September 11, 2010
God, that was a sound that I hated. The ringing of my cell phone when I was in the middle of my slumber. These days, my slumbers were long and dull, but I was grateful that I was sleeping through the nights. And the mornings. And the afternoons. Sometimes the evenings.
It wasn't always that way. I used to have trouble sleeping. Bad dreams. Waking up in the night. I didn't have a particularly terrible childhood. I wasn't some tortured soul- as much as maybe I thought I was as a teenager, I grew up and realized that everyone else had their shit too, some worse, some better.
These sleepless nights and dozy days followed something else, something that happened to me earlier this year. Something that most people, I'm sure, would find to be an overreaction. What a fool I must have been to let a simple heart break disintegrate me and whatever life it was that I was building. But it wasn't a simple heartbreak, not to me.
I woke up every morning and thought of her, even as my phone rang and rang, I only hoped that somehow, someway, it was her on the other line. I knew it wouldn't be, but I looked anyway.
The name that rolled over the screen wasn't hers. It was Shane Walsh.
What was my father's best friend doing calling me? They had stopped trying to reach me months ago, so the fact that Shane was calling me right now set a lump of worry somewhere uncomfortable midway down my esophagus. I had almost hoped something was wrong, that it was worrying news because if he was bothering me on some bullshit, I was going to be pissed.
I slid the icon over and pressed the speaker button.
"Hello?" I said, groggily.
"Jack," Shane said, his voice low and almost like a sigh.
"Yes?" I said expectantly.
Something was wrong. Something had to be.
"Listen, man, there's no easy way to say this," he said, and I stayed silent, knowing I wasn't ready for whatever was coming out of the phone next. "Your dad, there's been an accident on the job."
"What kind of accident?" I sat up in the pool of blankets that lay strewn over the sheetless mattress I called a bed.
"He was shot."
Shot? The lump in my esophagus began rising, and I felt as though I was gonna throw up.
"Jack?"
"Hold on," I said, but the words barely came out, and I wasn't really sure if he heard me.
"He's in the hospital, I'm with him right now," Shane continued, not heeding my request to hold on.
"In the hospital? So he's okay, he's going to be okay."
The lump fell down from the top of my throat, traveling down through my esophagus and nestled into the pit of my stomach. When he said shot, all I could see was his funeral before my eyes. If he was in the hospital, there had to be hope.
"Yeah," Shane sighed. "I mean, I hope so. The doctors are sayin' he's got a good chance of slippin' into a coma."
"When did this happen? When did he get shot?"
"Like an hour ago, maybe two," I heard his voice cracking.
"Listen, I am coming down today, Shane. I'll be there tonight."
"Okay, I was hopin' you'd say that. You need money for the plane? Your mom will let you stay in your old room, but if you wanna stay in my guest, I unders-"
"No, I got money, I can stay with my mom, we'll worry about all that when I get there. Let me call you back, Shane. I need to see how much tickets are."
"Okay, you take care. Your dad's gonna be okay," Shane said, though it seemed more of a comfort towards himself.
"Shane, you do too. Text me if you need to."
I hung up the phone and immediately opened the web browser, searching up "plane tickets to Atlanta."
My family didn't live in Atlanta, but rather a small county that was really more of a town than a county. King County sat just on the Southwest side of Atlanta. It was usually a low crime area, but things happened every once in a while. I knew there was a chance of something bad happening with Shane and my dad being cops, but I never really thought the day would come. Vagabonds would drive down from Atlanta and wreak havoc, but they'd get caught, get arrested, and be sent on their merry way. Getting shot didn't happen to people in King County.
I found that the closest plane that would take off tonight was only about fifteen miles from me in Norfolk and could take me into Atlanta. Cheapest tickets- $511. Jesus. I had just been able to pay my rent on the fourth. Living paycheck to paycheck, I doubted I had that in my account.
Opening up my mobile banking app, I frowned at the measly $184.41 that was left in there. How was I going to get the money to get down there? I was sure I could probably afford a greyhound ticket. It might take longer, but at least I'd be on my way.
Just then, another notification came into my phone.
It was .
Shane knew me better than I knew myself apparently. Despite telling him I didn't need the money, six hundred dollars waited in my account. I shook my head at my own stupidity. I knew I needed to have money saved up for emergencies, but I never managed to do well enough. It was such an exact amount that I knew Shane had looked at the same tickets I was looking at, and accounted for taxes- and all the ridiculous additional fees- when considering how much to send me.
I pulled the plane tickets back up and bought a ticket to the next flight to Atlanta, giving me only about three and a half hours until departure.
Surely, I'd forget something I needed packing in such haste, but I considered myself to be a low maintenance kind of man- at least I had been living up to that as of late. I had a beaten up old black hiking backpack that I kept next to my bed. Grabbing it, I began shoving in my favorite clothes, pulling my most favorite shirt over my head in the chaos of it and shoving myself into some recently worn blue jeans. I treated myself with a fresh pair of socks before slipping on my black combat boots.
What else did I need? What else did I need? I went to my bathroom and grabbed my toothbrush, toothpaste, a stick of deodorant, and my cologne- no, no cologne. You couldn't carry that on a plane. Quickly, I picked up my mouthwash and took the last little bit left in my mouth, swigging it around for a few moments before spitting it out. I could brush my teeth in Georgia. I didn't have time for the little things like that. I grabbed the last things I'd need, my cell phone charger and apartment keys before leaving out the door, trotting down the steps.
It was September now, and the tourists were drying up in Virginia Beach, but not so much that tourist's services were completely done for the season. I looked out across Pacific Avenue, brushing the curly hair out of my face with the back of my hand. I squinted my eyes at the bright sun rays that reflected off of the low tide.
I'd moved out here because I always found the water to be something to bring me peace, and peace was something I was oh-so short of. There were still moments at night that I could come out and sit and watch the lightning out in the distance, but stillness only lasted so long. The sun would come out, the tourists would come back, and I'd have to go back to the bleak reality of needing to make money despite not really wanting to do anything at all.
Well, that wasn't fully true. There was something. Something I could no longer have.
I looked down the avenue for an aureolin sedan- or van- or anything that could take me to the airport. About a block down to my right, a heavy-set man and his equally heavy-set wife were pulling their way out of a local taxi.
I offered the driver a polite but disingenuous smile, raising my hand in a passive wave, hoping he or she could see me. As I began to jog towards the vehicle, the hefty backseat passengers waddled their way around the cab to the trunk where they began unloading a few suitcases of luggage towards the Coastal Hotel.
Before anyone else could snatch it up, I grabbed onto the back handle of the taxi, hopping in.
"Where to?" the taxi driver asked.
"The airport in Norfolk," I instructed.
"Perfect!" he exclaimed, a man in his sixties or so with a deep voice. "I make good money bringing folks in and out of there."
"I'm sure," I said politely, offering a toothless smile into the rearview mirror.
"What brings you to Virginia Beach?" he asked.
"I live here."
"Oh, so I should be asking what's bringin' you out of Virginia Beach?"
"Just going to see some family," I said, hoping he'd discontinue the conversation.
I wasn't much of a fan of small talk or needing to rely on others to get me from point A to point B, but that was on me for totalling my car. There was that, and I didn't feel like explaining the intricacies of my father being shot and in a coma.
I gazed out the window as the beach rolled by. I didn't have much more luggage than this when I came into town on the bus. It took about four hours and three buses, but I had made it here, and now here I was, leaving. I hadn't left the town in what I quickly calculated to be over a year. I hadn't left Virginia in what I thought must have been two years. This was my little corner of the world, and sure, I wanted to see more of it, but I hadn't had the heart to leave Virginia. It was where I met her.
Hot panic boiled through my veins. Why the fuck was this campus so big? Shenandoah Hall? I was told it should be "not far from" the east parking lot, but I was parked there and I couldn't see anything that indicated that the hall was anywhere around here. I was already late, and it was only my first day.
Someone had to help me- someone had to know where this goddamned hall was.
"Excuse me," a dark haired woman and what was presumably her boyfriend- equally dark-haired sat in the grass near a koi fish pond that glimmered in the late summer sunshine. "Do you guys know where the Shenandoah hall is?"
The couple looked at each other and laughed, only a slight but noticeably condescending laugh.
"Are you serious, bro?" the man asked, his voice sounding like a thirteen-year-old boy trying to sound like a grown adult man.
"Right there, genius," another voice came from behind me, a low and sultry one.
I turned around to face the source, and it was perhaps more beautiful than even the voice which had already sent an electric pulse through my body upon hearing it.
Her wavy auburn hair adorned the strong features on her face. Intense dark eyes bore into mine, a mischievous gleam in them that matched the subtle smirk on her full lips.
I had almost forgotten what I was looking for. I had found something much more alluring. Or rather, it had found me.
She raised an eyebrow that seemed to have cut me out of my trance.
I followed her thumb that was casually pointing in the direction of the nearest building.
"Thank you," I said, smirking in return, my cheeks going maroon.
"You got it from here, or do you need me to walk you there too?"
I hesitated. What was the slickest possible response?
"I'm going there anyway," she said after I hadn't replied.
Shit. No response certainly wasn't the best response.
"Do I look like I need a babysitter?"
Her eyes gave me an up-down that made my heart jump from my chest. I wondered if she could see it popping out like a cartoon character.
"Something like that."
I offered her a smirk then followed her into the building, grabbing the door to hold it open for her before she could do so herself.
"You know the room number?" she asked.
"Uhh… 214? I think it was."
She stopped walking and looked back at me, her eyes having an effect on me that I didn't know possible. I imagined I looked rather idiotic, standing there looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something. Anything.
"Psych 101?"
"Yes."
She scoffed, "you got a name, classmate?"
"Do you?"
God. That was dumb. Was that dumb?
"Magna."
Magna. It was different. Not a name I'd ever met anyone else with.
"Jack."
"Well, Jack, aren't you glad you ran into me?"
Play it cool.
"I'm not so sure."
She laughed. "How else would you have found your way?"
"I'd manage. Besides, it looks to me like I'm not the only one who's late."
"Maybe you should mind your business."
"I'll think about it."
I spotted the plaque for room 214 and grabbed onto the door, opening it and letting Magna in first. Following in after her, I felt the heat already present in my cheeks at the looks the professor and class was giving me for entering late. I suddenly felt bad for Magna, as I'd practically made her enter first, but she seemed to be taking it fine. She looked at no one, completely unbothered, and sat down in an empty desk.
As for myself, I sat a few rows back and to the right of her, trying to not think about her and pay attention to what the professor was saying. This was proving an impossible task.
"Alright, buddy, here we are," the cab driver pulled me out of my thoughts.
I grabbed my backpack, and opened my wallet from my pocket, pulling out whatever cash I had and handing it to him. I'm sure it was more than enough, but I couldn't be bothered to count it all out, my anxiety already eating at the idea of me missing the flight.
Rushing out of the door, I missed whatever he was shouting back to me and in through the airport's doors. I fumbled deep in my pants' pocket, pulling out my phone to pull up the mobile ticket.
GATE C1
Okay. C1. C1.
Ahead of me, displayed digitally was a list of all the gates and where they were going.
My eyes scrolled through the list until I located…
C1 Atlanta. Departing at 4:30.
Okay. I still had an hour and a half. It should be enough time to get through customs, but the line was looking pretty long from here.
Whatever. It could be longer. I'd still make it.
I stopped at the end of the line and pulled my phone out, texting Shane to let him know I'd made it to the airport.
I thought about texting my mother, but it had been so long since I'd talked to her. I didn't really know what to say. I would've texted Carl- my little brother- but my parents thought twelve-years-old was too young for a phone. I disagreed in his case. He was a good kid and he could handle it. My dad made a decent living through the police force too, so it wasn't like money was an issue. If I made more money- or any money really- I'd have bought him one and had him hide it.
Instead, I settled for texting Shane again.
How's Carl doing? And mom?
It was only a few seconds before he replied.
About as good as you'd expect
That wasn't much to go off of. So I didn't say anything at first, but then another text followed.
Carl's devastated. Your mom's doing her best to be strong. Where u at?
Waiting to go through security.
Thank you for coming, Jack. I'm glad you picked up the phone
Yeah. I'll let you know when I'm on the plane.
Okay kid. Have a safe flight.
I shoved my phone in my pocket as I moved up the line.
Everyone was already lined up for boarding by the time I'd gotten there, leaving me in the back. I felt a huge sense of relief at knowing I was going to get on the flight after all.
I assumed everyone was just as eager to get on the plane as myself, as the line moved up pretty fast until it got to me. I showed the attendant my mobile ticket and she directed me forwards. Making my way to my seat, a middle seat of course (much to my disappointment).
I took a deep breath and thought about my mom. I was on my way, and that counted. But it was shitty of me to not say anything to her after not having spoken to her in months. Not even just for her. But for Carl.
I pulled my phone back from my pocket, and opened our text conversation. The last date on there from early July of her trying to reach me and me not replying time and time again. I put my fingers to the keyboard.
Be there soon. On the plane. Love you.
A nervousness tingled through my body. I put the phone on airplane mode and put it back in my pocket.
It didn't feel real until I took the first step out of the airport. It had been years since I had been in Georgia, not to mention, Atlanta. Wherever she was, I was far from her now.
Shane's Jeep Wrangler pulled up to the curb, and I got in.
"Where's your other luggage?" he asked, one hand on the steering wheel as he drove away from the arrivals section.
"Didn't exactly have time to pack a whole lot," I replied, looking over at him.
He didn't look at me, just straight forward. His brow was tense and his eyes were dark.
"It's good to see you, kid," he said at last, his voice almost pained.
I'm sure he'd been upset about my being MIA for the past several months, but Shane had some honor to him. As pissed as he might be, he was smart enough to know that this wasn't the time. And that I was sure to get it from my mother later.
"It's good to see you too," I said, my voice weak. "Thanks for pickin' me up. And for the ticket."
"It ain't nothin', kid. Your mom's gonna be happy to see you. Carl too."
"I figured they wouldn't be."
"Now, why would you say that?"
"You know why."
Shane scoffed. "You're family. It don't matter how long it's been."
"I'm surprised your wrangler's still wrangling."
"Why would you say that," he laughed.
I wasn't sure if he was asking why I was changing the subject or why I was questioning the condition of his vehicle. I was hoping for the latter, so I assumed as much.
"Ain't this thing older than me?"
"1987, baby. She still works like a charm, you know why?"
"Why is that?"
"I take care of her. You take care of her, and she'll be reliable. That goes for vehicles and women. Don't you forget that."
It was my turn to scoff.
"That why you can never keep one?"
"No!" Shane couldn't help but smile. "You ought to be askin' them why they can't seem to keep me."
"Is that right? Mister Untouchable. No women livin' up to your expectations?"
"Just ain't worked out like that. Would about you?"
"What about me?"
"Girls?"
I shook my head.
"I thought you had that girlfriend a while back? Your mom said you mentioned one."
"She ain't here, is she?"
"You don't got to get defensive. I'm sorry, Jack, but it's probably better this way. There's plenty more girls out there."
I didn't want his opinion, so I said absolutely nothing. I turned my head and looked out the window, watching the beech trees as they passed on the side of the highway.
We pulled up to the parking lot of King County's little hospital, Harrison Memorial. It was out of the way- not close to the center of town, so I didn't see it that often. I was born here. My little brother was too. But I'd only ever visited it when things weren't going so well like when Shane broke his nose on the job or when Carl had that really bad flu. With that being said, being at the hospital Pavlov'd me into a multitude of negative emotions.
"Listen to me, Jack," Shane said, his tone serious. "Your mom's a strong woman, but with your dad out, you're the man of the household for now."
"I ain't been a part of the household for a while."
"Don't get smart with me," he warned, but his voice was soft. "You got to show your little brother and your mom for that matter that everything's gonna be okay. It's time for you to step up. Your dad's gonna be just fine. I don't need you breakin' down and freakin' out. Not in front of them. If you get upset about it, you come to me."
"Sure," I agreed, turning from him to open my door.
I got it. My dad was shot. He had a close call with death, but he was fine. It's not that it was easy. It wasn't. Not at all, but my dad had been a police officer as long as I could remember. It was a risk I knew well of, but didn't have a say in. It was what it was. I knew what could happen.
I took a deep breath at that thought. Knowing it to be true didn't keep my nerves at ease. I got out of the jeep, following after Shane who was already power walking towards the hospital's entrance- the walk he did when he was serious and stressed- broad shoulders swinging his arms back and forth. Shane found himself to be a real tough guy. Don't get me wrong, the guy was tough. Just a little too self-serious at times if you ask me.
I caught up to him, as he entered through the front door, following him as he marched right past the reception desk. The first receptionist tried to stop us, but the second one told her that that was Deputy Walsh. The first one backed off at that.
He led me to the elevators, and pressed the button for the third floor. Shane folded his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. He'd been quiet since he picked me up. At least quieter and more serious than the usual cocky Shane I was used to. The guy liked to crack jokes- and not the most suitable-for-work type jokes either, but this Shane, well he was all serious and somber. I knew he cared for my dad, but the fact that he hadn't smiled at all this whole time made me nervous.
It only was two floors we were going up, but the elevator ride felt like forever. To be fair, it was an old building, and the thing moved slow and opened even slower.
Shane took a deep breath as the door stalled open, stepping through it as soon as there was enough space for him to fit through. He stomped down the hall, me right behind him, swinging open the door to what I presumed was my father's room.
I felt their eyes looking at me, but all I could see was my father.
There he was. In the middle of the room, lying lifelessly. I knew there was life in him. It was only a coma, and he had a good chance of making it out of it- that's what Shane told me. But seeing him like this. Helpless. Unaware. It was crushing me.
What had I done?
My face must have been wearing what I was feeling because I felt a hand on my shoulder. It startled me at first, so I turned to face it. It was my mom. Her eyes were ripe with tears.
And it hit me again.
What had I done?
I tried to hold the tears back. Shane said to be strong. I wanted to be, but I could feel my eyes moistening. My mom pulled me into a hug. I hadn't hugged her in God knows how long.
It had been months since I talked to them. I'd held it all against them. Everything from my birth.
We weren't originally from Georgia. My parents- and Shane- grew up in the small southern baptist town of Cynthiana, Kentucky. And when I say southern baptist, I mean southern baptists. My parents grew up ultra religious. My dad's dad- my grandpa Arthur was the town's preacher. My mom grew up going to his church; Shane grew up going to his church. When my parents were teenagers, they got together, and they had me. Having a child out of wedlock at seventeen was frowned upon in that community, especially by Grandpa Arthur. My grandpa John (my mom's dad) was incredibly embarrassed that his daughter had allowed herself to be knocked up by the preacher's son, so they pushed them to get married, then they pushed them away. To Georgia. So here we came. King County, Georgia. Shane came with them, the good friend that he always was. An eighteen-year-old, freshly married, Rick and Lori Grimes and their one-year-old son, John Arthur Grimes. If only they knew naming me after their dads wasn't going to make their dads any happier. Glad they decided to go with calling me a nickname instead.
They were too young to get married. They didn't know what they were doing with me. It's not that they didn't love me, but I always felt they secretly resented me for causing the uproot of their life. Like things would have been better if I hadn't been born.
Then they had Carl. I was already seven at that point, nearly eight. And I could see it from the first second. How they put so much more effort into him than they ever did with me. He was their second chance. A child born in wedlock. A child they actually wanted to have and I wasn't an accident. I tried my best not to resent the kid for it; it wasn't his fault, but being a kid and seeing how much more he got than me. I didn't know any better. I could see it then, and I could see it now.
Carl didn't make any move to hug me, to greet me in any way. He ran to Shane instead, hugging into his side.
Shane patted the boy on the head affectionately.
I had to give it to Shane. I knew he and my dad were attached at the hip ever since they were boys. But knowing Shane uprooted his life to help my parents raise me, no benefit of his own. He was a good man, and a good friend. I loved him, and Carl loved him too.
"I'm sorry-"
"Jack," my mom interrupted me. "It's okay."
The guilt in my chest panged harder even.
It wasn't just the resentment. It was me. I needed time for myself after I'd lost Magna. I left my family high and dry while I sat around and felt sorry for myself.
It's not even about the needing time for myself that's selfish. It's about the fact that here my dad was, unconscious in the hospital. It could have been worse. He could have been killed. And the last words I said to him? Well, I don't even remember what they were. If there was a God, thank you to him that my dad wasn't killed, that he had a good chance of surviving this thing.
I let go of my mom and went to my father's side, taking his hand in mine. It was limp, but warm. His monitor beeped in the background through the silence of the room.
"Y'all have been here all day," Shane spoke up. "Rick ain't goin' anywhere. We can come back and see him tomorrow again, but why don't I take y'all home? I bet y'all must be hungry too."
"Have you eaten?" My mom asked me, putting her hand in my hair and tossing it around like I was a little boy again.
I shook my head. "I ain't hungry."
"Come on now, don't pull that with me."
I forced a lazy smile.
"I'll buy everyone some Five Guys," Shane offered, getting a more genuine smile out of Carl.
He loved Five Guys. My parents were pretty strict with how much we ate fast food. Shane was more of the cool uncle who would get it for us behind their backs, but given the circumstances, my mom wasn't going to argue, and my dad was in no position to.
"Thank you," my mom said to him.