Jeremy's song
What I know: He'll be okay.
My mother's face turned pale and the officers offered, again, to escort us to the hospital.
"We can handle it thank you," I said through clenched teeth. "I'm sure he's fine."
I escorted them to the door, and ran upstairs to grab my backpack. The guys call it my man purse, cause I carry it around the way a lady would carry a purse. Passing the hallway mirror on my way back down, I caught a glimpse of a ghost-white face with dark-rimmed glasses and chestnut brown hair. I knew it was me, but for a second, the guy in the mirror was a stranger to me. I smiled at the mirror, and the reflection grimaced at me. I showed my teeth, and it looked like a snarl. The stairs groaned under my weight, but besides that, the house was silent. Mom walked out of the kitchen holding her sweatshirt, and handed me the keys to the Jeep. She locked the front door, and we crunched through the gravel walkway to get to my blue '97 Jeep Wrangler.
The ride to the hospital was silent, besides our muffled breathing and the sound of outside coming in through my open window. When we finally parked outside the ER, my mother spoke her first word: Kevin. We left it at that.
The lights in the waiting room were dimmed, and we walked up to the lady at the desk. She looked like she didn't want to be there. I wanted to reach out and tell her that I wasn't supposed to be here. It was an accident, and the police went to the wrong family that night. I wanted to tell her that it wasn't actually my dad in there, but instead, I asked where we could find Kevin Pike. She said that he was in room 1013, and gave me directions. 10:13; the irony.
The scrawny man in the hospital bed had tubes in his throat, and IV's in his arms. His face was a bloody bruised mess. He had an oxygen mask on and his breaths were in spurts. his arm was in a cast. His arm. Where was his other arm? Obviously this was not my father. I took a few steps back, God forbid this man's family walked in on us. I looked at my Mom for guidance; what do we do now?
"Kevin" She gasped. I wanted to tell her that this was not him. That my father had two arms this morning. I wanted to tell her that the man who taught me to wrestle would never need an oxygen mask to breathe. The man who lifted with me on the weekends was not shriveled up and unconscious. I wanted to run away, but instead, I watched my mother walk over to the hospital bed and sit on the chair beside it. She spoke his name again, and repeated it over and over in sobs.
I spoke with a nurse, and she gave me forms to fill out. I told her that was not my father, and she verified the name with me. I told her again that she had the wrong person, and she frowned at me.
"Fill them out," She said, her eyes watering. "Just in case."
I sat in one of those sticky lobby chairs and read over the sheets of paper. I knew my dad would be in soon enough to save me from this place.
"We can handle it thank you," I said through clenched teeth. "I'm sure he's fine."
I escorted them to the door, and ran upstairs to grab my backpack. The guys call it my man purse, cause I carry it around the way a lady would carry a purse. Passing the hallway mirror on my way back down, I caught a glimpse of a ghost-white face with dark-rimmed glasses and chestnut brown hair. I knew it was me, but for a second, the guy in the mirror was a stranger to me. I smiled at the mirror, and the reflection grimaced at me. I showed my teeth, and it looked like a snarl. The stairs groaned under my weight, but besides that, the house was silent. Mom walked out of the kitchen holding her sweatshirt, and handed me the keys to the Jeep. She locked the front door, and we crunched through the gravel walkway to get to my blue '97 Jeep Wrangler.
The ride to the hospital was silent, besides our muffled breathing and the sound of outside coming in through my open window. When we finally parked outside the ER, my mother spoke her first word: Kevin. We left it at that.
The lights in the waiting room were dimmed, and we walked up to the lady at the desk. She looked like she didn't want to be there. I wanted to reach out and tell her that I wasn't supposed to be here. It was an accident, and the police went to the wrong family that night. I wanted to tell her that it wasn't actually my dad in there, but instead, I asked where we could find Kevin Pike. She said that he was in room 1013, and gave me directions. 10:13; the irony.
The scrawny man in the hospital bed had tubes in his throat, and IV's in his arms. His face was a bloody bruised mess. He had an oxygen mask on and his breaths were in spurts. his arm was in a cast. His arm. Where was his other arm? Obviously this was not my father. I took a few steps back, God forbid this man's family walked in on us. I looked at my Mom for guidance; what do we do now?
"Kevin" She gasped. I wanted to tell her that this was not him. That my father had two arms this morning. I wanted to tell her that the man who taught me to wrestle would never need an oxygen mask to breathe. The man who lifted with me on the weekends was not shriveled up and unconscious. I wanted to run away, but instead, I watched my mother walk over to the hospital bed and sit on the chair beside it. She spoke his name again, and repeated it over and over in sobs.
I spoke with a nurse, and she gave me forms to fill out. I told her that was not my father, and she verified the name with me. I told her again that she had the wrong person, and she frowned at me.
"Fill them out," She said, her eyes watering. "Just in case."
I sat in one of those sticky lobby chairs and read over the sheets of paper. I knew my dad would be in soon enough to save me from this place.