Loosing Tim

A scorching hot day, even though it was mid October. The kids, in the backseat, were consumed by their devices. We pulled up to the school parking lot, outlined by a roundabout for parent pick up and drop off. I cut the engine and the whir of the A/C cut off. My Wife, Cindy, reached over touching my hand on the steering wheel encouragingly a small warm smile on her face as she looked over at me.  

It had been tough for us to have to move back home from the city and she was making the best of it. Even at  nearly 100 degrees all week, it felt like a heavy cloud was following over my head threatening to burst into rain. Holding it together, as we drove the moving truck 2 hours to this small rural area, last week I was grateful for her warmth. And again while we were unpacking the kitchen and deciding what needed to stay in storage after downsizing, I told myself that this was what was best for my family. When the kids continued to argue about sharing a room, she reassured me that this would bring them closer as siblings. As I sat here in the parking lot looking around at a middle school that had hardly changed in the 20 years since I had left, I was just holding back the storm,following over my head. 

The kids running ahead to the playground area of their new school, Cindy reminded them to play nicely. At the gate I waited with a gut feeling like I had swallowed a large boulder. Leaning against the fence, as they climbed to the top of the play structure, It all looked different but strangely the same as when I had attended 20 years ago. This playground was the place where I lost my best friend and brother.

It had been the last week of school and the three of us had headed to the playground after school like we always did. It had been a day like any other , the hot and sticky weather didn't stop us from delaying our return home. We excitedly talked about the end of the year camping trip our parents had been planning to the mountains. This year was going to be really special since Sam’s dad was teaching us how to canoe at the lake. 

“Well my dad says, that your dad is going to fall out of the boat before we even make it out to the lake” Tim said pointedly to Ben. 

Ben’s dad was a larger man and not very coordinated . One year he had been scared by a bee and had knocked over all the cakes at the bakery booth. It had been the talk of the town for a month, highlighted in the local paper with the funniest picture. Local scientist falls for Cake, the headline read.

“I’m not sure he’ll even make it into the boat,” Ben joked. He checked his watch, ever aware of his mother's worry when he was late coming home after school. 

“I can’t wait for our moms to make s'mores for breakfast,” Tim said, rubbing his stomach. There was nothing like the freedom and fun we had in the woods during these family camping trips. 

“Shut up four eyes,” We heard a shout. All turning in the direction of the voice and we saw Hubert Malor standing over a 6th grade girl. She was small. Her face was steamed with tears, her glasses knocked to the ground. 

“Uh not again” Tim sighed exasperated. Tim put his backpack down, intending to get involved.

We had seen Hubert bullying kids from the lower grades for weeks now. He used to be an okay kid but when his dad had moved away he had been a real heel. Looking back, I can see now that this was just a cry for help.  In a small town where everyone knew your business and was likely talking about it with their neighbor over tea and cake, It must have been hard for both him and his mother. 

“I can’t stand to see a girl cry” I explained dropping my own backpack, as I made my way over to where Hubert was still yelling at the girl. 

My father had always raised us boys to protect those smaller than us. As an ex marine, and troop leader, he always said “part of being a good person is helping others”  With my best friends beside me and we went to confront our school bully and his latest victim.

“Leave me alone” the little girl had the smallest voice and she puffed up her chest in an effort to make herself bigger. She was new and her family had just moved in a few weeks ago.I remembered my mother saying that her name was Cindy. That really made me mad, picking on the new kid, and a girl, this was low for, even Hubert.

“Or whatcha gon do,” Hubert taunted,  reaching forward and flicking aside one of her dangling ponytails.

“Hey leave her alone” I shouted angrily

The kids on the playground formed a circle around the group waiting with anticipation. You could feel it in the air, a fight was about to happen.

“Whatcha gon do” Hubert turned his back on the girl and stared at the three of us, daring us to challenge him

I hesitated for a breath, not sure what to do next.

“We’re not going to let you keep bullying girls,” Tim exclaimed beside me.

 Hubert lunged at Tim. But Tim dodged the punch and threw his own, hitting the side of the bully’s head disorienting him a bit. Hubert was raging mad now and was punching blindly at the three of us. I had never actually been in a fight before, just wrestling with my brother or with my friends. I put my hands up, palms out, in the way my older brother had always shown, and pushed him as he lunged in my direction. He still hit me but not with all his force, I had managed to push him on the ground. He got back up fast as lightning and squared off with us again.

 The chorus from the  kids “fight, fight fight” chanted us on. I held my stance and glanced to my side to see Tim in the same stance, confident. He was ready for whatever came next. On my other side Ben was trying to protect Cindy with his stance, hands held up as well. 

Hubert lunged again but this time he swung wide and landed Tim on the side of his face. Tim dropped to the ground hard. I took my own swing at him then and landed my fist squarely on his nose and I could hear an audible crunch. A crushing blow, even as my hand seared with pain. Ready to throw another punch, a kid in the crowd shouted that the teacher was coming. The crowd scattered quickly. Fights broken up by teachers always led to detention slips and principal office visits even for spectators.

Cindy dropped down to the ground and leaned over Tim who was still on the grass and brushed his cheek. 

“What happened here?” Ms. Rose , the music teacher, questioned as she came upon the group. She knelt down beside Cindy and touched Tim who was motionless on the grass.

“They came, ganged up on me” Hubert defended as he wiped the blood from his nose with his shirt sleeve and looked every bit the victim.

“Well,” Ms Rose began but she never said anything else to us. “Call an ambulance” she shouted at Mr. Rodger nearby, strained panic in her voice. He walked over talking on his walkie talkie and knelt down to confer with Ms. Rose. I heard her whisper that he wasn’t breathing.

Who wasn’t breathing? I questioned. Hubert looked like he was hurt but he was definitely breathing. I looked down at my friend and a slow realization came over me that Tim hadn’t moved at all since he had taken that rouge swing from Hubert. A sick panic bubbled up inside of me and I lunged towards my friend on the ground, desperate to make sure my friend was okay. Mr. Rodger restrained me, keeping me from touching Tim. 

“No “ I shouted “ he’s fine” I looked up at Ben, pale as a ghost standing just over us. “Tell them that he is okay Ben” I shouted, only his words could make it true.

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there as if carved of stone. 

“We better call their parents too” I heard Mr. Rodger suggest, while he was holding me back.  

I’m not sure how long it took the ambulance to get there and take Tim because Ben and I were ushered like death row inmates to the principal's office with Cindy and Hubert in tow. We were met with sad faces at every turn. It felt like an eternity before our parents came to the principal's office. But we weren’t allowed to leave until we all related our stories for the police.

At home, I ran up to my room and flopped onto the bed. I lay there in the sticky afternoon heat ,unsure how to make sense of what had happened. I could hear my parents slow march to my bedroom door as they whispered to each other in hushed tones. They just stood at the door, and then my mother suggested they give me a minute to process alone. Process what? I thought, What's going on?

I threw myself at the door, flinging it open in desperation.

“What's going on?” I demanded, shouting as they stood in the doorway with looks of concern and anguish on their faces. “What's gonna happen now?”

They came into my room and sat on my bed. I stood near the window, looking out on the street as cars passed by. The sun setting, finally providing a bit of relief as the cool night air began to blow.

They explained that Tim had been born with an aneurysm, and that it had ruptured when we had been fighting. I didn’t know what an aneurysm was back then and even now I'm not clear on the specifics of the how or why of it all. I asked if he was going to make it to our trip or was he going to have to stay in the hospital, assuming that an aneurysm might require more time to heal. My parents looked at each other and then at me, sad pained expressions on their faces as they struggled. My mother started to crumble into a blubbering mess. I instinctively reached for her and pulled her into a hug, as she began to sob harder.

“Tim” My father paused, unable to form the words. “....He died” He whispered finally 

“I’m so sorry” She sobbed into my shoulder between gasps.

The room fell silent except for the sobs of my mother. I was numb all over, confused. I barely registered as my father helped her up off the bed and walked her to the door. I heard him say he would come back later, and then the door closed. I was alone. I shivered as the curtains over the window danced. What happened? I asked myself again?

He Died. He Died. He died.

Restless, I ran to the kitchen, picked up the phone and dialed Ben. I had to talk to him, he would know what was happening, I convinced myself.

One Ring, Two Rings, Three Rings.

 I tapped my foot, waiting.

“Hello,” Ben’s mother solemnly

“Uh …Hi Mrs. Kennedy” I started 

“Oh Sam… I’m so sorry” She said before dropping the phone. “Why was she sorry?” I thought

 I could hear her sobbing as Ben’s father came on the line.

“Its Sammy” I heard her say

“Hi son” Mr. Kennedy said his words of endearment rendering me unable to clear my throat and say anything. After a minute of silence he said “ Ben is having a hard time too.”

“He is?” I asked, finally . I thought back to the playground and Ben standing, pale as a ghost.

“Yeah, We’ll try and bring him over tomorrow, so you guys can talk,” he sighed, “but for now he's resting and you should too.”

“Okay” I replied. 

There was nothing else to say. I hung up the phone.

 I still felt confused and a haze lingered as I climbed the stairs back up to my bedroom and turned out the lights to lay in my bed. 

He died. He died. He died. 

An echo all night long. My dad came by several times during the night listening at the closed door. I watched as the sun crested up over the horizon signaling morning, but I hadn’t slept.

The alarm went off at 6am, time to get up and get ready for school. I showered and dressed in a fog. I looked at the wall calendar in my room. It was Friday, finally the weekend was here. Last weekend at school I thought to myself. Just a few more days till our trip.

He died, he died. He Died.  

It didn't make sense. 

I made my way down the stairs where I found my parents and Ben’s parents in the kitchen, solemn faces whispering to each other. They looked up when I entered the kitchen, all of their eyes searching. 

My mother was the first to speak. “Why are you dressed?” she asked

“Uh… going to school” I said standing at the counter

“Uh son there won’t be any school today” My dad said edging closer to me. I watched as he approached me ,like one of the scared squirrels we studied on our camping trips.

“Okay” 

“Ben’s in the living room,” his mother said. She looked different today. Her usual impeccable attire looked rushed and ruffled like she had gotten dressed in a hurry without thought.

“Okay” 

Ben walked into the kitchen then. He was hollowed eyed and withdrawn into himself. He hardly looked like my best friend, my brother.

“What's wrong?” I asked. I went over to Ben's side and placed my hand on his shoulder. “You're not getting sick are you?” I looked him in his eyes. He said nothing

“Well you gotta get better” I walked over to the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter where my dad was still watching “here eat this” 

I reached out to hand him with an apple but he just stood there. No response.

“Seriously there won't be a trip if your sick, Tim and I will miss you” I coerced

“Honey,” my mother started, tears already streaming fresh down her face.

“He's not going to miss me” Ben said finally “because he died”

There it was again, that phrase, the echo.

He died. He died, he died.

“Tim died Sam” Ben continued when I didnt respond. It was my turn to be silent and still. “Did you hear me Sam” he shouted , tears streaming down his face “ He died”

“He died? “ I whispered to the universe.

It felt like the earth had slipped from under my feet and I was falling. I dropped down to the floor and looked around at everyone in the kitchen, at all of their sad faces and knowing.

A moment flashed  in my mind and I saw Hubert hitting Tim and then…”Tim never got up “I remembered. “Tim Died. He died,”

Feeling too hot, too closed in and desperate for space,I bolted out of the house and onto the front porch. I looked out onto the street, and broke into a run down the road, only stopping once I got to the gate of the playground.  Looking at all the kids being dropped off by their parents on the roundabout and playing on the playground before the bell rang to signal the start of class, as if it were a regular day. 

I walked over to the shaded area where I had last seen Tim. I looked down at the grass, willing him back to this spot with all my might, falling down to my knees in tears that didn’t stop. Looking up after some time, I saw Ben and our parents with me. We all sat in that grass, quiet, sometimes crying and holding each other. We sat there for what seemed like hours. I must have fallen asleep, when I opened my eyes I was in my bed and the sun was setting. 

I can still see myself and Ben sitting there, surrounded by our parents, who didn’t dare move or separate us, as we grieved the loss of our best friend and brother. 

As I watched my own kids go down the slide, I think back to that tough time. And all the time after and how much Tim had missed. Cindy and Ben and I became a trio, holding each other up through the shared grief, inseparable through middle and high school. Ben left junior year to study engineering in Florida and Cindy and I went to Brown college and moved to New York and had two kids. My son we named Timothy, called Tim for short. 

He died. He died. He died 

Cindy comes back from the office and places her arms around my waist from behind. This helps to lift the melancholy cloud a bit. 

“We gotta get home so I can start dinner, Sam,” she explains, her head resting on my back.” Though I’m not sure that all the pots and pans are unpacked”

I called for the kids and they leaped down from the play equipment, rushing towards us.  

“We’re having pizza for dinner” I announced, as we walked towards the car

“Awesome” they exclaimed, clamoring into the car.

I took one last look at the playground in my rearview mirror and let out a sigh, trying to push back the sad memories and the heartache that still lingered in this place.