Authors: Kevin P Gardner
Break The Ice
Break The Ice
By: Kevin P. Gardner
Break The Ice
Published by Kevin P Gardner
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2015 by Kevin P Gardner
Cover illustrated by Greg Geli
The contents of this book may be shared by the purchaser in whatever way he/she chooses so long as he/she does not resell or reproduce any ideas, stories, or characters or try to claim these ideas, stories, or characters as his/her own.
For Mom – thanks for a lifetime of advice and courage. Stop smoking!
“
Thanks, Matt. Looks like this heat wave will push on for another long, hot day. That makes eighteen in a row over the hundred mark if you’re in the northeast here. Expect limited cloud coverage and
–”
“–
a real scorcher out there today. Given the choice, stay inside. If you have to go out, bring water. You’ll need
–”
“–
zoinkies, Scoob. Did you hear something?
”
“Pick one channel and stick with it, Sammie. I’m concentrating in here.”
“Sorry,” I say and mute the TV. “Everybody’s complaining about the heat. I know it’s hot outside. I can feel it.” No answer. I pull against the loose fabric of the couch’s back cushion, lifting myself up. The remote falls onto the floor and bounces towards the TV. My shirt sticks to every inch of skin when I lean forward, extending my fingers, trying to grab it. It’s too far, so I kick at it and push it farther away.
It can stay there for now.
Outside the open window, a few kids run through sprinklers, laughing. The landlord hates how much water they waste and yells at them every time, but they never listen.
I don’t blame them. Anything to cool down. The small ceiling fan above me definitely isn’t cutting it.
“You can go join them,” mom says.
My eyes linger a few seconds longer before I turn around and face the kitchen. I lean against the doorway.
Her eyes sink behind dark circles. She hasn’t been sleeping well. Bad dreams, the heat, or maybe the cancer. She never says which haunts her the most. After she signs the third line on a single piece of paper, her hand cramps. She flexes her fingers before using the other hand to grab a pack of cigarettes.
“Mom…”
She holds up a finger. “Not a word. Remember our deal? I cut back to five a day and you get double allowance.”
“Which number is that?”
“My second fifth.” She smiles. “I’ll add a little extra this week for you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need anything.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We have a little extra money this month, and I want you to have some.”
“Do you need any help in here?” I say, changing the subject. I hate talking about money with her. She doesn’t have enough to give me an allowance. She slips money under my door the second Monday of every month. Before she goes to sleep that night, I put it back in her purse. We never say anything else about it.
“That’s okay, sweetie. I need to do the dishes later, but I’ll get them.”
“I already did them this morning.”
She smiles again. Even though she looks exhausted, the smile beams. “Why don’t you get ready for work then?”
My stomach tenses. “Yesterday was my last day. Mr. Shay wants me to relax the day before school.”
Her smile continues, but she doesn’t lift her head from the bills scattered on the table. “That’s nice of him. Are you working after school this year?”
I shrug. “He said he’d let me know if he needs any help.”
“Well why don’t you go outside and cool down in the water with the others? I have a headache coming on, and I want to finish these before it gets too bad.”
“Can I go to my room instead?”
Her eyes leave the paper for a second and lock on mine.
Something in my chest aches. I can’t stand when she’s in pain. “Only for a little while,” I add.
“Sure,” she says. “For a bit. Dinner will be done soon.”
At the other end of the short hall, I open the door leading into the basement. A musty smell rushes through. I moved my bedroom into the basement a few months back and the smell doesn’t bother me anymore. Not that much, at least.
I press the power button on my computer and drop onto the bed. The heat makes wearing socks a nightmare, but mom doesn’t like me going around barefoot upstairs. I peel them off one at a time and toss them into the laundry basket. One bounces on the edge and folds around it.
The monitor lights up, brightening the room. A picture of our old dog stretches across the background. Desmond. The picture makes me smile. We got rid of him when we had to change apartments. I used to walk past his new house every week after school. The owners always let me pet him…until they moved at the beginning of summer.
A black box appears on the desktop. I jump into my chair and enlarge the message.
BlueKnight
: hey
BlueKnight
: you on to play something?
SamTheDestroyer
: Sure. Have anything in mind?
BlueKnight
: i have a new mmo if you want to try it
SamTheDestroyer
: What’s it called?
BlueKnight
: infinity spectrum. it’s like a mix between knights of the round and space wars
SamTheDestroyer
: Link me to it. Want to hop in teamspeak?
BlueKnight
: download it
here
. my mom wants me to help her cook first. play
after dinner?
SamTheDestroyer
: I’ll be here.
BlueKnight
: :) see you then
SamTheDestroyer
: Alright. Sounds good!
BlueKnight is offline. Try sending your message again later.
I click on the link and a website pops up. A space cruiser flies across the screen, chased by two fighters. Any game with space ships has an edge in my book. Plus, Kaitlyn’s choices are always better than mine.
Download here
. I click the button and a new window appears. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Don’t save, just run it.”
The menu disappears, along with everything else. The screen blacks out and the whirring fans inside the computer die down. Leaning back in the chair, I search the darkness for my alarm clock. Nothing. Another power outage.
“Mom, it happened again,” I say, stumbling over to the rail leading upstairs. “You paid the bill this time. I helped you do it.” I open the door and fresh air floods my nostrils. The sweet smell dies after a second when the heat joins it. “It’s like twenty degrees hotter up here,” I say.
I listen for her in the kitchen. She usually sings when she cooks and curses when the power goes out. I don’t hear either.
“Mom?” I walk down the hallway, through the living room, checking outside. Maybe she joined in on the sprinkler party.
The landlord stands out in the courtyard, one hand on his hip, the other waving around in the air. Three kids line up in front of him, grinning.
“Good thing I didn’t go out there, right?”
Still no answer.
I turn to the kitchen, expecting her to have fallen asleep on the calculator and pen. Last time it happened, she woke up with black smudges down her face. Instead, I only see the side of her leg, on the floor, next to her seat. “Mom?”
She doesn’t move.
Sprinting into the kitchen, I skid to a stop beside her. Shoving my ear next to her mouth, I listen for any signs of breathing. Hot breath tickles my cheek. “It’ll be okay,” I say, placing a hand on her face. My entire arm quivers. “Call 911,” I say to myself.
I jump up and grab the landline. Holding it close, I wait for a dial tone. Nothing. I press the hook half a dozen times. Silence. I slam the phone back onto the box.
My iPhone weighs down my pocket.
Don’t use unless it’s an emergency
, she had said a few weeks ago. I pull up the touch screen dial pad. 9-1-1. I steady the phone at my ear.
“911, where’s your emergency?”
“My-my house. Uhh, 135 Livingston Street.” I take a deep breath. “Apartment 8,” I add before the operator says anything.
“Police, fire, or ambulance?” the operator says.
“Ambulance. My mom, she’s on the floor. I don’t…I don’t know what happened.”
“Is she still breathing?”
“Barely. I can’t…I don’t know.”
“Stay on the line. An ambulance is on the way.”
“Be careful,” I say, catching her hand as it falls off the stretcher.
“Son, please stand back. We have this under control,” the older EMT says.
A younger woman helps the man pop the wheels out from beneath the stretcher. “You got this?” she says.
The man nods, his eyes darting to me for a second.
“What’s your name?” the woman says.
“Sam,” I say.
“Sam, your mom’s vitals are low, but I’ve seen people who started off worse and they’re fine now.”
“She’s allergic to penicillin,” I say, not sure where the little fact comes from.
She smiles. “Thanks. You’ve been more help than you can imagine. Want to ride to the hospital with us?”
A sense of emptiness has taken over and the words I want to say disappear. I nod instead.
The woman places a hand on my shoulder and guides me out the door.
“It’s not good,” the doctor says outside the room. He doesn’t think I can hear him, but the door never latched, and it swung open a few inches.
I tighten my grip on mom’s hand.
She lies in a generic hospital bed, a few wires coming from inside her gown and an IV in her arm. She breathes on her own. Shallow breaths, but the doctors say there’s no need for intubation.
I close my eyes and ignore the doctor. He comes into her room periodically and lies to me. Hearing anything else seems unnecessary. A weak tingling vibrates against the couch’s wooden frame. Picking the phone up, I find a new Facebook message.
Kaitlyn
: hey, i’m online now. where are you? the download work?
I stare at the small picture beside her name. An orange tabby cat. She never uploads any actual pictures of herself. I’ve known BlueKnight going on six years and never once saw a picture of her. She likes her privacy, and I don’t blame her.
Me
: Not now. Explain later. Sorry.
The phone vibrates seconds later.
Kaitlyn
: hope everything’s okay :/
Placing the phone back onto the wooden arm, a weird feeling pangs my chest. I have trouble placing it, but I don’t like it. It takes a few seconds, but I pinpoint the emotion: guilt. I want to go home and get on the computer to talk to Kaitlyn, leaving mom, alone, in the hospital.
“Get it together,” I say. She doesn’t like you. It’s just two people playing video games, not some spectacular relationship.
A weak groan pulls my attention back to the hospital bed. Mom’s eyes twitch, and her head rocks back and forth. Her grip tightens on my fingers.
“Doc, get in here,” I say. “Something’s not right.”
The doctor opens the door, stopping for a brief instant after realizing he never closed it completely. He lets the worry show in his face before approaching the bedside. One second with the stethoscope here, another using his fingers there.
“Everything’s fine,” he says. “Her muscles reacting to the drugs, that’s all.”
“Fine,” I say, shaking my head. “Nothing is fine here.” I sigh. It isn’t his fault she smoked two packs a day for twenty-five years. “Can I stay tonight?”
He scratches the little amount of hair left on his head. “I suppose, but don’t you start school tomorrow?”
I avert my stare back to mom’s hand.
“I thought so. You can stay but one of the nurses will have to take you in tomorrow morning. I’ll catch hell if you miss school.”
“Whatever,” I say.
The doctor leaves without another word.
My eyes snap open. I turn my head to the left, to the right, blinking and adjusting to the darkness. Mom’s hand weighs mine down. It’s warmer than is natural. I take it in my much larger hand, but my fingers brush against her IV.
The hospital. It wasn’t all a dream. Damn.
Letting my back sink into the faux-plastic couch, I sit up and brush the crust away from my eyelids. The change in position puts unwanted pressure on my bladder. When was the last time I saw the inside of a bathroom?
A nurse wearing green scrubs walks past the doorway.
I jump up and hurry out into the hallway. “Excuse me, mam?”
She jumps six inches off the ground, leaping to the side and using the wall for support. With one hand clutched over her chest, she spins around. Her scrubs hang loose around her shoulders, a few sizes too big. A cluster of hair hangs over one eye from the quick spin. Using her free hand, she tucks it behind her ear, letting both her eyes fall on me. “Jesus, kid. Don’t sneak up on people like that.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, lowering my head. “I-I only wanted to ask where the bathrooms are at.”
Both hands push her hair back now, into a tight ponytail. “Down the hall, take a left, and they’ll be on your right side.” She walks over to where I’m at, standing on her toes to look over my shoulder.