I ran around the corner heart racing and my thoughts chasing after it. Callie had called telling me to get to the hospital as soon as possible. Thoughts spun through my head. Was she hurt? Was her mom having another nervous breakdown? Had her dad overdosed again? Callie, though she seemed perfect, had a tough home life. Callie’s mom was insane. Literally. She married her deadbeat cocaine addicted husband because his last name was Purr. She had Callie two months before her really big nervous breakdown. Her husband had been hospitalized for cocaine overdose and wasn’t at home to help her care for a screaming infant. So she quit taking her crazy person medicine. Landing her in the hospital along with her husband. Leaving infant Callie alone for two days at only two months old. Now Callie was strong and independent. It wouldn’t be the first time Callie had called me from the hospital with a crisis, but as I rounded the corner I couldn’t believe what I saw.
Callie sat in one of those ugly green leather hospital chairs, wearing a pink rose patterned hospital gown, hunched over, her body shuddering with the sobs coming from her mouth. “Callie?” She shuddered and sniffled as I sat next to her throwing my arms around her like only a best friend could do and just letting her cry. After all her tears had fallen and she was to the point that even make-up couldn’t fix the bags under her eyes she sat up. “I have spinal cord cancer.” A fresh batch of tears descended down her cheeks, like the raindrops on the window. “Callie…no…” Nodding her head her hands covered her face. And now it was my turn to be strong. “Its ok. Everything will be ok.” Holding her shoulders I rocked her back and forth.
It was after midnight when I arrived home. Callie was tucked away snuggly in a plain white hospital bed, IV in hand, and tears streaking her face. Quietly I slipped my key into the lock and pushed the door open. A shooting pain knocked the wind out of me and blood dripped from my shoulder. ”Where the hell where you!” The darkness surrounded me. I couldn’t see anything but I knew I was in trouble. It was too late when I heard awkward footsteps behind me. Suddenly my face was getting closer to the wall. My nose hit head on and black filled my vision.
“D****t Callie stay with me! I won’t lose you! I won’t. D****T CALLIE!” I was in the hospital room surrounded by buzzing equipment. The heart monitor the loudest. “No Callie no. Please. Please STAY WITH ME PLEASE!” Tears where splashing down and my screams where bringing sympathetic nurses over to console me. “You can’t die I need you! D****t Callie wake up!” But it was too late. Alarms shrieked all around me, nurses scurried around trying to resuscitate her, but I never let go over her hand. My tears soaking her sheets and gown.
A kick to the stomach brought me out of my unconsciousness. “I said get up!” Jorge yelled aiming a steel toed shoe at my head. My nose hurt and blood was pouring from my wounds. It was just a dream. Callie was still alive. I stood up only to have a fist connect with my jaw, sending me slamming into an old rocking chair. It was then I saw what he had thrown at me. A pocked knife covered in blood was under the chair. I picked it up and quickly shoved it into my pocket. “Your not even worth my f*****g time!” Jorge screamed at me before stomping off towards the liquor cabinet
I felt twenty pounds heavier and as I stood up I became dizzy. The blood. I was probably losing a lot of it. Stumbling to the bathroom I was feeling weaker and weaker. Looking into the bathroom mirror I saw that my nose was broken and my shoulder was cut deep. Working with my less dominant left hand I bandaged my shoulder and relocated my nose. Tears gushed down my thin cheeks as I looked at my reflection. A never fading purple bruise under each eye, a scar on my temple, bloody, cut lip, twisted crooked nose, and the finger shaped bruises all around my neck. I pulled the knife from my pocket. The blood, my blood was dry and rusty. Looking at the initials carved on the handle, JMF, in moms tidy block handwriting. I bet she never knew that the knife she so kindly carved initials in would be that one that sliced open her throat and lead her to an early grave. I jerked the sleeve of my green sweater up revealing a ton of blue, black, and yellow bruises. Too many to count.
Rage, sadness, failure, and hate surged through me. My blood pulsed, heart raced and hot angry tears fell down my cheeks as I raked the knife in two Xs down my arms. All the pain, rage, and sadness flooded out of me. Like drilling a hole in a patients brain when there’s too much pressure. Blood poured down my arms dripping onto the floor leaving a big rusty red stain on my white carpet, the salty smell filling the room making me gag. I dropped to the puddle of blood on the floor soaking my jeans. I ran my hands through the salty mix, like a child playing in the mud. But my stomach couldn’t take it. I hooked my fingers to the rim of the porcelain bowl staining it red and wretched into it. I puked until my stomach hurt and my throat was dry. I looked down at my fingers covered in blood, and again the tears began to fall.
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