Holding Hands With Destiny
My first brush with death was not my own.
Not this time, at 11 years young.
No, my personal rub came a bit later...
down a different lane.
Not this dirt path I currently found myself traversing.
Happily kicking up dust bowls,
scattering small rocks
and breathing deeply
what would soon be a sticky September day.
Central Florida, take it or leave it,
did funky things with my hair
making me wonder if my pale, freckled skin
didn't hide a richer, dare-I-whisper-
darker
blood deep within.
Pondering that and the soundtrack to Footloose
in my ever-whirling brain,
I shifted the weight of my backpack
And brushed at a fly who played games with my slightly upturned nose.
That's when I heard it.
The rustle.
A faint crunch
of dried leaves.
Sadie!
She's been missing for days,
the black mixed-mutt of grandma's.
The dog I loved-to-love
each time I visited
this far-away space.
Only now wasn't a vaca,
but a home,
dare I say.
And Sadie,
the only one
who could truly make it
feel that way.
Gone missing.
Like I often desired to do.
I halted.
Dust coating my already filthy
Converse tennis-shoes.
Ears perked,
Tuning into the sound.
Any sound.
Even as I tuned out
the racing of my own thumping heart.
A flood of feels hit me hard.
JOY,
Elation.
Found her!
Dismay
As she wasn't running my way.
"Sadie," I whispered, a little-girl shout.
And it came again,
Distinct
Yet, slight.
A rustling of,
no, not leaves.
Wrong side of these here metaphoric tracks.
I creeped out from under the canopy
of moss-dripping branches.
Arching under the weight
in picturesque splendor
over the country dirt lane.
The field.
"Sadie!" I moved forward,
single-minded intent.
Uncaring of the passing of time,
I tore through the crushed row of corn.
Refusing to suck into the vortex
Of nerves and excitement,
The extra pounding in my heart,
I raced chest-first,
my steps masking any other sounds.
"Sadie!"
I tripped, hard.
Eating bone-dry dirt.
Hands gripping fallen husks,
battered ears of what would soon be bi-colored corn,
I took a beat to adjust…
To suddenly being prone.
The weight of books on my back,
Crushing my spine,
Pressed me deep
Into that no-moisture-in-sight
ground.
Feeling the tentacle of pain radiate up my foot,
I drew in a shuddering breath.
The sting of tears hit,
A burning fire one palm,
I sucked in another
shaky inhale of –
Insert full-body scream
even as my brain yelled,
Fuck!
Don't think at 11, I didn't yet know that word.
Come on now.
I'd screamed it at The Mother that winter,
Or was it summer,
I was 9.
I knew it intimately.
I saw the buttons it pushed.
I loved it completely
Those four little letters
That could get a reaction
Quicker than a match can catch fire.
Words,
I discovered early on
Had power.
And in this second,
eyes no longer capable of blinking,
Frozen wide,
it's what came to mind
Yet again...
As I took in the black mound before me.
Fuck.
The blood,
There was blood.
Not a puddle,
But enough that I instinctively knew
So not good.
But even as I felt this was bad,
Very-very-bad,
I felt bone-crushing relief flood me gut-deep.
This black leather-skin was not my Sadie...
But a human being...
And by the looks of things,
he, she, it
Was quite possibly dead.
Favoring my right foot,
I crawled to my knees,
One dirty hand smearing the tears
I couldn’t stop from streaming unchecked
down my baby-fat cheeks...
Should I stay or should I go now?
I'd heard that anthem somewhere.
A tune now played on red-alert in my mind.
The beat of my heart keeping dedicated time.
Shock wearing off,
Like I'd stripped out of a too-tight shirt,
I leaned back....
And took it all in.
A man.
Had to be.
He was long.
Laying on his back,
As though stargazing,
But the stars had long been chased by a coming dawn.
I heard the engine and didn't even bother to make a run for that bus.
This was better than a ride to school.
Better than a day in a classroom.
Even if the sight before me
scared me
more than my recent
first day at a brand new
black vs white school.
I shrugged out of my backpack
And pulled down my shirt,
Wondering if I should run back to grandma's
And scream out 911.
I slowly crawled to my feet,
Thinking it time to bolt.
Looking anywhere but down I saw it then.
The bike.
A big beast of metal laying on it’s side.
The helmet just behind me.
The thing that had tripped me
Clearly in plain sight.
Well, that ain't good.
Yes, an 11 year old's inner voice can be downright sarcastic.
Give it not another thought because the only thing that mattered was what came next.
Is he even breathing?
Should I check or should I go now?
My mind hummed as I switched out words to accommodate.
I inched closer,
Wincing at the pain in my foot
But sucked it up as what he'd be feeling…
Had he still been breathing–
That's when I heard the unforgettable sound...
A rattle.
Not that from a baby
or a snake..
This came from a-deep...
Raising all the little hairs...
And causing my breath to catch on a sucked-up intake.
Hold it.
Don't move.
Deer in headlights moment if ever there was one.
Oh poor doe, I now know how you feel.
Glad to not be in a spotlight,
I inched my self back.
Slowly.
Carefully.
So as not to disturb the,
shit,
non-dead.
Stepping that throbbing right foot over the fire-engine red
Plastic, was it?
Thinking how stupid a color.
I couldn't stop the pained inhale as I put my weight down.
Starting to turn.
"Don't...
go..."
Never, as long as I live,
Would I forget those barely-there words...
The rasp,
Imagined or real,
I know not,
All I know is that I stopped.
And took in all of him...
Never ending legs, a simple gash on one thigh...
The jacket, all black
Zippers, now gleaming,
Catching the sun's eye.
His face was next...
Of course,
as that's how the body unfolds...
But I admit I wasn't keen on seeing anything mangled...
So gasped when all I saw was a simple red scratch,
a thick beard and startlingly thunder-cloud eyes.
Those eyes seared through me,
Lightning bolt quick,
Called me,
even as his hand moved.
Two of his four
Fingers that is...
They gave an inch-worm wiggle.
And I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt
that that there gesture
was a beckoning.
A calling.
His final shout out.
And I obeyed,
no thought.
Real inch-worms freaked me the f*ck out.
But him..?
I stumbled forward.
Sank to my already-skinned knees
And grabbed those two fingers
As though they were my lifeline,
Not I, his.
That rattle shook
And I didn't back away.
I felt it deep within and knew I had to simply
stay.
"Thank–"
A single tear raced a hot path down my cheek matching the one pooling in his.
His eyes were stormy-clear.
His gaze, laser-focused.
I found my voice. As that’s what you do. Introduce me to you.
"I'm..."
"...angel."
At any other time, a snort would have been my reply,
but who was I to deny.
So I sat and held hands with death...
On a muggy start of a brand-new-day.
I shared a story,
long after the light faded
not from the sky
but from those burned-into-my-memory eyes...
I sang to him,
Amazing Grace...
Figuring a Footloose soundtrack hit
not the best choice...
Suddenly thankful the music, at least,
made those hard pews,
Fire and brimstone preaching
Plus, all the hoop-la
worth my Sundays…
And Wednesday nights.
But later, when humming...
"Holding on for a hero till the morning light…”
I knew he'd always be my hero,
as he showed me no fear...
in the face of
His demise.
And even as the last breath left him,
he remained.
Watching over me
Watching over him.
I heard it.
A whisper of wind.
I felt it...
The rustle of air on the back of my neck
In the stillness of the dead-less-air day...
"Mateo..."
His parting gift...
A name?
His name?
It mattered not...
For his true gift was showing me
his light,
his essence
him...
As he emerged, tall
In a kaleidoscope of all the colors
A song of all the sounds
And smiled.
I stayed...
he faded.
I stayed,
holding his solid fingers in mine
even as they grew cool...
And felt the warm of him radiate
down
over
through
all
of
me.
They found me.
Farmers.
They wanted to move me.
I bared my teeth.
An image of poor-missing Sadie,
my guide.
One stayed.
Watching.
Watchful.
One left.
Nervous.
Then came the lights.
Red and blue.
All
the
noise.
Disturbing what was.
Pulled away, I was.
He, taken away.
Wrapped in a hug.
A blanket. I was.
Him, not so much.
But I held on...
To the truth within.
I knew something profound
Had shaken loose
A part of me.
As I was led away,
I heard a man say,
"Mateo..."
And I turned,
Smiled.
His name...
Years later,
that word rung in my head...
Over and over and over again…
Holding on for a hero
played through my radio
one too many times.
And I knew.
I must have been 16 at the time.
Google not yet a thing,
but I was resourceful...
And found a way…
Mateo,
God's Gift.
The power of a signal word
Whispered from beyond
Time.
Space.
Place.
💜
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Photo Credit: Zach Reiner @_zachreiner_