Abandoned. John Schlarbaum
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Her younger sister of two years, Aleena, looked incredulous, not believing, or more likely understanding, the implication of such a bold statement. “I’ll ... ah ... quote whoever I feel like quoting, Pepper Potts! You don’t own me and ... and ... for your information, Tony only has eyes for me – not some silly girl who just hangs around his cool apartment!” Mimicking Zoe’s stance, Aleena raised her right hand and proclaimed, “One day I’ll be Mrs. Tony Stark and you’re only going to have a dog to keep you company!”
Zoe was unimpressed and turned to her father to be the tie-breaking opinion. “What do you think, Dad?”
Seated in his recliner a few feet away, Stan was oblivious to any activity, as his eyes were fixated on the television mounted on the far wall. His beloved Minnesota Vikings were on the verge of beating the loathed Detroit Lions with one second left on the clock. “Kick the damn ball already!” he implored, as the placekicker paced off distance from where the ball should land if the ball holder actually caught it from the snap – an action he’d failed to do on two earlier field goal attempts.
The Grant living room went silent as all eyes tilted upward when the football was sent into the hands of the placeholder, who mishandled it, then stood upright and began to run toward the goal line seven yards away ... only to trip over his feet, stumble onto the back of one of his blockers and fumble the football.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Stan called out, exploding out of his chair, as a sure-handed Lions’ defender scooped the ball off the ground and started running in the opposite direction. “Why? Why? Why?”
“With no time left on the clock, 335-pound Malcolm Harris will win this game if he can survive the 93-yard sprint laid out in front of him,” the play-by-play announcer said excitedly. “If he does, this will be another heartbreaking loss for the Vikings.”
The screen went black as Stan hit the OFF button on the remote and walked out of the room, his face fire engine red with the added bonus of engorged blood vessels protruding from his temples.
“Is the game over, Dad? Did we win?” Aleena asked innocently, more a soccer fan than a football one, to her father’s chagrin. “Did that man score a touchdown?”
“Aleena!” Zoe snapped at her. “Don’t you know anything?”
Stan gave a grunt and was out the back door, stomping his way across the lawn to their detached garage, where his beer fridge was waiting to offer him sanctuary from a world gone mad.
“Will Dad be okay, Mom?” Zoe asked.
Genifer sighed, “In time.”
“Will you be okay?” Zoe followed up.
Genifer gave her an odd look before feeling faint and blacking out.
“Mom?” Aleena asked as she watched her collapse, knocking over the nearby table and sending the phone crashing to the floor. “MOM!”
Zoe was by her mother’s side, lifting her head off the hardwood floor. “Go get Dad,” she said in a calm voice to her frightened sister. “Mom’ll be fine. Go, Aleena. Dad will know what to do.”
Aleena looked into her sister’s reassuring eyes, and like all younger siblings trusted that what she said was true. “Okay,” she replied and ran through the kitchen and outside. “Dad, come back inside! Mom’s hurt!”
Zoe could tell that her mother was alive by the rise and fall of her chest. “I’m here, Mom. I won’t leave you, even in the ambulance.”
At these words, Genifer began to shift slightly. “Ambulance?” she muttered, incoherently.
“The paramedics will help you get better on the way to the hospital, the way they do on the Emergency Now show.”
“Hospital?”
Stan burst into the room to see his wife splayed across the floor and his daughter placing a throw pillow under Genifer’s head. “Is she breathing, Zoe?”
“Yes and talking a bit, but she’s really out of it.”
“She seemed fine after you turned off the TV, then I saw her face go white and she ....” Aleena couldn’t continue and started to cry. “She isn’t going to die, is she?”
“No, Bean,” Stan said. “She’s just tired and couldn’t stand anymore. Do me a favour and go to the washroom for a facecloth please. Run some cold water over it first. Can you do that for me, kiddo?”
With superhero-like speed, Aleena sprang into action and bolted down the hallway.
“You’re doing good, Zoe,” Stan said to his daughter who was fighting back her own tears. She gave him a frail, yet appreciative smile as he grabbed the phone.
“911. What is your emergency?”
“My wife collapsed and is going in and out of consciousness. We need to get her to the hospital.”
For the second time, Genifer seemed to rouse from her semi-coma state. “No hospital,” she mumbled weakly. “I can’t go there. They’re going to kill that lady.”
“What did she say?” Stan asked Zoe, as Genifer slipped back into unconsciousness.
“It had to do with the hospital. Like, ‘I can’t go there. They’re going to fill that baby.’ What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, sweetie. She’s hallucinating,” Stan said, shaking his head as he refocused his thoughts to the 911 operator. “How long before the ambulance arrives?”
“I’ve dispatched the first responders. They should be there shortly,” came the reply.
“Thank you,” Stan said, terminating the call. Looking at Zoe, he said, “Can you see what happened to Aleena? Then go into our bedroom for some overnight clothes for your mother – her pyjamas, housecoat and slippers.”
“Will her Minions pyjamas be okay for the hospital?” Zoe asked, thinking of her mom’s favourite gift from the previous Christmas.
Stan smiled. “She’d like those a lot.”
Zoe scampered out of the room, calling Aleena’s name.
Stan sat beside Genifer and stroked her hair, hoping his recent outburst hadn’t played any role in her collapse.
“My dad told me that being a Vikings’ fan would be the death of me, Genifer, not you,” he said half-jokingly, terrified of losing his wife. “Can you hear me?” There was no visible reaction on her face. “Hold on, babe. We’ll be at the hospital real soon.”
With the sound of sirens getting louder outside, Stan stepped away and opened the front door. “They’re here, Genifer. Hold on a little longer.”
Genifer stirred, as sunlight from the open door stretched across the floor and into her eyes. Hearing a stretcher being unloaded from the ambulance, she made a feeble request that no one would ever hear: “No ... hospital.”
***
It had been a long afternoon and evening for Genifer, as hospital staff endlessly poked, prodded and measured her every vital sign, plus a CAT scan. Through it all Genifer didn’t complain, answering every question regarding her diet, sleep habits, headache issues or other health irregularities.
“We may need to call Dr. House in for a consultation,” Maggie, the E.R. nurse, said, referencing the popular television character who specialized in tricky cases. “All your tests were negative.”
Genifer knew they would be, and could have saved the health system a lot of time and money. She was fully aware of what had triggered her fainting spell, but didn’t dare divulge the information to anyone.
If only I had fallen without an audience present, she thought.
Thankful that her children were in the care of her mom and her friend Lisa, and with Stan getting a coffee, Genifer