Just a Few Minutes Sooner

I've been floating up here for over an hour.

At first I was reading the doctor's lips.

They found her frozen.

That's crazy, I thought.

I checked the floating me, I seemed okay.

All my parts seemed to be there.

My digits moved.

I could wiggle my toes.

The only part on me that was cold was my nose.

My nose is always cold.

After awhile I started to hear bits and pieces of sentences.

They tried to bring me back.

Hypothermia had already made it's way in.

They talked about my next in kin.

Someone needs to contact him, they said.

Some stranger called her in, he wouldn't leave his name.

He found her under the bridge, sitting in some old, broken chair, he claimed.

I think I would have like to know his name.

"Just a few minutes sooner," the doctor said shaking his head.

"Just a few minutes sooner."

I watched them pull the sheet over my face.

I know it's been an hour because of the big silver clock on the wall.

Someone has to identity me.

I had no purse or wallet with me.

I almost don't want to know who gets this duty.

Not a fun job I would think.

Gotta suck being the one who gets to say it's me.

"Just a few minutes sooner."

I can't seem to shake off those words.

Anything could have happened that day to delay me.

But I still ended up there.

Sitting in that old, broken chair.

Me and my chair.

We had a lot in common.

And I smile.

I feel horrible he got the job.

He's crying.

Why would they tell him, "just a few minutes sooner."

He will carry those words forever, that I know.

Those words will haunt him as they irritate me.

A good Samaritan, he's told.

He just shakes his head and reaches for his phone.

Her kids, he explains.

The nurses around him pat him on his shoulders.

One older lady hugs him.

You'll never see them again, I say out loud.

How many hugs a day do you give out?

Yeah, I'm bitter, just a little pissed.

Wow, she showed up too.

It's been years, I'm thinking.

What a sight; my mother and him, talking.

It's been an hour and a half.

They are hustled from the room.

He reaches down and touches me.

To him I must feel so cold.

But I can still feel his touch.

To me his hands are warm.

They are always warm.

He screams out loud and damns his God and wishes I was still alive.

He leans in and whispers to my neck, "I love you, I'm sorry."

And we both start to cry.

My mother takes him by the hand and leads him out of the cold emergency room.

She glances back at me.

And she looks up at me.

Even in death she's got her claws in me.

I'm shaking my head.

I hear her tell him, "if there's anything you need."

He thanks her and asks the older nurse where they are taking me.

"I'm sorry you got the job," I whisper out loud.

He looks up.

He rubs his arms like he got the chills.

"I'm just going to hang around to see the kids," I hear her tell him.

He nods, he looks almost grateful.

I'm thinking why.

Why now do you want to see them now?

My three kids come in together, they are holding hands.

They are holding each other up.

They rush him and he holds them for a long time.

All four of them are crying.

My oldest breaks off and I hear her approach the doctor.

The doctor looks tired.

It's the middle of the night.

It's the middle of a snow storm.

"We tried and tried," I heard him say.

"Frozen, under the bridge, sitting in an old, broken chair."

Then I heard him tell my kids, "a good Samaritan. "

Then I heard him say, "just a few minutes sooner."