Guilty （adj.） – Liam
GUILTY (ADJ.):
HAVING BEEN CONVICTED OF A CRIME OR HAVING ADMITTED THE COMMISSION OF A CRIME BY PLEADING "GUILTY" (SAYING YOU DID IT).
LIAM
Ithaca, New York
Thirteen Years Old
My father was always late for everything.
No matter how hard he tried, he and time could never get along.
Everyone in our small town knew that if you wanted to get “Big Liam” to an event before it ended, you’d have to tell him it started three hours early.
And even then, he’d arrive two hours late.
Alas, whenever something came up that was special to me, he’d promise to be “no more than five minutes late” and say, “Just look for me in the back, son. I’ll always be in the back.”
For the most part, this was true.
It wasn’t until I qualified for a huge chess master event in New York City that my mother swore that they would be sitting in the front row two hours before the competition began.
She promised she would pick my dad up from work and drive him so they would be on time.
I wanted to have my doubts, but when my chess team pulled out of the school parking lot, I spotted my mom’s car pulling into my dad’s job.
He’s really going to be on time…
Three minutes before the match began, neither my dad nor my mom were anywhere to be found.
I took my place on stage, assuming that my father’s lateness had infected her.
They’ll get here eventually…
I finished my first match and didn’t see them, but I figured they were in the back somewhere.
I won my second and third match in record time, and I kept looking up, trying to see my mom’s usual wave or her lips saying “Blame your dad,” but I never did.
It wasn’t until the awards ceremony—five hours later—that I realized they didn’t show up at all.
Sighing, I called the house phone.
No answer.
I called my dad’s job.
No answer.
Sighing, I bummed a ride with a friend.
They better have a good excuse for missing my big win…
We were halfway home when bright red and blue lights flashed ahead, and traffic had come to a complete halt.
“Probably another eighteen-wheeler getting off track or dumping its spillage there,” my friend’s dad said. “Be patient, boys.”
“Okay…” “Alright, Dad.”
Restless in the back seat, it took me half an hour to ask if I could step out and stretch my legs.
“Sure, Little Liam,” my friend’s mom smiled. “Just don’t go too far.”
“I won’t.” I slid out and gagged at the smell of smoke and “spillage.”
It wasn’t awful enough to return to the car, though, so I just paced on the road’s shoulder.
Traffic still hadn’t moved half an hour later, and I couldn’t take the wait anymore.
They should’ve cleared the road by now…
I weaved between the cars ahead and dropped to my knees when I saw the sight ahead of me.
It was our family car—wrapped around the metal railing so tightly it looked like a ribbon.
There was blood splattered in the windshield, glass shattered all over the concrete.
Another car was pushed against the other side of the road, its red luxury frame heavily dented on the driver’s side.
And that scent in the air wasn’t spillage.
It was death.
“Dad! Mom!” I screamed and crawled toward the car, but a group of men grabbed me and pulled me back.
“Get off me!” I kicked at them. “Get the fuck off me!”
“Son, you need to calm down.”
“That’s my parents’ car!” I wailed. “Are they already at the hospital? Where are they?”
They pulled me far away from the scene, not answering me.
The moment they let me go, I raced toward it again, but this time they set me in the back of a police car.
“Are you Little Liam?” A cop in the front seat looked at me through the rearview mirror.
I didn’t answer her.
“We had a team of officers heading to Ithaca to look for you.”
“For what?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she pointed to the toddler in the car seat next to me.
“That’s Little Ryan,” she said, holding out a baby bag. “Do you mind grabbing the sippy cup out of there and helping him drink this until someone comes back to explain what’s happening?”
“I want to see my parents,” I said. “Which hospital did you take them to?”
She offered me a sympathetic smile and stepped out of the car.
I sat there with Little Ryan for what felt like forever, even changing his diaper at one point because the police were taking too long to come back.
After what felt like forever, the traffic to my right was moving again and I remembered that I was supposed to be in the car with Nico’s parents.
Before I could bang on the window to get an officer’s attention, I saw Nico’s mom standing on the side of the road.
She was sobbing uncontrollably in her husband’s arms, and her husband was looking at me with teary eyes.
I knew what that look meant, but I refused to believe it.
Not until someone told me.
Not until I saw my parents for myself.
Suddenly, my door swung open, and a police officer reached for my hand.
I couldn’t take it, though.
I was now holding Little Ryan, and he cried every time I tried to place him into his car seat.
“Well, son…” The officer ran a hand through his hair. “There’s no easy way for me to say this, but your parents were killed tonight in an accident.”
I blinked.
“That little guy’s parents were airlifted to a hospital, but…” He looked down. “They’re not expected to survive either.”
“My mother is the safest driver I know…” I refused to believe it. “She doesn’t get in accidents.”
“From what we’re seeing, this wasn’t her fault, son.”
“So, who the fuck did this?”
He didn’t answer that.
“Do you have some other family members in Ithaca that we can call?” he asked. “It’s policy that we have to make sure you’re with your next of kin. Aunts and uncles, perhaps?”
“Both my parents were only children…” I felt something rising up my throat and handed Little Ryan to him.
“What about grandparents?”
“No,” I said. “It’s just been the three of us my whole life.” I vomited on the road and fell to my knees.
The next thing I knew everything went black.