Hazard 3

June, 2009
Grand Island, Nebraska

Sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair, Mackie stared at his watch, then at the door. Watch. Door. Watch. Door. Watch. Door. Watch. God dammit, would the doctor ever come? The private hospital was only small, not like the big public hospitals that were so clean and sterilised that you felt like you were walking into a laboratory. The floor was carpeted, the walls were painted with pictures hanging on them. No slippery tiles and stark white walls here. Watch. Door. Watch. Door. Watch. Door. Watch. One thing they could never replace but. The plastic chairs. They were horrible! Not matter what colour they were or whether they had cushions on the seat, they were still uncomfortable, constricting and gave him an achingly stiff back whenever he stood up. The hospital designers had done everything they possibly could to make the patients feel comfy as if they were at home, but did they give a thought to the relatives and friends that came to visit? Oh yes of course! The visitors . . . um . . . let's see . . . err . . . screw them, they can have plastic chairs and weak coffee in polystyrene cups like they always have. Watch. Door. Watch. Door. Watch. Door. Doctor. Watch . . . Doctor?!?
"Hello Mrs. Hanson. How are we feeling?" the doctor said with false cheerfulness that Mackie found irritating.
"What's wrong with me doctor?" was all Diana said. The fake smile instantly dropped from his face. Without making it obvious, Mackie took his mother's hand. She squeezed it gently in reassurance.
"I'm afraid Mrs. Hanson, the news isn't good –"
"Please doctor, don't beat around the bush. You're going to have to tell me sooner or later,"
"You've been coughing a lot recently?" she just nodded, "Have you noticed any phlegm that's had streaks of blood in it?" she nodded again, "Then I'm afraid there can't be any doubt. . . ."

June, 2009
Hazard, Nebraska

Mary stopped dead in her tracks. The river had just called to her; and she come to it. There was nothing she could do. It had been there in the back of her mind, begging for her to come and sit awhile. The sunsets were always so gorgeous here, and as the summer went on, they just became more and more gorgeous. She had often wondered what it would be like to sit on a cloud and watch the sun go down from there. Would it still be as beautiful? Would it be more so? Who except the angels knew? They were so lucky. They got to see everything. What was it like to watch the earth from high up on a cloud? What was it like to watch over people you knew, and people who cared about you and for you? What was it like to die?
Staring, Mary looked at the crumpled heap by the bank. Was that –? It was! She ran as fast as she could and collapsed to her knees beside Mackie. He didn't look up at her, just kept crying. With gentle fingers she took his face in her hands and turned it so she could see. The tears rolled down his cheeks, his eyes were red and sore. Without a thought, Mary took a clean handkerchief from her pocket and bathed it in the gently lapping side-waters of the river. Mackie stared gratefully back at her as she wiped his eyes.
"What's wrong?" she asked. Her voice was soothing and kind. It eased a little of the pain in his torn soul.
"Mom," his head rested in her lap, clutching her long skirt. As he once had his oldest sister. . . . overwhelmed by a strange sense of protectiveness, Mary gently ran her finger-tips over his shoulder-length blond hair.
"What's wrong with your Mom?" slowly, Mackie dragged himself up to sit and forced his head up to look at her.
"She's got lung cancer," Mary's eyes widened so far Mackie thought they might just fall out. Another tiny droplet slipped from his eye. Quick as the fast current of the river, he was in her arms, his head buried in her shoulder, shaking with the force of his tears.
"God Mackie I'm so sorry," she whispered, holding him as tight as he was her. Sorry. It was such a pointless word. What could it do? It didn't take away any of the pain. Sorry. It didn't say half of what Mary wanted to say and couldn't find the words for. She wanted to say she understood, to tell him that she would be there for him. But she didn't understand. She hadn't lost her whole family in a split-second. She hadn't been the victim of prejudiced hatred. She wasn't about to lose her mother. How could she possibly say she understood? And being there? About as empty a promise as they came. She couldn't stay with him every second of every day. She couldn't know when he needed her and when he needed solitude. How could she say she'd be there when she couldn't? All she could say to him was 'sorry'. Yet sorry also said pity. If he should think that she pitied him . . . Sorry. Such a goddamn useless word!
Mackie just looked at her. Sorry? Had he heard right? Had she just said she was sorry? Could she possibly know how much that meant to him? She was the first person to ever say that to him. Ever. How much had he longed to hear that word just once. Just once from just one person; so he'd know that there was somebody out there who didn't delight in watching him suffer the whole town's hatred in silence. Not even his mother had given him that . . . Sorry. What a beautiful word!
Mary took breath to speak. Before she could utter a sound, Mackie lay a finger on her lips and shook his head.
"Please. Don't say anything," and he kissed her. The tiny squeal of surprise died in her throat. Everything around her faded away into non-existence. Nothing mattered except that sweet pressure. Almost unconsciously, her arms came around his neck. Almost unconsciously, he guided her back onto the grass. She hadn't been sure; she'd told herself a thousand times she and Mackie were only friends, nothing more than that. But ever since she'd seen him lying on his back in his yard, watching the clouds roll across the sky, she'd felt more for him than just an idle friendship. She was only fifteen, could what she was feeling right now possibly be love? Hell, it could be whatever it liked, so long as he kept his mouth over hers!

Lost in the darkness of her kiss, a sudden thought surfaced through the haze that had settled on Mackie's mind. Followed by another . . . and another . . . each one clearer than the last. Each one saying the same thing. 'No' . . . 'Not here' . . . 'Not like this'. As the mists cleared away, he slowly pulled away, drawing back from the depths they'd fallen into. Easing his lips from hers, he watched her lazily open her glazed blue eyes . . . and saw the realisation dawn in them. She smiled sadly; at least she understood. Lightly, he kissed her on the forehead, then got up. The sun had almost set. Drawing his knees up, he rested his chin on them. Mary sat up, absently brushing imaginary specks of dirt off her long skirt. The clouds were massed around the horizon, grey tinged with pink. Every time he looked at the clouds, he couldn't help but try and find the one that the other half of his family occupied. It would have to be a pretty big cloud, with enough room for seven people. Soon it would be eight. His mother was dying. He couldn't deny it any more. When she . . . when she . . . then he'd be the only one left. Where would he go? All his relatives were in Tulsa, and he wouldn't – couldn't – go back there. He'd be alone. The sobs burned in the back of his throat; he tried to swallow them down. But there was nothing he could do about the tears. Eight years, that was all his life had been. Tears. Pain. Sorrow. Would it ever change?


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