Blinker

“I…”

The rain dropped endlessly—the world in a state of mourning along with me.

I struggled to see the officer in front of me, let alone hear what he was trying to say.

“Sir,” he repeated, a stream of rainwater pooling and spilling over the edge of his wide-brimmed hat. “Do you understand what I’ve just told you?”

I nodded, my eyes fixed on the stream waterfalling from his hat.

He placed a hand on my shoulder, and my jacket squished beneath the gentle pressure of his hand. He pulled it away, and the sensation was departure. Like the lift-off of a dove. Like peace leaving my presence. Abandoned.

My knees felt weak. Didn’t know the last time I asked them to stand this deep into the night. The last time I asked them to carry the burden of my body in a torrential downpour, my clothes added substantial weight to my frame.

My mind raced at a dizzying rate. How could it all happen just to end like this? Why?

The flashing blue and red swirl in my vision, turning the rain purple.

A thought stuck against the walls of my brain. And I tried to shake it loose. I didn’t want it. Not now. Not like this.

“Please, I can’t…”

It’s of you. Your face is purple. Wrinkles line your face in a silent cry.

Six pounds eight ounces of pure joy, love, and affection. Healthy, just bruised from the labor. Nurses assured us that the color would fade. It did. And you were beautiful.

“No…”

You were perfect.

My knees buckled, and I hit the ground. My hands pressed into the wet asphalt. Shards of glass cut into my palms.

Heavy drops of rain beat down on my back, pressing me down with each hit.

Another memory.

“Please, don’t…”

You’re four and adventurous. Your eyes carried a sparkle that would only get brighter as you got older. I’d chase you around as your imagination blasted you off to other worlds—your smile. Your smile was infectious. The way your face alone would light up a room. Didn’t matter where it was, what the circumstance was, you’d lift the spirits of every person in the room.

I remember when I got my health scare, how I changed everything. What I ate, how much I exercised. When I went to sleep and woke up. I changed everything for your sake. To live longer. Long enough. For what, though? This? To witness this? First, your mom…Now you. What cruelty healthy living has subjected me to.

When the memory faded, I realized that I wasn’t holding you.

People moved around me. Life was continuing, somehow, without you.

I tried to stand, but fell over onto my side, saturating myself even more in the rainwater.

A firefighter came, helped me to my feet. “She’s in the ambulance now. They’re transporting her to—”

“Take me to her.”

“Of course, Sir,” the firefighter responded with gentleness in his voice.

They loaded me into a cruiser, and the reprieve from the rain felt like a breath of fresh air. A breath that was stifled by the nauseating gurgle of memories, desperately climbing up my brain stem.

I cradled my head in my hands as an officer slid into the driver's seat. He called codes over the radio and started the engine.

An image of you danced in my mind’s eye. You’re ten and so full of life. You traded ballet lessons for hip hop classes, tutus for baggy pants, slippers for street shoes. You began developing your own sense of style and opinions. Oh, were you opinionated. At ten! I never encountered a more lively, vivid spirit than yours. I bought flowers for your first choreographed performance. You absolutely nailed it.

My body jostled around in the back seat of the cruiser, the memory fell from my consciousness.

A large cross came into view. The emblem of the nearby hospital. We were local, which meant either one of two things: your injuries were mild enough that a local hospital was well-equipped to handle your recovery or…

“Sir?”

The sight of the hospital dragged yet another memory across the floor of my mind.

“Sir? Do you need—”

“Donald.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Call me Donald.”

“Right,” the officer responded, reaching his hand through the open patrol door. “Watch your step, Donald.”

They walked me up and through the emergency sliding doors, splitting before us as my mind splits open a memory before me.

It’s you.

You’re cold, lying on an MRI table. A result of parental paranoia. You’d hit your head and, entertaining the worst possibilities, we pushed for the scan. Even after they gave us the whole rundown of the potential harm of being exposed to the radiation. Seemed like a no-brainer at the time.

We always tried to do our best, even as ill-informed as we were as parents. We always had your best interests at heart. Always did what we thought was best for you. To protect you. To teach you. To grow you into the person you were…

“Donald?” the officer's voice sliced through the memory like it was made of paper. “This way.”

I followed the men in uniform through multiple sets of double doors, watched as they greeted nurses, security guards, and other personnel like old pals. They were used to being here. For them, circumstances didn’t necessitate emotion or feeling. Just duty.

We walked for what felt like an eternity. Would I have to wait for eternity to see you again?

I was handed off to another officer who stood outside room 209, his arms clasped in front, legs spread.

“Donald?”

I nodded, wringing the nerves out of my hands. “How is she?”

“They’ve stabilized her for now,” the officer said, parting his hands. “But she remains unresponsive.”

An urge to break down and cry fills me. Not now. Not yet…

“What,” I started, then swallowed gravel. “What happened?”

“Your daughter wa—”

“Violet.”

The officer eyed me, a compassionate smile formed, “Violet was attempting a left-hand turn on a no-arrow intersection. She was hit by opposing traffic.”

“But,” I stammered, trying to gather myself. “How…Why wouldn’t they have seen her? Was the other driver drinking? Did they fall asleep? Were—”

“Donald,” the officer placed his hand on my shoulder, “I know how hard this is right now. The thing—”

I rolled my shoulder, knocking his hand off, “How could this have happened? She was always cautious. Smart. Safe…”

“We’re still looking into it,” the officer said, shoving his hand into his oversized jacket pocket. “An investigation is occurring as we speak, but it looks like her left blinker may have been out.”

“Her turn signal?”

“Mhmm.” The officer started to take his hand out of his pocket, but stopped. He took careful, cautious steps around me, “I’m very sorry, Donald. Really, I am.” and then he left.

Another memory.

“Please don’t…I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to remember it. I can’t…”

It’s you—last week. You’re in the kitchen, licking brownie batter off the spoon, perched on the counter.

“So,” you said, waiting for my response.

“So, what?” I responded, my mind focused on the oven settings.

“The light?”

“Oh, right,” I said, sliding the tray of viscous dessert into the oven and closing the door. “Umm, tomorrow. I should have time tomorrow. I’ll run down to the auto shop and pick a new one up.”

You hopped off the counter, pecked a kiss on my scruffy cheek, “Thanks, Dad. Love you.”

“Mhmmm.”

The ventilator huffed, breathing for you. The monitor charted your artificial heartbeat, accompanied by the rhythmic beep with each spike.

I knelt at the side of the bed, reached for your hand, and held it limp in mine.

“I…I love you, too.”