Walking out of the jail cell I know as school I felt the summer heat creeping in on me. After weeks of spring rain it felt goo to have the sun on my face. The last pieces of winter ice thawed off and I embraced the giddiness of summer. I started walking to my car, smiling as I passed my fellow class mates; we had been through a lot this winter, more than a lot. Winter had stolen from us some of our family, our friends. The harsh winds forced them to run home quickly, unrelenting snow hid the warning signs, and a vicious, cruel Jack Frost broke the ice.
I had been racing home in my car when I saw Kay and Lily with the children they bring home after school, little siblings and their friends. A small baby sitting gig that would pay for the cars Lily and Kay desperately wanted. I had slowed down to ask to see if they all wanted a ride home; especially since they seemed to be going the wrong way. The snow was whipping each way so I figured they could not really see.
I pulled over, parked and tugged my jacket tightly against myself. Looking out the window I could see the group walking carefully. I screamed from the window, but my voice didn’t travel two inches from the warmth of my car, the wind whisked it away. I jumped out of my car, slipping and almost colliding with a sign. Yellow peeked out from the covering of snow. Wiping the snow away I saw the sign. My heart gave a jolt; everyone was walking on thin ice. I began to scream warnings moving as quickly as possible towards them.
There was a loud crack, screaming, and a sheet of ice flipped up. When the ice resettled it had been like a demented Houdini had done his grand finale; the kids were gone. I ran to where they had been, dialing 911 on the way. I looked below the ice and promised help to the hands and faces staring up at me from under the ice. I couldn’t just stand there. I found the hole in the ice, diving right in.
Knives made of icy cold water rammed themselves into my flesh and it hurt to open my eyes, but I needed to get the little kids, get my friends. I felt hands grace my skin; I looked to find little kids floating limply, eyes closed, lips blue. The icy chill finally reached my heart as I saw the same image all around, of peacefully sleeping children. My friends Kay and Lily had sunk the furthest down the look of regret frozen on their faces forever.
I felt my lungs tightening adrenaline was being replace by the feeling of failure. And I was finally feeling my surroundings. It was then that I saw a bubble coming from the mouth of one of the little boys; there was still a chance for him. I swam with a ferocity I had never had before. When I reached the boy I grabbed him under the arms, already he was beginning to feel like a granite block. It was getting harder to swim with such a lack of oxygen, but I finally found the gap in the ice. I shoved the boy up then climbed up myself just as the ambulance and trail of other emergency cars arrived.
The EMT’s worked tirelessly on the little boy, the police asked me questions, and someone put a blanket around my shoulders. So much was going on around, me, but I only saw the little boy, lips blue, hair plastered to his face, and fingers failing limply from the stretcher. People were telling me to go inside somewhere and get warm, but I had to see what would happen, if I had actually saved one person. I heard a man scream we got him breathing. I watched the small chest heave up and down trying to make up for the air that it had lost. Still, the boys eyes never opened he was sleeping on the brink of death. As long as he opened I would know it was okay. Finally I was dragged away from the scene. I left as the last body from below the ice was pulled up and still the boy’s eyes had never opened.
The sun was out now and the ice melted. I hoped the warm weather would melt away the nightmares that had tormented my sleep. I would toss and turn; the sheets would become the freezing water keeping me trapped beneath the ice. The kids, my friends were one kick stroke away, one more exerted effort, one that I just couldn’t muster up at the expense of four lives. I would wake up screaming, the images burned into my mind, getting clearer every time my eyes closed.
Timmy, the little boy, had survived, but barely, his eyes still had not opened and his body was unresponsive. Doctors used big medical terms to explain why little Timmy was comatose, but I knew it was because I hadn’t run fast enough to where everyone fell, had not swum quick enough once submerged, hadn’t responded in time when I saw the bubble of breath.
I had visited Timmy in the hospital at least once a week. I had tried going to the funeral held for all the victims, built the faces that looked toward me in unison drove me right out. Pity, their eyes held pity. I didn’t want pity I was the one who couldn’t save the ones everyone was here to mourn. I brought everyone together, I dressed them all in black, I made tears flow, I sealed the caskets, and I lowered the coffins into the cold ground. What hurt the most though was that of all the things I could and did do, I couldn’t open Timmy’s eyes.
That day as I raced from school to visit Timmy, as I had for months, I prayed Timmy’s eyes would be alert to see the first signs of spring. The birds chirping, the dripping water from melting snow, and the kids screams of joy Timmy should be playing with should be loud enough to wake him up from his winter hibernation, it had to.
Walking through the coma care unit nurses smile, we had come to know each other over the past months. There was something in their smiles though; something was being held back.

Cheryl and Bob, Timmy’s parents, stood outside Timmy’s room with a nurse. Cheryl’s shoulders sagged; her limbs seemed as if she was struggling to keep themselves up. Bob was trying to keep his wife in a standing position, but too much of his energy was exerted in holding back the tears that welled in his eyes. A broken heart reflected in the pool of water of water. Cheryl’s eyes seemed blank, like doll eyes, black, round, lifeless, of no use other than show.
A harsh pregnant silence commenced upon my arrival. The nurse skidded away leaving all the pain behind.
“W-w-worse”, the wobbly voice of Cheryl stammered.
“Worse? What do you mean?” I demanded of Bob.
“Hi condition; he is not responding as well as he has been. The chances of him coming out of it are almost not there”, Bob’s tears finally flowed his energy finally spent in trying to admit to admit the truth out loud. It is amazing how much the truth can take out of you and I was beginning to fear what it would take out of me.
“Don’t say that. Have hope, he can pull through”, I said more to myself than anyone. Your whole life your told you can do anything, that perseverance and hope can work miracles. Where had my hope brought me; into a hospital’s coma unit watching over a poor little boy, a boy whose own faith and hope had failed him. Hope was a falsehood, when you finally had to fall it replaced the ground with nails and shards of class so that reality tore through your very being, ripped at your heart and left you in shreds unable to sew yourself back together.
Bob obviously was having as hard a time believing me as I did. He just turned away and led his doll wife to a chair where she would continue her lifeless stare at the patterned tile floor.
I ran through the curtains that blocked Timmy from the cruel world around him leaving the curtains billowing in my sorrow. I sat by his side grasping his hand tight although, I knew he wouldn’t hold my hand back. His hands were so small; yet, already they felt so dead, his fingers, like slim icicles, laid upon my hand. They possessed the blue like hue so I rubbed his hands to keep up his circulation. I felt the blood moving a little quicker under my efforts. Yet again though, as much as I tried it wasn’t enough to do any good.

“Sarah”.
My head shot up. Quickly the blood ran from my head and I got dizzy. Looking around I saw that no one else was with me in the room. I wrote it off as imagination and settled back down. I curled up into my chair, holding my knees to my chest as tight as possible to keep my heart from bursting. Knees held tight to keep my heart from running away, abandoning me. The accident, the deaths, closed eyes, and doubts of recovery were too much for a heart to handle. How could I keep faith? Hope? Keep everything that had failed, that had frozen and shattered over the winter? What was a heart without anything? My feet fought to keep balance on the chair and my hands held each other tight to keep my knees upright, out of desperation, to keep anything that might be left.
I nestled my forehead between the crooks of my knees and looked down at my feet.
“Excuse me?”
Without looking up I said, “Can I just be alone please?”
“Why?”, the voice was a young boyish soprano, light and whimsical. What stupid mother let their kid run around a hospital?
“Where’s your mom kid?”, I could tell the kid wasn’t moving; his voice was stationary, but I still refused to get out of sulking position.
“I can’t find her. Last time I saw her she was dropping me off at school. She kinda embarrassed me. Kissed my cheek in front of Mike and Jessica, the coolest kids! She zipped up my puffy jacket too much and it bit my neck. She said sorry, but I had to wear the jacket ‘cause of all the snow. I just know I wasn’t cold”. Snow? What was this kid talking about it was beautiful outside. “ I kind of miss her even though she can be embarrassing. I don’t really know where I am or where my puffy jacket went. My mom will probably get really mad. The only thing worse than loosing a jacket for mommy is to stain it. One time I got… “. The kid was going on and on about grape juice on his sweater, how his mom flipped, but he still drinks grape juice because he “lives on the edge”.

True this might have gotten a giggle out of me, but I w still wanted this kid to go away. I was hoping eventually the kid would get it, that I didn’t want to talk, I hadn’t even looked up yet to satisfy this kid with eye contact.
The kid had stopped talking and I heard the squeak of rubber against tile, maybe he was finally off to find his mom. Alas, I could not be so lucky. Two small sketchers entered the tile I was staring down at. The shoes were adorned with little bright lights that spazzed every time the kid shifted his weight back and forth impatiently.
“My mom says its rude not to look at someone when they are talking to you”.
“That’s nice”
“Actually it’s not! I just said that didn’t I? It’s rude, aren’t you listening?” I could hear a tightening his voice as if holding back, probably remembering something else his mom had told him about speaking with an inside voice.
I felt kind of bad; yes, I was in a bad mood, but the kid was probably just lost. I lifted my head, “Look Kid—“. I flipped over in my attempts to scramble away. I hit the floor hard and sent stars spinning around my head. I pulled the chair in front of me, between myself and the kid, I blocked myself from little Timmy, his eyes wide open in confusion.
I looked from the young lively Timmy with alert open eyes to the Timmy with closed eyes lying limply one the bed. Two of them? It was obvious they were the same person, but one was dressed in your typical grananimals easy attire, and the other a harsh Johnny from the hospital. One had greasy hair, blueish skin and bruises still remaining from an icy impact. The other had reddened cheeks, animated expression, and a quirky smile across his face.
“Your silly,” he giggled.
“And you don’t exist”, I reassured myself.
“Don’t exist? But look”, Timmy did a little jig, jumping up and down while flailing his arms.
“So?”, I asked
“Something that isn’t real couldn’t be that cool. Only stupid things like unicorns don’t exist.
“You don’t exist trust me kid it’s impossible, that’s… that’s the real you there”, and I pointed to the hospital bed.
Maybe it wasn’t. I wanted this apparition to be the real Timmy so much. I wanted these open eyes and smiling face to become reality. It should be real. Timmy didn’t deserve his reality.
“I don’t see anything”/
“Right there in the bed, it’s you”.
“The bed is empty stupid”. With stupid Timmy crossed his eyes and overemphasized the word on his lips, making a tight o and a large slap of the lips on the p.
I started getting louder, “I am not stupid your fake! I am real, the chairs are real, the curtains are real and your basically dead body is REA:L!”, a single tear left my eye, slowly making it’s way down my cheek, leaving a stain on my skin.
“Now… don’t cry”. Timmy reached out and wiped the single tear off my cheek gently. “No reason to cry”. I felt it a small smooth thumb for a split second against my skin, almost not there. It was gentle, but there. I gasped at the sensation. “I am real”. I believed him.
The rest of the week was just as sunny as that first day, yet a storm raged inside. Lighting struck my head, thunder made my head roll. Why was I imagining Timmy?. Better yet, which one was I imagining? I couldn’t ask anyone, my sanity would be questioned, not that I wasn’t questioning it myself. If I could figure it out on my own things would be fine, no harm, no foul. School dragged on and nights were spent staring at the ceiling as if the answer would fall down like a dusty piece of drywall.
I was a full week before I worked up the courage to enter the coma ward. I walked slowly eyes darting from side to side. Could the nurses tell? Do they get training to pick out the insane ones? Did I even qualify as insane?
? In case they could tell I walked briskly to Timmy’s room. Bob and Cheryl were sitting inside the room, both the comatose and awake Timmy were laying on the bed. Timmy waved and smiled as I entered then looked back towards his parents.
Cheryl’s hand was over her mouth, fingers twitching on her cheek. Between each finger was a gleam of white. Was she smiling? Her son was in a coma, she couldn’t be smiling. Was he though? There was after all a perfectly lively child sitting on the bed making faces and odd noises. Why wouldn’t a mother smile? A nurse walked in and was ignored by Bob, Cheryl, and Timmy. She began messing with the tubes, needles and other medical equipment I couldn’t pronounce. The possibly mourning couple stood up, still ignoring the nurse, Cheryl smoothed the Lively Timmy’s shirt. Or was in the comatose child’s bed sheets? Then she walked out.
“Hi Sarah!” Timmy exclaimed
“Hey Kiddo?” my voice questioned his existence.
“You looks sad”.
“I am”.
“Why?”.
“Because my friend is hurting”.
“Why?”.
“Because I couldn’t save them”.
“Why?”.
Good question. Why couldn’t I? “Because”.
“That’s not an answer!”, Timmy protested.
He was right, it wasn’t, but I didn’t know myself. Was it that I didn’t try hard enough, or some theory of fate that wanted it to be so. Instead of interrogating myself I changed the subject. “How are you feeling?”
“Better I remember stuff now, you saved me!”.
“I did?” my spirit lit up.
“Pulled me from the ice. That’s where my puffy jacket went. I am happy about that though. Mommy says I have to thank you, this is one time Mommy might be right, but only this time”.
“Your very welcome”. I looked around trying to find the nurse make sure this was happening. “Where’s the nurse?”
“What nurse?”, Timmy’s head cocked to the side.
“The one working on you, just a moment ago”.
“There wasn’t a nurse”. Was she imagine, were all the gadgets and gismos keeping Timmy alive real? Was the comatose Timmy real? I could feel the rubber tubes and metal machines cold on my fingers. Yet, I had felt Timmy wipe away a tear, my tear, on my cheek.
“There definitely was a…”, I looked to Timmy with his rosy cheeks and sideways smile sitting with his legs crisscrossed on the sheets holding his ankles together as he impatiently swayed back and forth. “Nothing, there was nothing. I got to go”. Without a goodbye I walked from the room.
“Where ya going?”. I ignored Timmy’s question and walked out of the wing.
I didn’t know what to think. Was I losing my sanity or getting it back? Which Timmy was being imagined, which one real? In my deep thought I ran straight into a man.
I had fallen down and the man kindly let out a hand and a smile to help me up. His white insert gleamed against the black like a beacon of hope and help. “You’re a-“.
“Reverend? Yes”, the man chuckled. “Can I be of any assistance to you?”
I began wondering what a priest would be doing in a hospital. Luckily just before I asked reality struck me, how often reverends and other religious figures frequent hospitals.
I must have been staring because the priest asked, “Can I take that as a yes?” Without another word the reverend gently led me to a sitting area and sat me down in a plush patterned couch. He sat beside me, hands neatly in his lap, feet firmly on the ground and face cocked in my direction. The reverend smiled at me, his teeth slightly crooked, and this put me at ease. He was not some perfectly angelic figure, his left front tooth crossed the right slightly and his bottom teeth were positioned as if an infant had been trying to line up dominoes. The smile was warm as well as comforting.
“Do you believe in… in some sort of the supernatural?”, my voice shivered. Was talking to the reverend confessing my possible insanity?
“Well, yes. Have you been seeing a supernatural being?”.
“ Yes, I mean I don’t know. It is some sort of apparition whether super natural or not I don’t know”.
“ Seeing as you are roaming around a hospital, I am sure you are going through a very rough time. It is not uncommon for those with great grief or guilt to manifest their feelings into some sort of visible image”.
“So a manifestation of guilt?”. My eyes opened wide and I scrunched my nose up in disbelief.

“ I could be. Many people visualize something in difficult times”. His words, a gift from God maybe. I wasn’t insane, it happened to other people too.

“How can you tell it isn’t you just losing your mind?”. I begged for an answer that would just make it all better.

“It might not be as black and white as your thinking. I am no psychologist, I have not received a PhD in the area, but you have to face whatever it is that is causing these images. Confront the grief, the guilt that is holding your prisoner, break free. Do you understand?”. His eyes were warm, trying to help my desperate soul. These men need more credit.

I felt my spirit lift, my face brighten things were looking up; I wasn’t insane. “Thank you Reverend…Minister, Father?”. He just smiled and nodded, understanding I might not know what exactly he is and what he stands for, but I appreciated him and the help he had had offered. We would both leave feeling a little better about ourselves. He had done some good and I may possibly have solved my issue I returned his smile and ran back to Timmy’s room.

Walking in I saw Lively Timmy wave back and forth fervently with an over wide smile and wide eyes. Comatose Timmy looked worse than he did even five minutes before when I had left; his eyes closed, tubes criss-crossing to block parts of his face which had lost three shades of color. His nurse, who had returned in my absence, was writing chicken scratch mindlessly across a clipboard. She did not acknowledge my entrance, but carefully moved poked and prodded Timmy’s body getting no response where there had been before.

“What are you staring at?”. Timmy jumped around in circles around staring at his doppelganger he couldn’t even see. “My nurse says I am getting better you know!”. I snapped out of my stare to look at the excited, rosy cheeked little boy.

“Really?!”, my smile grew and I knelt down to Timmy’s eye level. His eyes were open and filled with hope of returning to a playground, to his friends, many of which were dead because of me. Timmy though,, I had saved him, I kept these hopeful eyes open towards the future, open for soft summer grass, igloos and snowball fights, for the rest of his childhood. As joyous as this made me, I still felt the tearing of little cold hands of those frozen in time at my heart, freezing my blood hope and emotions.
“Yea! I get to leave the hospital tomorrow. Everything is better now”.
“My eyes were closed, but I wasn’t getting any sleep. I tossed and turned on the bed, the sheets already thrown to the floor, my racing mind on overdrive. The priest was right I needed to confront my issues, get this all over with, but who do I confront? Which Timmy? I began to cry leaving crystal clear puddles on my pillow for my eyelashes to wade in.
I woke up and saw my Saturday morning crying as I myself had the night before. The morning wept rain and screamed thunder. The clouds encompassed the sky blocking all hope of sun for the day.
I drove slowly, the rain making my tires lose traction. The wind shield wipers creeping across the window steady like the rain. Lightning would flash and for a split second it would appear as if the sun was out and shining on its lovely world. But this world was not as grand as it appeared for after the electricity and light retracted itself back into the sky the bleak reality would return.
As my car pressed on, my thoughts wandered to Timmy, both of them. I couldn’t take it much longer, the feeling of sanity slipping away, eroding away. I could not just accept a life like this, I could not lose myself completely, I could not let this take control of my life. I had to solve my issues, confront this all head on, come to terms with my guilt, or my grief. Which one, grief or guilt? If Timmy really is in a coma my grief, wanting so badly for the little boy to survive could create the lively Timmy. On the other hand if Timmy had come out of the coma, my guilt for not getting to him quickly enough or to the other or not being able to save the others could have my mind still having him in a coma. Why had I let so many of them die?
I was so deep in thought I had not even realized I had arrived at the hospital. I had arrived to Timmy’s last day. I exited my car, neglecting the coat and umbrella in my passenger seat. The rain had gotten heavier during my ride and I felt water drench the bottom of my pants. With each step water would fly up from the puddles I indifferently walked through. Each droplet soaked my pants further. My hair banded into strands from the new moisture and stuck to my face. My shirt clung to my body, I didn’t care though, I was consumed in thought to the point where anything outside my consciousness simply didn’t matter anymore. The slight melody from water dripping off my clothes with each step across the hospital floor, the murmurs of anxious people by the side of their loved ones, the stares from nurses because of my trance like walk, none of it mattered. Until I reached Timmy’s room. I saw his parents just outside the curtains that paneled off Timmy from everyone. Cheryl seemed less doll-like, a little recognition twinkled in her eye . I showed up towards the end of their conversation.

A nurse I had only met a few times smiled toward Bob and Cheryl A smile that could have been hopeful or consoling. She stated, “ Today he is leaving the coma ward.”, gave another undisclosed smile and walked away.

He was leaving? Today was his last day? Well that was like a missing piece to the complex jigsaw puzzle of my mind. A puzzle of a single color, no distinguishing features to figure out where each piece should fall. Today being Timmy’s actual last day was a new puzzle piece that gave the rest new contours, curves and colors laying each in exactly where they fit.
I walked to Timmy’s bedside. Both lay sleeping side to side, their opposite arms almost within reach of each other. Just one more sleepful twitch and they would be there.
“Congrats”, my voice was soft
Timmy’s eyes flickered coming alive as his twin lost another shade of color.
“Today is your last day, you get to go home!”. With this Timmy Perked up; sitting straight up and ruffling the sheets with ripples of excitement.
“Your right”. Timmy jumped bed jumping around looking around for shoes or bags, something.
“How do you know you will be alright kid?” I asked wary of an answer.
“I feel good, great like superman”.
“Even superman has his weaknesses though”, I mumbled looking at the comatose Timmy, his machines blinking, tubes filling and his heart rate monitor beeping slowly as my own heart raced. “How do you know you won’t get hurt again?”. I walked over and held a plastic tube that weaved under Timmy’s nose, giving him oxygen. The tube was cold, too cold to be sustaining life.
“Well you got to have faith. You can be better than the weaknesses that’s what makes a superhero super”, I tightened my grip on the oxygen tube. Timmy walked over beside me, “A superhero has faith in himself, in the others around him. That’s why when he leaps he flies”. I ripped the tube from Timmy, fast. I pulled at all the wires and tubes, Ivs, and machines. Alarms went off, but one noise prevailed, the constant buzz of a heart monitor without a pulse. I fell to my knees Timmy holding me as my tears bounced off the green tile floor.

“I sat there crying believing Timmy had been holding me, but as the comatose, now dead Timmy didn’t disappear I turned around to find a nurse holding me, alive Timmy fading with a smile and a wave. I stopped crying, dumbfounded. It was then I heard the screaming of frantic nurses”. My voice had trailed off at the end of my story.
Dr. Socio had sat silently through the whole story, no scoffing, no rolling eyes. I had leapt, had faith in the good doctor. Now it was the spit second before I would know I would know if I would fly or fall. The blissful moment of floating on air.
“Do you see Timmy anymore?”. Dr. Socio was not condescending, not prying, simply curious, just interested.
“No, not yet I haven’t, sometimes though, as I being to fall asleep I’ll hear his laughter and the squeak of a swing in tandem.
“As if he is at the playground?”.
“I know he is, that’s all I wanted for him, another chance to be a kid, when I think of kids I think of playgrounds”. A new wave of grief went over me.
“Did you ever for a second have an inkling that Timmy was only being moved to another area in the hospital or some kind of hospice?”.
“No , but that’s what they meant. Timmy was not responding well enough they knew he wasn’t going to survive, they just didn’t know how long it would be”.
“How did bob and Cheryl, Timmy’s parents feel? Were charges pressed?”. Dr. Socio questioned.
After Bob and Cheryl entered the room I had begun stammering apologies and explanations. “Cheryl fell to her knees down next to me. Her eyes began to let loose small tears. It was the most emotion I had seen since the accident. I was preparing myself for a slap across the face , for some form of violence”.
“Did it ever come?”.
“No”, I looked down and began twiddling with my thumbs, “She hugged me crying into my shoulder. I was surprised, but it felt like a thank you. I just wasn’t welcome, it was the hug that made me realize what I had done. I hugged her back. We knelt there crying for quite some time”.
“and Bob?”.
“He became the matching set to Cheryl’s doll side. All expression was drained from his face all emotions gone from his eyes. It was worse for him, I know. I apologized, explained. I hope he understands, but I haven’t seen either since”.
Dr. Socio scribbled away on his clipboard, each curve and line delving itself into my psyche, judging what I had done. Of course I felt guilty, I had euthanized Timmy, but a little part of me thought a little good could come from it all. Just because it hadn’t yet didn’t mean it wouldn’t. Without the help of a psychologist I had figured out I needed a little hope without it, I hadn’t done so well.
The doctor leaned back into his chair after leaning forward to appear attentive, listening to my story. The plush leather back to the chair held the good doctor up. His face, full of confusion, disbelief, yet understanding, reveled in having something to keep him propped up.

He sighed. “Sarah, after listening to all this. I have no idea. I just don’t know what to tell you”. I wasn’t surprised at all, but I let him finish. “I can tell we will have to have at least a couple more visits”. I nodded, thanked him and walked out calmly, unlike my last appointment. Just the fact that Dr. Socio didn’t but into my story with comments of disbelief and criticism helped me. I feel each time I tell the story I figure a little bit more out, and maybe Dr. Socio will help, as it had only been my second time telling the whole story straight through. Every other time I had been interrupted, scoffed off, called a liar, a psychopath, a killer. I was not a killer was I?
Leaving the office I finally worked up the courage to go to Timmy’s grave site. I had been too ashamed to attend the funeral, I could just picture it. I would walk in and again everyone would turn and look at me with fear and shame because once again I was the reason they were all together.
I walked past rows and columns of graves wondering if the sight of his grave would bring me to tears. I hadn’t cried since the hospital, I felt my tears had been spent, as sad as I was.
Approaching the sight I saw Bob and Cheryl holding each other while placing a large bouquet of flowers down. I looked down at my pathetic puny white rose. Nothing in comparison to a parents’ love. I let it hang in my hands walking slowly behind a tree to not be seen. I slipped down the trunk balancing the rose on my knees.
After a while I heard some whispers then foot steps. I closed my eyes hoping that if I couldn’t see them as they walked by they wouldn’t see me.
“Sarah”.
I didn’t work. I opened my eyes to see Cheryl above me, arms crossed her sundress flowing slightly in the warm breeze. It seemed so wrong for the sun to shine and a gentle breeze to blow in such a sad place.
“Oh…uh, how are you?”, I started to rise.
“Actually I am okay”.
“I’m glad”.
“Sarah, I am glad I saw you. Bob didn’t, but I saw you slink behind the tree”. Guess I wasn’t as stealthy as I thought. “I want to thank you”. I looked up into her eyes abruptly.
“You want to wh—“.
“Just let me finish. I was nothing without my son. Life just wasn’t anything without him. I needed him so badly. I lost sight of what I should have done”.
“What do you mean?”, I questioned feeling quilt filter away slowly.
“I didn’t see what was right for him. He was suffering; at least you helped him get to a better place Sometimes I hear him laughing when I go to sleep”.
“With the sound of a swing set in the background?”. I smiled. Cheryl returned the smile nodding before embracing me tightly. The tighter she held me the freer I felt, from guilt and sorrow.
A single tear fell down my cheek but was blown away by a wind that carried the sound of laughter and a squeaky swing. The two of us began to giggle at the sound then had a moment of silence before she walked away.
I stepped out from behind the tree to find Bob still standing above the grave. After the short meeting with Cheryl I hoped Bob would be the same. I walked slowly apprehensively. I felt a squeeze of reassurance and looked down to see Timmy smiling and holding my hand. With my double take he was gone.
I stood beside Bob, feeling slightly stronger with my little encounter.
“Hello”, whispered Bob with the weight of the world weighing down his voice. I saw the drying streaks of fallen tears twisting down his cheek. “How are you?”, the anger was hidden deep down but laced the end of his question.
As he went to turn his arm shot up to wipe away the remnants of Timmy’s tears from his rosy, blushing cheeks ashamed to show any emotion in front of essentially the one who assisted in his son’s passing. I grabbed his arm, not letting him wipe away the tears, the memories if the love for Timmy. If anything there should be more tears, from everyone. Yet, the graveyard was empty, and the flowers were watered by misshapen sprinklers and a cranky yardsmen, instead of loving tears.
Bob was astonished, “What are you doing?”.
“There is nothing wrong with crying, no reason to hide them”. I was crying basically everyday not too long ago”.
“It’s just he didn’t deserve any of this”.
“I know he didn’t”, my voice began to crack with emotion.
“People try to console me, ‘he is in a better place’ they say. How cliché. How do they know? How can I know?”, Bob stammered having to force the words out.
“You can know, listen”, the silence between us was immediate. The breeze blew and the sound of laughter and joy ruffled our clothes as it swept by. Bob’s eyes widened, less open minded than his wife.
“Is this—it sounds like—is it?
“Timmy? Yes”.
“How do you know, how can I?”.
I thought for a second searching for the perfect words. What do you tell a mourning father? How can you say it to be believable? “I know you disapprove of what happened. But, I look a leap of faith. I had to fall, but”, I paused. “I had to fall to let someone else fly, to become the superhero.”. Bob’s head whipped up, new streaks of tears paving their way down his cheeks. “When Timmy leaps, he flies, I fell so he could fly. I fell so that when you leap you can fly too”. I looked down at my shoes letting it all sink in. I had fallen, hard,m but for others benefit. I could rise up again, hopefully, but others had to come first. I looked back up seeing the understanding in Bob. He nodded and began his brisk slightly lighter walk to his wife. I turned back to the grave.
Timmy sat criss-crossed on top of his grave. I sat across from him, grasping his hands in mine. The tiny glowing hands were slightly substantial and warm in my hands. I smiled to him, he was in a better place and his smile reaffirmed my belief.
“Thank you”, he said before being whisked away by the wind and the waiting playgrounds.
“No”, I whispered while placing the single white rose upon the grave, “thank you”.