Feud

The slight beeping of some equipment was the only noise in the room as he lay there, staring blankly at the TV. It was muted, but was showing some bright obnoxious advert for a vacuum. He didn't bother trying to turn the channel. There was no point in doing so, after all.

After three long months of laying in a hospital bed, just waiting for death to catch up to him, he knew it had arrived. He could feel it looming there before him. He hardly minded that he was about to die. He had been anticipating it almost eagerly up to this point.

The door to the hospital room opened and a younger man walked in and gave him a slight smile. "How are you feeling, Dad?" he asked.

Grunting, the man on the bed shifted slightly, but didn't reply.

"That bad?"

The son came further into the room and took a seat next to his father's bed. "Mom says I gotta stay here with you. Says someone ought to,"

His father stared at him blankly.

"What? What is it?" his son asked, looking a bit self-conscious.

"You know something, Johnny?"

John shifted. "Johnny" had been his childhood name. He hadn't gone by it for at least two decades. "No. What should I know?"

"I'm going to die tonight,"

John stared at his father, but it wasn't with sadness or worry. He was just as relieved as his father at this point. Three long months of watching his father in constant pain had prepared him for this. They knew he would die eventually. Everyone had said so.

"Any last requests?"

His father thought a moment, his eyes flickering back to the TV, where a man in a suit was vacuuming up Cheerios with ease.

"I want..."

"Dad?"

"I want you to contact Aunt Georgia,"

John sat back, startled. "Aunt Georgia? But you hated her!"

"I haven't spoken to her in over thirty years," his father replied.

John stared. "Why do you want me to contact her?"

His father scowled. "We've had this feud. We haven't spoken in decades. Yet, she is my sister. Tell her she was right,"

"About what?"

A slight smile came over his father's face. "There's no need for you to know. She'll know what I'm talking about. Tell her she was right all along, and I've known it all along. Tell her I'm sorry,"

John stared at his father, bemused at this last request. He had no idea how to even get in contact with his Aunt Georgia.

"Why?"

His father's face clouded over with thought. "Why, indeed?"