The Past Unchanged (Chapter 1)

The night was cold. It was the kind of ghastly chill that soaks through clothing, and into the pores, permeating every cell of the body like ice water. The thin, frozen air  made the night seem much darker. It was as if the fragile stars had buried themselves deep within the blanket of space, hiding in its dark fabric, lest they shatter in the icy wind. Even the powerful moon hung feebly in her place, while the cold held her beams hostage, preventing them from warming the frozen earth below. 1

On nights like this no one in their right mind braves the cold, unless some absolute necessity drags them from the warm security of their homes and out into the frigid air. When they are forced to venture out, people draw their coats around their faces and make mad dashes from house to car, or car to building. A sane person wouldn't be seen dawdling on the sidewalk, or lingering in the biting wind while standing anywhere near a door that offered entrance to warmth and life. Yet on this night, as people rushed past into the North Memorial Hospital in Minneapolis, a lone man lingered outside the door, scuffing his feet on the pavement and exhaling plumes of frozen breath.  2

Ryan Benson payed no attention to the biting air, but continued to pace in front of the entrance to the hospital. He fumbled in his coat pocket and pulled out an old photograph. Gently he smoothed the crinkled edges and stared at the well-worn image of a young man sitting on a couch holding a small baby. He sniffed, the chill seemed to be getting to him, or some undefined emotion stirred beneath his placid expression. The street lamps flickered on, as a distant church bell sounded; eight o’clock. As the tolling bell trailed off Ryan took a deep breath and reached for the door, stepping out of the deathly chill into the sterile white world of the hospital. 3

He took a moment to absorb some of the warmth into his body. His stiff limbs began to unlock as life returned with the heat. His heartbeat picked up a little, the reason he was here began to settle over him again. Slowly he slid the photograph back into his pocket and approached the front desk.4

A young blond girl who appeared to be fresh from high school sat in at the desk. Her prim white uniform clashed with her bright red lip gloss and slouching demeanor. As he approached, she looked up slowly and smacked her gum.5

“Can I help you?” she asked in a voice that suggested she had asked that question one too many times. 6

“Yeah, um, Lisa  . . . ”he began, reading her name tag, “I’m here to visit someone, a Jonathan Garret.”7

The girl’s expression matched her voice as she sighed, “Visiting hours are over at 6:30, unless you are a relation of the patient I’m gonna have to ask you to come back tomorrow.”8

“He’s . . .” Ryan paused for a moment, “He’s an old acquaintance. Please, I really need to see him. It’s important, and it will only take a moment.”9

Lisa rolled her eyes, “Do ya know how many times a day I hear that? I’m sorry sir but visiting hours are over.”10

Ryan took a deep breath, “Ma’am, with all due respect, this is a hospital, people die here every day. Maybe you hear that a lot because, well for a lot of people it is true. I only need a few minutes, I may not have another chance.”11

She stared at him with raised eyebrows for a moment and then heaved a sigh. “All right, room 301, first door to your left after you get off the elevator. And . . . make it quick ok?”12

Ryan nodded in appreciation and headed for the elevator. As the door dinged shut and cheesy music began to play he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steel his nerves. His hands were shaking and his heart began to thump wildly in his chest.13

“I can do this,” he breathed to himself. As the elevator came to a stop he stepped out and approached room 301. His heartbeat was now out of control and he had started to hyperventilate. He turned around for a moment and started to walk away. “No!”he exclaimed aloud, “No. I’m going to face him. I’ve waited my whole life for this and I’m not walking away now.”14

With clenched fists he turned to the door and pushed it open. Inside he could hear the steady beep of monitors, and the occasional hiss of a ventilator. Laying on the bed, with his eyes closed, was a man who looked to be at least 50. His skin was a pale color and his hair beginning to turn white. He looked so much older than Ryan knew him to be that he almost thought he had the wrong room. He approached the bed slowly and silently. The man appeared to be sleeping and, for a brief moment, Ryan considered leaving. 15

“So this is what you look like now,”he whispered under his breath, “Haven’t taken very good care of yourself have you?”  Slowly he turned to walk out of the room. He couldn’t face the man like this. The hatred he bore in his heart didn’t know how to react to the frail, helpless creature on the bed in front of him. 16

“Ryan,” came a wheezing voice from behind, “Is that you?” 17

He was silent for a moment, without turning he replied, “How do you know who I am? Ryan turned to face the man on the bed, who was awake now. His opened eyes, squinting in the dim light, only made him appear weaker, but brought a better sense of his age, they didn’t quite convey the old man that he appeared to be on the outside. 18

“Your mother called, mentioned you might be stopping by. Why did you come?”19

I came to see if it was really true.” Ryan’s voice trembled with bitter emotion bordering on rage. 20

“What, that your old man was finally dying?”21

Ryan snorted ruefully. “That he was actually still alive.” 22