Firecrackers

“Please tell me about your home life.”

I often felt like I was a detective in my own home. I might as well be hired to be some sort of private investigator or in a law department by the amount of questions I ask to get to the bottom of things, successfully, I might add. I always found out what I was looking for, though. That’s right. I always do. The truth comes out and there’s no denying that. Persistence always wins. 

Robbie and Scotty are my top two persons of interest whenever anything goes wrong. And I mean, a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g. They can’t get away with much. I mean, they lived with me and both are under 9 years old. Whenever something broke, I kept a mental note of where each of them were. Robbie was the loud, free spirit while Scotty was more quiet, but a little conniving. Even at a young age, I knew I had to be careful of Scotty. He just didn’t sit well and his gears were always grinding to get ahead of his older brother.  It’s funny how Robbie considered himself as the older one by being born 7 minutes earlier. Can’t separate them, though. They came together like peas and carrots, those two. You can tell them apart by their hair. Robbie had a little curl at the end when it got long. Scotty would always cut it off, though. It was like he wanted to confuse me. 

“Please tell me about the morning of the incident.” 

On the morning of July 2nd, at precisely 11:49 was when I got that weird sensation parents get that something was wrong. If you’re not a parent, let me describe it to you. It’s like mixing deja vu with the check engine light. You know something has gone wrong but you just don’t know what or where or why. Then you get a certain dread all the way down in the pit of your stomach. 

Thinking they were inside, I called them from the kitchen: “Kids, come grab your…”

BANG, SNAP, POW, BANG, POW, POW, SNAP, BANG, BANG!

I know what you’re thinking. I was thinking that, too. It’s way too damn early for fireworks. I forbade Robbie and Scotty to play with them when I saw the Hendersons light up a few three days ago. They had bottle rockets, M80s, sparklers, and a bunch of others you can now buy at the store. 

Robbie loved them. He would talk in amazement of the colors and patterns and say, “I love the ones that do the squiggly thing when they come back down after they pop!” 

While not trying to sound like too much of a dictator in the house, I made it sound like it was no big deal. I’d tell him, “Yeah Robbie, they’re nice and all, but they’re dangerous. You have to let the adults take care of them.” I would see Scotty in the back trying to console his brother after I dismissed his joy of fireworks. I heard him whisper, “she doesn’t know what she’s missing out on. It’s ok I …” I was not pleased with what he was saying. In retrospect, I wish I had just let him finish and I should have just picked my battles better. I had to have the final say, though. 

I opened the door and I yelled again: “Boys! Come get …” and I couldn’t finish my sentence. Their sandwiches fell to the ground and I went running into the middle of the street. I was ready to see the Henderson boys running and laughing, but that was not the case. That was not the case at all. There were no boys around just Scotty laying on the floor. These are the exact words I said as I was clutching Scotty:

“OH MY GOD! MY BABY. WHAT’S WRONG!?” 

“HELP!! MY BABY ISN’T BREATHING!”

“ROBBIE! ROBBIE WHERE ARE YOU?!”

“No one saw the boys?”

No. No one. Not a single neighbor. It was the fourth of July weekend so many people were already away, I presumed. They few people who were around started to come to me and ask how they could help. One called the police for me since I left everything inside. I couldn’t think straight. I was delirious. There was no controlling me. I had one son laying on the floor with fire crackers busted up and my other one was missing. I just wanted answers. What happened? Where is Robbie? Is this all a dream? I knew I wasn’t going to get answers, though. 

Scotty started breathing but was unconscious. Robbie was nowhere to be found. I tried my best not to panic. I turned to look at every single neighbor that was out to help for answers and no one saw him. How was that possible, I asked myself. When the police and ambulance arrived after what felt like an eternity, I went to officer Charles and told him that I can’t find my son. So they put out a search party for him. My neighbors have already started to shout for him and do a sweep, too, but they came up with nothing. Officer Charles tells me to get in the ambulance with my Scotty and away we went to Saint Jude’s on Main Street. 

“Have you been back home since?”

Once. Just to pack my bags and come back to the hospital. My sister is at the house now just in case Robbie appears. It’s been three days. Three long days since I heard those firecrackers pop and I last had the sensation of having both my boys together. I can’t bear hearing them again, though. 

I looked at Scotty resting. The beeping of the machines gives me hope that he’s alive and can hear me, but his eyes won’t open. 

“Where’s your brother, baby boy? Where is he?” 

And those are the last words I said to him. 

My eyes are pouring tears and I can’t reach my face to wipe them down since the cuffs won’t reach that high.