Walking Alone, chapter 2
Chapter Two: Keep Playing ((this part takes place when Billie Joe was 10, and his dad passed away.))
In the stiff plastic seats in the hospital waiting room, my feet couldn't even reach the floor. Looking up at my older brothers and sisters, they looked so much bigger than me. They all wore the same expressions on their faces—looks of worry and pain. That was the first time I experienced true pain and hurt, the first time I hated the world. And I was only 10.
I knew that hospital inside and out. We'd been there so many times, for my father's chemotherapy and radiation treatments. Each time we came, we thought we'd loose him. This time it was for real. My mother came out and beckoned us in to dad's hospital room. Seeing Allan's eyes water up scared me real bad, because I'd rarely seen Allan cry.
Each of my brothers and sisters talked with Dad one last time. Then it was my turn. Dad had recently given me my very own guitar, Blue, because I loved to play. "Hey, Billie Joe." I swallowed. "Hey, Dad." He looked so pale and weak, unlike my father who I'd grown up with—the energetic man who loved music. Now he struggled to speak, and when he did his voice came out raspy and hoarse.
"You got to do something for me, son." His breathing was forced and he gasped for breath after just one sentence. The tears welled up in my eyes.
"Yeah, Dad?" I choked on my tears. Don't let him see you cry, I thought.
"Keep playing, Billie Joe. Keep playing and don't stop... " His voice drifted off. I could hear my mother's muffled sobs from the far corner of the room. My father's last words were, "I love you all."
You could tell when he'd left. A certain peacefulness fell over the room. Outside, the September scenery seemed a little quieter, a little brighter. The sky looked bluer. And for some reason, I felt almost relieved he'd finally gone. He didn't have to suffer anymore. He was finally in a better place.
That night when we got home, I picked up my guitar and played. I played all throughout the night, until my fingers were practically bleeding. I did what my father told me to do—play and don't stop.
In the stiff plastic seats in the hospital waiting room, my feet couldn't even reach the floor. Looking up at my older brothers and sisters, they looked so much bigger than me. They all wore the same expressions on their faces—looks of worry and pain. That was the first time I experienced true pain and hurt, the first time I hated the world. And I was only 10.
I knew that hospital inside and out. We'd been there so many times, for my father's chemotherapy and radiation treatments. Each time we came, we thought we'd loose him. This time it was for real. My mother came out and beckoned us in to dad's hospital room. Seeing Allan's eyes water up scared me real bad, because I'd rarely seen Allan cry.
Each of my brothers and sisters talked with Dad one last time. Then it was my turn. Dad had recently given me my very own guitar, Blue, because I loved to play. "Hey, Billie Joe." I swallowed. "Hey, Dad." He looked so pale and weak, unlike my father who I'd grown up with—the energetic man who loved music. Now he struggled to speak, and when he did his voice came out raspy and hoarse.
"You got to do something for me, son." His breathing was forced and he gasped for breath after just one sentence. The tears welled up in my eyes.
"Yeah, Dad?" I choked on my tears. Don't let him see you cry, I thought.
"Keep playing, Billie Joe. Keep playing and don't stop... " His voice drifted off. I could hear my mother's muffled sobs from the far corner of the room. My father's last words were, "I love you all."
You could tell when he'd left. A certain peacefulness fell over the room. Outside, the September scenery seemed a little quieter, a little brighter. The sky looked bluer. And for some reason, I felt almost relieved he'd finally gone. He didn't have to suffer anymore. He was finally in a better place.
That night when we got home, I picked up my guitar and played. I played all throughout the night, until my fingers were practically bleeding. I did what my father told me to do—play and don't stop.
