“Dad?”
I looked up from the bicycle tire I was patching. “Yeah, buddy?”
“I miss Kevin.” Taylor played with a wrench on my garage work-table, not meeting my eyes.
Sadness welled up in my heart — seven was too young for this kind of grief. “Kevin was a good friend. It’s okay to miss him. The whole neighborhood does.”
“I know.” He fiddled with the wrench some more. “Dad… what happened to him?”
I wiped my forehead and set my screwdriver on the concrete floor, not eager to start this conversation. “Well, uh, buddy, he died. Died and went to heaven. He, um, it was an accident.”
Taylor wasn’t appeased. “That’s not what I heard.”
“What did you hear, big man?” I rocked back on my heels, easing the strain on my knees. Taylor’s face was peaked in the harsh fluorescent light. Oh God, he knows.
“I heard that his Mommy shot him.”
“Where’d you hear that?” I asked, careful to keep my voice quiet and even despite the dread I felt. Maybe I can fix this.
“Jason told me and Tim and Jack while we played wall-ball at his house.”
I sighed. The neighborhood kids’ grapevine still works, apparently.
I stood and put my tools away, wishing I could find some way to spare him the details. “Well, Kevin’s mommy wasn’t thinking straight. Sometimes people aren’t in their right minds, and, um… they do things they shouldn’t.”
Taylor wasn’t appeased. “Jason said she shot Kevin, and his sister, and his dad, and then she shot herself.” He rocked from foot-to-foot, picking at the hem of his red t-shirt. “Can you actually shoot yourself?”
I rubbed my temples. “Yes. By accident or on purpose. Guns are dangerous.”
“Why would she do that?”
“She had an illness, Taylor. Kevin’s mom was sick and she got confused. She couldn’t tell between right and wrong anymore. It wasn’t Kevin’s fault.”
Taylor nodded, his brown eyes full of knowledge I didn’t want him to have yet. Because the estate was in probate, we saw their car in their driveway whenever we left our house and it clearly weighed on his mind. My stomach twisted — this pain wouldn’t end for him soon. Not for any of us.
Didn’t Karen think how far her actions would ripple out? She hit the whole neighborhood, not just her family. She killed a little piece of all of us that day.
Desperate to get back to real life, I said, “Hey, let’s go outside. You need to work on dribbling before the next soccer game.” I pushed the door to the house open. We’d play in the backyard, out of sight of Kevin’s house.
Lucky for me, Taylor was easily diverted. “Great! I’ll get my ball. Can I wear my cleats?”
That afternoon, my wife came down with the flu; Marie’s fever spiked and she became delirious. I had my hands full trying to keep her comfortable. As the evening wore on, I was too exhausted to do anything but heat up chicken nuggets for dinner. Taylor sat quietly at our round dinette table as I dished up the nuggets and canned green beans.
“Dad, is Mommy sick?” Taylor asked. His sharp-chinned little face was full of worry.
I nodded. “Yeah, big man. She’s really sick. Gran is coming tomorrow to help out, but in the meantime, we’ll just have to take care of her ourselves. Don’t worry, though — Mom just needs some rest.”
Taylor picked at his dinner. “Okay. I’ll go up to my room and make her a card.”
My wife called weakly from our bedroom and I stood. “That’s a great idea, buddy. Make her a super nice card, and I’ll be upstairs to check on you in a bit.”
It took me an hour to get Marie settled. She was chilled and shivering so hard I wondered if she’d crack a tooth. After warming three blankets in the dryer for her, I staggered upstairs to tuck Taylor in. But when I got to his room, he was nowhere to be found.
“Taylor?” I called. No answer.
“Buddy? Are you hiding? If so, that’s not funny, man.” My heart fluttered. I’d been so preoccupied… where was he?
I moved fast through the house, checking the game room, the garage, and the pantry. Still nothing. “Taylor Price, this isn’t funny! Get out here now!” I used the “Daddy growl”, that bass-toned, cathedral-echoing voice that stopped every kid in the park dead in his tracks, whether he belonged to me or not.
When I didn’t find him in the kitchen, I ran back up the stairs to his room and checked behind the clothes in his closet. I was knee deep in t-shirts and Lego bricks when I heard a muffled sneeze near his bed.
Bewildered, I stooped down and pulled up the bedskirt.
Two big brown eyes stared back at me.
“Buddy, what’s the deal?” I didn’t know whether to yank him out and give him a bone-breaking hug, or ground him from the Nintendo for a month.
“You said Mommy was sick,” he whispered.
Tears stung my eyes as I realized what the problem was. My chest ached for him, and for myself. “Buddy, Mom’s never going to be that sick.”
Kendra C. Highley is an Oklahoma girl, exiled to Texas. She is married, a mother of two, staff to two high-powered and self-important cats, an avid reader, an aspiring young adult genre novelist, a card-carrying geek, and a hopeful romantic.
This story was sponsored by
Camilla d’Errico: A character designer and artist who dances on the tightrope between pop surrealist art and manga inspired graphics. Explore her paintings, characters and comics: Tanpopo, BURN and Helmetgirls.
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16 Responses to “WHEN MOM'S SICK • by Kendra C. Highley”
Comments
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October 24th, 2009 at 3:09 am
Classic illustration of there being no universals but words; in this case, sick. Great relationship twixt father and son.
October 24th, 2009 at 5:47 am
A real tearjerker! Very well done if you like this sort of emotional stuff, which I usually don’t, but I have to give it credit for being a good example of what it is (did that make any sense? Oh, well.). Five flushots.
October 24th, 2009 at 8:27 am
Aww, I knew what the ending was going to be but it was still a really good story. I could see a child misconstruing this in real life for sure.
October 24th, 2009 at 8:35 am
In some stories, dialog is sometimes unbelievable and forced between characters. In this story, I found all the dialog to flow naturally between parent and child. I, too, knew where the ending was headed, but I didn’t mind. I enjoyed the story very much. Only question…isn’t “dribbling” a term used for basketball, not soccer? Just wondering.
October 24th, 2009 at 9:31 am
Hi everyone,
Thanks so much for the comments. I really appreciate the feedback.
Hey, Robin — yes, dribbling is a technical term in soccer as well as basketball. In soccer, it’s when the player kicks the ball down the field, keeping the ball close. It’s something the coaches really have to work on with younger players because they like to kick downfield as hard as they can then chase the ball. : )
Thanks again for reading!
Kendra
October 24th, 2009 at 10:23 am
Kendra,
Such a sad little story…but very well written. 5 stars from me, too.
Margie
October 24th, 2009 at 10:44 am
How sad that Taylor has to live in such a world. Excellent piece.
October 24th, 2009 at 1:45 pm
good writing, well done.
October 24th, 2009 at 6:02 pm
A very moving story with good suspense that held me until the end! Nice job.
October 24th, 2009 at 7:36 pm
Thanks for all the kind comments — really made my day!
October 24th, 2009 at 8:12 pm
Nice job with the story, Kendra! Kudos for dealing with a tough subject and still making me smile.
October 24th, 2009 at 8:16 pm
Very good piece, well done
October 25th, 2009 at 8:53 am
Well done. Most stories focus on the killers or victims; this was an interesting approach giving the spotlight to people several degrees removed from the crime, but impacted nonetheless.
Violence and violent acts do ripple outward. Long after the cameras have been stowed and the story has been relegated to page 12, people deal with the consequences. This was a very nice showing of that with characters both sympathetic and believable.
As to the ending, I didn’t find it quite as inevitable as others. Frankly, I had a notion that young Taylor might shoot mommy: an “I’ll get her before she gets me” sort of logic.
–John
October 25th, 2009 at 2:51 pm
The story was great. Moved along easily. The ending was a bit —. It just ended. In my opinion, a summary line or two would’ve made this perfect.
October 26th, 2009 at 2:06 am
Beautifully and sensitively written; don’t mind confessing that my eyes were moist by the end.
January 13th, 2010 at 8:56 pm
Good story. Makes me think about how many hard topics we will have to discuss with our kids…and they aren’t even talking yet. Makes me also think of a funny story with my 20 month old….Robert knows the word ‘hear’ and he points to his ear when he ‘hears’ something. So the other day I told him to com ‘here’ and he looked a bit confused and pointed to his ear!