A SUNDAY LIKE NO OTHER

Gramp, Dad, and I walk down the corridor in the hospital. We left the other two with Gramma. They’re too young to visit. It’s one of the nice things about being older; you get to do adult things.

We walk down toward Room 323. Like in the emergency room, there is murmuring and hushed voices. It smells the same. I keep hoping I see Dr. Santa.

We get to the room and Grandpa leads the way. Mom is in the far bed and she’s sitting up. When she spots us, she puts down her magazine.

“Hello, Dad,” she says with a big smile and open arms. They hug.

Dad steps in after Gramp with a big smile, a big kiss, and a bigger hug. They hold the hug for what seems like a long time and then they take their time separating. Mom’s face is flushed. She looks sort of funny with that big bump on her head.

“And my boy,” she says and open her arms to me. We hug. She pulls away and cups my face in her cold hands. “What were you thinking? You shouldn’t have risked your life like that. The firemen would have found me in time. You should have run out of the house and yelled for help. They would have gotten me out. Such a dangerous thing to do.”

“Mom, I couldn’t just leave you there.”

“Well if you’d run out and yelled for help, the firemen would have taken me out of there.”

“But there weren’t any fire trucks there when I got home.”

“Jim?”

“I don’t know, hon. When I got there, the truck and ambulance were there already. I only knew when Bill, you know, the janitor, found me at my pew. He said there were fire trucks headed down toward our house. He thought he saw some smoke coming from our house. And earlier, I sent Francis to get me my Luckies. I wondered what was keeping him.”

Gramp interrupted, “Nora, I don’t think you grasp the situation.”

“Well, I don’t think Francis should have come into the house to…”

“Hush,” breaks in Gramp, sharply.  Gramp has this look whenever he wants to make a point that just makes you sit up and pay attention.

Quietly, he continues, “You do this too much. You correct and criticize Francis without thinking. You’re like your mother that way. The plain fact is you are sitting in this hospital bed with just a bump on your head because your son­­—let me repeat—your son had the presence of mind to pull you out of that burning house.”

“Yes, I know, however…”

Gramp holds up his hand, “He told me what happened. But I think it would be better if Francis told you what occurred. ”

I look at Gramp.

“Go ahead. Information like this is better from the primary source, not the secondary.”

“I…ah…came to the house after Dad asked me to get his cigarettes. I smelled smoke. At first, I thought it was someone cooking something awful. But when I opened the door, all this smoke came pouring out. I remembered the fire safety training you and Dad had me take at the firehouse last year. They put us all in an old concrete building with one of the firemen. I was the first one in the room so I was stuck in the back of the room by the barrel.  Then he lit the big barrel full of stuff and in no time a pretty big fire was coming out of the barrel. Well, the smoke just collected all over the ceiling really quick. The fireman said to watch the smoke. It came down from the ceiling pretty fast. Then he told us it was time to leave. He said the smoke would get to just three feet off the floor soon so we’d be smart to get out.  He said if you are in a burning house with all this smoke, you have to crawl on your belly so as to not inhale the smoke. I remember not being scared but watchful. It helped that the fireman was there. But I was the last one out. And it was while I was waiting my turn that I thought I could get out of a burning house because, for some reason, the fire didn’t scare me.  So, when I was in the house, I remembered to get on the floor. I called your name a lot but you didn’t answer. When I found you at first thought you might be dead. But something told me to drag you out of the house, anyway. So, I did.”

“Do you know how hard it must have been to drag your unconscious body out to the porch?” emphasizes Gramp.

“I can remember getting you all the way to the door. But I couldn’t get the storm door to stay open long enough to get you out. It would swing open and close really fast. I did it a couple of times. And I lost your slippers. They must have come off when I dragged you to the door. I’m sorry, Mom.”

Mom sits there looking like a little kid. Her face is very pink and she isn’t looking at anyone. She is staring at the foot of the bed. She extends her hand toward me. I move in and she takes my hand very gently. A tear escapes her eye and slowly slips down her cheek. She takes my face in her hands again. “My boy, my boy…” She pulls me into her. We stay there for a while, I can feel a wetness on the back of my neck. She kisses my cheek and lets me go.

“Could one of you hand me a Kleenex?” asks Mom, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.

Dad reaches over to the table behind Mom and pulls out two Kleenex and hands them to her.

“Thank you,” she says, dabbing her eyes.

“So, am I to understand you are coming home tomorrow?” Gramp inquires.

“Yes, Doctor Hamilton says he just wants me to be observed overnight. He thinks I’ll be fine but he wants to err on the side of caution.”

“What about that bump?” asks Dad.

“Oh, this beauty? I had such a nasty headache earlier but one of the nurses gave me something for it,” she says as she gingerly touches her forehead. “But there’s no concussion.”

“What happened at the house?” I ask.

“ Oh, I slipped on that stupid rug in the hall between the den and dining room. I knew we should have taped it down. I was upstairs, laying out my clothes for church when I smelled smoke. At first, I couldn’t identify what I was smelling. Then, all of a sudden, it hit me. I raced downstairs into the dining room. Just as I entered that hall, I noticed the smoke overhead and the very strong nasty smell of cloth burning. It makes me wonder if that light in the den closet was left on and someone’s coat caught on fire. I turned very quickly in a panic and fell face forward onto the dining room floor. Having those slippers on probably tripped me up, too. So, Francis, it was probably a blessing that you left those slippers behind. I believe I hit the floor with my face first. I didn’t even have a second to catch myself with my hands. Next thing I know I’m in an emergency ward.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a nurse approaching us.

“Oh, hello,” she says to me Dad, and Gramp.

“Hello,” says Gramp.

Dad nods.

“Mrs. Joyce, how is your headache? Has it disappeared?” says the nurse squeezing between me and Dad.

“You know, whatever you gave me worked wonders. The headache is almost gone. Just a fraction of what it used to be.”

“Oh, good,” says the nurse. “And you’re all done with lunch?”

“Yes.”

The nurse takes the tray off the table. “Did you want any more water?”

“Yes, please.”

“Certainly.” The nurse and the tray disappear out into the corridor.

“Well, “ says Gramp, “we should let you rest, maybe sleep if you can.”

“I am tired. Yes, maybe I will sleep, although I never could sleep in strange places.”

“And it’s only for one night.”

Mom smiles, “And it’s only for one night.”

Gramp bends over and hugs Mom.

“Thanks, Dad,” she whispers.

Gramp smiles and breaks the hug.

“We’ll find out from the nurses’ station when I can come by tomorrow and bring you home,” says Dad. “Well, not home home.”

“God, that’s going to be so strange,” says Mom.

She and Dad hug. They kiss. “Baby, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yes,” smiles Mom, “I’m okay.”

Mom turns to me. She takes my hand again as gently as before. She puts her other hand up to my cheek. For what seems the longest time she looks into my eyes. I’m drawn in. She whispers again, “Come here.” She presses me into her. When she releases me, she has those shiny eyes again. “See you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I say with a husky voice.

When I turn around just Gramp is standing there.

“Okay, buddy? Ready to go?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

I turn and wave, “Bye, Mom.”

“Bye.” She returns the wave. “Bye, Dad.”

“Okay, dear, see you tomorrow.” says Gramp.

We join Dad in the corridor. As we walk to the elevator and go down two stops, no one talks. It’s when we are going through the parking garage that Gramp speaks.

“You know Francis, you just changed right in front of your mother’s eyes. When you left for church school this morning, in your mother’s eyes, you were still a little kid. When you left that hospital room, you left as a young man. I would imagine things between you two will be different.”