A summer day in 1981…
A short story…
That morning she got a phone call from her dad. She was summoned to attend the funeral of her stepmother’s mom. It was a Saturday and all she could think about was: “why?” At 17, she also had a skewed sense of obligation. She did not know the lady well enough, or at all. Her dad however, was very fond of his mother in law.
On the way to the visitation, she kept wondering how long the day would be? She saw her brother who could read her mind. He said: “don’t worry, you will not be there long. I will pick you up on the motorcycle.” An enticing proposition because she loved motorcycles and riding with her brother even more.
After what seemed hours, her brother arrived. He dropped her off at their dad’s work and rode back to return the bike. That was the moment when unbeknownst to all of them, their lives would change. Suddenly and in a fury, someone entered screaming that her brother was dead. And then another. And another. She started screaming and crying. Her dad got in his car and like a fury rode to the place of the accident. An employee attempting to calm her said “don’t worry, unless the ambulance drives by really fast, he is okay.” Within seconds the ambulance rode by really fast. She gave him a look. They all froze— had he died?
At the hospital, it was all a waiting game. There was blood all over him. It all became a revolving flow of people who came in and out, gave instructions, asked questions, and they waited more. Suddenly stories about the accident started to come forward. A driver who did not stop at the stop sign. The failed breaks on the bike. The precise location where the car stopped which prevented him from falling over into a cliff. Waiting in the hospital became a breeding ground for weaving stories. Still in coma, no one knew. The hours were longer than the day. It all happened so fast and yet so slow.
The summer days became longer and longer. Each day in bed waiting. Each day in bed recovering. He was almost 16. A misunderstood hunger for relief from the pain and a familial system unprepared to deal with it.
He would have turned 60 this past September.
Love,
Alma