Chasing Butterflies by Amir Abrams Page A

here,” she says, slicing into my thoughts.
    I blink. Umm. How about trying to be a bit more supportive?
    “But call me the minute you hear something, okay, sweetheart?”
    I don’t know why I even bothered calling her. “I will,” I say, feeling dismissed. “Can you give me Aunt Priscilla’s number?”
    “Oh, sweetie. I don’t give out numbers. I’ll have to call her and see if it’s okay for you to have it.”
    I blink.
    Really? “It’s okay. If you speak with her, can you please tell her about Daddy.”
    “I will. Once I know more.”
    There’s nothing more to say. She tells me she’ll keep me in her thoughts. That she’ll pray for Daddy. That she loves me. But even that sounds . . . um, questionable.
    I tell her I love her, too, because it sounds like the right thing to do.
    Then there’s silence on the other end.
    I’m not sure if she’s hung up on me, or if the call dropped.
    All I know is, I won’t be calling her again.

18
    “H ey, sweetie,” Mrs. Thomas says, walking over toward me.
    I stand and race over to her.
    She opens her arms and I immediately fall into them.
    And sob.
    “There, there now, sweetheart,” Mrs. Thomas says soothingly. “It’s going to be all right. You’ll see. Your father is as strong as an ox. He’ll fight this. Whatever it is.”
    I nod into her shoulder and swallow. “I-I hope so.”
    She puts an arm around me and rubs the middle of my back as she walks me back to my seat where I’d left my book bag and cell phone.
    She takes a seat beside me. “Have you eaten anything?”
    I shake my head, wiping my face with tissues given to me by one of the nurses. “I’m not really hungry.” I blow my nose. “I-I can’t eat. All I keep thinking about is Daddy. What if h-he doesn’t—?”
    “Sssh,” she says. “Don’t say it. We’re not claiming any negative thoughts. Okay? All positive energy and lots of prayer to see your father through this.”
    I nod. So, so thankful and relieved that she’s here. “Where’s Crystal?” I ask, looking around the waiting area. “I didn’t see her come in with you.”
    “She’s downstairs,” Mrs. Thomas says. “She should be up shortly.”
    A wave of disappointment washes over me, but then quickly evaporates as soon as I see Crystal. She comes over and wraps her arms around my neck. “Aww, Nia-pooh. I’m so sorry about your dad. We’re going to be right here with you, okay?”
    I sniffle and nod.
    A petite-framed Asian woman comes through the swinging doors, pulling her mask from her face. She introduces herself as Dr. Lee. Her face is void of any expression. My heart immediately lurches.
    My breath catches. “Is m-my daddy okay?” I ask. But what I really want to ask, but can’t bring myself to say the words, is, “Is Daddy still alive?”
    She says he’s in his room, resting. That they are still running tests.
    A relieved breath escapes my lips. “Can I see him?”
    She nods.
    I get up, then glance back at Crystal and her mom.
    “You go on, sweetheart,” Mrs. Thomas says. “We’ll be right here waiting for you.”
    I nod, then follow the doctor through the swinging doors.
    * * *
    “Daddy,” I push out, bracing myself as I fight back tears.
    I slowly walk into his hospital room, on legs I feel will collapse under me with each step I take. This is all too much for me. Seeing him like this.
    Frail looking.
    Bound to a bed.
    Tubes running out of him.
    Monitors hissing and buzzing all around him.
    This is not how I want to see him.
    Sick...
    Sickly.
    I walk closer to Daddy, and he looks over at me. His hand peeks out from under the white sheet covering him. I want to collapse right here.
    I want to fall to my knees, and scream out.
    Sob.
    Beg.
    Ask God to be merciful.
    To spare me from, from...
    Oh, God, please.
    I lower my gaze to the shiny white-tiled floor.
    Take another step toward Daddy.
    A faint smile forming on his face, he motions for me to come closer.
    Ohmygod!
    He looks so, so . . . old.
    What is