Piece of Shit

It's late at night and my mom gets off of her phone and looks at me. Her eyes are tired and sunken into her face. She looks young, but her eyes betray her real age.

"Your grandfather got transferred to the hospital just now. The doctor thinks he won't make it until the morning. I need to drive your aunt to the hospital and your sister will be watching your grandmother for I don't know how long."

I don't really look at her. I can hear a slight exasperation in her voice. The plan was to visit it him at his house in the morning and go from there. It's my sister's birthday tomorrow.

"So will we all be visiting him now then?"

My tone is flat. Cuddled by an annoyed undertone. That was a pretty selfish question to ask. More selfish thoughts run through my mind in the seconds that I wait for my mom's response. What are we going to do about the birthday dinner if he dies tonight? A new thought goes through my mind: my father must already be over there.

"No. you and the other kids can wait until tomorrow."

"Ok," is all I say.

I must sound like a jerk. Your grandfather is dying and you don't feel anything. Not even an ounce of sadness. Your father's father whom, without him, you wouldn't even exist. The man, and his wife, who has put a strain on your family for years. Since before you were even born. The man who, when he drinks, gets violent and yells. Not that you've laid witness to the former. The man, and his wife, whom your father loves very much and it makes you angry. Angry because it stresses your father out to the point that he's become volatile when he sees their name pop up on his phone. Angry because you feel as though your father invests so much time into his parents, but not enough with his own family. He doesn't know what we like to do or what we do most days. There's a disconnection. My father is a family man, but not towards us.

My mom leaves and goes to get ready to pick up my aunt. She'll take ten minutes tops and she'll be gone. I can hear my sister rustling through the closet to get ready too.

I try to collect my thoughts. It's eerily calm, but I'm not uncomfortable with that. I feel more conflicted. Why don't you feel the least bit sad? How more unemotional can you be? At least try to be upset, you piece of sh-

"See ya."

My sister walks past with a small backpack of things to do inside.

"Bye."

My mind comes back to the central conflict: grandfather. Why can't you feel sad? Don't you know how to feel sad? Haven't you felt sad for anything in your life? God, why are you so selfish and emotionless? Do you even feel anything right now?

No. Not really. Maybe some relief that my father will be a little less stressed out now.

Wow, you truly are a piece of shit.

My tear ducts are as dry as the Sahara. Maybe I'll feel different when the funeral happens.

My phone vibrates against the wood desk.

Mom

"Hello?"

"He-"

She stops. I guess she's trying to find out how to say it, but I already know what it is.

"He's passed."

I don't say anything for a second. What am I waiting for? Tears? Words? I don't really know. I don't know what to say so I say the first thing that comes to my head.

"Ok."