Page 18 of Doc's Decision

Nothing but open road as far as the eye can see.

Perfect.

Just what I need to clear my head.

I settle in for the long haul, zipping past semis and minivans, doing eighty in a 65.

The sun beats down on my back, but the wind whipping past provides some relief from the Vegas heat.

My mind drifts to Ma as the miles tick by.

I can picture her now, sitting by the window in that sterile hellhole they call a “care facility”.

Staring blankly at the gardens and probably silently cursing my name for sticking her there in the first place, if she even remembers me today.

Fuck.

I scrub a hand down my face, guilt eating at my guts like battery acid.

Every time I saw her, it was like pouring salt into a wound that refused to heal.

The blank look in her eyes when she called me “Darren”.

The way she’d ask why I looked so different.

Hell, the way she accused me of being a liar, that I wasn’t really her son.

Christ. It gutted me every single time.

Before long, an hour has gone by and I’m at the long-term care facility.

I park my bike in the parking lot of her facility, the same one she’s been at for the last few years.

Each time I visit, things seem to get shittier and shittier.

The paint peels off the walls, the grass browns more and more, and the overall depressing atmosphere weighs me down.

I walk in, greeted by the same sour-faced receptionist who never cracks a smile.

“Hey there, Doc,” she says with a bored drawl. “You here to see your mother?”

Nodding, I confirm her thoughts. “Yeah, but first, I wanna talk to the admin. She called and left me a message.”

The receptionist’s eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch. “Well, aren’t we feisty today? Okay, go on back, third door on your right.”

I stride down the sterile hallways, the smell of disinfectant and old age hitting me in waves.

I knock once on the admin’s door before entering without waiting for a response.

“Darren, I’m glad you showed. I’m afraid your mother isn’t doing well.” Janice sighs, handing me a file-stamped with my mother’s name as I approach her desk. “Her condition’s deteriorating, and we’ve done all we can for her here.”

Rage boils in my gut. “Well, that’s just fucking great. Thanks for keeping me in the loop.”

“We’ve called you multiple times, but?—”

“I know, I know. I’ve been . . . busy.”

Busy proving myself to the MC, running from my past, and running from my goddamn life.

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