Page 76 of Aria

Sam’s scream.

No.

I flew off the bench so fast, it felt like an otherworldly force had sprung me to my feet. When I raced around the corner of the playground, I discovered Sam lying crumpled next to the foot of the slide. Glancing up to the top of the play structure, I noticed an opening where a small child could easily fall through if they weren’t careful. It had to have been at least a twelve-foot drop.

“Sam! Oh, fuck…” I rushed over to my son, pulling out my phone and frantically dialing 9-1-1. My hands were shaking so hard, I tried three times before finally getting the number combination correct. Crouching over Sam, I checked for a pulse.

Thrum, thrum, thrum.

He was alive. He was breathing. Sam was unconscious and his arm was twisted behind his back, but he wasbreathing.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“I’m at Holden Park off Center Street. My son just fell off the top of the playground and he’s unconscious. Please… fucking hurry.”

I knew enough to know that I shouldn’t move Sam until the paramedics arrived, or I could potentially cause more damage. Instead, I sat beside him, running my hand over his forehead and gently moving his light brown hair out of his eyes. “You’re going to be okay, Sammy. You’re going to be okay.”

The ambulance arrived within three minutes. They were the longest three minutes of my life.

The following moments went by in a daze. A neck brace. A gurney. Oxygen. Flashing lights. Bystanders gathering. Medical jargon. Sam’s tiny body being lifted into the back of the ambulance. Someone was talking to me.

Someone was talking to me.

“Sir, are you going to follow?”

My vision blurred. The voice sounded like it was underwater. Or maybe the words were being said in slow motion. Possibly in a different language. I blinked. “What?”

The EMT continued to speak. “Sir, are you okay to follow? Are you his father?”

“My son… he’s my son. Yes.”

“Did you want to ride with us? We need to go now.”

The words began to register, and I nodded slowly before following the paramedic into the back of the ambulance. There was IV equipment, cardiac monitors, and oxygen tanks. Sam’s vitals were being taken as he laid there unconscious.

Why wouldn’t he wake up? Was he in a coma?

The ride to the hospital was brief. When we arrived, I tried to follow the staff down the long corridor, but the EMT stopped me.

“A doctor will speak with you soon,” the man said.

I didn’t understand. “He’s my son. I need to be with my son.”

“Your son is in good hands.”

All I could do was stand there, paralyzed.

Sam could die.

Sam could die.

The realization settled in, and I felt like I’d been sucker-punched in the gut. Sweat pooled at my hairline. I was dizzy, weak.

Chelsie.I had to tell Chelsie.

I fumbled with my cell phone, my fingers trembling as I paced the hallway back and forth. Back and forth. Chelsie picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Noah.”

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