A WALK WITH MILDRED

Part 2

Mildred, you should have stayed there. Why did you have to come and help? 

When I was a boy, I have always seen Mildred. She saved me then. I was playing in our street with other children. I was very young back then, 7 years old and I was not aware of what was happening around me. I really liked playing patinero. It was fun. I was a fast runner but I was not very sensitive to my surroundings. Time and time again, every time I looked at Mildred, I would remember how she saved me, how my life meant to her, how things changed because of that day. Before she had saved me, I didn’t bother looking at her. I didn’t bother touching her, talking to her, not even playing. However, all those things changed.

We were there. Playing. Carlos, Jun and I. I was almost at the base when everyone suddenly went out of my way. “This now my chance!” I told myself. I ran towards the base when a shriek of panic ran through my body. I heard the siren of a car rushing towards my back. 

I knew then what was happening. They went out of my way because a car was at my back and it was fast. I didn’t know what to do, all I know was that I was near our base and I can’t get out of the way of the car. There was the stench of burning rubber and heard the screeching noise of tires against pavement. 

“It will stop. The brakes can do it. I’m going to be saved.” But it didn’t stop.

The seconds became minutes, yet it seemed an eternity. 

“The brakes! It can’t do it! HELP!” Suddenly, Mildred was there, running. Her body crashed through mine and before I knew it I was out of the pavement. She let out a soft cry and looked at me before she passed out.

That was the time her legs were broken. That was the time she sacrificed herself for me. That was the time, Mildred became my savior.

Now, here I am again, being saved by Mildred. Again, a soft cry came from her as my father jammed a boot on her face. Then to her body. Then to her broken legs. Then he went back to me. Before I knew it, the pain stopped and I woke up in the Hospital.

Fragment of glasses was taken away from my skull. I got broken ribs and bruises on my back. I got operated and stitched by my own mother. For sure, the expenses for my hospitalization would be deducted again to her salary; like when I was young. The cold air of the hospital room, after the surgery, made me re-think of my father. 

“He was not that bad. I never thought he could do that. What could have gotten into him?” I asked myself. Not knowing that the answer was flashing on the headlines of the television set in-front of me.

Drug user veteran beats son to near death; accused of attempted murder. 

Drugs? I never thought my father was using drugs. I thought of all the times I’ve seen my father and never have I seen him do drugs. But, I knew that the news was telling the truth. The female dark-haired reporter, who looked more like a model, told the audience that they found stashes of marijuana and bath salt in my father’s jacket when he got arrested. She turned around to motion to the man sitting behind the jail bars. That was the first time when I saw my father crying.

“What happened to you, sir?” The reporter asked. The cameras shook for a bit and zoomed in on his face. He seemed to not have understood the reporter. 

“Why did you beat up your own son?” Frank. Easy to understand. As a budding writer, I knew that this was the real question.

He looked at the camera as if he was looking at me. Why dad? Why?!

“I don’t know. It turned out I was angry when he arrived late.” 

That’s it?! That’s just it? Did he not understand me? Did he not hear my reason?  I asked over and over again but there came no answer. Just my father, at the television, looking at me lying on the hospital bed trying to understand why.

I closed my eyes and heard footsteps. From the time on the television I knew it was 7 pm. It was time for dinner. The servers could be on their way. Those footsteps must have been them. But it was not. It turned out to be my mother, wearing her laboratory gown, crying as she came close to me and hugged me.

“I should have been there. I should have helped you.” She touched my hand. It was the safest part of me where she could touch. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to hug her. 

“You couldn’t have done anything mom. You could have been in this bed if you were also here.” I tried to smile but it didn’t stop her crying so I changed the topic.

“Where is she?” 

“Mildred?” She stopped crying. But there was a pang of pain in her voice. I knew she dreaded that question. My mother is not a good actress, it’s easy to see if there’s something wrong just through her voice and her eyes.

I rephrased the question. Frank and easy to understand. I thought for a while and asked again. “How is Mildred?”

She grasped my hand harder and looked at me in the eye. “She’s…”

She’s what?! She’s what?!

I was shaking. There was a lot of beeping. My heart rate raised. My blood boiled. If something happened to Mildred again, I could never forgive myself. 

“She’s recovering.” My mother held both of my hands. She knew what was coming. I tried to get up. I wanted to see her. I wanted to be with her. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to caress her head. I wanted to say sorry. Again, she felt pain because of me. Again, she became a victim yet innocent. Because of me. 

“This is all my fault! I want to see her!” I was trying to get up now. My feet were on the tile floor. I tried to get up. For the second time she sacrificed for me. I could not understand why she did that. She could have just stayed and watch me. She could have just saved herself or pretended that nothing was happening.

I raised my upper half body when hands were all around me. The nurses were strangling me back to my bed! I can’t be lying around here and not be able to see Mildred! I looked at my mother. She was far from me now, shouting orders, asking for nurses, asking for syringes when I shouted with all my might.

“Mother, I want to see Mildred!”

Then there was silence. She looked at me. She cried again. In ten minutes, I saw my mother cry twice and my father cry behind bars. This was the most heart-breaking moment of my life. Not until I heard my mother speak the most painful words.

“Emerson … You should know, you can’t see her anymore. Mildred is… “

She turned her back. Her voice was the only sound that mattered now. The rumblings of the nurses were nothing, the beeping were nothing, I was focused on my mother’s voice.

“… Dead.”