Journey to Garg

"No! Please don't abandon me! Where are you going?" I exclaim in fear as I think why this is occurring.

"I have to do something. I'll be right back," he replies in a different, dark voice that doesn't sound at all like him. My best friend, Keith Rodburg, has been my friend since first grade.

I sprint behind him. "It's not even my birthday soon, so there's no chance they are organizing a party."

I slide to a stop in front of Keith, appalled by what I see. The scene is bloody. The color red dominates the grass that was once green. It is torture to see Keith lying there, moaning in pain with pieces of metal scraps protruding near his exposed stomach. I run to him and kneel on my right knee to get a closer look. There were metal scraps riding on the puddle of blood above his visible stomach. My gaze meets my watch as I look to see what time it is.

"We still have an hour until Mother will pick us up from the park," I think.

"Oh, no!" I speak to nobody. "What do I do? Mom isn't going to come until an hour to pick us up," I say to myself.

I yank my phone out of my back pocket and dial 911 as fast as I can.

"Hello?" someone says on the phone.

"Hello! My friend, Keith Rodburg, is severely injured and needs immediate medical attention. Can you please send an ambulance?"

"We definitely can. We need your name and current location."

"My name is Lily Smith and we are currently at Memorial Park. You will find me at the golf course and I'll take you to him."

"Okay then, the ambulance will be there as soon as we can," he hangs up.

I remember the mini first aid kit Mom makes me keep in my pocket before leaving the car. It will hopefully be of some help. I try to recall all those times when Mother lectured me about what she did in the hospital that day. Having a parent as a surgeon can be very annoying, but helpful too. I reach for my pocket and take out all the medical supplies I think would be helpful in this situation and the pouch that holds the sanitizing wipe.

"It'll all be alright. Don't worry. I will help you," I whisper to him in his cold ear, remembering when Mother told me to never speak in a loud voice when in a surgery.

I pull his t-shirt up so I can look at the entire wound and place my hand over it and press hard enough to keep the blood in his body. However, the horrendous injury is getting worse and worse. I can feel my clammy hands shivering with fright because I know that if I touch any of the vessels, they could possibly send him into shock. As soon as I fit the tweezers in his body, he shrieks so loudly it feels like I am going to be deaf.

"Be brave, Keith. Be brave," I mutter gently in his ear.

After what feels like ten hours later, I am finally done; I had cleaned the wound up as much as I possibly could. I sprint to the golf course noticing the nurses rolling a stretcher beside them.

When they get close, I say, "Follow me!"

They do as instructed.

A minute later, Keith is on the stretcher.

When we reach the hospital, Mother is asked to look at Keith.

"Oh my goodness! What happened? Are the two of you alright?"

"We're fine, Mother. Keith just fell while running," I reply.

After ten minutes of examining, Mother finally talks again, "Your ribs have split into two pieces and one of them is coming out. You will need bed rest for at least eight weeks to get the bone back into its position and heal it properly."