A lone tear fell down his old leathery skin, glistening against the sunlight. His old chapped lips pressed against his Mundial Perfecto Cigar as his dark starry eyes wandered off into a distant memory as he puffed a ring of smoke. ‘Life is too short’ he thought, closing his eyes. A lump in his throat begged him to cry, but he would not.

A Young Male entered the room quietly, short strands of his muddy blonde hair would fall onto his forehead before he slicked them back. He stood behind his father, his light blue eyes watching him stare out the window from his wheelchair.

The Old Man opened his eyes slowly, recognising the subtle, but heavy footsteps that cautiously strode into his room. He takes his cigar out of his mouth, “What is it boy” he asks in a cold and haggard tone. His deep voice was weak and shook slightly when he spoke; his thick German accent slanting every syllable that slipped past his wrinkled lips.

“Nothing sir, I'll be on my way now”, the Young Male says looking down to his feet as he slowly began to back out of the room. The Old Man glanced to the corner of the window to try to see his son within its reflection. Yet all he saw in the reflection was his younger, more hopeful self, staring right back at him.

“Get lost,” the Old Man says harshly, enough so to throw him into a fit of coughing for a few seconds. The lump in his dry throat was now accompanied by one in his old heart. Another tear slipped down his right cheek as he looked down at his frail lap. “I don’t want you in my presence again” he added even more harshly so. Regretting every word he uttered as they tumbled out if his mouth and out of his control.

The Young Male stopped in his tracks and nodded, he too was on the verge of tears as his chest flooded with the pain of rejection. “I’ll come back on Christmas,” he says quietly.

“Don’t” snapped the Old Man in response.

“I’ll bring you a new box of those Mundial Cigars you love so much,” he adds after a brief moment of silence stifles the room.

“I don’t need you to” The Old Man’s voice had quieted down a bit. He covered his face with right palm, trying to prevent his son from seeing how he truly felt.

There was another long silent pause. But in the silence pain, they both were suffering screamed out in agony within.

“Y’know- you should quit smoking, eh’” the Young Male says breaking the cold silence that had yet again come between him and his father.

“Why you care” he asks, his accent thickening as the painful lump in his throat seemed to do the exact same.

“I care,” the Young Male says, looking at his father’s frail shoulders that now drooped under the weight of loneliness.
He reminisced of his father’s once tall and broad shoulders, shoulders that could support an entire family. His neck was once held high with pride and dignity, now he spent his days looking to the dusty floorboards. Without thought or any ounce of self-control the boy asked aloud, “What happened to you?”

There was another short pause, the Old Man’s leathery lips quivered a bit as he desperately fought to hold back his tears. “I got old” he croaked as tears finally streamed down both cheeks.

The Young Male sobbed quietly, wiping his tears with his sleeves as he walked up closer to his father. “Come- come with me?” he pleads to his father.

His father’s heart lightened with joy for just a fleeting second. But just as soon as the light in his heart was there it was gone again. He saw himself as nothing more than a burden. Just old luggage his son would have to drag along through his life. He didn't wish that upon him.

“You have your own family now,” the Old Man says weakly.
The boy shook his head adamantly, taking a deep breath in, “You are also my family, I can’t just leave you.”

The Old Man paused, considering it for a moment before speaking, “I’m a pain in the ass.”
The son responded with a light chuckle “That you are.”

The Old Man frowned “I’m grumpy,” he adds trying to further dissuade his son from this discussion.
The boy nods “I know.”

“I’m an Old Man,” he says as his heart felt heavier than it ever had before, he felt that he had to tell his son now. What he had been hiding for months now. The son walked closer to his father, each step causing the lump in the Old Man’s throat to grow even larger, up until his son was standing right beside him as he looked down at him with sympathetic eyes. Slowly crouching down to eye level with his father. “You’re my father,” he says grasping his father's cold, weathered hand that had seen many years of hard work all in the name of giving his son all that he could.

“I’m dying”
The news dropped heavily, shocking The Young Man. His son’s heart dropped all the same as those words hit his ears, it took him a few seconds to fully process and comprehend what it is he had just heard but when he had he furrowed his brows leaning closer to his father, tilting his own head inquisitively. “What- what do you mean?” he asks quietly in disbelief.

“Heart Disease,” the Old Man’s cheeks were soaked in his tears as he looked down to his son. He had never cried in front of him or anyone else before, he knew his time was coming to an end and he was scared and full of regret.

The son stared into his father’s eyes, it was as if the light of day were staring into the cold dark night sky. The son's lips parted for a moment, but nothing came out. He choked on every word that attempted to escape his lips while his eyes filled to the brim with tears.

The Old Man hesitantly raised his hand, landing it on his son’s head which had found its way onto the arm of his wheelchair and began softly and reassuringly stroking it. He had never shown this affection to his son before. Though right now, he wished he had. In that moment all of the regrets the Old Man had in his life gave his heart one final squeeze, the pain was overwhelming but it was over quickly.

As the pain and regret slowly faded away his heartbeat slowed but for the first time in a long time, his heart felt a warmth it hadn't known in years. It was a warm, tingly sensation that spread throughout his entire body, turning his cold hands warm once more as he hugged his son tight, cracking the first and last smile his son would ever see on his father's face.

It was a nice note to end on.

_______

It's something I wrote for writers craft last semester and wanted to share. @-@"