Disclaimer: Not mine - or last week would never have happened.
A/N: Many, many thanks to the best beta's in the world...LiT, Cropper and Mingsmommy. They tell me I can even when I think I can't. Also, Ming pointed out that Happy Meals didn't appear until 1979 so don't waste your Google-foo. Just go with it...Please.
God's Will - Prologue
August 10, 1976
It's my birthday, my own special day. I'm nine years old today. But there are no presents, no friends, no cake. There is only silence. My father is at work. My mother is in bed. She's sick, you see. Very, very sick. So instead of doing the things all my friends did when they turned nine, I'm sitting beside my mother's bed, reading a book and listening to her breathe.
My grandmother has promised to come by later. She comes by everyday to check on us. She and my father wait until I'm in bed before they begin to talk about my mother. They don't know that I sneak out of bed and listen. At first I didn't understand when they would whisper the word cancer. But I'm pretty smart and I figured it out. My mother is dying. She's been dying for a very long time.
I must have fallen asleep because the sound of my father's voice scares me. He's home from work and he has a bag from McDonalds. I notice that too bright smile he's been using lately and I pretend to be excited. I take one final look at my mother before going to wash my hands.
In honor of my birthday, my father has brought me a Big Mac. I've been asking for one but everyone tells me it's a big boy's hamburger and I'm just too little. So I've been forced to endure Happy Meals. It seems wrong to eat something called a Happy Meal when I'm so sad. My father decides that we can eat our dinner in the living room while we watch 'The Six Million Dollar Man'. I think he believes this hour counts as 'man' time, and I guess it does. But I want to play catch and ride my bike. I don't want to cook dinner and do laundry. I don't want to pick out my school clothes and do my own homework. I want to be nine.
It's late, maybe nine o'clock, when my grandmother shows up with my birthday cake. She hugs me and I smell alcohol, but that's something I'm getting used to. She tells me happy birthday and promises to take me to K-Mart the next day, after church, to let me pick out my own gift. I nod and smile while my dad gets the cake ready. The two of them sing to me and I blow out the candle. My dad asks if I made a wish. I tell him yes but that's a lie. The one thing I want can't be handled with a wish. I eat my cake and then ask if I can be excused.
I wake up slow. It's very dark and I lie still for a minute just listening. I can hear my father snoring a little from his bedroom down the hall. But over that, I hear the hiss of the oxygen and the rasp of the air filling my mother's lungs. I slip out of my bed and make my way to her side. My bare feet are don't make any noise on the carpet, but she knows I'm there. When she turns to look at me, the moonlight coming in from the window makes the tears on her cheeks look like silver. I open my mouth to ask what's wrong, but she puts her finger over her lips and shakes her head.
I step closer and look at her. I am watching for…I'm not sure what. There is something whispering on the air. My mother holds out her hand and I take it, letting her pull me down on the bed beside her.
"Malachi," her voice rasps in my ears, "I need you to save me."
"I…I don't know how." I whisper.
Her eyes dart to the oxygen tank beside the bed. And I know her meaning. I'm shaking my head before the thought can even complete itself.
"Please, my sweet boy. I can't take this anymore." Her hand trembles as she wipes away tears I didn't realize were on my cheeks. "Don't cry. It would be better for everyone and I'm not strong enough to do it myself."
My voice cracks when I say, "But I would miss you. I don't want you to die."
She tugs on my hand until I am stretched out beside her. My face is buried in her neck and she strokes my hair like she used to when I was a baby. "I'll miss you too sweetheart, but I'm still going to die." My whole body shakes with the force of my tears, but I don't make a sound. She holds me and I can tell how weak she is. After a while I lift my head and press my lips to her cheek. She is cold and her skin is dry, like a piece of paper. Without a word, I nod.
My mother holds my eyes with hers and says, "Thank you, baby."
I slide out of the bed and stand in front of the metal tank. I've seen my father do this a hundred times but my hands shake when I reach out and grab the knob. I turn it, slowly, slowly, until I can't hear the quiet hiss of air. Tears stream down my cheeks and drop onto the tops of my bare feet, but I can't even feel them. When I have done what she wanted I turn to face her.
With a smile that lights up her face, my mother whispers, "I love you."
"I love you, too, mama."
She is gasping now, the breath rattling in her chest. "Give me a kiss and then go to your room. Close your door and go back to sleep." When she sees how I'm trembling, she continues, "Don't worry about me, baby. This is God's will."
I kiss her cold lips. I swear that they are already turning blue. I tell her again that I love her. And then I am slipping back across the hall and closing the door. I don't expect to sleep but I must have because I wake up to the sound of my father's sobs while the sun through the window turns my room a yellow color.