by Edith Pattou
And not in a good way.
I arrive on McKinley Road two seconds behind
the first ambulance.
I say first because it was clear
from the initial 911 call
that we were gonna need more than one.
A lot more.
MAXIE
I keep telling them
I’m not hurt,
that it’s not
blood
on my shirt,
it’s
MoonBuzz.
Then I realize.
It is
blood.
Felix’s
blood.
A man with pale eyelashes
is talking to me,
his voice calm.
I’m not hurt, I keep saying.
Finally he looks me
in the eye
and says softly,
You’re in shock.
Which shuts me up.
Because,
yes,
that’s exactly what
I am.
In shock.
And likely to remain that way
for a
long,
long
time.
CHLOE
“Blood and Sandals”
Sitting on the curb,
I have this weird
peaceful drowsy feeling,
even though my foot throbs like
my beating heart has slid down into it,
and blood is pooling
under my sandal.
A lot of blood.
(That sandal is going
to be ruined and
it’s too bad because
those silver sandals
are my favorites.)
There are flashing lights
and cars and people
rushing around.
Someone shines a light in my eyes.
Someone else is talking to me,
asking what my name is
and what the date is,
like I really care about that
right now.
The boy next to me has started to cry
and I feel sorry for him,
but I wish everyone would just
shut up and go away
because all I really want to do
is
go
to
sleep.
WALTER
If Billy Clanton had only surrendered
a lot of bloodshed would have been spared.
But the town must be protected and
a sheriff has to make the tough choices.
The girl with the yellow hair, sitting by me on the curb,
she understood.
Mother. Where is Mother?
Billy Clanton had a gun. I saw the gun in his hand.
But the thing I picked up. It was a toy, not a gun.
A rubber toy. That squeaks.
The toy is wet, with Billy’s blood? Or someone else’s?
It was a girl. My head hurts. I don’t know.
Mother. I need to keep Mother safe
from the bad guys, from the Clantons.
Need to stay strong, protect Mother.
What do all these people want?
But I recognized the girl. The girl covered in blood.
The girl on the bike. I’ve seen her, with her dog.
She was a good guy, at least I thought so.
Someone you could be friends with.
MOTHER?
POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD
A pale slight kid wearing
a baggy green sweatshirt and glasses
is sitting on the curb,
holding a blood-smeared
rubber crow
in his hands,
crying.
And a pale blonde girl with a bloody foot
sits beside him, her hand
resting on his shoulder.
Even though he’s small and thin,
he looks to be about the same age
as the blonde girl and the other kids.
But I can tell right away he is separate,
not with them.
And it’s not because he’s so skinny
or pale
or wearing glasses
that are too large for his face.
The other kids are in shock,
disoriented.
But this kid, he’s got a look on his face
like he has no idea
how he got here,
what just happened.
Lost.
I approach him carefully.
All I can see is
this rubber crow in his hands.
But I’m sure there’s a weapon,
somewhere nearby.
He looks up at me
with his wet eyes,
then points,
like he can read my mind.
And, sure enough, there it is,
lying on the sidewalk.
A rifle.
ANIL
1. I want to ride
In the ambulance
with Felix.
But they won’t let me.
The police chief says
he needs me to stay,
to help him sort out
what happened here.
As if I know.
MAXIE
The man with the
pale eyelashes
says I need to follow him to
an ambulance.
I’m not hurt, I say again, like those are the only words I know anymore.
But what I really mean is:
I can’t move.
Since my feet
are suddenly
not my feet,
but unmovable
blocks of concrete
attached to the bottom of
my legs.
My head,
on the other hand,
feels light,
buzzy.
like it might
float away.
Then I see
Emma
on a stretcher,
her face the color of
streaky white marble,
her eyes closed and
her arm connected
by a tube
to a bag
on a pole.
And after that,
everything
goes
dark.
ANIL
1. Chief Delafield steps away
to talk to another cop,
and an EMT guy
wearing a black shirt
with a logo I can’t make out
comes over with a couple of towels for me.
And I suddenly remember
I’m not wearing a shirt,
that I’d used my shirt on Felix,
and that my chest and arms
are streaked with his blood.
In a daze I wipe myself with the towel,
but I suddenly feel weak,
exhausted, and stop,
draping the towel around
my neck to hide my nakedness.
2. I stare out at the scene before me,
then look at my watch.
But I can’t read it through
the splotches of blood, still wet,
on the watch face.
Time has blurred,
Maxie could’ve called 911
a few minutes ago,
or a few hours.
I don’t know anymore.
But in the space of that time,
or at least since
the first ambulance arrived,
a small city of vans and cars
and flashing lights
and yellow tape
has mushroomed
around us.
Staccato bursts of
walkie-talkie voices,
urgent, saying things like
perimeter secured,
shooter in custody.
And real voices, also urgent
airway clear,
pressure dropping,
c-spine secure.
3. Then, out of the corner
of my eye,
I see Maxie fall,
limp and pale,
to the ground.
Instinctively I move toward her,
but an EMT guy stops me.
We’ve got her, son.
4. Chief Delafield is back.
He leads me toward the SUV.
First thing I need from you, Anil, he says, are the names and addresses of all the kids who were with you in the car.
I know why.
So their parents can be
notified.
Your kid was shot tonight.
And might die.
I shiver,
then start talking.
MAXIE
I wake up in the
ambulance.
You fainted, says the man in his calm voice.
And the image of
Emma’s
marble face
comes back with a rush.
I concentrate on
breathing.
Then I see the IV
attached to the
back of
my hand.
I feel this flash of
outrage.
I don’t need that, I say.
Just a precaution, the man says.
Take it off, I say.
Inside I’m screaming,
You don’t understand. I’m not the one who got shot!
We arrive at the hospital
and I’m taken
in a wheelchair
to the ER.
I’ve always been
scared of hospitals.
They make me think of
death.
But everyone is so nice,
so reassuring.
They wheel me into
an empty room,
and take some
blood
for a tox screen,
whatever that is.
Just a precaution, they say.
I keep asking about Felix
and Emma
and Faith.
Over and over:
where are they?
how are they?
But no one will tell me
anything.
FAITH
Being pulled
onward,
like Polly
pulling me
forward
on her leash.
But I
can’t see
Polly,
only
a soft
whiteness
all around
me.
Quiet,
like
swimming
underwater,
but even
more
silent.
Movement
against
my face,
around
my body.
Soft, gentle
white birds,
like ivory gulls,
all around,
surrounding
me.
Nothing sharp,
no beaks
or claws,
just feathers,
lightly
brushing
my
face,
and
arms
and legs.
Calm and
loving
and
sweet.
Sunday, August 29, 1:48 a.m.
POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD
There was a case
back five years ago,
a young man who strangled his mother,
and then shot himself.
That was a tough
crime scene to process.
But it doesn’t hold a candle
to this one.
Not even close.
Five kids hurt,
four in ICU,
three with injuries so bad
they could quite possibly
die before morning.
The Indian kid, Anil Sayanantham,
walks me through what happened
as best he can.
It’s clear he’s in shock and
I hate to put him through this,
but I’ve got to get at
the truth, as quickly as possible.
Even if none of those kids die,
God willing,
the media is going to be
all over this.
A real circus,
I can feel it coming.
But I can’t think about that right now.
Need to concentrate on
getting this job done
and getting it done right.
Sergeant Wilcox drives off
with the perp,
this boy who picked up a gun
and shot up a car full of teenagers,
and one on a bike.
This pale skinny boy
who can’t stop crying.
Who will take care of Mother?
That’s the last thing he says,
sobbing, before they drive away.
So I go up the path,
past three broken pots of roses.
Enter the house, through a screen door
with holes in the mesh.
The house is dead quiet. Dark.
I find myself reaching for my firearm.
Then I see a faint light coming
from the second floor.
So I head toward the staircase.
But just before I step on that first stair,
I hear a sound. The sound of a chair,
rocking.
From the dim light coming from above,
I see the living room, to my right.
And a figure of
a white-haired lady
sitting in an upholstered rocking chair.
Rocking.
She has her hands cupped
in front of her, and is staring down,
unblinking, absorbed by what she sees
in her hands.
Ma’am? I say.
She looks up, then lifts her hands toward me,
as if offering me something.
My roses, she says. They broke my roses.
I can just barely make out a pile of
bruised pink rose petals
cupped carefully
in her hands.
Sunday, August 29, 2:20 a.m.
MAXIE
When Mom and Dad
come into the hospital room
I suddenly
start to cry and
can’t stop.
Like one of those weird
face fountains
you see in pictures of gardens in Italy,
with the water
endlessly trickling from
unseeing