Untraceable

Survival Skill #52

Escaping a survival situation can be life altering.

~

The paramedic stops as I run up. Tommy is lying down with tubes in his nose and eyes closed. A sheet soaked with blood is draped over him.

I swallow and whisper in his ear, not wanting to disturb him. “Tommy? Are you okay?”

He opens one eye. “Never better.” His voice is hoarse.

I rest my head on his chest and cry. “Tommy, gaest-ost yuh-wa da-nv-ta.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize, Elu.”

“This is all my fault. Please forgive me.”

His eyes look wet, tears stuck in the corners as he winces from pain. “How about we make a deal? I’ll forgive you if you forgive yourself.”

A lump rises in my throat thinking about Dad, not having the heart to tell him.

Tommy whispers. I lean down to hear him. His breath tickles the little hairs on my ear. “Don’t worry. I already know about Joe.”

I kiss his forehead and watch a tear roll down his face. “I tried.”

He sniffs and winces. “I know, Elu. I know.” He grips my hand and stares at his watch. “Think it’s time I got this fixed?”

I smile. “I thought time was nothing but an illusion.”

He takes in a raspy breath. “It was until I got more of it.”

I remove the watch from his wrist. “I’ll take care of it. It’s the least I can do.”

The paramedic interrupts us. “Miss Wells. We need to go ahead and transport him to the hospital. He’s in pretty bad shape but should recover just fine. Do you need a ride there?”

Mom walks up and answers for me. “Yes, thank you.” She twists my hair back into a ponytail like she did when I was a little girl.

I cross my fingers behind my back before asking him a question. “Sir? Do you know if anyone else survived?”

He nods. “A couple were detained and charged.”

“So some lived?”

“I think so.” He motions toward a few gurneys. “Those are the unlucky ones.”

My heart lifts. “So if someone’s not here, it means they could be alive?”

The man nods once. “That’s right.” The wheels squeak as he pushes Tommy up the path.

Mom speaks gently into my ear. “Try not to look, honey.”

I grip her arm as we head up the pathway. A couple of stretchers line up side by side, carrying bodies covered in black tarps. I spot a hand hanging out from underneath one of the covers.

Something’s dangling from the wrist.

My bracelet. The one Dad gave me. The one I gave him.

My breath sticks in my throat as I move closer. I feel my Mom clutch my arm to hold me back but I pull away.

If it’s Mo, I have to know for myself.

I stare at the facial features outlined under the cloth and reach out to clasp the edge of the sheet.

Just then, the man in a blue blazer blocks me with both arms straight out. “Trust me. You don’t want to see this.” He spins around and pushes Mo up the hill without another word.

I slump to my knees in a prayer position and watch the man load the body in a van. I bury my face in my hands and weep. Not just for Mo, but for everyone and everything that’s been murdered today. And I can’t help but feel I’m responsible for the deaths of all these men. I cry for Mo and Dad. I also shed some tears for me.

For the ray of hope in my heart that was so easily snuffed out.

For the broken vision of my future.

And for everything I’ve lost.

Visions of my time with Mo zoom past. I picture his beautiful smile. The way he called me Blossom. Our kisses. Our laughs. Like a movie trailer, a bad montage of our short but very real relationship rolls on until the end.

I cry and spit and choke and cough. Afraid I’ll never care about anyone in that way again. How can I go back to being without him when he brought out so much in me?

Mom kneels down and is crying too. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry, sweetie. About everything.” I’m not sure if she even knows what or who Mo was to me. But nevertheless, somehow she understands and is finally here for me.

And this time, I let her be.

“I really cared about him.”

She whispers in my ear. “I know.”

As I wipe my face and nose on my t-shirt, Mom helps me to my feet. She clasps my hand and pulls me down the path.

Slowly, step by step, I walk away, leaving behind a piece of myself.

A piece that, someday, will be untraceable.