Oct. 18 Part 2

       Pulling up to the apartment complex....      


        The sun is shinning.  The clouds are all but tiny streaks across the sky.  It is such a rich blue tattered canopy.  The air is thin and cool yet somehow still.  Jackie is sitting at the foot of the steps with eyes heavy and confused.  Her poorly dyed hair, wild as always.  Her work uniform a mess.  Hands in a knot in her lap as the ground rises up making it too short so her legs have to bend.  Tears have stained her face.  The distance her fixed gaze seems infinite.  I brush pass her as I take the two flights of stairs. In four large steps I take the faulty stair case exposed to the elements.  The cracked cement steps and hand rails with chipped paint shake as I reach the rest of my life.

        906 stood at the top as I embrace the door way.  I had not noticed the ambulance outside, but two uniformed men and George stood over Patrick, with heads hung low in failure.  George slightly raised his head as my shadow interrupted his stare.  His large arms are folded.  The weight of agony overwhelming his large stature.  There is no comfort in his face.  There's a yellow tarp or sheet or picnic table covering over Patrick, over his torso and face.  His long arms and legs were exposed due to the size of broad shoulders of a 6' 1" frame.  I float to his side. Tragedy is all around me and invading my chest making it hard to breathe.  I kneel down and tug on the yellow covering revealing his face.  His eyes slightly open and lost.  No life or breath in his lips.  A gray blue tint consuming his fading pigment.  This was not Patrick but a shell left behind.  A vacancy. Blue and dark at the corners of his mouth.  His jaw open and pushed back as he lay.  A stillness like no other.  His large hands and fingers relaxed on the dingy carpet.

        As I examined Patrick, George started to cross the threshold from where he and the two paramedics were standing.  As a group they yelled, "Get away from him!"  The shock I fell under took over and "Fuck you, he's my brother!" came out.  I repeated the word "No!" every time my brain dealt with reality until it lost meaning.  George's arms held my arms down and pushed me to the door.  Patrick is dead.  This is forever.  This is not real.  This hurts unlike any other pain.  I am outside of 906 and  Patrick lay on a dingy carpet.  I walk down the stairs sit next to Jackie.  Our silence is not peaceful.  The muted sorrow is only disturbed by a car that pulls into a parking space facing the apartment. 

        A strange, fat woman opens and exits the driver side.  Walks to same side passenger door and opens it.  Pauline emerges from the strange woman's car.  Her disposition emanates from the moment her foot steps out of the car like a mist of despair.  Carrying her satchel of a purse, she slowly makes her way towards Jackie and myself.  The fat strange woman turns off her car and proceeds to follow Pauline.  Pauline makes a timid yet determined walk to the stairs and marches past two almost lifeless fixtures half blocking the steps.  She makes a gesture to the woman beside her and the woman stays behind.  A slow deliberate pace up the stairs as she makes her way.  Pauline enters the apartment and closes the door behind her. 

        Silence is ruled by Jackie and I as the stranger's nervous energy has no affect on us.  Time is irrelevant as the apartment door opens once again.  George and Pauline come out into the day.  As they make their way down the stairs a large van pulls into the parking lot and blocks the cars in as it stops suddenly.  A fat short man and a short thin partner retrieve a stretcher from the back of the van.  On the stretcher is a large, dark, dirty blue, heavy blanket.  They make a glance at the family of lost hope with a stranger looming.  The men make no sound except the banging of the stretcher's wheels as they slide over diffuse pavement broken by time.  Up the weathered stairs to commence a job the men were to answer.  It took no time to wrap up Patrick in the blanket and strap him down to the stretcher.  They almost rushed past George, Pauline, Jackie and myself with a destination too far to waste time. 

         Just then, Pauline stops these men and says, "Wait," with a soft surrendering voice.  The two men looked at eachother and haulted.  Only Patrick's face is exposed to the sky.  Emotions swelled beyond capacity in all of us except the three strangers.  Tears and half broken tender words trickled as we all laid hands and lips to Patrick's face and covered body.  One by one we say a few sweet meaningless words and with the end, the two men continue to carry out their mission.   

Oct 18th Part 1

Oct 17 texts
_____________
Patrick
I can't take it anymore brother.  I'll see you on the other side

George:
You can't be a pussy your whole life.  Everybody has problems. Shut up with that shit

Patrick:
Fuck you, you fucking faggot. I'm going to do something with my life and be better than you.
______________________________________________________________________



     Waking up before the sun has always seemed over zealous but I have to be at work today by 7 am.  I wake up dragging ass like I have most of my life.  I look at my cell phone and it's 6:15am.  I look over at Carolyn. My 220lbs shifts the entire bed and she doesn't even move because she's lost in peaceful sleep.  I make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and put on my wrinkled scrubs.  I will eventually wake up at work.

     The morning drive to the hospital is always as quiet as possible.  No music, no sound, except the cool October air rushing against my window.  My eyes are still heavy with sleep and the thought of quitting dances across my mind in a worn path.  I've never been a morning human.

     I arrive at work.  Looking tired but not from the night, I pass co-workers and say, "Good Morning", in my best voice.  The morning comes and goes, and with time the burden of sleep on my eyes eases.  My body is awake and my mind is focus to get through another day in the life of George.  I have my cell phone in my back pocket occasionally pulling it out in secret to text Carolyn, like an ordinary day.

    Walking through the QC area my phone vibrates.  I rush to the back reading area where privacy is warranted.  The screen shows DAD.  I hesitate to answer as he will probably just want to chat and because of policy number 5 section 2, that could be a problem with my supervisor.  I answer it anyway.

George: "What up Pop."

George: "Georgie"

George: "Yeah dad, what's up. I'm at work"

George: "Georgie.....Patrick....Patrick committed suicide"

George: "What? What are you saying? Is he hurt? Where is he? What?

George: "Georgie, Patrick committed suicide. He's dead mijo."

George: "Ok! Where are you? Are you doing cpr? I'm on my way?!"

George: "I'm here at Jackie's apartment."

George: "I'm on my way, keep doing cpr, Dad!"

     Blood is rushing.  Blood is rushing to my face, hands, legs.  Blood is rushing in my ears as if I can hear it.  Blood is rushing away from logic.  I push the exit door to the back.  The thought of telling a co-worker before I leave floods an irrational surge to my brain.  I run, not walk or fast walk or jog, I fucking run to the front of the department.  I pass by my supervisor and the front desk clerk.  I pause for only a moment to utter the words, " I have to leave, my brother died."  Saying those words made my eyes pour and my voice squeek.  The reality of those words were still fresh as I was only repeating my father. 

     The drive towards forever seemed like a blurr.  I was driving well over the speed limit, weaving in and out of caution. No matter how much I pushed safety, it still felt slow.  These emotions were waves crashing against doubt and disbelief.  My dad's intelligence questioned.  Patrick wasn't dead.  What if he was?  How can he be dead?  What the fuck is going on?