eyes. There’s also Spud’s dad and step-mom, Uncle Ned, and a few
from his gathering, all over by the cop cars and ambulances. This is real , I’m thinking,
this is real. I can’t fathom all the people, the sound of disbelieving voices, the
flashing of the ambulance lights. The damn heat. Something horrible has happened.
More cops, lots of official looking stuff. Ma has somehow appeared next to me, and
I collapse into her, against her sweet smelling shoulder, my tears keep coming. I
have no clue. What has happened? Oh my, I can hardly breathe. Suffocating out here.
Things are getting so fuzzy, and everyone seems to be talking at the same time. Just
stop!
What will happen? Between my disbelief, the river, Mom, my shock, the alcohol, my
nap, my tears, my pounding head, this blasting awful news, I faint.
“Jack? Jack?” Mom is standing over me, her hand on my forehead, and I’m laying on
a couch. With further looking around, I realize it’s in Ned’s family room, the kitchen
off to the side where I hear many voices. Please, not more muffled voices.
“Oh Jack,” she bends to hug me and I take in her cottony summer perfume. “I’m so
sorry.” She’s crying, lightly, but still. Now she sits on the floor next to the couch,
hand on my head.
“What?” I ask, trying to sit up. I don’t get it. Why’s she sorry? Am I sick? I feel
sick, my stomach is nauseous, and my head feels like it’s been pelted with a hammer.
“Jack, Spud….”
Spud. Oh no, it’s real. I remember. It’s really real.
“Spud?” Not great with my words and comprehension, it’s all I can mumble. I still
don’t want it to be true. I’m growing increasingly alert now, my chest in panic again,
like there’s that Nina Patton girl sitting on me.
“Jack…, the river; he had cramps and panicked. He’s,”she can’t finish and doesn’t
even have to.
“Oh, God. No.” I don’t know what else to say. How can this be true? One minute he
was there, and now he’s not? This can’t be. My best friend. My best best buddy. Oh
God, his parents…his girls… his guitar playing. What about all that? I can’t look
her in the eye, and I am staring at the turned-off television across from the couch.
Mom’s saying something, but I can’t comprehend. It’s all like blah, blah, blah. She
sounds like the lady, the mom, in the Charlie Brown cartoons. Mwa Mwa Mwa. Can’t
make it out. Nonsense. It’s too hot. It’s too fast. The room is taking on a swirling
like a carnival ride gone haywire. The white walls are fading into swirls of white
and blue and black, swirling like a tie-dyed shirt. Making me dizzy. Why can’t things
stay focused. Why do I keep feeling sick? Why can’t I face this? Where is Spud, though?
His body. Man, who wants to think about that? But did they find his body? Maybe there’s
still hope! I realize I’m not getting these words out; they’re stuck in my head.
Mom’s talking, as others have come in the room, and I can’t talk back. I’m a mess,
a head pounding, sweat-drenched, blubbering mess, and it’s not gonna get any better.
Listen to me, god dammit! If they haven’t found him, if there’s no body, then maybe
it isn’t true! Help me! I can’t get the words out, and the struggle is too much.
Nina, get off my chest! Stop the pounding in my head, please. My hands are cradling
my head, trying to stop the pounding and the loud wailing of the sirens. Why won’t
they stop wailing? Are they really wailing? It’s like they’re in the next room! Please,
make them shut off. And those stupid walls, who painted them that way, all spinning
so fast… All spinning so fast. Oh, Spud. Spud. Spud.
Chapter 7
Staring at my own white ceiling. What else is there to do? Nothing. No point. Mom
has tried to come in to my room and talk, get me to move from my bed, made offers
of ham and cheese omelets. Nope. Tacos. Nope. Oreo cookies with milk. God, no. Spud
loved Oreos, drenched in a tall glass of ice cold milk, all soggy.
from his gathering, all over by the cop cars and ambulances. This is real , I’m thinking,
this is real. I can’t fathom all the people, the sound of disbelieving voices, the
flashing of the ambulance lights. The damn heat. Something horrible has happened.
More cops, lots of official looking stuff. Ma has somehow appeared next to me, and
I collapse into her, against her sweet smelling shoulder, my tears keep coming. I
have no clue. What has happened? Oh my, I can hardly breathe. Suffocating out here.
Things are getting so fuzzy, and everyone seems to be talking at the same time. Just
stop!
What will happen? Between my disbelief, the river, Mom, my shock, the alcohol, my
nap, my tears, my pounding head, this blasting awful news, I faint.
“Jack? Jack?” Mom is standing over me, her hand on my forehead, and I’m laying on
a couch. With further looking around, I realize it’s in Ned’s family room, the kitchen
off to the side where I hear many voices. Please, not more muffled voices.
“Oh Jack,” she bends to hug me and I take in her cottony summer perfume. “I’m so
sorry.” She’s crying, lightly, but still. Now she sits on the floor next to the couch,
hand on my head.
“What?” I ask, trying to sit up. I don’t get it. Why’s she sorry? Am I sick? I feel
sick, my stomach is nauseous, and my head feels like it’s been pelted with a hammer.
“Jack, Spud….”
Spud. Oh no, it’s real. I remember. It’s really real.
“Spud?” Not great with my words and comprehension, it’s all I can mumble. I still
don’t want it to be true. I’m growing increasingly alert now, my chest in panic again,
like there’s that Nina Patton girl sitting on me.
“Jack…, the river; he had cramps and panicked. He’s,”she can’t finish and doesn’t
even have to.
“Oh, God. No.” I don’t know what else to say. How can this be true? One minute he
was there, and now he’s not? This can’t be. My best friend. My best best buddy. Oh
God, his parents…his girls… his guitar playing. What about all that? I can’t look
her in the eye, and I am staring at the turned-off television across from the couch.
Mom’s saying something, but I can’t comprehend. It’s all like blah, blah, blah. She
sounds like the lady, the mom, in the Charlie Brown cartoons. Mwa Mwa Mwa. Can’t
make it out. Nonsense. It’s too hot. It’s too fast. The room is taking on a swirling
like a carnival ride gone haywire. The white walls are fading into swirls of white
and blue and black, swirling like a tie-dyed shirt. Making me dizzy. Why can’t things
stay focused. Why do I keep feeling sick? Why can’t I face this? Where is Spud, though?
His body. Man, who wants to think about that? But did they find his body? Maybe there’s
still hope! I realize I’m not getting these words out; they’re stuck in my head.
Mom’s talking, as others have come in the room, and I can’t talk back. I’m a mess,
a head pounding, sweat-drenched, blubbering mess, and it’s not gonna get any better.
Listen to me, god dammit! If they haven’t found him, if there’s no body, then maybe
it isn’t true! Help me! I can’t get the words out, and the struggle is too much.
Nina, get off my chest! Stop the pounding in my head, please. My hands are cradling
my head, trying to stop the pounding and the loud wailing of the sirens. Why won’t
they stop wailing? Are they really wailing? It’s like they’re in the next room! Please,
make them shut off. And those stupid walls, who painted them that way, all spinning
so fast… All spinning so fast. Oh, Spud. Spud. Spud.
Chapter 7
Staring at my own white ceiling. What else is there to do? Nothing. No point. Mom
has tried to come in to my room and talk, get me to move from my bed, made offers
of ham and cheese omelets. Nope. Tacos. Nope. Oreo cookies with milk. God, no. Spud
loved Oreos, drenched in a tall glass of ice cold milk, all soggy.
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