Death's toll

“Daddy can we cross now?” The little boy is holding his fathers hand tightly as he crosses the street. The beads in my hand piercing skin as I grip them. Ethan. He loved the color of the beads so much he named it redfleck and the name just stuck. The redfleck necklace strained in my hands.

Left, right, left right. I know it can't come from both but the street is empty. The clock is ticking away and this bus is late. No such luck. The streets look menacing. Limits that guard me from my sons face, boundaries I can't cross. Every passerby was a culprit. Shadily holding a briefcase of smugly examining those around them. They were limits too. Carrie has called and called, but I can't answer an watch the road at the same time. The peal of my watch is the only thing I can hear. Ominous, predictable and uncontrollable. I pulled the nob away so it ceased it's toll, and settling upon the face a cornflower blue. Cornflower, just the color I wanted to see.... Only..... reflected in his eyes. God help me! Where is this bus?

I heard the clanking rumble of the bus before I saw it and stood quickly. The doors jolted open “Sir, SIR-the fare?”. Fare, right, I give it to him and notice that his stare never even passed over my face. As I sit down the kid across from me blares some noise and draws stars on his combat boots. He surely looks ready for combat. I'm so disgusted at the obliviousness of all these people. The blind, tormenting oblivion. I want to point a gun to the bus driver's head and tell him to speed this bus up, but also, to slow himself down. I want them to wake up.

Instead, I find myself sulking with redfleck beads imprinting my hand. Instead I find myself crying for the first time since his birth 16 years ago. As the sliding doors open I feel the chill of icily sterile air enter my lungs. I race to his room passing Carrie along the way. I hear her calling as I open the door.