400 word narrative

“How long do you think it’ll take? An hour? Just call me when you’re done”, my dad said, steering the car towards the curb to let me out.
“Come in with me! I need someone to talk to when I get my nails done. It’s awkward when I go alone”, I pleaded, not giving my dad the option to leave.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly lifted his leg out of the car, protecting his knee from bending. An old soccer injury, his knee cap was swollen and sore, but he shuffled his way into the salon to keep me company.

“You get all your stuff packed?” my dad shouted from his room upstairs.
I shoved the last pile of clothes into my bag and bounded up the stairs, plopping myself on the bed when I reached the top. My dad had on his ratty, green golf pullover that I usually stole to wear around the house and a pair of sneakers I only saw on him during our trips. He folded up my vest and stuck it in his bag, careful not to catch the suede fringe in the zipper. Dragging another bag out of the closet, he packed extra blankets and armfuls of snacks. He made sure as that as Indian Princess troop leader, he brought enough food that my friends and I could avoid the nasty cafeteria slop.

“Is he going to be okay?” I sobbed into the phone, collapsing on the ground as I mumbled to my mom.
“He’ll be fine honey, his knee just has an infection in it. I’m leaving the hospital now, I’ll be there to pick you up in about 20 minutes.” My mom cooed, trying to console me.

“I’ve never tried one”, I admitted, pointing to the gyro in the commercial.
“I’ve failed you! After everything I’ve taught you, you’ve neglected the gyro,” gasped my father in complete astonishment.
My dad was a big guy and wasn’t afraid to preach about how he got there. No hotdog stand had gone unvisited and no roadside sandwich shack was past by. It was my dad’s goal, no, life long mission, to teach me his ways.

I walked into his hospital room and was immediately crushed. His eyes appeared the color of the bedding, an almost lifeless green, when they had once been a bright and vibrant color. His hands, the light colored yellow of the table, lay limply by his sides. All I could think about was forcing him to walk the few feet to watch me get my nails done. I felt like I had been the one to put him here, in this coma-like state.