Life Reciprocated
Michael Reed and his daughter Sarah walk into the Longs Drugs next to each other. They aren't touching. Michael hands Sarah the piece of paper with the ten items they need from the store and she wordlessly walks down the first aisle of band-aids and medicine, looking for ibuprofen.
When Sarah finds all the items on the list, she walks back to her father with a cheery red box with snowflakes on the side.
“What's that?” Michael asks.
“Hot cocoa,” Sarah replies, while Michael flinches as he recognizes the all too familiar drink, “I thought we could have some after dinner this week.”
“But it's not on the list, Kiddo.”
“Well, I just thought—”
“No, I only brought twelve dollars for the stuff on the list. Now put it back so we can go home.” Michael takes the basket of ten items from Sarah and stands in the express checkout line. Sarah glares at her father and angrily slams the cocoa package back on the shelf.
Neither father nor daughter speak on the BART train home. Michael goes to his room, takes out his laptop and begins his work—just like any other night.
***
One and a half years earlier, Michael Reed and his daughter Sarah walked into the hospital next to each other, holding hands. They walked the familiar route to the elevator, taking it to the seventh floor—Chemotherapy. There, in room 726, lay Melissa Reed, a loving wife and mother. Sarah paused in the doorway, then entered the room with a sigh.
“Hi, Mom. I brought you your favorite—hot cocoa,” Sarah said to the frail figure of her mother, holding up the cocoa for her to see.
“Hey, Kiddo,” Melissa answered while taking the cocoa powder from Sarah and giving her hand a reassuring, though fragile, squeeze.
“Melissa, the doctors say—”
“No, Michael. Don't tell me what the damn doctors say,” Melissa interrupted. “I already know that the cancer is beyond treatment options now. I had our lawyer come in and settle my affairs.”
“What?” Sarah asked in a louder voice than she intended. She stared into the dark brown eyes of her mother that were the same shade as her own, but now her own held tears. Michael felt as though this information was too sensitive for a thirteen-year-old, but he said nothing while Melissa continued. Michael knew that Melissa wouldn't have said anything about it in front of Sarah if she didn't think that Sarah could handle it.
“I'm so sorry, Kiddo. I can't hide this from you any longer. I'm going to die. The breast cancer is not treatable. No amount of chemotherapy, praying, or love,” Melissa met Michael's eyes fondly, “is going to save me now.”
***
Although Melissa Reed passed on over a year ago, Michael still thinks about his wife. The absence of his wife, however, does not stop him from working on his laptop every night and every day. Michael doesn't know what else to do. Sarah walks toward the room where her father is tapping the keys of his laptop. She pauses in the doorway, then walks into the room with a sigh.
“Dad, I need to talk to you,” she says.
“Huh?” he answers absentmindedly, his head lifting, but his eyes not leaving the computer screen and his hands not ceasing movement across the keyboard.
“I said, I need to talk to you,” Sarah repeats.
“Yeah, make it quick, Kiddo.”
“This is serious, Dad. I need you to look at me.” With that, Michael finally looks up for a second to meet his daughter's dark brown eyes.
“I'm listening, Kiddo. Go on.” His eyes flick back down to the screen, fingers never stopping their tapping.
“OK. I know that this isn't something you want to hear, but I need to tell you anyways.”
“Is it about that C in math, 'cause I already told you, I'm not mad about it.”
“No it's not that. It's not about school.”
“What, then?”
“It's about you.”
“Me?” Michael asks, the room now quiet, absent of tapping keys.
“You, Dad.”
“What did I do? Miss a soccer game last week?”
“No, I didn't have a game. But you—”
“Well then, what's the big problem, Kiddo?”
“We never talk, Dad. Do you realize this is the most we've spoken in almost a month?”
“I-I've been busy,” Michael stutters. “I need to finish analyzing this computer software.”
“Oh yeah? Too busy to even talk to your own daughter?”
“I'm sorry, Kiddo. I didn't think you minded. I mean, you never said anythi—”
“I'm saying something now,” Sarah interrupts. The familiar words bring back harsh and painful memories and Michael blinks and shakes his head.
“OK, good. Now that we've talked, can I get back to work?” The sound of clicking keys resumes. The daughter stares at her father, watching his eyes follow the line of type as it is lain out across the screen. After a moment she stands suddenly, making her way to the door, she stands facing away from her father.
“See you later, Dad. I hope I didn't bother you too much.” Sarah strides away.
***
Almost two years ago Michael Reed received the news that changed his life. Michael was watching television in the bedroom when Melissa walked in with a piece of paper and a tear stained face. Michael looked up, saw his wife, and pulled her down onto the bed.
“What's wrong, Mel,” Michael asked, wiping the tears from Melissa's face with the back of his hand. All he got was a slightly strangled sob.
Michael took the wrinkled paper from clutched hands. He read:
Melissa Reed, February 22nd, 2007
Your breast cancer removal surgery is scheduled for March 11th at 10:30am. Please call our offices to confirm or reschedule. (415) 555-1234.
John Doe, M.D.
John Doe, M.D.
When Michael looked into Melissa's eyes he saw the sorrow and guilt.
“Melissa, this is dated over a week ago.”
“I know.”
“You never said anythi—”
“I'm saying something now.”
***
Michael inhales suddenly, starting from his reverie. He looks at his laptop and the work he was trying to use as a distraction, as solace. However, his investment in his work was not enough to help. To Michael, the only time he felt better was when he was with Sarah, but she was a living reminder of Melissa. Michael heaves himself out of his chair and knocks on Sarah's door.
“What?” Sarah's muffled voice travels through the door.
“I was just checking. I wanted to know what you were doing,” Michael says close to the door, but steps back suddenly when it swings open.
“I'm going to a soccer game,” Sarah replies shortly, stepping sideways and moving around her father.
“Hey,” Michael says at Sarah's back, “Why don't I give you a ride?”
Sarah stops short and turns slowly to give Michael a raised eyebrow.
“You actually want to take me to the soccer game?” Sarah asks in a voice heavy with disbelief.
“Absolutely,” Michael says with a bigger smile than normal. “How 'bout I even stay and watch?”
Sarah's face melts into a warm smile.
“I think I'd like that very much.”
Although the drive to the soccer field is quiet, there is no uncomfortable tension or coldness between father and daughter. They are finally able to just sit in silence, completely aware that they care for each other. When the soccer field finally draws closer, Michael starts to ask questions about the opposing team and how many points Sarah usually scores. Michael eventually finds a parking space and they both get out of the car.
“Alright, Kiddo. You ready?” Micheal asks.
“Yep.” Sarah checks her shin guards and tightens her pony tail. “Go find a seat, Dad, I have to go warm up and meet with the coach. See you later.”
“Bye,” Michael calls and waves to her disappearing back.
The bleachers at the soccer field are a silvery aluminum with only a few levels. In Michaels hurry to find a good seat towards the front, he solidly collides with a woman with dark hair and dark brown eyes, nearly knocking her off her feet.
“I am so, so sorry,” Michael stutters in embarrassment, “That was my fault.”
“No, no, it's OK. Are you Sarah's dad? I saw you talking earlier.”
“Yeah, I am, actually. Michael.” He offers out his hand.
“I'm Sammy,” she says, taking the proffered hand, “Well, Samantha really, but I prefer Sammy.”
“I hope we'll meet again, Samanth—I mean—Sammy.” Michael finally releases his hold of her hand, realizing he had been shaking it for too long.
“Me, too,” Sammy says with enthusiasm. She looks at the field, “Oh, the game is about to start! Quickly, sit here.”
Sammy pulls Michael to a space on the bleachers and begins to tell him about how excited she is that she has someone to watch the games with. By the end of the victorious game, Michael and Sammy know that they will see each other again, that fact is sealed by the exchanging of phone numbers and a promise to see each other at the next soccer game. Sammy gives Michael a final hug and leaves with her friend an her friend's daughter. Sarah runs over to the bleachers and hugs her father.
“We won, Dad! Did you see?” Sarah asks, exhilarated.
“Yes, I saw,” Michael replies, beaming with pride.
“You know what,” Sarah asks slyly, “I saw you, too. And just who was it that you were getting along so well with?”
“Someone new,” Michael replies with a smile. He finally feels happy.