LinkBack URL
About LinkBacks
The weather was a complete mess, an endless blur of splashes and red globs of rear ends as Samantha raced franticly through the traffic atop yellow streaks that glared menacingly of caution. Thunder crackled above highlighting her own disheveled profile on the windshield, a backdrop of bridges and green highway signs falling in the shadows.
Oh God, she thought, unconscious that her lips were chanting the phrase in a whispered dirge. Thoughts crammed into her mind like a an infinite collision of freight trains tearing into each other as they came careening, exploding in illogical shards. What happened? How could this happen? Was it her? Was it him? Oh God, how could this happen?
Tears fell uncontrollably, had since the cell phone beeped the hospital’s number in daunting green glow when she was rising from sleep beginning to comprehend the words that were being spoken. Would he be okay? She’d implored. “I’d rather you be here, as soon as possible, to explain better.” He’d said the phrase with slow emphasis so that it could sink all the way through.
It had. All the way and back again. She’d grabbed keys and cell phone, an emergency pack was in the trunk, and sped from the driveway. As soon as possible? What if possible wasn’t good enough? The question skidded from the tracks and imploded, blasting shock waves and debris; there was only one possibility. Yes, she admitted, only one that mattered. She would have to stop it, she must.
No I won’t let you, stay away damn you. Stay Away! The syllables ricocheted the hurling scream from surface to surface, a hard and brittle stream that struck holes in Samantha’s sanity like light-speed bullets. She pressed the pedal all the way to the floor; the engine’s roaring response washed the interior in desperation. The tears fell faster, larger down her cheeks.
There it was! The tires squealed unmercifully as the mesh of metal dove right to an exit ramp. The hospital loomed ahead, then closer, until she was beneath the entrance overhang. From frantic speed to a complete stop, the car lurched forward straining to keep from a pitching forward. The seat belt loosened and she was gone, running barefooted on the concrete, into the lobby, head searching for the elevators. Remember Sam! Remember were they are! She remembered: they were around the corner on the left. Floor five was the pediatric ward. Without looking, her fist punched the button.
She heard breathing beside her. An elderly woman was leaning against the aluminum siding holding a pair of pajamas and house shoes. Samantha saw her eyes searching, probing into the tangible fear that had materialized and encompassed her.
“Who is it?”
“My grandson.”
“I’ll pray for him tonight.”
“Thank you.” But it won’t work. I’ve tried that for years and still …here I am.
The elevator binged and Samantha squeezed through the opening. An arrow pointed right, waiting room and ICU. She ran but slowed to a fast walk as the double doors came suddenly closer. The possibility was there behind the wooden frame and sterilized rooms. What if …She hesitated for an infinitesimal increment of a second and opened the door.
Their voices were undeniable: a mangle of raw hatred, sarcasm, selfishness, pity, etc that snarled from their throats like a dog choking.
Her son, pointing a long starved finger: “You did it to’em! You left it out on the floor beside the toy box! Freakin’ idiot!”
His wife, in a frantic almost uncontrollable rage: “It was your fault, all yours! I didn’t wanna wash that scum from the bathroom, I told you that! But no, the man of the house demanded it! I’m not a slave!”
She went to the nurse’s station, unseen by the two.
“The doctor called concerning my grandson, Carson Tidwell, where can I find him?”
The nurse paged him and a few seconds later he appeared.
“Sorry to call you Sam under these circumstances.” He put a hand on her shoulder drawing them away from the scream match. “Carson will be fine. He swallowed a cleaning agent, but luckily, not much was ingested. The pizza delivery boy, who saw him thrashing on the floor, called 911.”
“A cleaning agent? A pizza delivery boy?”
Her mind was cold, struck with an inhuman sense of oblivion. The pieces came together seamlessly; she knew them too well, had put them together countless times before. She’d left the bottle on the floor. They’d let him wander unwatched, unconcerned, unloved. If not for the delivery man the possibility would be reality.
“How long must he have lied there Daniel, after swallowing the stuff?”
“Fifteen maybe twenty minutes. Why?”
The pizza place was only ten minutes away. They’d order food while their son lay dying, thrashing on the floor. They must have heard the noise, the whines. What were they thinking?
“Do you need some time to sit down, Sam?”
“No, I’m alright.”
How frightening, that she wasn’t lying to him. She was really all right, not livid with anger, not sad, not disappointed, not brimmed with malicious revenge. Not even with disgust.
“I want you to understand, that in these circumstances, we have no option but to call child protective services.”
Samantha nodded calmly. Of course he’d called, who wouldn’t.
“I’ll let them know your here.”
He hugged her before he walked away and glimpsed at the couple still arguing. She noticed the look in his eyes, the one she could never have.
And so here she was again. They saw her when she sat down, the worn leather crackling into position. The halogen lights cast a deep shadow over them, as if two characters on a stage, both froze neither recalling the lines.
Once he was fatter with full cheeks and a rounded chin, but the poisons had taken that away - the youthful innocence. And she had been prettier, more precious like a fine china doll. The frame was cracked at some places now, the paint of her pupils dim and forgotten. They began to argue again, pointing fingers, starting the whole charade anew.
She waited.
In the beginning, things were great. Perhaps not great, but happily contented. He laughed and giggled at the least humorous moments. The spontaneity often made her ponder if he was really hers, maybe there had been some mix up at the hospital. And then the chubby chin would wrinkle like parchment paper crumpled, and she would see her dad there in that instance. When had it changed, the movement forced into a slow and degenerative dive of positive actions?
The first cigarette. That friend, Mark who thought he was some gangster. Is that first time she’d said he’d grow out of it? Maybe…but there could have been times before. And then there was the first crime, the first drug, the first bail payment, and insurance payment, and fine fee where she’d pleaded her first case, promised for the first time his willingness to make amends, to listen, to stop, to rehabilitate. The first lie. The first time the tears had fallen in the dark recesses of her heart.
He married at seventeen. She divorced at forty-one. He had no money in the bank. She owed fifty thousand in debts occurred in the first times, the second times, the third times…She’d lost: husband, home, life.
She lived for them, to save them.
To save from what?
From not having a mother since the age of ten, to be reliant without a safety net, from raising siblings like children. From the pain and agony of themselves.
Was it truly salvation? Was the effort bearing fruit? Could there be hope? The questions revolved, spun into an endless cycle of actuality vs. potentiality.
“I hate your stinkin’ guts, you know that pig!”
“You’re a slut, trailer park trash that was throwed away! Your nothin’ but…”
She let it in for a few minutes, musing over the words. There was no mention of him. No one said son or Carson. He was unreal to them, a minor concern since there was someone else.
Images flashed in alert fashion of white sand beaches and rolling dark blue waves. Did she want this to be her life, standing before her, lying on a gurney recovering?
She’d waited long enough. The cell phone beeped twice. “Hello, Mrs. Samantha. This is Norene from CPS.”
“Hi Norene.”
“The doctor called and told me you had arrived and are aware of the circumstances. I assume this is correct.”
“Perfectly.”
“Good, in that case, we’re going to place them back in your custody for the time being. Is that okay?”
“Absolutely.” How would she pay for day care, afford the loss of sleep, hours on the job, and rest. “Its not a problem, Norene, at all.”
“And how are those two doing now?”
She looked up and a tear fell.
“They’re talking calmly, now. I think this really got through to them.”
Reply With Quote
