I was only in seventh grade when my mom picked me up after school to go straight to the hospital. This time it seemed more serious than others, but I didn’t fully understand the circumstances. Not even a few days later, my oldest brother, Jesse, got a call from our family members that were at the hospital. I remember responding to him as he yelled my name with an attitude. I was annoyed by him rushing me to come to his room, without thinking of a reason why he would want me to run.

My mom wanted my two brothers and I to come say bye to my grandpa. I didn’t begin to cry. Instead, I grabbed a tastykake and got in the car with my aunt, who would drive us to the hospital. She tried to talk to us about our day and have a casual conversation, and I still wasn’t fully aware of what I had to say when I got to the hospital. Looking into the hospital room, I saw a few of my aunts and uncles standing around the hospital bed where my grandpa was laying down. They stepped aside for my brother Seth and I to come in. My brother must’ve went first because I remember being in the room when he started to speak. Whenever I recount what happened that day, I hear Seth’s voice in my head, “Uh grandpa… this is Seth… I love you.” I followed up just by telling him I loved him. I had never lost a loved one before, let alone have to figure out a way to say goodbye. When I turned back around to look at him after leaving the room, I felt like I was falling apart. The tears that were streaming down my face wouldn’t stop. Whether I went back inside to make another remark or stayed outside crying, there was nothing I could do or say that would change him being gone forever. Saying goodbye to someone makes you think about everything you could have done before that moment to appreciate them more, but it was just too late.

Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick.

System failure! System failure! Someone, please help! I’m begging you! I’m not ready for my life to be over. Please help!

Black clouds, time lost.

Keep flying the plane! Get the power plant back up, make sure the rudder is straight, do something! It can’t be over, it barely started.

Void fills, sound barrier breached.

Screams lost in tears. One heartbeat fills the plane. Lost, damaged, frightened. How are we going to secure it?

Downward spiral, fiery inferno.

Engine failure. Reconnect, rewire, redirect. Please do something. Help me, please! I’m scared. Don’t let it be over! Can you get it back running? Please, say you can. Please! I’m begging you.

Beaten, weak, suffering.

First officer is down. The rudder is tilted far left we’re all going down

Light streams, numbness engulfs.

Save the passengers! Save them, please I’m begging you!  The world freezes no sound to be heard. We’re going down. I’m afraid it’s ending, and my worlds falling apart.

The landing gear has failed, please help!

System failure! System failure!

The powers out for only a few seconds, light begins to flicker through the room as if it’s lost its the strength to turn on. Somethings wrong, a wisp of tears leans against my face. I know this isn’t a dream, it’s a nightmare. The flickering light becomes a tunnel. The slow ticking immerses, a face appears. Dr. Davis looks at me lost and says “I’m sorry sir, your wife body wasn’t strong enough, her system failed. She’s dead and so is your child. I’m sorry. I did everything I could to help.”

I've lost my life, I’ve lost my wife. My child is gone. I’m alone. I sit on the side of bed replaying the daily nightmare. The world doesn’t seem real. Her spot is precisely how she left it. Bed unkempt, lavender slippers adjacent the closet still with the little dust-bunny she never picked off. It’s been months but I lose her again every night. Every time I creep over to kiss her good-night I slip into her non-existent presences once more. Every use of the restroom when I run out of paper and call her with no answer in return. She’s promised to always be there. And she isn’t here now.

Audio / Visual companion -

Song:

Cheetah Girls- It’s Over

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vLsO5TdKtJQ

Bad luck, again. It came out of nowhere, I think it was just a small bump, it was nothing to worry about. But the doctor said otherwise. The words came out of his mouth, benign tumor and surgery. Thoughts came rushing through my head. I remember thinking of that day, running down the field as fast as I can go to catch the disc. But to avoid hurting a freshman I jumped to the side, messed up the footing as I landed and there I was in agony on the ground with turf in my mouth. All I could think about was the pain. I couldn’t move a single part of my body because the shock was too great. To this day I don’t even remember clearly how it happened. What side of my foot did I land on? It happened quickly, too quickly. And there I was unable to walk, and my ankle looked like a inflated balloon.

I couldn’t remember the number of doctor’s visits I had, but I do recall many doctors telling me that it’s most likely just a sprain. Just a sprain? That’s a minor injury I believed. But of course that was just a opinion, the MRI results clearly said otherwise. With the next visit, the doctor that was going to perform my surgery came into the room with a big fat smile that it almost scared me. He told me that I fracture my fibula and dislocated my peroneal tendon. Surgery was required to put my tendon back in place. I wanted to be able to walk, run and live a normal life so I had to get this surgery. With countless tug of wars to try convincing my mother to do the surgery, There I was being prepped to be taken into the OR. My memories are blurry to this day, but I remember the surgical assistant talk to me as I watched the anesthesia slowly drop down the IV into me and my eyes slowly give out. I woke up feeling like all my insides wanted to come flying out of my mouth. It was painful, but I did it and it was over with. But here I am sitting in another room being told I have a benign tumor. I needed another surgery to remove it, and there I was sitting in the hospital with a tube in my neck.

Author's Note

In my reconstruction of a memory I tried to use the techniques that Margaret Atwood and Ken Kesey has used. The small section that we analyzed from Atwood had questions that was brought up to show that the memory wasn't clear. It made it more realistic because the memory actually was not clear. And the technique I took from Kesey is how the scene was something being remembered and how something triggered that memory. For this, it was based on a person experience and what triggered that memory was having a surgery for a second time.

I pull up to a stop light, looking to my left, I notice my old middle school. The sight of the building floods me with memories. Most people think fondly of when they were just children with no responsibilities, with no care in the world. I don’t. I wasn’t a particularly happy kid, but it was at its worst in middle school. There aren’t many good memories, but some were livable.

Walking through the hallway was a dangerous game, there was always someone there to make it more difficult than necessary. I don’t remember much of this day, but I was walking back from art class, holding a folder of drawings. A foot stuck out, the folder went flying, and I went down. I couldn’t tell who did it. I was stunned, I couldn’t believe what happened.

I looked up and saw someone looking at me, he wasn’t laughing, just looking. What was his name? It hit me that a popular kid just saw me trip. I shielded my face and looked down, refusing to lift my eyes. I figured if I can’t see him, he can’t see me, right?

A pair of shoes stepped into my view and the person attached to them crouched down to gather my papers. When I finally looked up, he smiled at me and held out a hand to help me up. That had never happened to me before. I was the disposable kid. When someone saw me fall they just kept walking, but not him.

I’m sure he doesn’t remember that day, he probably doesn't remember me at all and that’s okay. That was the happiest I felt that whole year, just the simple fact that someone else noticed. The small moment of kindness defines him in my mind, thinking back about it, I realize that everybody has a different version of you in their mind. Even though I didn’t think anybody cared back then, I know know that at least one person did, even if it was just for a moment.

We reached the room and crashed on the twin sized bed. Our clothes were ripped apart and there was dirt lining our faces. All I could think about was that bridge. I remember her telling us there wouldn’t be a problem. My head was buried in the pillows, the only thing I could imagine was the pulling, and the lights.

That night the town was lit up for festivities. This is where we were at first, lighting sparklers and giving life to the abandoned halls. Barbara told us of this day. This was the one day that there was light on this street. Other days were overshadowed with broken street lamps and empty buildings. Barbara looked up to the dark mountain, pointed, and said that was our goal. So we followed, not knowing where or when we’d be back, or if the light would persist. This uncertainty was frightening. The road we walked on was winding and losing its way. A light was on. It revealed a towering spiral staircase. We weren’t to step on it, once someone steps on it, it buries into the ground with its crumbling rust. The other side was steep and daunting. So we went up, holding on to the stone of the Neretva water treatment plant, hoping the moisture wouldn’t result in a long fall. My hands were trembling with this fear, Barbara said it would be okay, but the trembling wouldn’t stop. There were screams from above telling us to continue, screams we couldn’t recognize, so we went up until there was a cage, hoping to ignore the loud noises surrounding us. The cage was in the shape of a cube with rusting green paint giving it color. The darkness didn’t reveal any inhabitants, and no noise that would hint to these screams. So it was safe to climb over, holding on to the small openings it gave, furthering our exploration closer to the screams. Again, we went higher until we could see the other side of the bridge. Barbara looked at me, “That’s where we’re going.” Her finger directed us to the other side, with large square gaps in the center. There were letters all over it, in different colors and sizes. I guess it was the words of those who were there before us, warning of the trek. The screams seemed to be of the same genre. Warnings. Warnings Barbara wouldn’t take. She swore it was still safe. None were in our language, so none proved useful. Looking to the forest there was darkness, looking to the town there was a circle of fire, glowing. I wished we went back, when the light was still there. The holes were big and under them was a heavy stream of water coming from the treatment center. Splashes rose like there was life under, some world we were interfering with. Our legs fell over the ledges and felt the nips from the waves pushing them different ways. Our legs crashed into each other. Our legs felt the movement of the monster. Our legs were the ones who knew.

I felt a grab pull me under the stream, it grabbed on to Barbara too. We were under, looking for oxygen to give us life. What was pulling us under? Our limbs crashed into eachother as our clothes were being shredded and faces brushed the mud below. We kept going and going down the stream. How long were we under? I don’t know. There was light on the other side, I could see it, but my focus was on breathing. In and out. In and out. My face peaked the water, I saw the light. Barbara pulled me out of the water all at once. My eyes went black.

That was all I remember. I wish I remembered more, how my clothes got shredded, who was the monster doing that? Now I’m safe. I’m on the twin bed. I’m safe.

Here I am, all dressed in an uncomfortable black outfit. The weather is fitting for the day. It’s raining, really heavily might I add. My father with a slightly stone cold face. Trying to pretend like he isn’t hurting right now. The surrounding people dressed in black, holding umbrellas and tissues. The man standing next to Dimitri is giving a speech, his words, along with the sobs of others began to grow fuzzy. He’s a cruel, cruel man. My cruel brother. Leaving me all alone.

Outside, I was forced outside. His shouts could be heard by the neighbors. Tears rolling down my face, as I crouched to the ground, hands covering my ears. My eyes were tightly shut. A curdling scream released. In the distance I could see my father frantically trying to call someone. Help.

“Bastard! This is your fault!” His voice was filled with hatred. It wasn’t… It wasn’t my fault! I had nothing to do with this! I need to help him… I was like trying to reach out, yet he wouldn’t grab my hand. I can’t hold onto him any longer. The window now shattered out of rage. My heart was beating fast, my breathing was labored. My eyes forced open, taking one good look at Dimitri. My eyes locked with his, never leaving the brown eyes that once shined. Dimitri wouldn’t listen, he kept screaming. Placing all blame on us. Guilt… It was eating at my stomach. I knew, I knew I shouldn’t be guilty. Yet, with him screaming at me. Taunting me. I couldn’t help it. Time went slower than normal. The screams stopped. My body shot up. Dimitri could no longer be seen from the window and I didn’t hear footsteps on the stairs. Dimitri… The only person I cared about. Feet running as fast as possible to the door. Not caring if I stepped on glass and bleed.

“Dimitri! Dimitri! Open the door! Please! Please, let me know you’re okay!” I dryly shouted, pounding on the door. Fresh tears running down my face once more. No answer.

I tried to escape from a house to find a home. I kept looking over my shoulder the paranoia was getting to me, suddenly I heard a voice.

“Did you think you could hide forever?” I didn’t but it was worth was a shot.

“I’m your dad and you have to listen to what I tell ya. That’s the way it is. I don’t want you to be a loser like you loser mom’s side of the family. You’re a Jones not a Williams,” The same speech I heard dozens of times before. Of all the places he could be, he was here and found me, just my luck. I do the other thing I’ve ever done my whole life, run. I run because I refuse to be controlled. I refuse to allow someone to be antagonized their whole and put up with it, only to have their abuser wear the victim’s mask. I refuse to allow someone to lie about their former spouse having affair in order to manipulate their family. I refuse to be a Jones.

“Get back here!” he yelled when about ten feet back when I initially bursted into sprint. There’s no turning back. I ran until I didn’t see him anymore, and I kept running after that. I could never be sure I wasn’t just running away from family mistreatment anymore. I was running from the slight part of me that resembles him. I’m running from the man I’m afraid I’ll become. I’m running from the future I fear more than anything. I’m running from a man that’s been running from himself.

“You thought you could outrun me?” He came out of nowhere The anger in his face was enough to start a war itself. He cocked his arm all the way back and right before I’m hit that’s when I awake.

This reoccurring nightmare happened again. Even when he can’t control me I allowed myself to be scarred by him. Although this moment happened years ago I’m only able to remember it on a good day and on a bad day I relive it.