Joseph in the backseat, “Mum, my head feels funny.” I take a look back, checking on him, his face is red and sweaty – aged almost 4 years in ten minutes, his breathing labored.
“I know, sweetheart. We’re going to the doctor.” I try to soothe him; I try not to let the worry seep into my voice. I doubt he would be able to hear it over the sound of his heavy breathing and beating heart. His pulse was too high when I checked, just before I bundled his cold body in a blanket and hurried him to the car. I sigh because the traffic is jammed on 37th, switching on the radio to hear a calm presenter talk about a shooting in an office building, her stable voice that doesn’t even change when she says “Twelve dead,” or “Road blocked.” I glance back at Joseph, whose eyes droop slowly down.
“Don’t go to sleep, honey. We’ll be there in a moment.” I tell him, his eyes flutter but fall back down. I switch the station to Latin dance, crank the volume to sixty percent for ten seconds before lowering it back down, and his eyes open.
“I hurt, mummy.” I sigh because the traffic has started moving again, and I see my turn and a clear path. I maneuver the car into the next lane, indicating early so I won’t miss it. Joseph groans, a wet cough, shifts on the seat. I reach my hand back to feel his forehead, one hand on the wheel turning by accident. The reverberating beep from the angry jammed up driver behind me who, when I look back, flips me the bird and swears loudly. Flick the button to put the windows up, and switch on the air-conditioner because Joseph is now hot again, and I sigh because I finally turn onto my street and pass the grocery store, because I remembered that I forgot to pick up toilet paper and that my brother is coming to visit tomorrow night. I sigh because I realize that I am speeding and I just passed a speed camera, the flash stinging my eyes and scaring me, and I didn’t even know there was a camera there.
“Hold on, hold on, hold on.” I tell Joseph, slowing the car down to the appropriate speed and switching the station back to the news – “What a horrific story, there Jan, now let’s talk about the royal baby” – I bang the steering wheel because I don’t give a damn about the royal baby and I am uncomfortable with the progression of the headlines, the dulcet tone of voice, because Joseph is getting cold again and his pulse is throbbing hard, a vein in his head pounding visibly. Switch the station to rock, 70’s hour and I can hear The Beatles. I switch lanes to avoid being backed up again, switch back.
“Almost there, sweetheart.” But the sound barely leaves my mouth before I hear a loud bang, my body thrusting forward and then backward into my seat, and an echo of beeping. A dainty sound of sprinkling. I want to switch the station because the news is somehow back on and I can’t stand those god damned presenters but I can’t move my hand, and I sigh because I realize I can’t see a thing and I can’t move at all but I can hear a whole lot and “Mummy, wake up!” Joseph says. I sigh because I am not asleep, and I think he must be starting to hallucinate, because I’m not sure where we are but I know that Joseph is hot and cold and sweaty, his head hurts, and there was blood in one of his coughs. I try to open my eyes but they don’t even move, so I sigh again because I’m not even making any noise and I can hear a beep and the thump thump thump of Josephs heart but I can’t even breathe.
“Stop bleeding, Mummy. Wake up.”