Mesmerizing Views #2
Listening to her advice was crucial. I understood, but couldn’t obey it.
Staring at the ceiling, I fought to be set free from her hold.
I demanded a replica of the moment before Dad— “Pleeeease,” I begged, my body arching off the bed.
Panic shot through me with stinging pricks of pain that seemed to plunge into every nerve in my body.
I wanted to get back to that damn sky and learn how to fly so I could swoop down and save him.
I needed to squeeze him tighter so we’d never leave the seat of his Harley. I needed…
I barely registered the needle prick to my arm. Nonetheless, I sensed the nurse’s guilt. The medicine she just forcefully delivered had her feeling she’d betrayed my grieving process.
Maybe she was correct. As the sedative began to take hold, sadly, I was tragically aware there were no sunrays finding me now. “I’m the only survivor.”
Like the bridge, my life had exploded all over again. This time, I was old enough to witness it.
Noma swayed on her feet, while numbness possessed her face. “Yes.”
Lying in that bed, witnessing the strongest woman I knew demand she stay on her feet, even though all she truly wanted was to crumble to the floor, I only then realized not only was a father lost this day, but today was the tenth anniversary of her daughter’s death.
My mother.
I will never celebrate my birthday again.1
When I awoke, a thick tension had returned to the hospital room.
It lingered with the notion of time being a life-or-death sentence.
Either verdict was full of danger. In front of the window to my right, Noma whispered of a reversed sentence into a cell phone I didn’t recognize.
“He was resuscitated at the clubhouse.” Her back was to me while she nodded.
“Yeah, it has to be how he survived.” She exhaled through another nod.
“Yeah, the nurse in me is baffled. Only a concussion. Three broken ribs—” Her free hand covered her face as her shoulders caved in.
“Broken blood vessels in his beautiful brown eyes.” I’d heard her speak hospital verbiage my whole life, so these descriptions spoke a lot about who was on the other end of the call.
This person had no medical degree. “And more bruises than a polka-dotted dress.”
After a moment, she practically pulled out her dark hair.
“Oh yeah? Then how did he get there from the bridge?” She started to pace while listening.
“Float?” She balked. “With a helmet that is practically an anchor? Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.
You know better—” After she listened some more, she tossed a frustrated hand into the air.
Her whisper felt like a barely withheld scream.
“The explosion sent him half a mile down the road?” She pointed to the window that was exposing the night as if seeing the person.
“Fine, then explain to me how he landed, perfectly on the seawall, without touching the water, yet was soaking wet—” She spun around when hearing the door open.
Her eyes were wide with terror until she saw it was another nurse.
Sighing, she spoke into the phone, “I have to go,” then ended the call.
Witnessing her relief, I grabbed my stomach, which was under attack by her worry. “You’re afraid of the gunmen coming here.”
Noma blinked in disbelief, though she chose not to lie to me. What was the point? I’d now seen fear in its rawest form. I’d grown up in the blink of a gunfight. I’d matured in the mere second of an explosion.
The nurse, also dropping the ruse, whispered in Noma’s ear.
Something about suitcases in the car. A car?
Noma had a small SUV. I guess nothing was going to be the same now.
I balked at the idea, not wanting to leave the only home I could remember—the life I had loved.
But what was left without my father and uncles?
I tried to release sudden nervousness with my foot twitching under the blanket but couldn’t shut down a snide remark. “The gunmen need more victims?”
Slipping the cell phone into her front pocket of tight-fitting jeans, which didn’t exactly scream grandma clothing, Noma ran her other palm down her stressed face until a doctor entered the room.
Shutting the door behind him, the doctor raised a chart to Grandma, who was already turning her head with a glare as if to warn, You better be giving me what I want.2
He nodded, showing her the paperwork on the chart-slash-clipboard while approaching. Passing my bed, this doctor finally remembered I was there. His eyes scanned me. “Maddox, how ya feeling?”
Nodding, a lie that I was fine, I couldn’t stop watching him go to Noma. None of this felt like proper ‘hospital versus patient’ behavior. Noma, reading the chart, captured my attention until another man rushed into the room.
Everyone jolted, expecting the worst guest. One who planned to harm instead of help.
The man shut the door, then bent over, resting his hands on his knees. “You’re still here.” Then, without giving himself time to catch his breath, he held up a manila envelope. “It’s done.”
Discarding the chart back to the doctor, Noma rushed to the end of my bed where the suited man met her. Noma was quick to grab the envelope.
His suit was in disarray, but he smoothed the material back down while Noma pulled out the paperwork.
I opened my mouth to ask, What’s going on? But familiar brown eyes told me to stay quiet before they quickly scanned documents. Shuffling through the paperwork, she suddenly stilled and paled when coming across a smaller yellow envelope.
Her reaction was unsettling, yet the man in the suit, the doctor, and the nurse turning away to put their backs to her before she opened it had me trembling. I couldn’t swallow as I stared at her, waiting to learn what had her so upset.
Tears cascaded down her cheeks while she looked at two passports, birth certificates, and IDs. No one had to tell me that I lost more than brave uncles and a loving father. Now, I was also losing my name.