"Quick, bring him into trauma room four!" The emergency unit nurse motioned to the paramedics as she ran beside the stretcher. "The doctor is already waiting!"
"His pulse is dropping rapidly and we can't get a heartbeat!" one of the paramedics responded with urgency as his rubber gloves shook, full of clotting blood, knowing their gunshot victim was clinging to life. "Y'all better hurry! It ain't looking good!"
"Oh no!" Arnita screamed out in painful denial, watching her teenage son appearing to lose his battle to see another sunrise. "Please help him! Please, please! He's my baby!"
The nurse, sympathetic in tone, held up one hand. "I'm sorry, Miss, but you can't go back there." She stopped the anguished mother dead in her tracks at the swinging metal double doors that led to the operating room. "Don't worry. He's in good hands. And just as soon as we know something, the doctor will be right out to speak with you," she assured her.
"Why did this happen?" sobs echoed loudly throughout the walls of the crowded building as she collapsed into her aunt's arms who solemnly led her down the hall into a dimly lit room. "Oh, my God! Why? Why is this happening to my baby?" she cried out, hoping that sooner than later, God would answer her cry.
Auntie Bell sat in the drably decorated hospital chapel, clutching her Bible while wiping away Arnita's tears with an old tattered handkerchief. After somewhat calming her down, she suggested to her niece to take her pleas to God Himself, or the closest thing to Him for the moment, the hospital chapel.
"Even at my age," Auntie Bell reflected, "it's simply amazing to me how things can go plum berserk so quickly. I mean one minute you're riding sky high on top of your game, and then within a momentary blink of the eye, your soul is practically scraping the ungodly rock bottom of this wretched earth."
"Why? Why? Why?" the weeping Arnita continued as she anxiously awaited any news about her only son who was merely yards away with two gunshot holes in his chest the size of golf balls. "Oh, God, why?"
"Stop all that crying! Just stop it." Auntie Bell hated that she was getting so frustrated with her niece's weeping, but surely Arnita didn't need God to reveal to her all the reasons behind her query. "You reap what you sow!" Auntie Bell snapped. "And you best trust that the good man upstairs will make you a believer in that." Auntie Bell preached, testifying with certainty as she wrapped her arms around her sister's child. "Now tell me, Sweetie, was all that rotten blood soiled drug money your first born showered you with worth it?... Was it?"
Arnita sniffed and didn't hesitate to respond, "No, of course not, but why in the world is God doing this to my baby? Making him suffer?" Arnita questioned, looking up toward the ceiling, arms folded as she rocked back and forth. "He could stop all this and just save my son's life if He wanted to. After all, He is God, right? He can do anything, at least that's what you're always quoting from that Bible of yours." Doubt and sarcasm laced Arnita's tone.
"Arnita, you best hush up that mouth of yours, questioning the Good Lord! Don't you dare blame Him for this tragedy." Auntie Bell jumped to her feet, shaking her finger at her niece. "This is entirely your fault, not God's! Now what you need to do is think back to the role you done played in Little Ro turning out the way he is," she proclaimed. "Truth be told, you might as well have pulled the trigger of that gun yourself!"
Arnita sat speechless at her aunt's hurtful words. But as her mind reflected back over the years, she couldn't help but question whether or not her aunt's words might have held some truth.