Putting Wings On Lead

She could hear the DJ speaking over the P.A. system at the block party down the road. Her heart raced to the rhythm of the fast paced dance beats dropping from the speakers like debris from a burning building.

She was looking down, the fall was long, and as much as she wanted to jump, she couldn’t bring herself to do so just yet. She thought back to the time when she wasn’t out to put herself six feet under.

It was late September and the warm summer nights had taken a plunge into winter temperatures. She walked through the woods, hand in hand with him.

“Look!” He shouted, pointing eagerly to their right.

“A lake!” He unhooked their hands and took a running jump right into the water. She smiled at him, laughing,

“Come on in! The water’s warm!” He floated, grinning and waiting for her to oblige.

“Come on!” He shouted again, beckoning her with a flick of the wrist. She pulled off her nice shirt, hanging the dark fabric on the tree next to her, and adjusted the grey wife beater she wore underneath. She took in a deep breath, the cool air washing over her, and dove in.

The water truly was warm, as he had said. She came up from air,

“Wow, you’d never expect it to be this nice in here so late in the year,” She turned around to see he was nowhere to be found. She raised an eyebrow; he always was one for tricks. As the tips skimmed the rocky bottom of the water, she strained her eyes to see beneath the surface of the water in the dark.

“Come on, this isn’t funny!” She shouted after a moment. Still no response.
It wasn’t until she looked back up that she saw what would ruin her life forever. A glittering red pool surrounded a half submerged rock, and all she could see was the yellow shirt, dimly lit by the minute starlight peeping through the cover of the trees.

Immediately she pulled herself out of the water, frantically grabbing his shirt and tugging his body out of the water. His blonde hair stuck to his face, black-tinted blood caressing his fair skin. For a while, he lay motionless, the only sign he was alive was a faint pulse she constantly checked for.

He choked a few times, his pale eyes opening ever so slightly.

“Oh my god, baby!” She cried, relief washing over her.

“I’m okay,” He coughed, an attempt at laughing gone wrong.

And she drove him quickly to the hospital, and stayed there with him every day, hoping he’d get better.

However, things only got worse. The water had been filled with normally harmless bacteria, the doctor told her, and however, with the immune deficiency he had, the wound became a paradise for pathogenic organisms to flourish. The moment that wound touched the water, there was no way to know the degree of destruction that could be caused.

With no antibiotics strong enough to kill the disease due to his lack of immune system, there was no way the process could have been stopped.

He was dying, they told her the next day. There was nothing they could do…the infection had reached his brain.

The pain medication they put him on had him floating, and that was exactly what she wanted for him.

She didn’t want him to feel anything, to fear anything.

She watched his caving chest heave in shallow breaths as he stared in her direction.
“I love you, baby…” She said, squeezing his hand. He smiled a bit beneath the bulky mask delivering oxygen to his deprived brain.

“Love you too,” He choked.

“I’m tired,” he sighed, his voice soft. She cringed at the words,

“Go to sleep then, and dream of me,” She kissed his cheek and watched as he drifted off. After a moment of watching his unanimated form, the heart monitor told her what she already knew…he was gone. She cried and screamed, and begged them to fix it, to bring him back, but she knew that what had happened could not be undone. She drew a cross on her chest with her hand, praying to god her son be protected.

That was six years ago.

But now, she was sure she’d got it right. He wasn’t here, and he had been her only reason to stay.

She’d tried eight times since he died. She’d tried drowning herself, overdosing, cutting her wrists.
You name it and it had probably been done. Tonight she planned on using everything she could find to make sure this was the end. She looked down at her hand. Xanax, her anxiety medication, was overflowing from between her fingers. There were about eighteen all together, she imagined. Two times eighteen was…thirty six. Thirty six milligrams of Xanax. One by one she swallowed the pills, chasing them with a swig of vodka every time. She stepped closer to the edge of the building. She was a ticking clock at this point, it was only a matter of time until the pills kicked in.

Every passing minute she took in more alcohol, gagging and spitting from the burn. She could feel the vomit in her throat. All the drugs were doing was making her sick, just like they’d always done.
Something in her already regretted this, she wanted to turn back.

“It’s not worth it!” She shouted out to no one in particular, the urgency in her own voice unnerving her. She looked around frantically for a way out of this mess.

“Hel-“ But it was too late. She was no longer trembling on the edge of the building. Her legs gave out and she toppled down towards the joyous party below her, the vodka spilling and bottle crashing to the ground just before she did.

Her face hit the concrete first, a shard of broken glass tearing through her jugular. She’d died on impact, but it was as if God wanted to make sure she couldn’t be revived.
There were screams around her, pandemonium taking over.

“Call the ambulance,”

“Where did she come from?!”

However, the most prominent face in the crowd was that of her husband, 35 year old Preston Brookes. His face was set in a horrified countenance, bile retching its way up his esophagus and onto the ground below him.

“Why?!” He screamed, falling into the filth on his knees.

The funeral was a terrifying time.

Preston stood, trembling at the pedestal near her closed casket.

“Lillian was an amazing wife and mother. She was always faithful and always there for those who needed her. She always blamed herself for what happened to our son six years ago, but I never did. God knew it was his time. He took away from our son the suffering he would have faced in the near future. If I have any qualms against the Father, it is that he did not take Lillian sooner, and end her suffering as he did our son’s,” There was a murmur of disbelief and confusion throughout the family and friends present at the congregation.

“Don’t misunderstand. I’d rather have kept both Jacoby and Lillian happy and healthy with me, however, God works in mysterious ways. And now I have our name to hold and their stories to bear. I hope they are together now,” He said, and wiped a lone tear away from his face,

“And I hope one day, I am with both again, too,”