BOO

Sadie was only seven when we crashed. I always made sure she sat in the “magic seat,” the one right behind the mine. Statistically, the safest place to be, for all the good it did. One moment, Sadie was telling me about the spelling bee coming up. The light turned green and I put my foot to the gas. She sipped her juicebox. “Daddie? You know what word is so hard to spell? Tuberculosis.”

And then, the crunch, the broken glass, the impact. Not even a scream from the back, for she had already hit her head. There was a ripping feeling, something stolen away. And then, I floated. I left the car, melting right out the side. Was this death? Couldn’t be for I was in such pain, a deep cutting everywhere, like most of me was gone, torn away.

I watched the car turn and turn, begging it to stop for the longer it rolled the less likely she would be alright inside, about to finish spelling her word, or humming “Under the Sea,” or finishing her juice with some loud slurps.

The air was filled with sounds: some tires screaming, some people. I hurried to the car, my shoes gliding over the broken glass, not crunching. I did not look towards the other vehicle, the big blue truck with the crumpled up hood, the smoke. I folded through my car door and there she was, my little girl. Still buckled in tight but almost unrecognizable. Her eyes were closed and despite the gore, her chest rose with tiny breaths. She wore her favorite T-Shirt, a frightened Scooby Doo running from a ghost, “BOO” spelled out in big letters.

What would her life be like if it continued? My sweet little girl… Certainly no more running, no more playing. I could tell by the state of her legs. Deep in my heart I knew if she survived at all, it would be with stipulations of a long road with no full physical recovery. But her head… I tried not to look at the gash on her face and wrapped around the back of her head, so very long and deep. I couldn’t let it happen, I couldn’t let her suffer. Gently, I took her hand in mine. It seemed undamaged, just limp as if she was asleep, her fingernails a cheery bright yellow. I kissed her cheek. “I won’t let it hurt, Sadie. I promise.” Her hand fuzzed right through mine and fell to the seat, her chest falling still. A pinch of my pain left sharply like ice on a burn.

I sat with her until the ambulance came and pried open the car door. I could no longer hold her hand, so I placed mine over hers, closing my eyes to remember the way she had been, not the damage that was done. She was gone and somehow I was unable to follow and nobody could hear my sobs.

They pulled the sheet over my daughter's head reminding me of the long ago late night peek-a-boo sessions when she was a toddler. She loved it when I played ghost and would jump up and tickle her from behind the sheet. “Play ghost!” she would yell, and I would scoop her up with the sheet over my head yelling “BOO!” Somber EMT’s wheeled her into one ambulance, the lights dark as night because they knew there was no hope for resuscitation. But at least the pain would never begin for Sadie, not truly.

“Where was the driver? The girl was alone in the car.”

“It’s a mystery. She was buckled in the back seat and that’s that.”

I drifted towards the truck that hit us, floating inside to see there were no kids in the “magic seat,” only trash and crumbs and empty beer bottles, still wet.

Everything turned red and fuzzy with hate. I pushed off the steering wheel and soared to the other ambulance, the one with the flashing lights. The one with the other driver.

The monster was slumped on a stretcher wrapped in a scratchy blanket, not nearly damaged enough for what he did to my kid. We stood there face to face while time flowed around us like rocks in a stream. His glazed eyes looked right through me.

“Alcohol level of 0.26, can you believe it?”

“Yeah, going to jail for sure. He should not have been on the roads.”

“That poor little girl.”

Fair was fair.

I reached out to him and gripped his shoulder. Some of my pain blew away like a candle in the evening breeze and then my hand fuzzed right through him. The man fell limp and rigid. A nearby nurse shouted in alarm, running over. But I could feel it was over just as surely as it was for Sadie. It was much too good for him. “A life for a life,” I whispered as I turned my back.

I repeated her last moments in my mind as I floated through town. I wanted to hear her spell.

The spelling bee was a month after her death, the weeks passed in mere moments for me. I floated through the audience, careful not to touch anyone though I longed to ease the agony, for the feeling of death to run through me again and relieve the ache even for a moment. But death was undeserved for these children, still whole and happy, and their parents who watched with smiles and video cameras. I stared at the plaque on the wall of Sadie’s dimpled smile and slightly crooked teeth. She would never need the braces I had been saving for. In loving memory of Sadie Anabelle White.

A little girl won the spelling bee with the word “tuberculosis”. Nobody heard my scream.

I knew where I needed to be. I stood in the liquor store for a few days waiting. I thought the first man would need my ministrations, but he took an uber home from the party. I rode with him in the back seat, happy with his decency. He didn’t have much money, I had heard him complain about rent. But he had also said, “I’ll call an Uber. I can’t get behind the wheel, look at me!” He hiccuped and his friends laughed and slapped him on the back.

I watched him fumble with his keys at his apartment and then stagger inside. The pain felt so intense like a knife stuck between my ribs, but I let him be. How could I do otherwise?

Several liquor customers later, I finally had to act. Another young man at another party with an aversion to Uber and too cocky to stay safely at his friend's apartment for the night. His words slurred and his steps were uneven, and everyone else was too drunk to stop him as he stepped through the front door.

I grabbed him when he had one foot in his truck, climbing in. His eyes blurred and froze halfway open. His body fell out of the truck, dropping to the asphalt with a thunk. “I couldn’t let you get in that truck,” I whispered. The medical report would likely say it was an accidental death. Those happen with alcohol all the time.

I go back to the liquor store again and again. I do not know what time it is, how long it has been. I have my own corner there, it is dark and cold and filled with some spider friends. Cool air helps ease the ache between my clients, between the delicious deaths. And I watch and wait, happy to bring them when needed.

We are for our children what they need us to be. I am Sadie’s ghost.