Entry #521227, added on 06-28-08 @ 7:47 pm EDT
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| Part Two - Chapter Eight: Yellow Bandana | Entry #521227 |
Chapter Eight
May - 1976
I read the sign above the door aloud as we entered: “Emergency room.”
It felt like the inside of the subway tunnels near our home and smelled of urine and body odor. People moaned, argued and wept in various corners. Blood leaked to the floor from two people lying on gurneys and rolled like a tiny stream toward a frail, thin, gray-haired black man in a blue smock. He slowly, but carefully glided a large wet mop in wide sweeps toward the gurneys. The arms of both victims dangled to the side as if no life existed in them.
“A typical day at the county owned hospital,” the gray-haired police officer said without expression. He pointed to a room and said to the rookie cop, “There’s a bank of phones for us in that room. You have everything you need to call it in?”
“Yep, shouldn’t take too long,” the young officer replied.
Claustrophobia crept over me and I grabbed Les’s fingers with both hands. We followed the officer to the nurse’s station, situated in a corner at the end of a long check-in counter. A noise bothered me to the point of causing goose bumps. I sought it and decided it was the sliding doors of the vast room’s entry repeatedly opening and closing as people limped in or were rolled out in wheelchairs.
“Hi Janice,” the older officer said.
The nurse, Janice, dressed in a white uniform, looked up with a warm smile and kind eyes. Her auburn hair was pushed up into a bun.
“Well, hey there Jim. What can I do for you?”
“Following up on two gunshot victims brought in a few minutes ago,” Jim flipped open a notebook and pulled a pen from his left shirt pocket.
A woman screamed and three guards armed with spray-mace and billy clubs merged upon a man in a muddy tee shirt. They fought him to the ground as he shouted words I’d never heard before. When he was rolled on his back after being handcuffed, the woman walked over and kicked him in the face. Another guard pulled her away and she screamed again, “Baby killer! I hope you die, motherfucking baby killer!”
“Why are we in this place, Les? How can anyone here help make David better?“ I asked.
The nurse looked at Les, then her eyes lingered on me. Les, put his arm around my shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe with me.” Then he told the nurse, "It's her first time in a place like this."
Officer Jim nodded his head toward us and said, “This is the victims’ family. What can you tell us about their condition? David Lansing and Ed Harris. I believe they’re cousins.”
Janice reached for a chart hanging behind the counter. “Yeah, Lansing is in critical condition. A small calibre gunshot wound, probably a twenty-two, to his right side and head. The bullet to the head entered through his left ear and didn't exit. He is in bad, bad shape. Harris is listed in fair condition. Kneecap. Probably from the same gun. He'll live.”
She paused, then scanned another chart. “Hold on a minute, Jim. Let me go back and see what’s being done.” She disappeared around the corner and through two swinging doors.
Jim turned and asked Les, “What are your parents’ names?”
Les said, “Our mom’s name is Linda Lansing. Our dad is in prison. Do you need his name, too?”
The officer glanced up from his notebook for a moment, then continued to write in his note pad as he said, “No, son. Your mom’s name is fine for now. Is there a phone number where she can be reached?”
Les looked down. I knew the gesture. He was thinking it over. He glanced at the clock on the wall and said, “Well, she works at Nichol’s chicken factory over on North Main, but she got off a few minutes ago. She’d be at the bus stop by now. We don’t have a phone at home.”
The officer said, “Okay, why don’t you and your little sister have a seat over there?” He pointed to a bench next to the nurse’s station. The nurse returned and leaned over the counter and spoke softly to the officer. She glanced over to Les and me. I started to cry and leaned into Les again. Les stood up. The officer walked in our direction. I made myself stop crying as he approached.
Les asked quickly, “How is my brother? Is he going to be okay?” His voice shook as he spoke.
“Your brother is in surgery. It may be a while before they have any news for you. He has a good team working on him. I’m going to send an officer to your house to let your mother know. You and your sister should remain here.” He opened his book and checked what he wrote earlier. “I have 404 West Belknap. Is that right?
Les said, “Yes sir, but I don’t think she is there yet. It takes about an hour for her to get home. Sometimes the bus takes longer than other times.”
“That’s okay. We’ll keep checking ’till we find her. Y'all wait here. I’m sure your mother will be here soon to join you.”
Les asked, “What about my cousin?”
The officer said, “He’s in surgery, too. You can check with Janice, the nurse at the desk in a little while for more information. That’s what she’s there for. If you haven’t heard anything in the next hour or so she‘ll help you. I’ll check back with you and, hopefully your mother later.”
He pulled a card from his right pocket, then said, “Here's the number to the station. If you remember anything or just need some information, call. My name is Jim Waters, just ask for me. I may still be on patrol, so you might have to leave a message and I’ll get back with you as soon as I can.”
He closed his notepad and placed it with the pen back in his pocket. He reached over, put his hand on Les’s shoulder and said, “Son, say a prayer for your brother. He’s hurt bad, but I’ve seen a few miracles in my time. God can do anything. Stay positive. Your brother is still with us, so there’s hope he may pull through.”
Les broke into a quiet cry, put his hand over his eyes, then sobbed until he couldn’t hide it. We sat back on the bench, Les with both hands still covering his face. I wrapped my arm around him this time and leaned against his shoulder.
I said, “David’s tough, he'll be okay.” I tried to sound genuine and I patted him softly on the back. I fought back my own tears and the painful lump in my throat. My entire world had changed. Nothing seemed real. The feeling of being crowded returned. I was in a foul-smelling, unbearably loud, nightmare. Though the lighting was stark and bright, the entire place felt like a dense, dark fog.
I noticed Officer Waters return to the nurse’s station and speak to a different nurse. He pointed in our direction, but whispered. Still, I could hear him.
“Do you have a hospital Chaplain on duty?” he asked.
He leaned closer and his whispers became difficult to understand. But I thought he said, “Notify him for the Lansing family, in case he doesn’t make it. It’s not looking too good, so I have an officer headed to get the mother.”
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© Copyright 2008 L. A. Powell (UN: lisapowell at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
L. A. Powell has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Content Rating Notice: Recommended for Readers 18 Years and Older Only
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