Where Are You?

I hear the screech of tires, and the screams that follow. I jump up from the desk in my home office, knocking my chair to the floor with a loud thud. I run toward the front door, with no idea what’s happening, but instinctively I panic.

There's a truck in the street, in front of my driveway. It’s a blue truck; Ford I think, and there are red paint scrapes on the bumper. I see the skid marks from tires on the pavement. I see your bike. It’s under the truck. Your bike is under the truck! The frame is bent at a peculiar angle. Its front wheel is spinning on the twisted axle.

I smell the burning rubber and I don’t know why I’m thinking about what an odd scent it brings to the air as it lingers with the fragrance of your mother’s rose bushes.

I don’t see you. Are you... under?

Oh God. I want to run, but I can’t move. I hear myself panting, but I can't breathe. I feel my heart shatter into a million pieces, yet still it's screaming in my ears and pounding my head like a hammer. I look for you, but I can’t see you. I scream for you, but I’m not sure I made a sound. Did you hear me?

Where are you?

I want to run. I want to look for you, but I want to hide from what I know I’ll find. Still, I stand there on our step, frozen in place, turning my head left and right, up and down the sidewalk. Over and over, up and down the sidewalk I gaze, terrified to allow my eyes to travel to the street, to that blue truck.

I hear a voice. A jumble of words. “I’m sorry.” “I didn’t see it.” “It was just there, when I rounded the curve.” Something brushes against my arm. I jerk away violently. I see a stranger, a man. He’s staring at me. On his face there’s a look of regret, or is it fear? He is trying to tell me something, but I can only think of you.

His words, they're stewing in my mind. "It?" Did he just call my child "it?" I feel a burning rage erupt within me. I turn to him with clenched fists and open my mouth to scream. Then I hear your voice.

I don’t know if I’m dreaming or just praying for a miracle. I hear you again. “Daddy!” I see you running toward me from the direction of the park down the block. You're okay?

I feel my legs slip from under me as I am overwhelmed with relief. The stranger grabs on to prevent my fall. The same stranger I was about to... I don't know what I was about to do to him, but I don't think any amount of praying would have saved my soul after I was done.

I watch you still running up the sidewalk and run to meet you. You stop before you get to me. You see your mangled bike and start to cry.

I lay my hand on your shoulder and you turn to me slowly, afraid you may be in trouble. My knees are still weak as I sweep you up and squeeze you in a tight embrace, so tight you joke that I’m about to crush your bones.

You look at me with a tentative smile. I move your bangs from your sun-freckled face and can see the worry in your beautiful brown eyes. You’re still expecting to be scolded for leaving your bike in the street again. You know you’ve been told to leave it in the driveway; never on the roadway.

You’re waiting for me to say something, but I can’t speak. What you don’t realize is that, at this moment, I feel more like crying than scolding; that right now, I can only think of how grateful I am to hold you in my arms.

What you don’t think of, in your innocent mind, is that bikes can be replaced, but you, my love, cannot. What you can't feel, in your unblemished heart, is that I just lived a lifetime of grief in the brief moment you were gone, and that nothing matters but us being together, right here, right now.