patter quickly down the stairs.
“What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Mitch Ryker?” I muttered to myself as I stood up, stretched my tired arms, and headed over to my messy closet.
It was unusual to hear about Mitch getting into any kind of trouble. He was generally a well-behaved guy and kept himself out of harm’s way. He was a member of the High school football team and loved to play, though half the time he was seated on the bench. His grades were decent, and our parents had just bought him his first car for bumping them up a notch that semester. I couldn’t remember the last time Mitch had done anything that was particularly bad or would have caused our parents any sort of concern.
I slipped on a pair of jeans and threw a cardigan sweater over my pajama top. When I glanced in the mirror, I felt like I looked horrible without any makeup and my long, blond hair defined the term “bed head.” The clock on my dresser said “1:13am.” I had only gotten about about 3 hours of sleep, and my feet were dragging.
“Hurry up, Annie!” my Mom yelled again.
I threw my hairbrush in my purse and started for the door. I could give myself a mini-makeover on the way to the hospital.
Mom was holding the foyer door open when I arrived downstairs, and I could hear the Subaru in the driveway already running. She locked up the house as quickly as possible, and soon we were speeding down the highway.
“What exactly happened, mom?”
“The said that Mitch was hit by a drunk driver when he was on his way home from his girlfriend’s house.”
“But he’s going to be alright, right?”
“Annie, don’t you understand what ICU is?? He’s in critical condition. The doctors are fighting to keep him alive.”
I was stunned. These kind of things weren’t a normal occurrence for my family, so I really hadn’t had much experience with the ideas of “critical condition” and death. It all didn’t seem real. Especially for Mitch. He was the last person I’d ever expect to get himself in that type of situation–not that it was his fault or anything.
“I knew we shouldn’t have bought him that car...” Mom lightly slammed her hand on the steering wheel, and I could see the slightest bit of tears starting to trickle down her face. “We should’ve just waited until he was older.”
“He’s 18 already mom…”
“He might be 18, but he’ll always be my baby.”
My Mom loved Mitch like he was her real son. I was only 2 years old when Mom got remarried, and Mitch was 4, so our family had spent the last 14 years together. It really didn’t feel like he was my stepbrother. He was the lone sibling that I grew up with, so having him around was the only thing I really knew.
I reached my hand out and wiped the stream of tears off of my mom’s face. “He’ll be okay, mom. He’s strong…”
My Mom nodded slow, and I could only hope that I was telling her the truth.
We parked in the visitor area of the hospital, and I had to jog to keep up with my mom’s furious walking pace. Her eyes were wide, and her demeanor was frantic as she walked through the Emergency Room doors.
“Mitch Ryker,” she huffed to the lady behind the reception desk.
“Your name? And what’s your relation to the patient?” she asked.
“Melissa Ryker. I’m his mother, damnit. Where is he?”
I had never heard my mother curse, so it rattled me a bit. I placed my hand on her shoulder to calm her down. “Mom…”
“Ma’am, please have a seat,” the receptionist said as she began typing into her computer. “Give me one moment, please.”
My Mom reluctantly turned and sat in the front row of the visitor seating, crossing her legs impatiently. Her top leg was bouncing up and down nervously, and her anxiousness was beginning to spread to me.
The hospital was cold, and the somber faces of the other people in the waiting section were unsettling. I was biting on my fingernails when a handsome, mid-40’s man in a white lab coat
“What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Mitch Ryker?” I muttered to myself as I stood up, stretched my tired arms, and headed over to my messy closet.
It was unusual to hear about Mitch getting into any kind of trouble. He was generally a well-behaved guy and kept himself out of harm’s way. He was a member of the High school football team and loved to play, though half the time he was seated on the bench. His grades were decent, and our parents had just bought him his first car for bumping them up a notch that semester. I couldn’t remember the last time Mitch had done anything that was particularly bad or would have caused our parents any sort of concern.
I slipped on a pair of jeans and threw a cardigan sweater over my pajama top. When I glanced in the mirror, I felt like I looked horrible without any makeup and my long, blond hair defined the term “bed head.” The clock on my dresser said “1:13am.” I had only gotten about about 3 hours of sleep, and my feet were dragging.
“Hurry up, Annie!” my Mom yelled again.
I threw my hairbrush in my purse and started for the door. I could give myself a mini-makeover on the way to the hospital.
Mom was holding the foyer door open when I arrived downstairs, and I could hear the Subaru in the driveway already running. She locked up the house as quickly as possible, and soon we were speeding down the highway.
“What exactly happened, mom?”
“The said that Mitch was hit by a drunk driver when he was on his way home from his girlfriend’s house.”
“But he’s going to be alright, right?”
“Annie, don’t you understand what ICU is?? He’s in critical condition. The doctors are fighting to keep him alive.”
I was stunned. These kind of things weren’t a normal occurrence for my family, so I really hadn’t had much experience with the ideas of “critical condition” and death. It all didn’t seem real. Especially for Mitch. He was the last person I’d ever expect to get himself in that type of situation–not that it was his fault or anything.
“I knew we shouldn’t have bought him that car...” Mom lightly slammed her hand on the steering wheel, and I could see the slightest bit of tears starting to trickle down her face. “We should’ve just waited until he was older.”
“He’s 18 already mom…”
“He might be 18, but he’ll always be my baby.”
My Mom loved Mitch like he was her real son. I was only 2 years old when Mom got remarried, and Mitch was 4, so our family had spent the last 14 years together. It really didn’t feel like he was my stepbrother. He was the lone sibling that I grew up with, so having him around was the only thing I really knew.
I reached my hand out and wiped the stream of tears off of my mom’s face. “He’ll be okay, mom. He’s strong…”
My Mom nodded slow, and I could only hope that I was telling her the truth.
We parked in the visitor area of the hospital, and I had to jog to keep up with my mom’s furious walking pace. Her eyes were wide, and her demeanor was frantic as she walked through the Emergency Room doors.
“Mitch Ryker,” she huffed to the lady behind the reception desk.
“Your name? And what’s your relation to the patient?” she asked.
“Melissa Ryker. I’m his mother, damnit. Where is he?”
I had never heard my mother curse, so it rattled me a bit. I placed my hand on her shoulder to calm her down. “Mom…”
“Ma’am, please have a seat,” the receptionist said as she began typing into her computer. “Give me one moment, please.”
My Mom reluctantly turned and sat in the front row of the visitor seating, crossing her legs impatiently. Her top leg was bouncing up and down nervously, and her anxiousness was beginning to spread to me.
The hospital was cold, and the somber faces of the other people in the waiting section were unsettling. I was biting on my fingernails when a handsome, mid-40’s man in a white lab coat
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