've saved him from the bottle. If he hadn't been such a piece of shit.

"Isamu seems like a good . . ." my dad starts, a smirk on his lips.

"Friend," I finish for him, heart heavy with a confession that'll never come.

He laughs, then coughs. "Friend? A handsome boy like that? Ain't no friend of mine ever look at me like that."

I roll my eyes but he reaches his other hand forward, and I oblige.

"John, you gotta know when to take a good thing. Him coming here and staying the whole night with your smelly, dying dad is a good thing. Being there for—" his voice cracks and he coughs away the thickness. "He's taking care of you, and that's all a dad can hope for. He's got—he's got love in his heart for you, more than enough to be there for you in your time of need."

I pull my hand away from him, as the anger that's been welling in me for eleven years starts to tip over the edge.

"Why could you never do that for me?" Tears pool in my eyes, heavier now because it's been so long since crying came naturally.

"Oh, John."

"No," I say, shaking my head angrily. "No. You don't get to do that," I spit out. "Why did you never love me? What about me was never enough to make you stay?"

He sighs and looks down at the sheets where his fingers pull at non-existent strings. He looks away from me. Away from my anger.

"When I lost your mom, my brain just sort of . . . stopped. Something deep in me snapped. This'll just sound like an excuse and I—I guess it is, but I lost so many friends in Afghanistan. Before that, I lost my own ma to cancer and my pa to meth. I watched friends get shot by cops. I held my baby sister as she bled out.

"Y'all were everything to me. The reason God made me suffer everything before. Y'all were—" he sobs deeply, making my heart spasm against my own tears that choke up my throat. "Y'all were my light at the end of the tunnel. When your ma died, I was so scared you were gonna be next. I just didn't wanna be here for it. So, I pretended you were already gone, hoping it would save me from the pain when you were."

My teeth dig into my knuckles as I hold in my screams, sobs of frustration, years of an absentee father.

The cold hard realization that I'm his carbon copy.

"I'm still here, dad. I've always been here, and you were so damn scared that you took everything from me when mom died."

Unwilling to see any more pain on his face, I rush out of the room. The hospital is loud with expectation, machines beeping and patients' tears. This isn't the first time I've been here, but this is the last time I'll be here with my dad.

Thinking of it, the last words I said now feel like a plague, tearing apart all the years I've kept my head down and taken care of my dad. But there's too many years of resentment and I feel myself flip flopping between hatred and longing.

It's how Isamu finds me in the stairwell a little while later.

I look up at the sound of clacking claws and the soft scrape of his shoes. He plops beside me, not even complaining that he probably scoured the entire hospital for me.

"Hey," he says, keeping a fair distance away from me.

It makes me wish I hadn't told him no to his confession. Everything makes me wish I hadn't told him no. I wanted to say I liked him too. I'm just stupid. And scared. Which makes me a lot more like my father than I ever wanted to be.

I guess it wasn't the bottle I should've been scared of.

"Want a secret?" I ask.

"Only if you want to give it."

"I—I used to wish my dad would die. Or disappear. It was so hard taking care of him, and I thought, maybe, I had suffered enough that someone would adopt me and actually take care of me for once. Sometimes I just wanted him to die so he could suffer instead."

"Johnny." Isamu reaches out and grabs me by the shoulder.

It's all I need to break, and I turn to him, burying my face against his neck.

"I don't want him to die. I don't want to be alone and—and he's finally starting to be a good dad and I just fucking told him he's a piece of shit and now he's going to die thinking that's how I feel."

Isamu rubs my back and Inu noses between us, sensing anxiety from the pile of our limbs. I pet her as she noses against my belly, surprised by the softness of her downy fur beneath the coarseness.

"Thanks for being here," I say, reluctantly picking my head up from Isamu's shoulder and unwinding my hands from Inu's fur.

A nurse comes into the room right after we do, and she smiles kindly at all of us. "How nice that y'all have stayed here so long," she exclaims happily. "But I'm going to have to ask anyone that isn't kin to leave."

The doctor comes in behind her and I flinch, fearing the deadline has gotten shorter.

Isamu squeezes my hand before leaving.

I plop on the chair, bones like gelatin as fear fills me corner to corner.

"We have a few more questions for you," the doctor starts as the nurse begins to inspect his vitals. "There has been absolutely no drug or alcohol use since your diagnosis, is that correct?"

I shove my knuckles into my mouth, ready to hear the reason he's in here so soon is because he's been secretly drinking.

"No, doctor. Honestly, I haven't. My boy here can attest to it," he says, eyes wide.

The doctor looks at me and I pull my knuckles from my mouth. "As far as I know, other than his prescribed medication, he hasn't been taking anything or drinking since the cirrhosis diagnosis."

The doctor nods and then looks at the nurse who nods.

"Well. Here's the bad news for someone else and good news for you. There was a pile up last night on I-85 because of the rain. Because of the advancement of your cirrhosis and because of the pile up, we've got a liver for you, Mr. Love."

A noise comes out of my throat, of shock, surprise, elation, and my dad reaches out, grabbing me tightly beside him.

"A liver?" he asks, disbelief in his voice.

"Yep, and you're compatible. We'll have the anesthesiologist in here shortly."