Listen to the Words

The Middle of the Night

The hospital lights were intense. The waiting area was vast, and full of empty chairs. It was dark outside, and when you looked at the windows you could only see your reflection. The whole place smelled medicinal, like the smell of Band-Aids times a million. Behind a counter, phones rang and beepers beeped and nurses hurried back and forth.

Jason sat in a plastic chair, and the night's events shot through his mind. After he'd called 911, he had run back to the bleachers. Tiffany lay in the same position, and she wasn't moving or making a sound. He had kneeled down next to her, held her hand and said, "It's okay, an ambulance is coming. It's okay."

When the faint rhythm of a siren sounded in the distance, he dropped her hand and ran to the edge of the field. Flashing lights sped down the road, and he signaled with both arms. The ambulance and two police cars sprang over the curb into the grass, and Jason ran back to Tiffany.

"She fell," he said, as the ambulance stopped and paramedics scrambled out. Someone held a light, and its beams spread over every surface. "She fell from the top of the bleachers."

"What's her name?"

"Tiffany Wright."

"How old is she?"

"Eighteen," Jason said. "I guess... I don't know."

"Did she hit her head?"

"Yeah... I think so."

They kneeled over her, and Jason pulled his fingers through his hair. His stomach felt like it was twisting in on itself, and his whole body shook. "Tiffany," they shouted, to get her attention. "Tiffany...."

They attached some breathing apparatus to her head, and lifted her onto a stretcher. While they pushed her into the ambulance, a policeman shone a flashlight in Jason's face. "You're going to have to ride with us to the hospital." Jason raised his hand to shield his eyes, and then saw Tiffany's purse. He grabbed it from the ground and followed the officer to his car.

A door was opened, and he was instructed to get into the front seat. He slumped into the car, clutching the purse in his lap. The police car shrieked down the road in a blaze of sirens and flashing lights.

And now, he waited. Tiffany was somewhere in the depths of the hospital, and her purse sat beside him on a chair.

A nurse stepped across the floor, with a clipboard in her hands. "I just need some info," she said, in a happy voice. "The girl's name?"

"Tiffany Wright."

"Wright... with a W?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Let's see if we can find her driver's license." She held a clipboard to her chest and picked up the purse. She unzipped it, found Tiffany's wallet, and slid out a laminated card. "Well, here's a school I.D.," she said. "That'll do."

"Is she okay?" Jason asked.

She set the purse back on the chair. "We need to tell her family first. We can't tell anyone else right now." And she left.

He leaned forward, and held his face in his hands. He should be exhausted, and he was. But now he knew what it was like to be exhausted and frantic at the same time.

High above his head, a TV was attached to the wall. Its sound was off, and its screen showed a rerun of a college basketball game. It looked like Michigan State was beating Evansville. Jason watched the game, and he waited.

He heard a sound, and looked to the side. Another nurse was leading two policemen to his chair. They stopped, standing inches from his face. Their blue/black uniforms were so close that he could see the individual threads of polyester. They each had a set of handcuffs hooked onto their belts, and for the first time in his life, Jason was in the presence of actual loaded guns.