Skipping Stones - COMPLETE

Chapter 3

IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO hold back the wails. Even though I recognize that I don't even whether I've lost one or both of my parents, I know it can't be good. I turn a quarter so that I can help carry my grandmother to Papa.

"Pop," I whimper.

He pushes off the ground and moves towards us. I've never seen him cry. He shakes his head, and then glances towards me. He swallows as he wipes the tears from his eyes, his brows furrow. "We gotta go."

That wasn't what I expected. "Where are we going? What's happening?" I beg for information. Maybe we're all overreacting. Maybe it's not as bad as we thought. Maybe those are tears of relief for my Papa.

Memaw is barely able to speak, her voice cracks. "Where to, Lee?"

"Hospital."

I need to know what is happening. I'm not five. I'm fifteen. I'm old enough to know what in the heck is happening. "Are they okay?" I ask as we all climb back into the van and fasten our seat belts.

He doesn't say a word. He just shakes his head. "Tony's..."

He's talking about my dad. "Tony's what?" I plead.

Memaw reaches her hand over and places it on his thigh. "Lee...What's wrong with Tony? And what about Felicia?"

He doesn't answer as he backs the van out of the gravel, winding driveway. As he shifts the gear to drive, he stoically replies, "Felicia has been airlifted to Doctor's Hospital Burn Center." The police are in front of us. It's a small town. My grandparents are very well known, liked, and respected. I would assume that we're getting some kind of escort to the hospital.

Memaw and I gasp. I cover my mouth as the tears I'd just dried up resume. "And Daddy, Papa? What about Daddy?" I ask.

Memaw reinforces my question. "Yeah, Lee. Please tell me Tony is okay. Please, tell me that he made it. He has to be okay."

I can see Papa's big brown eyes in the rearview mirror filling up with tears. He doesn't respond. He just shakes his head.

Memaw buries her head in her hands. The only time I've heard cries like this are on TV. I've never witnessed a mother finding out that her baby, even if he is forty-five years old, has passed. Maybe it's because I'm in shock, but it's taken me a second to follow suit with the bawling. I can't contain the feeling that someone has taken a scalpel and sliced my chest wide open.

***

WHEN WE ARRIVE at the hospital, we're ushered to the Intensive Care Unit. This experience reminds me of times when I would be watching movies with my mom. I remember always asking, "What does that mean? What's happening?"

She'd always reply, "Shh, you're watching the same thing I am."

Her point was always that she didn't know any more about the situation than I did because we were seeing the same thing. If I didn't understand, then neither could she. You'd think I'd learn, but every time I always thought there might be a chance she would understand. The whole older and wiser thing.

It's like that right now. I want to ask a million questions. Can we see her? Can I touch her? What happens next? But I know they are all a lost cause. I know in this moment that if my grandparents knew what was going on, they would tell me. It's obvious by their walk, the firm grasp they have on each other's hands, and their blank stares they are just as lost as I am.

So I just tag along, like a broken third wheel. I watch everything, listening intently for a clue. It's a distraction. It's something to do to get my mind off of the alternative, which is that my father is gone. My Daddy. I shake my head. No, Alex. You can't do this right now. Be strong. Chin up.