I wake up feeling as if I'm in a fog. It hurts to open my eyes...to keep them
open but I keep trying again and again. Once I manage to keep them open I
discover a bright light overhead...the source of why my eyes hurt.
I was trying to open my eyes I felt like I was in some kind of a tunnel. It was dark there...dark and quiet. It didn't bother me but then the silence was interrupted by a voice. I could hear someone talking to me...someone close by although I didn't see anyone around...all I heard was her voice. I can tell she's upset. I feel as if I should know the voice but I can't place it. I try to call out to her thinking that she might be hurt...that she might need me. My voice fails me...either that or she can't hear me. I listen trying to understand what she's saying but all I know is that she sounds desperate...panicked.
I listen harder, straining to understand her but I can't make out what she's saying. Over and over I fail to see anyone. Her voice is joined by others...others that I can't see. I feel movement now like I'm being moved somewhere. This moving around is making me dizzy. It finally stops only now I feel a chill. The coldness doesn't last very long before I feel a wave of warmth come over me. I feel someone touching me...touching my arm. The feeling ends just as fast as it started and once again the dizziness returns only this time it deepens. I give up fighting it. I don't want to know what's being said anymore. I'm tired of looking for faces I can't see.
I'm back in my tunnel...surrounded by darkness once more. The dizziness is gone but the voices return. I don't bother looking for faces. I know there are none...just voices. I'm lying there, listening but not seeing anyone when one face finally appears. I try to call out to her but my voice fails me. It's the face of a woman. She older - around 50 or so with shoulder-length dark hair. She says something but all I see are her lips moving....she smiles, waving at me. Then she's gone. It doesn't make any sense to me that I can hear voices around me yet I see no one. Then a face appears but I can't hear her voice. I can't hear what she's saying. Now she's gone and I'm left with those voices again. I give in, moving deeper within the tunnel. The voices stop.
Time passes. I'm alone in the darkness. I don't mind it though. I prefer the darkness to the voices. Like everything else, this doesn't last. At some point, I must have been moved again. I hear more voices. I try to move away...to move back into my tunnel but this time I can't. The darkness is gone, replaced by light. For the first time I feel pain. I feel someone touching me again only this time it lasts longer than before. Someone's holding onto me. It's not like this person is restraining me in some way, just holding on. What follows is a voice...a female voice. She's talking to me only I can't understand her. As hard as I try, I can't understand her...I can't make out what she's trying to say. Before long, she disappears and I'm alone again.
I wait and finally she returns. I try to relax...to listen to her...to hear what she's saying. I can't explain but it's this one voice.....this one female voice that's different than the others. The others are talking over me...around me...about me but not to me. But her voice....she's talking to me. I just can't understand what she's saying.
She leaves again and returns. This time it's different. I can understand her. Her voice isn't clear yet but it's not as muffled as it was before. She's talking about how some people were hurt, only I don't know who she's talking about. I feel her touching me. I mean I think it's her. I hear her voice and I feel someone touching my hand. I just assume it's the same person. For the first time, I don't feel alone. I feel as if someone knows I'm here. I just wish I could talk to her. That I could tell her I don't understand who she's talking about. She sounds relieved to some respect that these people, whoever they are, are going to be okay. The darkness continues to lift and I hear her more clearly. I blink my eyes. She must have seen me 'cause her voice just changed. She moves closer, speaking to me louder yet slower. She repeats herself; trying to get me to open my eyes. I try but it hurts. My eyes are dry and it's painful as I try to open them. I'm following her voice, trying over and over to open my eyes....to put a face to her voice.
I'm finally able to keep them open...I can see her now. She's happy...I see her smile. She's still talking to me only now she's talking to me about being awake. She studies my response sensing my confusion. I thought I was awake. She doesn't understand and I can't explain due to the tube in my throat. The smile disappears, replaced by a sadness that I don't understand. She wanted me to open my eyes and I fought to do that. So why is she sad now? I don't get an answer as other voices enter the room. This time the voices have faces. This time some of them are talking to me. They also seem to be glad that my eyes are open but instead of smiling one of them shines a light in my eyes. I feel pressure on my arm as they take my blood pressure. Others check my body poking around my arm and stomach. They ask me questions...questions that don't need answers but rather questions about my movements. I try my best to follow them; moving my fingers, my toes, and following the light they keep shining in my eyes. My frustration mounts making it difficult for me to breath. I'm agitated and that's not helping me as I begin fighting the tube in my throat. I start to think that being alone wasn't so bad after all.
This pattern continues for what probably seems longer than it really is. I'm getting tired...tired of all of this and just plain tired. One thought stands out in my mind...why was she sad? She seemed happy to see me. I can't help but wonder what I did to make her so sad.
Before she left she said something to me. She said "I'll see you later." Later when I'm alone again, I have to wonder if she really meant that. I lay awake trying to remember things...like my name and what happened to me. The doctors explained that I'd been shot several times. I know my arm is bandaged but they told me that it's not serious. Another bullet hit me in the stomach. They had to repair my lung but it's not serious either. It should heal just fine. The tube in my throat, they explained, is to help me breathe...so my body can focus on healing. The other bullet hit me just above my ear. There was some damage to this area which is why I can't remember certain things. I notice that they seem happy that I can move around...that I can follow their commands. I noticed that they didn't tell me that my trouble remembering isn't serious so I have to wonder. At some point, my body gives in and I fall asleep.
Later I wake up to another female voice. This time it's a different person but she smiles at me. She explains to me that her name is Mary and that she doesn't normally work in this area but for me, she made an exception. She smiles when she says this so I guess she knows who I am or who I was. She continues talking to me, telling me about what's happened to me since I got here. Her voice is calming. I try to relax and focus on what she's saying to me.
She's joined by someone who claims to be a doctor. I have no way of knowing for sure and even if I could, I'm in no position to argue. I go along with everything they ask me to do hoping that it will lead to getting this tube out of my throat so that I can talk...so I can get some answers to some of my own questions.
I'm rewarded later when the tube is finally removed. My reward is no consolation as it's followed by more questions...their questions. I'm not very good at giving them answers. I don't know my name. I don't know what happened other than I was shot and they already know that since they explained it to me earlier. I don't know much other than what I've been told. It seems odd to me that they're happy when I'm able to tell them things they already know. I still have questions of my own but no one seems to care. No one cares what I want or what I need. No one until that nurse returns....the one who told me her name is Mary.
She talks to me for awhile, asking if I'm in much pain...if I'm having trouble breathing...stuff like that. I am in pain but it's not too bad. Besides more pain medication will only make me sleepy and I don't want to sleep right now. My throat is still a little sore but she explains to me that the pain will subside now that the tube has been removed. It's not so sore that it keeps me from asking questions beginning with who am I?
She tells me my name only I frown a little. It's not that I don't like the name; it's just that it's kinda long and I don't get it the first time. She repeats it again, slower this time...allowing me to say it with her. She smiles again as she tells me that most people just call me Bosco. I return the smile. Bosco is short...I can handle that.
She leaves for a little while but returns. This time she's dressed a little different. I learn that she's off work now so we can talk for a while if I have more questions. Our discussion continues and I learn that she's known me for about ten years or so. She's not sure when we first met but ten years is a guess. She also says she didn't know me very well...other than what she saw of me when I was here while working. Working is my next question. She tells me I was a police officer. I guess this shouldn't surprise me. I've been seeing a lot of men and women wearing badges. I thought maybe it was because I'd been shot and they wanted to talk to me about who did this.
She pulls up a chair, taking a seat after she sets her stuff aside. She explains the somewhat complex story of what happened the day I was shot. It's the first time I've heard the whole story and it's also the first I've heard that others were shot as well and that some of them didn't make it. She tells me some names and I suppose if I remembered them, it'd have an effect on me....at least more than just learning people died. From what she understands, the persons involved in this shooting are in custody or were killed in an explosion.
I have a million more questions but I have no idea where to begin. The 'who am I' question is still a mystery to me. I know my name now and I know I was a police officer but beyond that, who I am is nothing more than a blank page. Mary explains that as much as she'd like to help me, she really didn't know me very well. I scan through the list of questions that's in my mind, trying to come up with something she can help me with. She knows I was a police officer so I work on that aspect.
Twelve years...that's not something she knew off hand but she explains that from what she heard I'd been a police officer for twelve years. To me it sounds like a long time but then that leads to another question. I have no idea how old I am.
Again she bases what she's about to tell me on what she's heard and from what she's read on my hospital chart. On my last birthday I turned 34. She smiles when I pause then comment on how I was twenty-two when I became a cop. By the time Mary leaves, I know my name, age, date of birth, that I was a police officer for twelve years, I'm not married and I don't have any kids. It's not much but it's a start.
It seems like longer but is actually only a few days later I find myself in a private room. For the most part, I'm doing okay but they wanted to be able to monitor me and the best way to do that was in ICU. Possible complications following the type of surgery I had...that's what they tell me anyway. While in ICU, the doctors continue to run tests and question me about stuff I have no idea about. Mary has been in to visit several times. My list of visitors has been long although I don't know much about any of them. Mostly people I worked with who understandably are nervous around me. I still have a ton of questions but I've gotten few answers. The answers I get make me out to be some kind of a saint. Somehow, I can't explain why but, I know this isn't true. Mostly I think because everyone seems to avoid the details. All I keep hearing is the same stuff Mary told me...the kind of stuff anyone who can read my chart could tell me. I do hear some stories but I'm left feeling as if I'm only getting one side of the story. I'm not sure what to believe. I mention this to Mary the next time I see her. She doesn't offer me much except a piece of advice.
"The best advice I can offer you is to listen. As difficult as it must be for you, try not to make any decisions on what you're hearing. For now, listen to what you're being told. Listen for patterns...for repetitive information...then trust your own instincts."
I guess my next question isn't a surprise. It was just a matter of time.
"Do I have any family?"
She smiles before answering. "I guess that depends on what you call family."
I was about to ask another question when I see a familiar face. Not so much that it's someone I remember unless you count the face of the first person I saw when I woke up as a memory.
Mary notices her too. She's made it to my doorway but not much further. I can see by her expression that the sadness is still there.
"I should get going," Mary says, glancing at her watch. She touches the arm of my visitor on her way out. As she reaches the door, she glances from me to her before reminding me to remember what she said. I take that as being the part about trusting my instincts.
My focus moves from the door to the person who now stands ten feet from my bed. I can tell she's nervous. I'm getting pretty good at recognizing when people are nervous.
"You wanna sit down?" I ask.
She doesn't reply but nods her head as she pulls the chair back a few feet, then taking a seat.
"So how are you feeling?" she asks. I've heard this question enough to know a good answer.
"Good I guess. I mean I'd like to think I've been better but then you'd know that better than me."
She grins but only for an instant. I offer her my hand.
"I'm Bosco." I reply. She smiles again taking my hand as I finally learn her name.
"I'm Faith."
Our conversation is barely that. I don't have much to offer in the way of discussion so I'm forced to stick to a few subjects.
"We were partners?" It sounded like a question but it was one of the few things I knew for sure.
"Yeah...yeah we were..."
"So, is that where we met...on the job?"
"Actually, no...we actually met at the academy." She says this with a hint of a laugh.
"So we've been friends since we were at the academy?"
"Not exactly," she replies. I can tell she's trying to find a nice way to say what's on her mind.
"So we weren't friends back at the academy or we haven't been friends since then?"
"A little of both maybe," she offers, still trying to figure how to say this. "We didn't exactly hit it off at first...but by the time we graduated, I'd say we were friends."
"So you must know me pretty well?"
"Yeah...I guess you could say that."
"Before you came in, I was talking to Mary...I asked her about my family...if I have one. I mean I do right 'cause everybody has a family. She said it depends on what you call a family. You know what she meant by that don't you?"
She fidgets for a minute. She knows the answer to my question. Once again she's trying to figure out how to tell me. Her hesitance reminds me of my feeling that I'm only getting half the story.
"It's complicated....your family I mean."
"From where I stand, everything's complicated."
"I guess it would be," she says before taking a deep breath. "You grew up in Brooklyn. Your parents divorced when you were ten I think. It was around that time anyway. You and your dad were never very close. You were pretty protective of your mom though....and your little brother."
"Were? You said 'were'."
"Yeah...your mom died a little while back....she'd been hit by a car."
"What was her name?"
"Rose...actually it was Angela Rose but everybody called her Rose."
"And my little brother...he's dead too?"
"Yeah...Michael...everybody called him Mikey. He...he...Mikey was killed earlier this year."
"Killed? My little brother was killed? What do you mean when you say he was killed?"
"Well the short story version of it is that he got mixed up with some guys who were dealing in drugs. He got arrested and he worked out a deal where he could help the police. He was found later...he'd been killed."
"So he was in jail when he got killed?"
"No, he'd gotten off on some technicalities. He was out of jail when they killed him."
I sat in silence for a while, trying to process everything Faith had told me. I rested my head in the palms of my hands, grasping at anything. My mother had died after being hit by a car and my brother had been killed...Angela Rose...Michael...Mikey. How could I not remember my own family...my own mother...my brother? They'd died horrible deaths and I couldn't even remember their names. I didn't even know that I had a brother and now I learn that he's dead. I was staring at the wall when I asked my next question.
"And my father?"
"Your father's name is Anthony. I don't know much about him. I only ever met him a couple times. The two of you didn't get along very well. Mikey was closer to him...you were closer to your mother."
"We didn't get along very well...so that's why he hasn't been here...why you're telling me about my family instead of him?"
Faith didn't respond to my last comment. I guess I didn't expect her to. Even if she did, what could she say? My father's actions pretty much spoke for themselves.
"I'm kinda tired," I said, even though I wasn't. I just didn't know what else to say. Besides that sadness was on her face again.
I was trying to open my eyes I felt like I was in some kind of a tunnel. It was dark there...dark and quiet. It didn't bother me but then the silence was interrupted by a voice. I could hear someone talking to me...someone close by although I didn't see anyone around...all I heard was her voice. I can tell she's upset. I feel as if I should know the voice but I can't place it. I try to call out to her thinking that she might be hurt...that she might need me. My voice fails me...either that or she can't hear me. I listen trying to understand what she's saying but all I know is that she sounds desperate...panicked.
I listen harder, straining to understand her but I can't make out what she's saying. Over and over I fail to see anyone. Her voice is joined by others...others that I can't see. I feel movement now like I'm being moved somewhere. This moving around is making me dizzy. It finally stops only now I feel a chill. The coldness doesn't last very long before I feel a wave of warmth come over me. I feel someone touching me...touching my arm. The feeling ends just as fast as it started and once again the dizziness returns only this time it deepens. I give up fighting it. I don't want to know what's being said anymore. I'm tired of looking for faces I can't see.
I'm back in my tunnel...surrounded by darkness once more. The dizziness is gone but the voices return. I don't bother looking for faces. I know there are none...just voices. I'm lying there, listening but not seeing anyone when one face finally appears. I try to call out to her but my voice fails me. It's the face of a woman. She older - around 50 or so with shoulder-length dark hair. She says something but all I see are her lips moving....she smiles, waving at me. Then she's gone. It doesn't make any sense to me that I can hear voices around me yet I see no one. Then a face appears but I can't hear her voice. I can't hear what she's saying. Now she's gone and I'm left with those voices again. I give in, moving deeper within the tunnel. The voices stop.
Time passes. I'm alone in the darkness. I don't mind it though. I prefer the darkness to the voices. Like everything else, this doesn't last. At some point, I must have been moved again. I hear more voices. I try to move away...to move back into my tunnel but this time I can't. The darkness is gone, replaced by light. For the first time I feel pain. I feel someone touching me again only this time it lasts longer than before. Someone's holding onto me. It's not like this person is restraining me in some way, just holding on. What follows is a voice...a female voice. She's talking to me only I can't understand her. As hard as I try, I can't understand her...I can't make out what she's trying to say. Before long, she disappears and I'm alone again.
I wait and finally she returns. I try to relax...to listen to her...to hear what she's saying. I can't explain but it's this one voice.....this one female voice that's different than the others. The others are talking over me...around me...about me but not to me. But her voice....she's talking to me. I just can't understand what she's saying.
She leaves again and returns. This time it's different. I can understand her. Her voice isn't clear yet but it's not as muffled as it was before. She's talking about how some people were hurt, only I don't know who she's talking about. I feel her touching me. I mean I think it's her. I hear her voice and I feel someone touching my hand. I just assume it's the same person. For the first time, I don't feel alone. I feel as if someone knows I'm here. I just wish I could talk to her. That I could tell her I don't understand who she's talking about. She sounds relieved to some respect that these people, whoever they are, are going to be okay. The darkness continues to lift and I hear her more clearly. I blink my eyes. She must have seen me 'cause her voice just changed. She moves closer, speaking to me louder yet slower. She repeats herself; trying to get me to open my eyes. I try but it hurts. My eyes are dry and it's painful as I try to open them. I'm following her voice, trying over and over to open my eyes....to put a face to her voice.
I'm finally able to keep them open...I can see her now. She's happy...I see her smile. She's still talking to me only now she's talking to me about being awake. She studies my response sensing my confusion. I thought I was awake. She doesn't understand and I can't explain due to the tube in my throat. The smile disappears, replaced by a sadness that I don't understand. She wanted me to open my eyes and I fought to do that. So why is she sad now? I don't get an answer as other voices enter the room. This time the voices have faces. This time some of them are talking to me. They also seem to be glad that my eyes are open but instead of smiling one of them shines a light in my eyes. I feel pressure on my arm as they take my blood pressure. Others check my body poking around my arm and stomach. They ask me questions...questions that don't need answers but rather questions about my movements. I try my best to follow them; moving my fingers, my toes, and following the light they keep shining in my eyes. My frustration mounts making it difficult for me to breath. I'm agitated and that's not helping me as I begin fighting the tube in my throat. I start to think that being alone wasn't so bad after all.
This pattern continues for what probably seems longer than it really is. I'm getting tired...tired of all of this and just plain tired. One thought stands out in my mind...why was she sad? She seemed happy to see me. I can't help but wonder what I did to make her so sad.
Before she left she said something to me. She said "I'll see you later." Later when I'm alone again, I have to wonder if she really meant that. I lay awake trying to remember things...like my name and what happened to me. The doctors explained that I'd been shot several times. I know my arm is bandaged but they told me that it's not serious. Another bullet hit me in the stomach. They had to repair my lung but it's not serious either. It should heal just fine. The tube in my throat, they explained, is to help me breathe...so my body can focus on healing. The other bullet hit me just above my ear. There was some damage to this area which is why I can't remember certain things. I notice that they seem happy that I can move around...that I can follow their commands. I noticed that they didn't tell me that my trouble remembering isn't serious so I have to wonder. At some point, my body gives in and I fall asleep.
Later I wake up to another female voice. This time it's a different person but she smiles at me. She explains to me that her name is Mary and that she doesn't normally work in this area but for me, she made an exception. She smiles when she says this so I guess she knows who I am or who I was. She continues talking to me, telling me about what's happened to me since I got here. Her voice is calming. I try to relax and focus on what she's saying to me.
She's joined by someone who claims to be a doctor. I have no way of knowing for sure and even if I could, I'm in no position to argue. I go along with everything they ask me to do hoping that it will lead to getting this tube out of my throat so that I can talk...so I can get some answers to some of my own questions.
I'm rewarded later when the tube is finally removed. My reward is no consolation as it's followed by more questions...their questions. I'm not very good at giving them answers. I don't know my name. I don't know what happened other than I was shot and they already know that since they explained it to me earlier. I don't know much other than what I've been told. It seems odd to me that they're happy when I'm able to tell them things they already know. I still have questions of my own but no one seems to care. No one cares what I want or what I need. No one until that nurse returns....the one who told me her name is Mary.
She talks to me for awhile, asking if I'm in much pain...if I'm having trouble breathing...stuff like that. I am in pain but it's not too bad. Besides more pain medication will only make me sleepy and I don't want to sleep right now. My throat is still a little sore but she explains to me that the pain will subside now that the tube has been removed. It's not so sore that it keeps me from asking questions beginning with who am I?
She tells me my name only I frown a little. It's not that I don't like the name; it's just that it's kinda long and I don't get it the first time. She repeats it again, slower this time...allowing me to say it with her. She smiles again as she tells me that most people just call me Bosco. I return the smile. Bosco is short...I can handle that.
She leaves for a little while but returns. This time she's dressed a little different. I learn that she's off work now so we can talk for a while if I have more questions. Our discussion continues and I learn that she's known me for about ten years or so. She's not sure when we first met but ten years is a guess. She also says she didn't know me very well...other than what she saw of me when I was here while working. Working is my next question. She tells me I was a police officer. I guess this shouldn't surprise me. I've been seeing a lot of men and women wearing badges. I thought maybe it was because I'd been shot and they wanted to talk to me about who did this.
She pulls up a chair, taking a seat after she sets her stuff aside. She explains the somewhat complex story of what happened the day I was shot. It's the first time I've heard the whole story and it's also the first I've heard that others were shot as well and that some of them didn't make it. She tells me some names and I suppose if I remembered them, it'd have an effect on me....at least more than just learning people died. From what she understands, the persons involved in this shooting are in custody or were killed in an explosion.
I have a million more questions but I have no idea where to begin. The 'who am I' question is still a mystery to me. I know my name now and I know I was a police officer but beyond that, who I am is nothing more than a blank page. Mary explains that as much as she'd like to help me, she really didn't know me very well. I scan through the list of questions that's in my mind, trying to come up with something she can help me with. She knows I was a police officer so I work on that aspect.
Twelve years...that's not something she knew off hand but she explains that from what she heard I'd been a police officer for twelve years. To me it sounds like a long time but then that leads to another question. I have no idea how old I am.
Again she bases what she's about to tell me on what she's heard and from what she's read on my hospital chart. On my last birthday I turned 34. She smiles when I pause then comment on how I was twenty-two when I became a cop. By the time Mary leaves, I know my name, age, date of birth, that I was a police officer for twelve years, I'm not married and I don't have any kids. It's not much but it's a start.
It seems like longer but is actually only a few days later I find myself in a private room. For the most part, I'm doing okay but they wanted to be able to monitor me and the best way to do that was in ICU. Possible complications following the type of surgery I had...that's what they tell me anyway. While in ICU, the doctors continue to run tests and question me about stuff I have no idea about. Mary has been in to visit several times. My list of visitors has been long although I don't know much about any of them. Mostly people I worked with who understandably are nervous around me. I still have a ton of questions but I've gotten few answers. The answers I get make me out to be some kind of a saint. Somehow, I can't explain why but, I know this isn't true. Mostly I think because everyone seems to avoid the details. All I keep hearing is the same stuff Mary told me...the kind of stuff anyone who can read my chart could tell me. I do hear some stories but I'm left feeling as if I'm only getting one side of the story. I'm not sure what to believe. I mention this to Mary the next time I see her. She doesn't offer me much except a piece of advice.
"The best advice I can offer you is to listen. As difficult as it must be for you, try not to make any decisions on what you're hearing. For now, listen to what you're being told. Listen for patterns...for repetitive information...then trust your own instincts."
I guess my next question isn't a surprise. It was just a matter of time.
"Do I have any family?"
She smiles before answering. "I guess that depends on what you call family."
I was about to ask another question when I see a familiar face. Not so much that it's someone I remember unless you count the face of the first person I saw when I woke up as a memory.
Mary notices her too. She's made it to my doorway but not much further. I can see by her expression that the sadness is still there.
"I should get going," Mary says, glancing at her watch. She touches the arm of my visitor on her way out. As she reaches the door, she glances from me to her before reminding me to remember what she said. I take that as being the part about trusting my instincts.
My focus moves from the door to the person who now stands ten feet from my bed. I can tell she's nervous. I'm getting pretty good at recognizing when people are nervous.
"You wanna sit down?" I ask.
She doesn't reply but nods her head as she pulls the chair back a few feet, then taking a seat.
"So how are you feeling?" she asks. I've heard this question enough to know a good answer.
"Good I guess. I mean I'd like to think I've been better but then you'd know that better than me."
She grins but only for an instant. I offer her my hand.
"I'm Bosco." I reply. She smiles again taking my hand as I finally learn her name.
"I'm Faith."
Our conversation is barely that. I don't have much to offer in the way of discussion so I'm forced to stick to a few subjects.
"We were partners?" It sounded like a question but it was one of the few things I knew for sure.
"Yeah...yeah we were..."
"So, is that where we met...on the job?"
"Actually, no...we actually met at the academy." She says this with a hint of a laugh.
"So we've been friends since we were at the academy?"
"Not exactly," she replies. I can tell she's trying to find a nice way to say what's on her mind.
"So we weren't friends back at the academy or we haven't been friends since then?"
"A little of both maybe," she offers, still trying to figure how to say this. "We didn't exactly hit it off at first...but by the time we graduated, I'd say we were friends."
"So you must know me pretty well?"
"Yeah...I guess you could say that."
"Before you came in, I was talking to Mary...I asked her about my family...if I have one. I mean I do right 'cause everybody has a family. She said it depends on what you call a family. You know what she meant by that don't you?"
She fidgets for a minute. She knows the answer to my question. Once again she's trying to figure out how to tell me. Her hesitance reminds me of my feeling that I'm only getting half the story.
"It's complicated....your family I mean."
"From where I stand, everything's complicated."
"I guess it would be," she says before taking a deep breath. "You grew up in Brooklyn. Your parents divorced when you were ten I think. It was around that time anyway. You and your dad were never very close. You were pretty protective of your mom though....and your little brother."
"Were? You said 'were'."
"Yeah...your mom died a little while back....she'd been hit by a car."
"What was her name?"
"Rose...actually it was Angela Rose but everybody called her Rose."
"And my little brother...he's dead too?"
"Yeah...Michael...everybody called him Mikey. He...he...Mikey was killed earlier this year."
"Killed? My little brother was killed? What do you mean when you say he was killed?"
"Well the short story version of it is that he got mixed up with some guys who were dealing in drugs. He got arrested and he worked out a deal where he could help the police. He was found later...he'd been killed."
"So he was in jail when he got killed?"
"No, he'd gotten off on some technicalities. He was out of jail when they killed him."
I sat in silence for a while, trying to process everything Faith had told me. I rested my head in the palms of my hands, grasping at anything. My mother had died after being hit by a car and my brother had been killed...Angela Rose...Michael...Mikey. How could I not remember my own family...my own mother...my brother? They'd died horrible deaths and I couldn't even remember their names. I didn't even know that I had a brother and now I learn that he's dead. I was staring at the wall when I asked my next question.
"And my father?"
"Your father's name is Anthony. I don't know much about him. I only ever met him a couple times. The two of you didn't get along very well. Mikey was closer to him...you were closer to your mother."
"We didn't get along very well...so that's why he hasn't been here...why you're telling me about my family instead of him?"
Faith didn't respond to my last comment. I guess I didn't expect her to. Even if she did, what could she say? My father's actions pretty much spoke for themselves.
"I'm kinda tired," I said, even though I wasn't. I just didn't know what else to say. Besides that sadness was on her face again.