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OUT OF THE TREED PARK, returning to the street on the opposite side of the bridge, Rose continued her flight toward home. Her legs felt as if she was lifting hundred-pound weights. Sweat poured down her face, her blonde hair drenched, clinging to her face like strands of tape on paper.
“I live. I live,” her voice weak, raspy. She pushed forward, knowing if she did not make it home, she would die. Here. On the street. “I Live. I live.” She could see her house. Almost there. “I live.” She was close now, struggling up the walk, her legs rubbery. “I Live.” She climbed the steps—one agonizing step at a time, the ache in her stomach, relentless, stepping up in intensity. Hot wetness ran down her legs, running the same as the water ran through the brook.
The last step. “I live.” The weights on her legs were too heavy. Her legs gave out. Her vision clouded. She could hear a whistling sound. Her own breathing. Rose felt as if her breaths were coming through a straw. Not enough air. Too much pain. The last, “I live,” passed her lips.
Faith was just opening the door. Jasmine had called ahead and told her they were coming down the street. She saw Jasmine and Monica speeding toward her porch. Eyes wide. Screaming. “Rose! Rose!” They had seen her dragging herself up the walk toward the steps as they drove up. Now she lay motionless on the porch.
Faith followed their pointing fingers to the porch below the door. She let out a piercing scream. “Mom! Mom!”
“Call 911, ambulance, Faith! Hurry!” Monica was taking control. She rolled Rose onto her back. “Oh, my gawd, Jasmine, look at all that blood.” Her voice was hollow, detached. She put her face next to Rose’s mouth, feeling for air against her cheek and watching her chest for the rising and falling of breaths. “She’s not breathing Jasmine.” Monica lifted her chin. Placed her mouth over Rose’s as if to kiss her. Blew air into her mouth. Her chest expanded and then collapsed. She blew in another breath. Her chest rose again. Jasmine dropped to her knees. Touched two fingers to Rose’s neck. “No pulse.”
They were working like robots. Jasmine had the heels of her palms planted on Rose’s chest. Fingers interlocked. Elbows straight. Bending at the waist. Counting rapidly. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7...
Faith and Agnes were at the screen door, heading for the porch. The phone was against Faith’s ear. “No, she’s not breathing.” Faith listened. “Yes, CPR.” Faith had already given her name and address. The screen door emitted a thunderous groan against the cement wall as Agnes burst through, dropped to her knees and took Jasmine’s place giving compressions. Jasmine replaced Monica, blowing air into Rose’s lungs. Faint sirens could be heard. Neighbors poured out of their homes to check on the commotion.
“Yes, I’m here.” Faith was still talking to the 911 operator. “I hear the sirens.”
The walkway leading to the porch was dense with concerned neighbors eager to help. Some watched from a distance. Others wanted a closer look. The sirens had reached an ear-splitting level. The ambulance was visible. It sped down the black tar street and stopped at the center of the commotion.
Two men bolted from the emergency vehicle carrying bags. They cut through the crowd like a knife through butter, rushing to the porch. Emergency equipment was pulled from their bags and stretched out next to Rose like a picnic. More sirens. A fire truck. Firemen disembarking. More emergency equipment. Agnes and Jasmine were replaced by the emergency crew. They had the intravenous line inserted and the breathing tube placed in a matter of minutes. They lifted Rose to the slender stretcher. She was in their care, headed for the hospital.
Agnes was wringing her hands, eyes wet with tears as her gaze settled in on the pool of blood left behind where Rose had just received lifesaving care. Faith sidled up to her mother, encased her waist and laid her head on her mother’s chest. Monica and Jasmine joined the huddle.
The fire chief approached the huddled group, noting their red eyes and pain-stricken faces. “She’s in good hands,” the uniformed man said. “They are taking her to the community hospital four miles away. Do you know where it is?”
Agnes nodded. It was where she worked during the day as a nursing assistant. The same hospital that offered the CPR course that she had insisted her daughters and their two closest friends enroll. He tipped his hat politely. “God be with you.”