THE DAWN PATROL

An Author's Reading...

Photo by Francesca Tosolini on Unsplash

chapter V 1998

We step out of the elevator and begin walking toward the waiting room when Ronnie comes running out, dropping Mrs. Duncan on the floor and throwing herself into my arms. There are tears in her eyes, but she holds herself together somehow as I try to make out what’s happening, trying not to spill her hot chocolate all over her.

“What’s the matter?” I ask. “What happened?” Panic sweeps through me and I feel myself breaking out into a sweat. I look for Mom, but she’s nowhere in sight. “Where’s Grandma?”

“I don’t know,” Ronnie says, taking in big gulps of air. I guess now that we’re back, she feels free to let herself go.

“They took Grandpa away—Grandma went with them. There were doctors an’ nurses, but no one wanted to tell me what was goin’ on,” she says with an effort. “Grandma told me to wait for you,” she says, and tears begin running down her face.

“My God! Only Mom’d think there’s nothing wrong with leaving a kid in a room alone,” I say to Russell.

“Give her a break. Let’s find out what happened first.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I mean, she’s fine, right—no harm, no foul? That’s Caroline talking. She still sees Clifford Olsen around every corner.”

I bend down and hug Ronnie, holding her and looking up at Russell at the same time with what I’m hoping is a questioning stare. I can feel my eyebrows drawing into a tight Vee.

“Okay,” I say to Ronnie. “One thing at a time. Here. Look. I brought you some hot chocolate. It’s still pretty warm. I put cream in it, just the way you like it. Let’s go back to the waiting room and sit down, okay?”

“Where are they now?” Russell asks as he bends down to pick Ronnie’s doll up off the floor.

The waiting room is small, and I look around thinking it looked much larger when I was a kid. Ronnie sits on the couch and struggles to catch her breath. Russell goes to give Ronnie the doll, but holds back for some reason.

Once she’s settled down, I give Ronnie her hot chocolate. She pulls the lift tab up on the lid and folds it over with so much care, I’m tempted to take it away from her and do it myself. But I don’t; I wait as she takes a sip. She blows into the cup, and I tell myself to be patient even though I know it can’t possibly be hot. I’m not my parents; I’m not my parents, I remind myself once more. It’s beginning to become a mantra I keep at the ready.

“Ronnie?” Russell reminds her, and I look up at him.

“They took him to another room,” she says at last, every word an effort as she fights to gain her self-control. She takes a sip of her hot chocolate.

“Which one, Pun’kin?” I ask, and kneel down in front of her so she doesn’t have to look up at me. I’ve read that it’s less intimidating to the child if you talk to them at eye level.

“Yea, where’d they go?” Russell says.

Russell never read the same article, but he sits on the arm of the sofa anyway. It might just be a natural instinct, I don’t know. He holds the doll out for Ronnie though, telling her she’s a very brave girl, but for some reason I think to myself he’s holding the doll for ransom—it’s something he would’ve done to me when we were kids—because he still hasn’t given it to her.

“I don’t know which room,” Ronnie says. “There were doctors and nurses, and, and, they took him into the big elevator.”

She starts to cry and I look over at Russell, giving him a look—as if his question is the one that pushed her over the edge and it has nothing to do with me—but he refuses to meet my gaze.

“Why don’t you go find out what happened?” I say to Russell. I feel helpless watching Ronnie try to hold back her tears, but I remember to take Mrs. Duncan from him before Russell leaves. At least I can give her some sort of comfort.

I sit beside her and put my arm around her, thinking of the night Grandpa died and how I felt just like she is now, shivering like a puppy hiding in a thunderstorm. I wipe the tears from her eyes and look down at her, wishing there was something more I could do, other than feeling helpless beside her.

“What happened, Daddy? Where did they take him?”

“I don’t know, Pun’kin,” I say. “Did you see him? Grandpa, I mean? Did you see his face?”

“I didn’t want to,” she says, and I know she did. A part of me goes out to her—a big part. I put both arms around her and hold her, pulling her closer to me, remembering how we walked into the hospital room and kissed Grandpa’s cheek every night. There was something about his good eye staring out into nothingness—but it was the empty socket I always found myself looking at.

“Is he going to die?” she asks.

“They’ll do what they can, but I hope not.”

I say it with so much simplicity in my voice, it catches me by surprise. I feel the helplessness of the situation washing over me like an ablution, pouring over me like a purifying mixture of tears and emotion I have no control over. I think about Dad dying—and then I think about my own mortality for some strange reason—and I take another deep breath.

Ashes to ashes, funk to funkie, we know Major Tom’s a junkie...

Now I’m singing fuckin’ Bowie songs in my head.

Tears begin, slipping down my right cheek, and I hold Ronnie tighter, like she’s a shield—like she’s my Mrs. Duncan— and I can use her tiny body to fight off the demons in my mind.

...Like the windmills of your mind...

She pulls herself away from me and looks up at me, asking me what I’m humming as she traces a tear down the side of my face with her tiny finger.

“Are you alright, Daddy?”

“Humming? Was I humming?” I say, and force a weak smile.

I see Russell as he steps out of the elevator. He comes into the waiting room and sits in the chair beside me. He breathes out a weary sigh of defeat. I hear that same sound whenever I hear a failed story idea, or have one pitched to me; I look at him with a deliberate stare. He rests his head against the wall, his eyes closed tight. There are tears in his eyes. A part of me wonders if Dad died while we were at the Sandwich shop.

“He’s in the I.C.U.,” Russell says without looking at me. I guess he knows I’m watching him. It’s something we’ve always sensed about each other regarding the littlest things, only now it’s magnified to the nth degree. “He had a heart attack while they were doing their tests; the nurse didn’t sound very optimistic as far as his chances are. They found cancer, Dan. He’s riddled with it.”

“Cancer?”

He nods.

“Started in his stomach and worked its way through his system; his intestines, his lungs, his liver. She told me I’d better make arrangements, the heartless bitch,” he says, and looks at me with the same look of helplessness I know is mirrored on my own face.

“They probably don’t realize you’re his son.”

“I’ve been here all goddamned day,” Russell says, trying to control his anger. “They know who I am. They just want to separate themselves from the whole situation—emotionally I mean—because they’re afraid of getting too involved.”

“Can you blame them?” I ask.

“Looking at you? I guess not,” he says with a weak laugh.

“I’ll stay here with Ronnie, you go find out where they took him.”

“I told you. He’s in the I.C.U.,” Russell says.

“And what exactly does that mean? Does that mean we can’t go in there anymore?”

“I don’t know. I think we can, but we have to wear caps and gowns—”

“You mean masks and gowns—”

“Whatever,” he says, waving it off with an impatient hand.

“I have to wait until Caroline get here.”

“I could sure use that drink now,” Russell says.

“I’ll come and get you as soon as she shows up. One of us should be with Mom,” I say.

I watch Russell as he walks away. The last thing I remember is him pushing the button for the elevator. I lay my head back against the wall, trying not to think too much about anything.

But Christ! Cancer?

Ronnie lays her head against my chest, listening to my heart beating out its lonely song. Maybe she’s wondering if I’m still alive, or thinks I’m dying like her Grandpa? Who knows what’s going through her head? There’s nothing I can do about it except maybe ignore it, and try shutting it out of my mind.