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What? The guy from the grocery store?
I woke up with a start, all sweaty. And wet.
“Fuck!”
CHAPTER 2
Ben
A wheezing sound from one side of the room and snoring from the other. It was deep in the night, and I was tired from the stress of the day’s work at the ranch. I didn’t usually snore, but that night was different.
My body was lifeless on the bed, only that I was breathing.
I was so deep in my sleep that I didn’t hear my nine-year-old son’s wheezing for a while. Suddenly, I woke up like I’d a terrible nightmare. No matter how tired I was, my subconscious couldn’t ignore my son.
Michael was having one of his typical asthma attacks. His breathing had changed, and he was restless on the bed. He had his own room, but he spent most nights with me, and that was mainly how we built our father-son relationship.
With a heavy thud, Michael dropped from the bed to the ground, and I panicked.
“Hey! Hey! Hey!” I soothed, my voice rough with sleep. I rushed to his side and carried him to his bed. “Hey buddy, you’re fine.”
I was clueless as I repeatedly tapped on his chest as I’d done since his first attack started, hoping it would work.
I left Michael on the bed and went to the drawer a few steps away from the bed, opened it, and started throwing things out. “Where could it be? Where’s it?
Oh my God!” My voice trembled like I was about to cry.I knew I was only on edge because of the attack, so I tried calming myself for his sake. I found it.
I rushed down to his side again, “Here! Take it.” I tried to make Michael inhale, but it seemed nothing was changing as much as he tried.
“No! No! No!” I cried. My voice was breaking from the stress.
“Daddy…” Michael struggled to breathe and talk at the same time. “…am I going to die?” he asked with a soft tone.
Tears rolled down my eyes. I couldn’t lose the only family I’d since my wife left me. I thought to take him to a doctor, and yet I wondered if exposing him outside was a good decision.
For a while there, I was confused as I stared at his face.
I panicked. I lifted his head and placed it on my thigh with no response to this question.
“Why are you crying, Daddy?” Michael asked with an innocent tone. He struggled with his breathing, but he still found a way to talk.
“Buddy... I’m not crying. I just need you to be fine.” I sniffed and took him up in my arms in a cradle. I swung him like it would make him feel better. I saw him smile, and my heart grew warm.
I suddenly remembered that drinking something warm could help calm the asthma, so I went to the kitchen with my son in my arms. I turned on the stove to heat the water. It was done in a minute, and I gently helped him drink from a cup.
“Ouch.” He sizzled. “It burnt my tongue.” He managed to say with a somewhat stable breath.
I smiled and got relieved a bit. “Sorry, buddy…” I put him down. “But now, we can go to bed. Daddy has a long daytomorrow at the ranch.” I said and we walked, heading to my room.
“Can I come?” He asked.
“Nah, you can’t.” I retorted.
“But Dad, why?” he asked again.
“Because I want you to be safe, and you’re not safe in the ranch. It’s filled with dust and all.” We got to my room, and I rolled up the duvet over him. “Now go back to sleep,” I said.
“Night, Daddy.” His voice was soft.
