Scotty: A Short Story

An ambulance came and carried out my mom. I didn’t know what was going on, so many questions running through my mind, what was wrong with her, was she going to be ok. I was scared, more scared then I had ever been. My sister Sheridan who was 8 asked me “what’s happening?” through tears. On that day a little piece of me began to change because if I let her see my fear that would not help anyone, and so even though I didn’t know what was happening I responded “everything is going to be ok” even though I did not trust my own words.

She lifted the hat one more time and set it down slowly on her head. Two wings of gray hair protruded on either side of her florid face, but her eyes, sky-blue, were as innocent as they must have been when she was ten. Where it not that she was a widow who had struggled fiercely to feed and clothe and put him through school and who was supporting him still, “until he got on his feet,” she might have been a little girl that he had to take to town.

Scottie was a young good boy who grew up in a bad world. He was always playing with i]his sister because that's the only family he has. Every time he had to go out of his house there would always have a negative vibe to it. Once he had to go get groceries and their were gang violence and shootings. After that he never wanted to go back outside, not even to check the mail. One day he went to the attic to find something, but all he found was this hole in the wall with a swing that goes down.

Scott Parker had lived through a lot of shit. That was to be expected, after working for the Federal Bureau of Investigations for over thirty years. This week though... God, this week had been, without a doubt, the worst week of his life. In the span of days, two of his best agents, his friends, had been blown up, their funerals had been conducted, and he'd been not so subtlety prompted to retire. Scott was nearly sixty, but he was still in prime shape. Physically, at least. Psychologically... thinking back to the funeral of Chang and LaRoche only yesterday, he wondered if retirement really was the way to go.

When Oly remarks that as Arty got stronger, Al and Lil wilted, it is a powerful message that explains the changing family dynamic. Within their immediate family, as well as their carnival family Al and Lil had always been held with the utmost regard. As Arty's act and fans grew, everything began to change for Al and Lil, as well as the rest of the family. Al was no longer in charge, and it was clear, that even from his tank Arty was running the show. There were many mornings when Al would go around to give orders, only to find out Arty had already been there. I think the hardest blow to Al's ego came from the hiring of Dr. Phyllis. Aside from the show, medicine was Al's biggest passion. “He was a masterly stitcher-“scarless wizardry, as he

Late last night her mother had driven away. Her father’s eyes filled with tears as he told Lizzie her mother had filed a divorce. She could feel the pain of her father’s broken heart. She prayed that her laughter and love would mend the pain.

The photo was slightly ripped and torn at the edges but it was the most priceless thing she owned. It was taken on the night of their wedding day, his hand was wrapped tightly around her own and he was leaning in as close as he could with his heartfelt eyes. She remembered that day like it was yesterday, how she had seen him cry as she walked down the alter, with the most content smile she had ever seen. She was happy and loved. She thought of the day he was shipped off; the war was something he had to fight in, even at the cost of his life.

I remember being able to look up at the sun, clear blue skies and large fluffy clouds. Without thinking and second guessing myself, I stated, “ I wish that I could put this sky in my bedroom!”. I remember both my dad and brother looking at me and smiling with laughter. I think that they felt that it was a funny statement and an intelligent statement at the same time. My dad look at me and said, “Mere, well, why can’t you have that sky in your bedroom?” I next thing I knew, my dad had my mom calling our landlord and asking for permission to paint my room. I was blown away with emotions of feeling important and excited. The move to Oregon had put a financial hardship on my family of five. We went from owning our home to Atlanta from renting a fixer upper in the suburb of Portland, Oregon. There was a undertone in my family that children were not supposed to ask for extra things. Gifts and treats were given to children during holiday, birthdays and or after good behavior. Again, I was blown away with every positive feeling that a child could experience in that moment, especially when our landlord said, “yes” to the painting. I remember that my dad, brother and I got into my dad’s 1973 Datsun truck and went to go get paint. By the end of that weekend, I had a light blue painted bedroom, the same as the sky. This is just one example of how I felt significant and loved by the members of my microsystem. My parents had high expectations for all three of their children with behavior and academics. However, I knew that I was loved by both my

I remember the time when I was five years old being in the house playing with my brother. I always knew he was different from me. Mommy why does Johnny act different. She responded because he is a special kind of different and he was diagnosed with tuberous sclerosis. I began to be intrigued at the thought of my brother being special that by the age of 10 I started to do my own research. Now I knew that my brother had tumors in every organ, speech deficiency. When he mumbled the song row your boat it always put a smile on my face because I knew that was his favorite song. It brought back when he used to grab my face and show me so much love. He knew I was his sister. I always envisioned I could do more, more in the sense of helping people who

Her shoulders sagged as if carrying too much weight. Her solemn, deeply creased, face made it obvious that she had seen better days, though these days were buried deeply in the past. My eyes moved to woman’s face. Every deep wrinkle told a different story. Betsey explained she could no longer see very clearly, now relying solely on tactile memories. Shortly after, she asked politely if she could touch my hair. Her rough, callused hands glided gently against my cheeks, as she caressed my hair. The look in her eyes spoke more than words could in that moment. She broke eye contact quickly looking to the embroidered white tablecloth. The last time she had held her granddaughter was a year ago. She told me of how her family no longer visited and

Throughout my life, I remember times of my mother’s endless struggle for her children. I recall a memory of when I was in third grade and my mother came to pick me up. It was snowing and extremely cold outside and the floor was completely covered in ice. She came directly ten minutes after dismissal with my baby brother. Both of their faces were as red as blood and numb, they were freezing. After my mother kissed and caressed me, we began walking our long way home. That 's when I asked her “Why don’t you drive Mommy? It is getting really dark, and the floor is covered in ice. We could slip and there is nobody else outside.” Then she looked at me, straight into my eyes and gently placed her hand on my face and said: “Don’t worry, I won’t let you get cold”. But I replied right away, “That’s not the answer, why don’t you drive, all of my friend’s mommies do it.” She would chuckle a little to herself, then she would say “ Pray to God and it will come true"

Now standing over him, Ava peered down at her father’s swarthy face and his bushy eyebrows filled with pity. Like the beak of a crane, his nose was long and thin and his lips, almost too full. Dark circles beneath his lower eyelids and the sallow tone to his skin from all of his hard work, was taking its toll on him.

Mama smiled at her beloved son, but I could see her eyes. It was then I knew she wouldn 't depend on him.

There is a picture on the wall of a room I share with my sister. In the picture a man is leaning over a frail boy, tenderly holding his head. The boy’s face is scarred with lesions; he was dying from cancer. I will never know what words may have been exchanged in that moment, but could clearly see great care and compassion the man showed the boy. Looking at this picture made me want to show that same care and compassion to someone who was suffering—I wanted to be like my grandfather.

When that day started, I was thinking what my day will be like at the pediatric unit and how will I feel to see little children suffering and in pain. Entering the ward, cries were heard from the hall way, as a little boy walked around the unit crying for his daddy, another one in the crib crying for her mom. With heavy heart, I tried my best to hold in the tears as I tried to comfort them, by stating “mommy will come to see you soon or daddy will come to see you soon”, but not at all will the cries stop. However, the little boy dad and mom had arrived to visit him and he stopped cried. To comfort the little girl I read to her, which calm her down and made her comfortable until her mom arrived. This made me feel good.