The Noodles

“Hey Dad.”
“Hey son.”
It was here, in a lowly hospital room, somewhere in the slums of Chicago, where Tony Stephenson came to see his dying father, Frank.
“Son,” came the weak voice of Frank, surely upon his deathbed.
“Yes father?”
“At the end of your life son, it won’t matter how many good deeds you did in your life.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes, son. It won’t matter that you raised your family in love and righteousness.”
“Really dad? That’s odd,” replied Tony.
“Yes, son. It won’t matter how many people’s lives you saved, whether by untying them from railroad tracks, or taking bullets for them, or doing something truly heroic and selfless.”
“Really? That seems weird. That seems like it would be important—“
“SHADDAP WHEN I’M TALKIN TO YOU!” yelled Frank. It wasn’t really a yell though. It was more of a yell-whisper, since he was dying, you know.
“Sorry Dad,” said Tony.
“It won’t matter that you loved your wife to the very end of your life, and were completely faithful to her, and that you kept your promises,” Frank said.
“Gee,” replied Tony.
“Only one thing matters in a person’s life, Tony. One thing. Do you know what that one thing is Tony?”
“Uhh,” said Tony. “I can’t think of it. What is it?”
Frank looked his son right in the eye.
“Tony,” he said. “The only thing that matters is whether you eat enough of the noodles.”
“What noodles?” asked Tony.
“Son, the only regret in life I have is when I went to that one party when I was like, 22 years old. They had these really great noodles. I mean, really great. And this delectable sauce that you got to pour on top. Sauce, Tony! You got to pour the sauce on there yourself! If you wanted just a little sauce, you could choose to just put a little sauce on there. If you wanted more, well, you could have more. It was your choice. I ate one plate of these noodles.”
“Wow, sounds like some great noodles,” said Tony.
“Yeah, they were. Well, even though they were great, I still only ate one plate of noodles. I forgot to eat more of them. We got to dancin’ and havin’ a good time, and I just plum forgot to eat another plate of those noodles. When that party was over, I was taking your old mom home, you know we was datin’ then. And about halfway to her place, I realized something—I had forgot to eat more of the noodles!”
“Geez,” said Tony. “That’s uh…way bad. Bad? Is that bad?”
“You have no idea, Tony. I mean…usually when you like something, you eat more of it, but that was the first time I can remember where I actually didn’t eat more of something I really liked. Does that sound crazy to you son? Does it? It does to me.”
“Wow Dad, that is pretty crazy,” said Tony.
“Darn right, son. So crazy that I’ve never forgot about it all these years. It haunts me every night.”
“It haunts you every night? That’s weird. I thought that you’d be haunted every night because you killed Mom 15 years ago. “
“SHADDAP WHEN I’M TALKIN TO YOU!” Frank snapped. Even in his frail, dying condition, he was still Tony’s father, and Tony had to respect that.
“Son?”
“Yes father?”
“Go grab me some hospital noodles. Do it. Do it now! I think I’m about to pass on son. I can see the angels coming son! I can see them! They’re in this room! They’re coming son! Hurry!”
“No problem Dad!” said Tony, and he bolted out of the room to grab some hospital noodles, unable and unwilling to disappoint his old dad in his final minutes.
Tony ran down the hall.
Noodles, he thought. Gotta find noodles. Gotta do it for Dad.
Time was winding down.
He turned a corner.
No noodles. “Dang!” he swore. So he went around another corner. Yes! The food court! And a vendor, with a giant obnoxious sign across the front: NOODLES AND MORE! He ran up to the counter, where a young teenager was standing behind a cash register.
“Gimme some noodles!” yelled Tony.
“What kind of noodles?” asked the teenager.
“I dunno! Good ones! What kind of noodles do people like?”
“Well,” she replied. “The bowtie noodles have been pretty popular today.”
“All right, gimme those,” replied Tony.
“We’re out of the bowtie noodles,” she responded.
“WHAT THE CUSS?!” yelled Tony. “Then why did you tell me they were so popular?”
“I dunno,” said the young man. “I don’t know why I say a lot of things.”
“Gimme the next best thing!”
“Sir,” said the young man. “You’ll have to let me know what kind of noodles you want.”
“JUST GIVE ME THE GOSH DANG NOODLES!!!” screamed Tony, pulling a gun on the kid. Tony was an angry angry fellow.
“Geez! Ok ok, put the gun down. Here, take these noodles,” he said, scooping some noodles into a to-go box. Tony threw down a twenty-dollar bill, grabbed the box, then bolted back towards the hospital room.
Only seconds now.
Must get him the noodles, Tony thought.
Must not disappoint Dad.
He threw open the hospital door at last. “DAD!” he cried. “I got them! I got the—what the?”
The hospital bed was empty.
Empty? Impossible. It was as though no one had even been in the bed. The sheets were folded nicely, there were no wrinkles.
“But,” said Tony. “Dad. He was just right here.”
Just then, a nurse walked by.
“Nurse,” said Tony. “What happened to the man who was in this room? Just a few minutes ago?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “Now you’ll have to excuse me, I’ve got important business to take care of.”
“But there was a gentleman in this bed just a few minutes ago! Frank Stephenson! Do you remember?”
“Ahh yes,” she said. “Frank Stephenson. One of my favorite patients. Too bad he died last week.”
“Huh?” asked Tony, stunned. What in the name of Sam Hill…?
“Yeah. He died. Real interesting fellow. Too bad his kids never came to visit him.”
“Then...who was I talking to???” asked Tony.
“I don’t know, there hasn’t been anybody in this bed all day,” replied the nurse.
Then Tony stood there with a big wide-eyed look on his face, and some really mysterious twilighty zoney music started playing, and everybody was just like, way weirded out. And then Tony ate the noodles because he hadn’t had anything to eat all day.