the Other Wes Moore (2010) Read Online Free
Author: Wes Moore
adding colors to the black-and-white clown in my coloring book. I was months away from my fourth birthday. I heard my father coming down the stairs. His steps were slower than usual. I got up from the chair so I could be picked up as soon as he reached the first floor. Then I heard a crash.
His body was sprawled and writhing at the foot of the stairs. Hardly any sounds came from his mouth. I heard another crash, this one from the kitchen. The clatter momentarily stole my attention from my father. My mother heard his collapse and, in her rush to see what had happened, dropped the sizzling cast-iron skillet and potato pancakes on the floor. I looked back up to my father and saw him gasping for air, holding his throat. His normally strong features sagged in exhaustion, as if he were in the final hours of a battle he had been fighting for years. I stared at him, looking but doing nothing.
Mommy pushed past me and told Nikki to call 911. Nikki rushed to the phone and began speaking with the emergency personnel on the other end. I could hear her repeating again and again: "I don't know what county we're in." Minutes passed. Shani was crying hysterically. My mother attended to my father, improvising her own version of CPR while also minding Shani. My baby sister's screams only seemed to get louder. And I just stood there, staring.
Finally my mother told me to go outside with Nikki and guide the ambulance crew in. My older sister took my hand and led me out to wait. Minutes later, police and ambulance crews arrived. Nikki ordered me to stay outside while she led them into our home.
At this point my memories get less distinct. It was like standing in a field when a powerful gust of wind suddenly blows: everything around you vanishes, all you hear is the wind filling your ears, all you feel is the wind on your skin. Your eyes tear, and sight blurs. Your mind all but empties.
I stayed outside with the collection of neighbors who had come to see what was going on. Through my uncertain eyes I saw my friend Ayana holding her mother's hand. When Ayana caught my eye, I could see she was trying to force a smile, but all she got out was a look of uneasy confusion, which I mirrored back to her.
The ambulance crew loaded my father onto the gurney and raced back out. By this point dozens of people lined the street. They watched as he was placed in the back of the ambulance. The doors slammed shut behind him. The loud sirens and flashing lights broke the silence of the neighborhood. Mommy quickly loaded us into the car and followed the ambulance to the hospital. The car was full of sound--Shani crying and Nikki making goo-goo noises to try to calm her down, and the roar of the ambulance in front of us--but it felt as silent as a tomb. No talking. No questions. Just the white noise of the ambulance, one sister crying, and the other struggling to comfort her without words.
The hospital was only five minutes from where we lived, but it seemed like a long ride. We rushed out of the car and ran inside. They were already working on my father, so we were sent to the waiting area. Shani had quieted down and was playing with her shoestrings, while Nikki put me on her lap. My paternal grandfather and my aunts Dawn, Tawana, and Evelyn had all arrived to join our vigil.
Eventually an ER doctor walked into the waiting room. He asked to see my mother alone. "He's dead, isn't he?" my mother said before he could begin speaking. "I am sorry. By the time he got here, he was gone," the doctor said. "We tried, we tried hard. I am so sorry."
Then my mother passed out.
My father was dead five hours after having been released from the hospital with the simple instruction to "get some sleep." The same hospital was now preparing to send his body to the morgue. My father had entered the hospital seeking help. But his face was unshaven, his clothes disheveled, his name unfamiliar, his address not in an affluent area. The hospital looked at him askance, insulted him
His body was sprawled and writhing at the foot of the stairs. Hardly any sounds came from his mouth. I heard another crash, this one from the kitchen. The clatter momentarily stole my attention from my father. My mother heard his collapse and, in her rush to see what had happened, dropped the sizzling cast-iron skillet and potato pancakes on the floor. I looked back up to my father and saw him gasping for air, holding his throat. His normally strong features sagged in exhaustion, as if he were in the final hours of a battle he had been fighting for years. I stared at him, looking but doing nothing.
Mommy pushed past me and told Nikki to call 911. Nikki rushed to the phone and began speaking with the emergency personnel on the other end. I could hear her repeating again and again: "I don't know what county we're in." Minutes passed. Shani was crying hysterically. My mother attended to my father, improvising her own version of CPR while also minding Shani. My baby sister's screams only seemed to get louder. And I just stood there, staring.
Finally my mother told me to go outside with Nikki and guide the ambulance crew in. My older sister took my hand and led me out to wait. Minutes later, police and ambulance crews arrived. Nikki ordered me to stay outside while she led them into our home.
At this point my memories get less distinct. It was like standing in a field when a powerful gust of wind suddenly blows: everything around you vanishes, all you hear is the wind filling your ears, all you feel is the wind on your skin. Your eyes tear, and sight blurs. Your mind all but empties.
I stayed outside with the collection of neighbors who had come to see what was going on. Through my uncertain eyes I saw my friend Ayana holding her mother's hand. When Ayana caught my eye, I could see she was trying to force a smile, but all she got out was a look of uneasy confusion, which I mirrored back to her.
The ambulance crew loaded my father onto the gurney and raced back out. By this point dozens of people lined the street. They watched as he was placed in the back of the ambulance. The doors slammed shut behind him. The loud sirens and flashing lights broke the silence of the neighborhood. Mommy quickly loaded us into the car and followed the ambulance to the hospital. The car was full of sound--Shani crying and Nikki making goo-goo noises to try to calm her down, and the roar of the ambulance in front of us--but it felt as silent as a tomb. No talking. No questions. Just the white noise of the ambulance, one sister crying, and the other struggling to comfort her without words.
The hospital was only five minutes from where we lived, but it seemed like a long ride. We rushed out of the car and ran inside. They were already working on my father, so we were sent to the waiting area. Shani had quieted down and was playing with her shoestrings, while Nikki put me on her lap. My paternal grandfather and my aunts Dawn, Tawana, and Evelyn had all arrived to join our vigil.
Eventually an ER doctor walked into the waiting room. He asked to see my mother alone. "He's dead, isn't he?" my mother said before he could begin speaking. "I am sorry. By the time he got here, he was gone," the doctor said. "We tried, we tried hard. I am so sorry."
Then my mother passed out.
My father was dead five hours after having been released from the hospital with the simple instruction to "get some sleep." The same hospital was now preparing to send his body to the morgue. My father had entered the hospital seeking help. But his face was unshaven, his clothes disheveled, his name unfamiliar, his address not in an affluent area. The hospital looked at him askance, insulted him
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