Frontlines

“Your father is dead.”

She inhaled and felt the stale, lingering smell of antiseptic and old rubber gloves.

Carmen sat in the hospital room, unsure of where to look or what to say. She stared at the ground, but registered nothing. Less than fifty minutes ago she was in school discussing Margaret Cavendish. Less than thirty minutes ago, her mom arrived frantically in the rusted old hatchback. Less than an hour ago, her father was still alive.

“Have a good day, honey.” His final words to her were now on an unending and tortuous loop in her mind.

“Carmen, we need you to be here with us,” her mom spoke, breaking her out from her daze.

Carmen brought her gaze back into focus but her body felt bogged down, like her nervous system turned to static.

“Where is Josh?” she asked, the words sticking to her mouth like molasses.

“He’s on his way, honey.”

The grief will come after the shock, or at least that’s what they say. A doctor entered the room. His name tag read “George.”

George was bone weary. It had been a long night and this burn case was one of the worst he had ever seen. The patient had third degree burns over 70% of his body, with severe inhalation injury. Now he had to shake the trauma and prepare for the family.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Newman, but please just call me George. I am very sorry for your loss. (long pause, sounds of distress and grief) The fire was overwhelming and I don’t think he was conscious for more than a few seconds. His suffering was very short.”

George hung his head and paused, absorbing the grief stricken faces in front of him. He knew Mary from the clinic, but he had never met Carmen before. Even after thirty years of practice, this was always incredibly difficult. They needed some time, and so he waited.

As he stood to the side, he thought about the nurses and other team members at the hospital who had responded to the victim. They were traumatized. He was traumatized. The smell of burned flesh pervaded the entire emergency room. Far too often the team just went back to work, neglecting to take the time to talk through the trauma they so often experience. It was never let out, so it ended up in their dreams and in their nightmares.

Mary crumpled completely after Josh finally arrived. Carmen sat still. George left the room, giving them some time to be together.

…

Afterwards, Carmen decided to walk home alone. A bit of solitude never harms, and in many ways, things were clearer when the presence of others didn’t drown out the world around her.

The heat today was especially gruelling – it hit her like a wall as she stepped outside the hospital, taking longer time than usual to find her footing. Dizziness accompanied. The bright intensity of the light seemed to burn through her eyelids, but they stayed firmly shut as she stood. Forcing a breath, Carmen stepped forward.

Home wasn’t far away, but she strayed from the usual path and veered towards the nearby brush. It wasn’t too thick to get through, but it involved a more creative attempt at walking. She stepped high to avoid a fallen log and twisted her body, just barely scraping her arm on a nettle leaf. She remembered her mom telling her to avoid them when she was a child, and her stubbornness caused her to discover the reason for this the hard way.

The path became less difficult the further she went. Finally, Carmen found a small clearing and she sat against an old cedar tree. She closed her eyes for a moment, relieved to just sit in the shade. Thoughts of her father began to cease and she was chaperoned by relief. Exhausted, beads of sweat dripped down her face and evaporated almost immediately.

A sound from the sky suddenly awoke her. Disoriented, Carmen looked up to see a flock of birds passing above. The shrieking sounds they emitted were unlike anything she had ever heard.

Did I fall asleep? She thought. Am I still asleep?

Like shadows in the sky, their matte black feathers absorbed the sun. They flew in a way that was jagged and asymmetrical: not quite a formation, not quite a murmuration. Carmen felt uneasy and she squinted at the sky, attempting to identify the strange creatures. She wasn’t sure, but she thought they might be starlings. Perhaps she was still dreaming, or perhaps they were an omen over the town – nature is always the first to know. She fell asleep once again.

. . .

The screen door creaked as Carmen arrived back home. It was just yesterday when she came in and her father was sitting at the kitchen island, with the smell of tomato sauce in the air. It was just yesterday when her mother, dancing lively in a sauce-stained apron, splashed the wall with the spoon as she spun. It was just yesterday when the late afternoon light snuck in through the window and the motes in the air danced with her. But today, there was only stillness. Carmen’s eyes stung.

She stepped into the living room. The TV had been left on and a reporter was caught in a frantic story.

“…unprecedented, never before seen! The state of the world is only getting worse. I mean, haven’t you felt it? The heat in the past month has caused multiple deaths in the Northern Region, and many more are anticipated as the temperatures continue to climb. We expect another five to ten degree shift in the upcoming weeks, with current temperatures holding out until then. We once thought a few degrees wouldn’t make a difference and now we’re standing on the graves of our future generations! Like I said folks, we’re living in unprecedented times. I hope we all pray for even a shot of rain. That’s enough from me, Gavin, back to you. How are things looking in…”

Carmen flicked the TV off.

Unprecedented. She thought. How many times have I heard them say this? 

Walking to her bedroom, the world around her melted away. Exhausted and worn, she fell, once again, into a deep and disturbed sleep. Her dreams were haunted by thoughts of her dad and his last words to her.

Have a good day, honey.

If not today, perhaps tomorrow.