Crooked Smile Lainie Cohen, ECW Press (page 2 of 5) Page 2 of 5

I don’t remember starting to scream, but a wail reverberates throughout the house. Jonathan comes running into the kitchen to find me clutching at Joel for support. The phone receiver dangles down the kitchen wall, swinging like a coiled serpent.

“What’s wrong?” he cries.

In a voice that’s lost its usual control, Joel blurts, “Daniel’s been hurt. We’ve got to go.”

Like robots, my husband and I start to go through the motions of closing windows and locking doors. Jonathan stands there, dazed, uncertain what to do.

“Go to the Gordons’,” Joel says.

Jonathan races next-door. As I’m tying up my sneakers, he rushes back in with our neighbour, Marilyn.

“Don’t worry. I’ll manage,” Marilyn says.

She hugs me before we hurry off.

It feels cold in the car and I move the air vent, deflecting it into the back where my youngest sits silently. The winding road from our cottage is only three kilometres long and when we reach the highway, Joel picks up speed. Traffic is moving well here. He reaches for my hand and grips it on top of the stick shift. The knob feels solid in my palm and his fingers warm mine.

We are cut off from life in our enclosed space. Joel and I ask each other questions that neither can answer. What has happened? Will Daniel be okay? All our hopes rest on news from the cell phone that doesn’t ring.

We pass familiar sights: two marinas, the garden centre, a video store, and the stand selling wild blueberries with its Sold Out sign in place. Fields with empty corn stalks form darkening shadows at the side of the road. Now and then neon lights flicker from a roadside donut shop or gas station.

Joel phones the hospital and speaks briefly to a staff member in Emergency.

“Your son is unconscious and has just been transferred to the Trauma Unit at Sunnybrook Hospital.”

“Does our daughter know?”

“We tried to call her but there’s no answer at your home. She’s probably en route here.”

Joel hangs up and immediately dials his brother’s number. “David, I need you to go to Sunnybrook Hospital.” He relays the little information we know. “If you hear any news at all, please call us.”

I’m startled to see Joel smashing his hand against the dashboard. “That god-damn kid. Has he no brains? Why wasn’t he wearing a seatbelt? I bet they were going too fast. Daniel always drove too quickly. I told him, but did he listen? No! Remember when he took the turn too quickly and went into a ditch. Smashed up the car. Wish he had hurt himself then.”

“What? You wanted him to be hurt?”

“Not a lot. Just a little. So he would’ve learned a lesson.”

“Joel, Daniel wasn’t even driving today. It was his friend, John, remember?” I touch his hand and he returns it to the stick shift. My fingers cover his.

“I know.” He glances briefly at me, his face contorting with pain. “Did you see that car John was driving? A small car. I hate small cars for teenage drivers. I should never have let him go in it. Should have insisted he go home with Alyssa.”

“That’s crazy. He came up with John. He wanted to go back with him.”

“I shouldn’t have let him.”

This isn’t our fault, I want to say. Then I question myself. Did we do something wrong? I think back to all those years I spent driving carpool to hockey practices and games. A mother whose head couldn’t even be seen behind the headrest of the largest station wagon on the market. Thump. A hockey bag thrown in the back. The slam of the door and then the click. The sound of the seatbelt fastening. Three boys, three clicks. Daniel knew I was a stickler for the rules. My car didn’t move unless all the seatbelts were on. What went wrong?

The landscape passes in a blur of darkness, familiar shapes transformed into the menacing unknown.

We’re racing. I glance at the speedometer and yell at Joel, “Are you nuts? Slow down! There’s already one of us in the hospital.”

The car slows and we drift back into silence. I start to shiver despite the summer’s heat and place my hands under my bottom to warm them. The leather seat feels so cold. I gaze forward, mesmerized by the trail of red lights ahead, two abreast, then three when the highway widens. We’re still an hour’s drive away from the city.

I think of hospital emergency rooms — the bright lights, sticky vinyl chairs and long waits. Like many parents with active kids, we’ve had our time there, anxiously anticipating the results of x-rays and then waiting patiently for the fitting of splints, plastering of casts or sizing of crutches. Only once, when we raced to the hospital with Jonathan in the midst of an asthma attack, did I feel as much panic as now.

Another twenty minutes pass and still there’s no call from Alyssa or David. Joel phones Sunnybrook’s emergency room. Over the speakerphone I hear a female voice, “A doctor is with your son. We’ll call you back when the doctor is done.”

“Please, tell me,” I ask, “is he alive?”

The nurse avoids answering by simply repeating her previous message. Joel presses the end button as I start to keen, “We’ve lost him.”

Jonathan leans forward from the back seat and holds my shoulders firmly while I wail; his father clenches the steering wheel and curses the traffic that has slowed almost to a standstill. My chest continues to heave as my sobs subside.

If the doctor is still with him, then Daniel must be alive, we reason. Beneath this hope lurks the worry that Alyssa and David would not share news of his death over a cell phone.

Joel turns on the radio. The reporter announces, “Traffic is unusually heavy on Highway 400 due to heavy volume and construction delays. The alternate routes are also very busy. Stay tuned for an update in fifteen minutes. This message is brought to you by…

At long last, we reach the emergency department. A nurse immediately ushers us into a small waiting room. In the cramped space are Alyssa, David and Roz, my brother Yaron and his wife, and two of our friends. How did they know to come? We grab Alyssa and clasp her to us. Her body quakes as she nods tearfully, “He’s alive.”

Then we notice the stranger — a young doctor with the traditional white coat. How could I not see him standing there?

From Crooked Smile by Lainie Cohen, published by ECW Press, LLC. Copyright © 2003 by Lainie Cohen. All rights reserved. www.ecwpress.com. For more information about author Lainie Cohen, go to www.crookedsmile.org.

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