There were 7 days in a week. I spent 5 of those days submerging myself in homework, assignments, and deadlines. I looked forward to the other 2 days with one thing in mind; having a life. I usually got my wish. My parents both worked in the same business. Every weekend one of their co-workers was having a party or meeting, so they’d leave me at home. It brought me happiness.

But of course, happiness always comes at a price.

One day, my mom got a call from work. “Yes? Yes, speaking…what? What do you mean? What happened to him?”

I stopped for a minute. I wanted to hear where this was going.

“He…okay, okay. We know the address. Thank you, thank you.” My mom hung up. She looked confused. It turns out her boss was dying.

“But he’s old, right. That’s not a surprise.”

“He’s very healthy. At 6 in the morning, at 90, he goes jogging. You haven’t seen him before,” she said.

So basically, we had to drive to his house, 2 hours from here, to pay our respects. That included me. On the weekend.

2 hours was more depressing than I thought, through endless cornfields and barns, all sitting under a cloudy sky. Since this guy was my parents’ boss, he had a mansion. It was dark, and empty, with the exception of the group gathered there like us, around his deathbed. Some looked like they visited often, asking him to sign contracts about “insurance” and “shareholders” and stuff. Others were holding his hand, giving him gift baskets, and talking to him like he was too dumb to understand what they were saying. I was there only child there. My parents hugged him, except they couldn’t really ’cause he was lying down, and it looked kinda awkward, and they talked for a while.

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I went into the living room for a while. I had my DS in my hand. I could’ve just played video games. No one would’ve stopped me. But I was scared that if I did…

1. I’d feel guilty

2. His spirit would haunt me for the rest of my life

People eventually started going home, or branching out into the living room. My mom came out after a while. She told me to go in and talk to him, as a “means of courtesy.”

I walked in. It was just me and him. I looked at his face. It was depressing. I did feel a bit sorry when I thought about it.  I mean, obviously I didn’t want this man to die. But at the same time, I didn’t really know him, and didn’t really think I needed to know him. He was 90. Most people lived to 80, so I didn’t really feel empathetic or sad. I just wanted my weekend. I tried to look sorry. I ended up with a bunch of mixed feelings.

The old man stared at me. He pointed at…my hand? I gave him my hand. He shook his head. He pointed at my DS. I gave it to him. Turns out, yeah, that he was wanted.

He continued off from the Mariokart race I was planning to finish on the way home.