You're Tricking Me

I stood waiting for the 5 o’clock bus, in the cold, wet weather. I looked at my watch; 4:59. For some reason I doubted the bus would ever show up. I began to grow impatient, and my heart rate increased. This always happened when I got mad, always. My cell rung. I pulled it out of my pocket, and flipped it open.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Dad, it’s me, John,” said my son. He sounded high-strung, anxious.
“Yes? What do you need?” I said, slightly worried.
“Where’s mom?” he asked urgently.
“Well she’s standing right next to me,” I responding, glancing beside me towards my wife.
“You’re lying to me, you’re tricking me!” he hollered into the phone.
“Son, what are you-“ The line went dead. I looked back to my wife, and she read my face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“It’s John, I think he’s in trouble.” She didn’t respond, but when the bus pulled up we got on as fast as our legs could carry us.
We arrived at home and busted through the doors.
“John!” I hollered, followed by my wife. Silence, absolute silence. It was almost deafening.
John appeared at the top of the staircase. He looked frightened, terrified. He breathed heavily, I could hear it from downstairs. The whole house seemed to be on edge. My wife looked to me to say something.
“John, what’s wrong?” I asked as calmly as I could.
“You know what’s wrong!” he shouted. “You lie to me, you trick me, my phone told me so.” My heart went into a frenzy. Was my son crazy?
“Honey, what do you mean your phone told you?” my wife asked.
“It told me everything. Mom was here the whole time, you didn’t think I’d notice. But when I called her name she wouldn’t answer. You’re trying to scare me,” he said chillingly.
“John, come here,” I requested. Surprisingly he obeyed. He slowly moved down the stairs, looking terrified as he did before. “Now tell me, did you take your medication this morning?”
My son was schizophrenic, and he needed to take medicine for it every morning.
“What medicine? It told me you would ask me that. It told me!” My son was furious. His eyes filled up with tears. “Help,” he whispered.
My wife rushed over and held him close. She began crying as well. I went into the kitchen where his pills were located, and grabbed one. I brought it over to him.
“Now just swallow this and you’ll be alright,” I told him. He nodded and swallowed the pill.
“I’ll put him to bed,” my wife said. She took him up the stairs and I walked into the living room, plopped onto the sofa, and shut my eyes. I felt terrible for John, it must be terrifying to see and hear people that aren’t really there.
My wife entered the room and sat beside me.
“I think he’ll be alright,” she whispered.
“That’s what we said before we left,” I replied. Her arm wrapped around my shoulder, and I forced a smile.
“So how about we see the doctor tomorrow, see if we need a new medication.”
“I guess, what’s the harm?” I stared at the ceiling fan and the twirling blades made me feel very tired and woozy. I slowly drifted to sleep.
A hand touched my shoulder. I opened my eyes, and the world was hazy for a moment. My son stood above me. He was crying.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, I had to throw out my phone,” he said sounding very ashamed of himself.
“Why?” I asked. I was very confused. Why would he throw away his phone?
“It was lying to me. It said you didn’t love me, but I know you do.”
“Yes I do love you son.”
“It was tricking me.” He sat in my lap, closed his eyes, and fell into a very deep sleep.