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“Oh, domvie kids?”
“Yeah. That’s what they’re called.”
“Lots of us, Man. Used to be diseases and gangs took us out. Now it’s parents, or when we simply happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Michael shrugged at the thought. “Just like you tonight. It’s happening a lot more now than before,” Michael said in a somber tone, reaching to grab two Sprites out of the cabinet behind him, handing Steven one.
“I thought we couldn’t taste things here,” Steven said, wondering whether he should waste time opening the pop.
“You have a lot to learn.” Michael took a long sip of pop.
“Do you… get to see your parents?”
“I check on my mama sometimes.” An awful stillness came over the room. “She’s not doing so good. Killing me really sent her over the edge. Now they’ve got her on drugs—the legal kind—but she’s no better than some street drug addicts I’ve seen. I think I’ll be running into her pretty soon on this side.”
“Will I be able to—”
“We all can. Some do, some don’t. It depends,” Michael said, gazing over at Steven’s parents. “Some of the guys just can’t go back, because they feel that they’ll make matters worse.”
“Aren’t you supposed to have, you know, like wings or something?” Steven asked with uneasy sarcasm.
Michael laughed, slapping Steven on the back. “That’s a myth—we don’t need wings to travel—we just go from place to place. Now you see us.” Michael slowly faded from view, leaving only the Sprite can behind. “Now you don’t.”
“Hey! Come back here,” Steven said, realizing he was, in fact, a lot less lonely with Michael around to explain things.
Michael reappeared, a smile on his thick lips.
“Do you think my dad will get help?” Steven walked over to Hector, waving a hand in front of his face. Of course, he didn’t notice.
“If I were you, I’d be more worried about your mama,” Michael said, directing his attention toward the woman crying into her hands.
“Why?”
“Mamas have it hard. Guilt can kill ’em.”
Steven’s gaze landed on his mother; a small pain flashed over his heart. “Yeah, she’s blaming herself right now.”
“They all do.” A disappointed frown spread across Michael’s face. “But women have to be real smart.”
Steven’s attention was directed toward the nurse wearing a white uniform; her brunette hair was tied back into a ponytail. She checked his vital signs. “What do you mean?” he asked, turning to Michael.
“When they leave, they have to really leave. They can’t just say it and stick around hoping things will get better. Sometimes it never gets better without outside help, and that might not always work,” Michael replied, staring at both Steven’s mother and father. “Sometimes that means they can’t tell their families where they’re going, or it means leaving the state. Sometimes, it means pressing charges and putting the man in jail.” Steven stared at Michael as though he wasn’t quite sure he’d heard right. “My mama had a chance to do that and didn’t. And here I am.” Michael’s hands spread out as though presenting himself for an Army inspection.
“Yes,” Steven said slowly, feeling the pain in his heart increase as he watched his mom’s tears fall. “Here we are.”
Steven was trying to take all of this in at once. He also tried to understand things that he didn’t know before about his father. Hector had followed in his father’s abusive footsteps, but hopefully, it would stop now.
A tall, black woman, with dark, wavy hair, wearing a blue and gold Dashiki entered his hospital room. Her bright smile and flashing brown eyes showed she was obviously in high spirits. Steven had never seen someone who looked so peaceful. “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Santos,” she said, extending a hand to his mother. “I’m Kristen Willis, one of the family counselors for Michael Reese Hospital.”
Mom absently shook the hand the woman offered, but Hector just stared at her.
Ms. Willis took a quick glance at Steven’s body, then looked back at them. “He’s a very strong young man.”
“How may we help you, Ma’am?” Hector asked somewhat impolitely, as if she were interrupting something, which was far from the truth.
“I was asked to come up here by Mrs. Santos.”
Hector took one look at Steven and then back at Ms. Willis. “We don’t need a marriage counselor.”
“I’m not here for your marriage; I’m here for all three of you,” she quickly replied. “Now there’s no doubt in my mind that you are having marital issues also, based on your wife’s bruises.” For the first time, Hector couldn’t and didn’t say anything to defend himself. “Why don’t we take this to my office?” Ms. Willis said smoothly. “People in a coma can hear things and there are some things that might be said that you don’t want Steven to hear.”
