- DEX -
Lawson and I walk briskly into the hospital right at 7:30 and find our way back to father's room. There is still some time to visit, so we sink into chairs next to his bed. The whole atmosphere is impersonal, clinical, melancholic.
The great Jansen Mobius who I built up so large in my mind all my life is in a hospital gown with an IV and fluids in preparation for the surgery. He looks so much older, so much more frail. And the lump that lodges in my throat as a result clashes with the urgency roiling inside to get back home.
My skin is tight with the volatile combination, and I hate it. I hate feeling like I'm meant to be in two places at once. My father needs me here right now.
"I want you both to know that I'm proud of you," the old man says with an emotional grin, patting my hand that rests on the raised metal arm of his bed.
