HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KEITH PARTRIDGE, PART 4
The tenement was sparsely furnished; a beat up old couch, a couple of chairs, a moth-eaten rug, but it was home for Lamar and Ta-mara, and they were lucky to have this much. Their father was a distant memory for the children; he'd left them when his daughter was a mere toddler. Lamar couldn't even remember what the man looked like. Their mother was a hard-working woman; she had to be, otherwise she and her children would starve. She worked two jobs, as a seamstress in a factory during the day and cleaning buildings at night. She did her best to provide for them, and made sure they got their schooling and took them to Church regularly. It hadn't been easy, but she knew she was teaching them right and she trusted them, which was why she'd left them alone while she attended her grandmother's funeral back in Chicago. Still, she would not be happy with their activities right at this moment; bringing a total stranger into the house, and a wounded white boy, at that. Not that she had anything against white people as a whole; she'd always been strict about prejudice of any kind, but there was no need to stir up trouble, and if any of the neighbors had seen Lamar carrying Keith up the two flights to their apartment, that's exactly what would be happening. Trouble with a capital 'T!'
Ta-mara opened the door, letting Lamar go past her with his cargo. Even after carrying Keith a good two flights, Lamar was hardly winded. He carefully lowered Keith's still form down onto the couch. "Get me all the rags and towels you can find. We need to stop this bleeding. And water, a big bowl of water," Lamar ordered, propping Keith's head up on the couch's arm. In the lamplight of the living room, Lamar could see his patient's face for the first time. Not a bad looking dude for a whitey, he surmised. Well, he used to be, anyway. Keith's face was swollen black and blue, his jaw having gotten the worst of it. "Bring some pillows and blankets, too."
Ta-mara returned with the pillows, blankets, rags, and water and Lamar slipped a pillow beneath Keith's head, then rolled him over to look at the bullet wound in his shoulder. It was the size of a dime, just below the shoulder blade. It still bled profusely and Lamar pressed a rag to it. "'Mara, get me some string or something. I need to tie this off."
She was off again and Lamar kept pressure on the wound, then pulled the rag away, peering closely at the hole in Keith's jacket. He could see the bullet not too far from the skin surface.
"Here's the string." Ta-mara handed it to him.
"We've gotta get his jacket off. I want to take this bullet out."
The girl's eyes widened. "How?"
"All I need is some tweezers. Come on, help me sit him up."
The two of them carefully sat Keith up, and Lamar let him rest on his shoulder. "Okay, 'Mara, quick, pull the jacket off, but be gentle," he instructed.
She began to tug on the coat, pulling it down and easing one arm at a time out of the sleeves. As she carefully worked on the left arm, Keith moaned and she pulled back, afraid.
"It's okay, keep going. He's not awake yet."
Making a face because she knew Keith could feel it, Ta-mara kept pulling until the jacket was free.
"Great," Lamar acknowledged, easing Keith back down. "Now, I need the tweezers."
As she scrambled to look for some, Ta-mara called out from the other room. "Who do you think did this to him, Lamar?"
"I dunno." Once again, he pressed the rag to Keith's shoulder, holding it as tight as he could, but still the blood oozed. If they didn't do something quick, this kid would bleed to death. He used the string as a tourniquet, quickly tying it hard around Keith's upper arm.
She handed him the tweezers, falling on her knees beside the couch. "Maybe he's a cop or something."
"No, I don't think so. He doesn't look much older than me. I think he's just some rich kid that somebody robbed and dumped in our alley. Now, look, I need your help here. You need to push up on his shoulder so I can see to get the bullet out. He'll probably feel it, so don't get scared if he yells."
"Couldn't we numb it somehow first?" Ta-mara asked. It all sounded so painful.
Lamar looked thoughtful. "I guess we could try some ice. I'll get it, cause you're too short to reach the freezer. Now, keep pressing on this rag, as hard as you can."
She nodded as he got up, moving away. Keith made a soft whimpering noise, and she touched his forehead. "It's okay, baby, it's okay," she whispered.
Lamar returned with a plastic bag full of ice. He knelt down, tearing a wider hole into Keith's shirtsleeve, then pressed the ice bag right onto his skin, holding it there for several minutes before removing it. Then, with Ta-mara's help, he took the tweezers and gently poked at the bullet hole.
Keith moaned, tensing, and Lamar stopped.
"Oh, don't, Lamar, you're hurting him!" his sister pleaded. "Besides, if you take it out, it might bleed more!"
"Yeah, maybe you're right," Lamar mumbled. "We should just keep ice on it for a while."
Someone pounded on the door and the two children jumped almost guiltily.
"Quick, hide him. I'll get rid of whoever it is!" Lamar ordered, and Ta-mara grabbed a blanket. They draped it completely over Keith and Lamar went to the door.
Mrs. Sanders from down the hall stood there. "You two babies all right? Somebody said they heard gunshots in the alley." She was a tired-looking woman in her early fifties.
"Yeah, sure, Miz Sanders. We're okay." Lamar blocked her entrance into the apartment with his arm. "We were just gonna cook dinner."
"Cook dinner," Mrs. Sanders said with a snort. "What, tuna fish sandwiches? Whyn't you let me fix you some pot roast or something? I promised your ma I'd take care of you, you know."
"I know, but really, we're okay, huh, 'Mara?"
Mrs. Sanders peered past Lamar at the blanket-covered sofa. "What's all that? Your laundry? I can throw it in with mine."
"It's done! We were just gonna fold it and put it away." Lamar started closing the door. "If we need you, we'll call you, okay?"
She shrugged. "Okay, okay. But knock loud."
"Okay. Thanks." Lamar nodded, pushing the door shut and locking it. He turned back to the task at hand, and saw that Ta-mara had tucked the blanket safely around Keith's unconscious form. She sat with the ice pack, holding it on his arm, and Lamar smiled.
"Here, let's get some more string and tie it there. Your hands are gonna get too cold to hold it."
He did as he promised, and Ta-mara watched, fascinated at her brother's astute knowledge of first aid. She knew he'd always wanted to be a doctor, but their poverty prevented him from even thinking of college. Still, Mama would be proud of her son right now.
"What, now?"
"Let's check him out some more. Way he was beat up, there could be more injuries." Lamar pulled the blanket aside.
Keith's jeans were torn, especially the left leg; tattered, to be exact, and Lamar got up, grabbing his mothers' sewing scissors. He began to carefully cut at the fabric, gently pulling it away from the skin underneath. What he saw there both fascinated and repulsed him.
The skin there had been scraped away, probably from a road burn of some sort, and Lamar could almost see the muscle beneath it. The leg was a dark purple, having been slammed so hard into the garbage dumpster. Lamar whistled.
"What?" Ta-mara tried to get a closer look, but he held her back with his hand.
"It's too gruesome for you to see. I'll have to clean these wounds out or he's gonna get infected. See if we've got some iodine or something." Lamar kept cutting with the scissors.
Eager to help, Ta-mara obeyed his orders. This playing nurse was sort of interesting, especially with a real live patient! She found a bottle of iodine in the bathroom and brought it out to Lamar.
He eased a thick towel under Keith's leg (Mama would faint if she saw her best towel about to be used this way) and poured the iodine liberally over the raw skin. It must have stung, because Keith moaned, shifting on the couch.
Ta-mara took his hand in both of hers, squeezing it as tightly as she could.
"That'll kill most of the germs. Now I'll just wrap it in these bandages." Lamar told her, preparing to do just that.
Ta-mara stared at Keith's bruised face as beads of sweat started forming on his forehead, trickling downwards. She reached over, feeling his forehead. It was warm, and she looked at Lamar.
"He's got a fever."
"Cool him down with some water, then."
Dipping a cloth in the water bowl, Ta-mara attended to Keith's face while her brother worked on his leg. She wondered what this white boy would say when he woke up. If he woke up.
%%%%%
Shirley slowed the car to a near crawl. Something up ahead was stalling traffic and she was getting frustrated. Here she was, in a frenzy to find Keith, and there had to be a traffic jam!
Leaning out the window, she tried to see what was going on, but to no avail. There were at least 10 cars in front of her, all moving at a snail's pace, furthering her frustration. Now the vehicles in front of her stopped! Didn't they realize that they were impeding her search for her son? Angry and crying, Shirley beeped the horn. Maybe someone would tell her what the holdup was.
Her wish was granted. A young boy on a bicycle was heading her way, snaking his way through the jam up ahead. Shirley opened the car door. "Young man!" She waved him over to her. "What's going on up there? Are they fixing the road or something?"
The boy shook his head. "There's a big accident!" Something in his eyes told her that not all was well. "It's a mess. Some guy on a motorcycle got hit by a van."
His words echoed in Shirley's ears. "Motorcycle?" she barely got it out. "Is…is the driver all right? What does he look like?" Oh, please dear God…
The kid shrugged. "Brown hair, sort of on the long side, not real tall. He's in bad shape. The paramedics are working on him, but I don't think he's gonna make it."
He pedaled off, and Shirley swallowed. It couldn't be. Surely there were other motorcyclists that fit the boy's description…not that she wished this on another mother out there somewhere…she just prayed that it wasn't her son!
Everything was at a standstill now, and Shirley got out, running past the line of cars, her heart in her throat.
The scene up ahead was horrifying. A large white van sat sideways in the intersection, its left front fender crumpled. In the van's path lay the bent motorcycle, and a policeman was talking to the driver of the van. Nearby, right in front of the red paramedics' truck, she saw two uniformed men kneeling over a very still form on the pavement. As she pressed on, Shirley saw the familiar jacket and jeans. It was Keith.
She screamed.
"Mom!"
Shirley opened her eyes. Laurie was leaning over her as she lay on the couch.
"Mom, are you okay?"
Gathering her wits, Shirley sat up. "I…I dreamed that Keith was…" She couldn't even bring herself to say it. "Oh, Laurie…please tell me he came home…" she moaned.
Laurie shook her head. "Not yet. Reuben's been on the phone with the police, and they say they're looking for him, but nothing yet." Laurie rubbed her mother's shoulder. "Do you want a cup of chamomile tea? It'll calm you down and help you sleep."
"I don't want to sleep, Laurie…one nightmare is enough…what time is it?"
"Going on six o'clock; it's almost dawn." Laurie looked tired.
"Have you slept?"
"Off and on…" Laurie smiled sadly. "I kept having bad thoughts, too. Mostly what I was going to do to him when he did come home, for worrying us like this."
Shirley pulled her down next to her on the sofa, kissing the side of her head. "At this point, I may let you carry those thoughts out. What could he be thinking?"
There was a pause, and then Laurie sighed. "Should we send the kids to school?"
"I think it's best, don't you? We have enough to worry about without them here. If it would help, you can go yourself."
"Not on your life. I want to be here when he walks through that door. He'd better have one heck of an excuse!" Laurie's voice trailed off and she tried to stifle a sob.
Shirley reached over, taking Laurie's face in her hands. "Go on upstairs and rest, honey. I can handle it down here for a while. Where's Reuben?"
"Last I saw, he was in the kitchen. He hasn't slept, either." Laurie swallowed back the tears. "Darn that Keith! Where is he, Mom? Why doesn't he come home?"
Shirley didn't have an answer to that. All she could do was press her head into Laurie's and cry with her.
continued...
The tenement was sparsely furnished; a beat up old couch, a couple of chairs, a moth-eaten rug, but it was home for Lamar and Ta-mara, and they were lucky to have this much. Their father was a distant memory for the children; he'd left them when his daughter was a mere toddler. Lamar couldn't even remember what the man looked like. Their mother was a hard-working woman; she had to be, otherwise she and her children would starve. She worked two jobs, as a seamstress in a factory during the day and cleaning buildings at night. She did her best to provide for them, and made sure they got their schooling and took them to Church regularly. It hadn't been easy, but she knew she was teaching them right and she trusted them, which was why she'd left them alone while she attended her grandmother's funeral back in Chicago. Still, she would not be happy with their activities right at this moment; bringing a total stranger into the house, and a wounded white boy, at that. Not that she had anything against white people as a whole; she'd always been strict about prejudice of any kind, but there was no need to stir up trouble, and if any of the neighbors had seen Lamar carrying Keith up the two flights to their apartment, that's exactly what would be happening. Trouble with a capital 'T!'
Ta-mara opened the door, letting Lamar go past her with his cargo. Even after carrying Keith a good two flights, Lamar was hardly winded. He carefully lowered Keith's still form down onto the couch. "Get me all the rags and towels you can find. We need to stop this bleeding. And water, a big bowl of water," Lamar ordered, propping Keith's head up on the couch's arm. In the lamplight of the living room, Lamar could see his patient's face for the first time. Not a bad looking dude for a whitey, he surmised. Well, he used to be, anyway. Keith's face was swollen black and blue, his jaw having gotten the worst of it. "Bring some pillows and blankets, too."
Ta-mara returned with the pillows, blankets, rags, and water and Lamar slipped a pillow beneath Keith's head, then rolled him over to look at the bullet wound in his shoulder. It was the size of a dime, just below the shoulder blade. It still bled profusely and Lamar pressed a rag to it. "'Mara, get me some string or something. I need to tie this off."
She was off again and Lamar kept pressure on the wound, then pulled the rag away, peering closely at the hole in Keith's jacket. He could see the bullet not too far from the skin surface.
"Here's the string." Ta-mara handed it to him.
"We've gotta get his jacket off. I want to take this bullet out."
The girl's eyes widened. "How?"
"All I need is some tweezers. Come on, help me sit him up."
The two of them carefully sat Keith up, and Lamar let him rest on his shoulder. "Okay, 'Mara, quick, pull the jacket off, but be gentle," he instructed.
She began to tug on the coat, pulling it down and easing one arm at a time out of the sleeves. As she carefully worked on the left arm, Keith moaned and she pulled back, afraid.
"It's okay, keep going. He's not awake yet."
Making a face because she knew Keith could feel it, Ta-mara kept pulling until the jacket was free.
"Great," Lamar acknowledged, easing Keith back down. "Now, I need the tweezers."
As she scrambled to look for some, Ta-mara called out from the other room. "Who do you think did this to him, Lamar?"
"I dunno." Once again, he pressed the rag to Keith's shoulder, holding it as tight as he could, but still the blood oozed. If they didn't do something quick, this kid would bleed to death. He used the string as a tourniquet, quickly tying it hard around Keith's upper arm.
She handed him the tweezers, falling on her knees beside the couch. "Maybe he's a cop or something."
"No, I don't think so. He doesn't look much older than me. I think he's just some rich kid that somebody robbed and dumped in our alley. Now, look, I need your help here. You need to push up on his shoulder so I can see to get the bullet out. He'll probably feel it, so don't get scared if he yells."
"Couldn't we numb it somehow first?" Ta-mara asked. It all sounded so painful.
Lamar looked thoughtful. "I guess we could try some ice. I'll get it, cause you're too short to reach the freezer. Now, keep pressing on this rag, as hard as you can."
She nodded as he got up, moving away. Keith made a soft whimpering noise, and she touched his forehead. "It's okay, baby, it's okay," she whispered.
Lamar returned with a plastic bag full of ice. He knelt down, tearing a wider hole into Keith's shirtsleeve, then pressed the ice bag right onto his skin, holding it there for several minutes before removing it. Then, with Ta-mara's help, he took the tweezers and gently poked at the bullet hole.
Keith moaned, tensing, and Lamar stopped.
"Oh, don't, Lamar, you're hurting him!" his sister pleaded. "Besides, if you take it out, it might bleed more!"
"Yeah, maybe you're right," Lamar mumbled. "We should just keep ice on it for a while."
Someone pounded on the door and the two children jumped almost guiltily.
"Quick, hide him. I'll get rid of whoever it is!" Lamar ordered, and Ta-mara grabbed a blanket. They draped it completely over Keith and Lamar went to the door.
Mrs. Sanders from down the hall stood there. "You two babies all right? Somebody said they heard gunshots in the alley." She was a tired-looking woman in her early fifties.
"Yeah, sure, Miz Sanders. We're okay." Lamar blocked her entrance into the apartment with his arm. "We were just gonna cook dinner."
"Cook dinner," Mrs. Sanders said with a snort. "What, tuna fish sandwiches? Whyn't you let me fix you some pot roast or something? I promised your ma I'd take care of you, you know."
"I know, but really, we're okay, huh, 'Mara?"
Mrs. Sanders peered past Lamar at the blanket-covered sofa. "What's all that? Your laundry? I can throw it in with mine."
"It's done! We were just gonna fold it and put it away." Lamar started closing the door. "If we need you, we'll call you, okay?"
She shrugged. "Okay, okay. But knock loud."
"Okay. Thanks." Lamar nodded, pushing the door shut and locking it. He turned back to the task at hand, and saw that Ta-mara had tucked the blanket safely around Keith's unconscious form. She sat with the ice pack, holding it on his arm, and Lamar smiled.
"Here, let's get some more string and tie it there. Your hands are gonna get too cold to hold it."
He did as he promised, and Ta-mara watched, fascinated at her brother's astute knowledge of first aid. She knew he'd always wanted to be a doctor, but their poverty prevented him from even thinking of college. Still, Mama would be proud of her son right now.
"What, now?"
"Let's check him out some more. Way he was beat up, there could be more injuries." Lamar pulled the blanket aside.
Keith's jeans were torn, especially the left leg; tattered, to be exact, and Lamar got up, grabbing his mothers' sewing scissors. He began to carefully cut at the fabric, gently pulling it away from the skin underneath. What he saw there both fascinated and repulsed him.
The skin there had been scraped away, probably from a road burn of some sort, and Lamar could almost see the muscle beneath it. The leg was a dark purple, having been slammed so hard into the garbage dumpster. Lamar whistled.
"What?" Ta-mara tried to get a closer look, but he held her back with his hand.
"It's too gruesome for you to see. I'll have to clean these wounds out or he's gonna get infected. See if we've got some iodine or something." Lamar kept cutting with the scissors.
Eager to help, Ta-mara obeyed his orders. This playing nurse was sort of interesting, especially with a real live patient! She found a bottle of iodine in the bathroom and brought it out to Lamar.
He eased a thick towel under Keith's leg (Mama would faint if she saw her best towel about to be used this way) and poured the iodine liberally over the raw skin. It must have stung, because Keith moaned, shifting on the couch.
Ta-mara took his hand in both of hers, squeezing it as tightly as she could.
"That'll kill most of the germs. Now I'll just wrap it in these bandages." Lamar told her, preparing to do just that.
Ta-mara stared at Keith's bruised face as beads of sweat started forming on his forehead, trickling downwards. She reached over, feeling his forehead. It was warm, and she looked at Lamar.
"He's got a fever."
"Cool him down with some water, then."
Dipping a cloth in the water bowl, Ta-mara attended to Keith's face while her brother worked on his leg. She wondered what this white boy would say when he woke up. If he woke up.
%%%%%
Shirley slowed the car to a near crawl. Something up ahead was stalling traffic and she was getting frustrated. Here she was, in a frenzy to find Keith, and there had to be a traffic jam!
Leaning out the window, she tried to see what was going on, but to no avail. There were at least 10 cars in front of her, all moving at a snail's pace, furthering her frustration. Now the vehicles in front of her stopped! Didn't they realize that they were impeding her search for her son? Angry and crying, Shirley beeped the horn. Maybe someone would tell her what the holdup was.
Her wish was granted. A young boy on a bicycle was heading her way, snaking his way through the jam up ahead. Shirley opened the car door. "Young man!" She waved him over to her. "What's going on up there? Are they fixing the road or something?"
The boy shook his head. "There's a big accident!" Something in his eyes told her that not all was well. "It's a mess. Some guy on a motorcycle got hit by a van."
His words echoed in Shirley's ears. "Motorcycle?" she barely got it out. "Is…is the driver all right? What does he look like?" Oh, please dear God…
The kid shrugged. "Brown hair, sort of on the long side, not real tall. He's in bad shape. The paramedics are working on him, but I don't think he's gonna make it."
He pedaled off, and Shirley swallowed. It couldn't be. Surely there were other motorcyclists that fit the boy's description…not that she wished this on another mother out there somewhere…she just prayed that it wasn't her son!
Everything was at a standstill now, and Shirley got out, running past the line of cars, her heart in her throat.
The scene up ahead was horrifying. A large white van sat sideways in the intersection, its left front fender crumpled. In the van's path lay the bent motorcycle, and a policeman was talking to the driver of the van. Nearby, right in front of the red paramedics' truck, she saw two uniformed men kneeling over a very still form on the pavement. As she pressed on, Shirley saw the familiar jacket and jeans. It was Keith.
She screamed.
"Mom!"
Shirley opened her eyes. Laurie was leaning over her as she lay on the couch.
"Mom, are you okay?"
Gathering her wits, Shirley sat up. "I…I dreamed that Keith was…" She couldn't even bring herself to say it. "Oh, Laurie…please tell me he came home…" she moaned.
Laurie shook her head. "Not yet. Reuben's been on the phone with the police, and they say they're looking for him, but nothing yet." Laurie rubbed her mother's shoulder. "Do you want a cup of chamomile tea? It'll calm you down and help you sleep."
"I don't want to sleep, Laurie…one nightmare is enough…what time is it?"
"Going on six o'clock; it's almost dawn." Laurie looked tired.
"Have you slept?"
"Off and on…" Laurie smiled sadly. "I kept having bad thoughts, too. Mostly what I was going to do to him when he did come home, for worrying us like this."
Shirley pulled her down next to her on the sofa, kissing the side of her head. "At this point, I may let you carry those thoughts out. What could he be thinking?"
There was a pause, and then Laurie sighed. "Should we send the kids to school?"
"I think it's best, don't you? We have enough to worry about without them here. If it would help, you can go yourself."
"Not on your life. I want to be here when he walks through that door. He'd better have one heck of an excuse!" Laurie's voice trailed off and she tried to stifle a sob.
Shirley reached over, taking Laurie's face in her hands. "Go on upstairs and rest, honey. I can handle it down here for a while. Where's Reuben?"
"Last I saw, he was in the kitchen. He hasn't slept, either." Laurie swallowed back the tears. "Darn that Keith! Where is he, Mom? Why doesn't he come home?"
Shirley didn't have an answer to that. All she could do was press her head into Laurie's and cry with her.
continued...