Soulful Spark

2. Road Trip

A/N: Right-hand side...There is a picture of Steth and his theme song. Enjoy! 

Song: Move Along

Band/Group: The All-American Rejects

☤ Rσad Tяip ☤

I remember the sirens wailing, accompanied by people shouting as they loaded Dad onto a stretcher. A paramedic tended to my small cut and when he finished, I scrambled into the back of the ambulance. With a spluttering cough, the engine started and we barreled past red lights as regular cars yielded.

We arrived and I craned my neck, feeling so tiny compared to the immense building in front of me. For the first time, I experienced the hustle and bustle of a hospital. People of all ages were crowded up by the counter, making excuses for why they needed immediate attention. Others were milling around, just waiting.

“Get him into surgery stat!” an urgent voice yelled.

I trailed behind them, hoping that Dad was okay. Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I whirled around. The woman smiled and grabbed hold of my hand, leading me to an room with cushy chairs and a rack of magazines. She told me to stay put and that she would let me know when I was able to see Dad.

“Where is he? What room?” My voice cracked, making me sound younger than I was.

 “Don’t worry your little head about it. Your dad is going to be fine,” she reassured.

When the woman left, I exhaled in anger. She treated me like I was a kid. Sure, being seven years old didn’t count as an adult, but I probably knew more about surgery than she did. Without a moment of hesitation, I snuck out. Nobody paid any attention to me as I darted around patients and doctors, searching for Dad.

I backtracked and by luck, I found the right operating room. Standing on my tiptoes, I was able see through a small window on the door. The figures were blurry because my breath frosted the glass, but I saw one of them administer anesthesia. I observed and guessed the wound was being cleansed. The longer I watched, the more I wanted to have a career in the medical field. I certainly had the ability to memorize drug names and my hands were always steady. The hospital wasn’t the best place to be, but I didn’t mind the strong smell of antiseptics.

Minutes passed and I rushed back to the waiting room when I saw that the wound was being sutured. While I was catching my breath, I pretended to flip through a movie magazine. Soon enough, the woman came back and I was reunited with Dad. He embraced me and I returned the hug, nestling my head in the crook of his arm.

After a much needed reprieve, the police asked us about the incident. We told them about Cecilia and they promised to have a guard with us 24/7 in case she tried to kill Dad or forcefully take me with her. Meanwhile, the police conducted an investigation. Not to my surprise, she was off the grid. Vanished without a trace. Who would stay in plain sight if their victim lived and was able to identify them?

Later on, we learned that some of our possessions had been stolen. Even worse, all our bank accounts had been cleared out by Cecilia. So much for saving up. We never went back to normalcy…

Dad had to work full time, not to mention overtime. I helped around the house whenever I could. Believe it or not, but my grades slipped to B’s. The bills kept piling up and Dad couldn’t make ends meet. Our house was inevitably foreclosed. We lost everything.

Dad was afraid that Social Services would call him an incompetent parent and put me in foster care, so he rummaged through his drawers and grabbed a wad of cash. He called all our relatives, but nobody wanted to take us in or help us out. What a great family. The only option left was to live on the streets. He gathered a few belongings as I did the same. Then we headed outside and hopped into the car.

“You’re going to be okay, right? Are you sure about this?” The rhetorical question popped up for the tenth time, interrupting my train of thought.

I groaned inwardly and echoed, “Yes, I’m going to be okay. I’m sure.”

He was being overprotective again. I wasn’t that vulnerable seven-year-old anymore. After all, I was on the brink of becoming a ‘teenager.'

Dad was driving me to a new neighborhood, so I could scout out anyone who offered jobs. By jobs, I mean odd ones. Name anything and we’ll have a crack at it. In the past, Dad has run errands, decorated windowpanes, and even fixed a roof. I persuaded Dad that I could handle a job and he agreed after a few minutes of deliberation. Hopefully, he wasn’t going to go back on his word.

I perused a medical handbook, studying some common diseases. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dad reaching for a cup of coffee.

“Don’t drink so much. Too much caffeine can sometimes be bad for you.”

Dad was definitely running low on sleep.

“Steth, it’s decaf,” he countered.

********

He spotted a two-story house that looked like it could use some renovation and let me out. We said our good-byes and he mentioned that he’ll swing around in an hour or so. I nodded and followed the cobbled pathway until I reached the entrance. My nerves caused me to hesitate before I rung the doorbell. If I didn’t land a job, our money supply wouldn’t last long. Could there possibly be someone worse off than me?