Play
& Book Excerpts
Ultimatum
(Sourcebooks,
Inc.)
© 2017 K.M. Walton
Oscar
I watch the nurse jab the needle into my father’s arm. He doesn’t make a move.
He hasn’t made a move on his own in days. I look over at my brother, Vance, and
his head is down, lost in his phone. I close my eyes and just focus on
breathing.
I feel a gentle squeeze on my shoulder. “That should make him comfortable,
Oscar. I’ll be right out in the hall if you need me,” the nurse says.
Vance told me that since Dad had this thing called a living will with a
do-not-resuscitate order, there are no IVs or breathing tubes or anything else
that will help to keep him alive longer. His liver is in failure, and he
doesn’t have time to wait for a transplant. He will not be coming home from
this place.
I nod. “Thank you,” I say to the nurse. Why can’t my brother put down his phone
and be present?
“How long now?” I whisper. I read her name tag: Barbara.
She purses her lips into a tight smile. “I wish I could tell you. Definitely
not today.”
“Tomorrow?” This is the end of day two here at the hospice, and I’ve been told
multiple times that he’s not in pain, that they’re doing everything they can to
make him comfortable. But I’m not convinced. How do they know he’s not
in pain?
Barbara tilts her head and looks back at my comatose father. “Maybe, maybe not.
He’ll leave when he’s ready.”
I want to jump up and shake her. She’s a damn hospice nurse! How can she not
know? I want her to know.
I want her to tell me when he will die.
Sitting here watching him fail like this, so close, is harder than watching him
live. I want it to just be over. I’m done.
“How many times does she have to tell you that she doesn’t know?” Vance asks
after she leaves.
I turn away and ignore my brother.
“I know you hear me,” Vance says.
I lift my eyes and stare into his. To annoy him, I put in my earbuds and turn
up the volume as loud as my phone allows. He shakes his head, indicating that
he can hear the Mozart. Good.
My head fills with the layered richness of Symphony No. 29, and I let my eyes
slide closed. While I’m into everything from baroque to classical to romantic,
Mozart has always been my favorite. When I listen to his music, I’m taken out
of my life.
My life right now consists of being trapped in this damn room with my brother
and watching my father slip away one labored breath at a time. If I count the
freckles on Dad’s arm one more time, I may start drooling.
I steal a peek at Vance, and he’s still glaring at me. When isn’t he? Having
Mozart drown out him and his never-ending dickhead ways is helping right now. I
turn and gaze out the window.
Vance has never understood me—and he never will. Even down to the music I
listen to. When we were in middle school, he’d make fun of me because of it. I
can still see him playing an imaginary violin with wild, insulting movements,
doing everything in his power to look weird.
Were Vance and I ever close? I blink and realize the answer. No, we’ve never
been close—despite only being ten months apart.
I scroll back as far as I can remember, and my hands tighten into fists.
I think it’s the classic “he took my place as the baby” situation. Vance
resents me, like, my very existence. He couldn’t be any more unbrotherly. In
fact, I’d say he stands firmly behind enemy lines. Let’s just say that if I
needed saving on the battlefield, Vance would probably let me bleed out.
My brother is an attention junkie, and apparently I robbed him of having our
parents’ complete and undivided focus. He has never verbalized this to me, of
course—that would involve a deep conversation between us. This is all pure
guesswork on my part. But I know I’m right.
Kate Walton is a former middle school
language arts teacher. She's passionate about education and ending peer
bullying. Her novels shine the light on the hideous effects of bullying. She
gives school presentations on the topic "The Power of Human
Kindness." Besides Ultimatum, she is the author of Cracked
(excerpted HERE in Sanctuary)
and Empty. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, two sons, cat and
turtle.
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