• It was a cold and windy night with rain pounding the the top of this rickety old trailer. The wind had such a presence as it bang the awnings and rocking this metal box to-and-fro. No words were spoke between us as the tensions of recent events still boil fresh in our minds. The worry and concern seething from our silence, making the tension almost palpable; as we sit here bathing in such silence.

    The door is loose again, and I turn, reluctantly, noticing the thrashing door; it is now time to fix the door again. I stand up and trudge over to the opening of our shelter, and stare out into the elements. Wind, ice, snow, cold, and pestering precipitation assault me. I squint, looking for the USB cord that is being used to tie the thrashing door to the inside of the trailer; our only defense to the elements.

    After a couple of minutes of wrestling wire, I return to my post. Sitting in front of my laptop, as my dad sit across from me with a laptop of his own. I lean over to the side of my laptop to get a look at him. He stares at his screen, breath visible. Attentive, I thought. I let him be, as he is undoubtedly deep in concentration, writing or reading.

    I sit here now, in silence again. Listening to the wilds thrash against our little metal box. Desprately looking for something to get my attention off of this cold. This cold seeping further across my body. It is getting too cold, which warranted a look at the door, or the lack-there-of. The door is now missing from its broken frame. I once again lean over to the side of my laptop to look to my father for his thoughts on this. His breath visible, now looking at the door, lets out an exasperated sigh.

    We both get up and step outside into the wind, ice, snow, cold, and ******** rain. Fumbling around with a door that is too light to even protect us from the elements. My father wasn't thinking too clearly, as he was trying to attach the door back into its rotten frame. Getting annoyed, I bark out the order to get back inside and I will deal with it. We/I finally submitted to the idea of bringing the door inside and propping it up. As I am bringing the door in, I hear a loud pound on the ground. I look back, and there my father lay. In mud, wind, ice, snow, cold, and ******** rain. I drop the door where I stand, and jump into the mud to attend to whatever may be ailing my father.

    He shivers, violently. His skin as cold as the soft giving ground he lay in. My mind is in a panic, the one and only foundation I had in my life, to teach me, to guide me, to further my life to the point where I can live, is now laying on his back in distress. I take my jacket off and awkwardly put it on over his jacket, sweat shirt, shirt, and longjohns. Thinking of the time he covered me in blankets to rush me to the hospital when I was young. It took all my might, but I picked up all 220 pounds of my reason of being, thinking of the time I sliced my foot open at a friends house, and he, whos breaths are getting uncontrolled, ripped me from their parents arms as they placed layers of onion in my foot to stop the bleeding.

    "I'll take care of this, dad." I shout above the chaos that the world has wrought upon us, as I remember his enraged shout,
    "Keep your old onion, I'll take care of this."
    I bring him to my mothers car, and run inside her house to let her know the situation. The two of them sitting on the couch, buzzed no doubt, were abruptly awakened from their blissful intoxication. I yell to my mother that my father is laying in the car, practically unconscious. She fumbles to her feet, almost falling over. With a concerned tone, she asks a ridiculous question (If my memory serves me correctly, it was: what happened) which I quickly disregarded with a command for her keys. My mother reaches for her keys and I rip them out of her hand forcefully, stomping my way out of their house as he just sit there without acknowledging anything other than the TV.

    I start the car, not having driven before. I look over to my father, who sit in the cold breeze of the heater. I lean over and put my arm around him, as I look ahead at the dirt road, iced over and filled with pot-holes, with the idea that I had no knowledge of any hospital around. I hold him against me,



    "This is going to be a bumpy ride."

    I accelerate out of the driveway.

    --

    Now I sit here, writing out a memory with faded events. I sit here with my laptop, my dad sitting across from me with his. The door propped up against the inside of our little metal box, and the sun shining outside.