That Boy

“Come with me. I may need back up.” I tell Phillip hastily, as I march off.

“What do you mean?” he asks, as he follows me down the hall and to the right.

“I'm pissed, Phillip. I'm mad at God, and I want him to know it!”

Phillip follows me into the empty chapel.

I walk to the front and hold my arms in the air.

“Okay, God?” I say to the sky. Not that I expect an answer, but I need to get this out.

“I mean what in the hell did they do to deserve this? Why them? Why me?”

“JJ! You can't say stuff like that in here. It's totally disrespectful.”

“You know what Phillip? He pretty much took my parents away from me tonight in one fail swoop. I think I earned the right to say a few bad words. I mean, jeez, could it get any worse?”

Phillip sighs, “You know God doesn't cause accidents. They're just that. Accidents.”

“So what happened, Phillip? Who or what caused this accident? And like God couldn't have saved them if he wanted to? Haven't you ever heard of miracles? Don't you think he could've even spared just one?” I yell at both Phillip and God.

Phillip studies my face and begins, “Well, a woman lost control of her car. Crossed the median.” He gulps. “They collided head on.”

“Oh, figures. And I suppose she wasn't even hurt. Probably walked away without a scratch, while my mom is dead and Dad is……..oh, I don't know what he is exactly.”

“Actually, they were on the interstate going 75 miles per hour, when they collided. They say she was killed instantly.” He looks at me intensely and continues in a measured tone, “Her four year old daughter was in the backseat and miraculously only has a few cuts and bruises.”

Oh sure, throw my miracle request back in my face.

“So, it could be worse. You could be a four year old with no mom.”

Leave it to Phillip to find the one damn ray of sunshine in my whole dark life.

“Fine,” I sigh. “So it could be worse. Regardless of my age, Phillip, I can't handle this. How am I supposed to handle this?”

I am starting to freaking freak!

“I'll help you.” He grabs my wrists and leads me to a pew. “My family will help you. You know our parents agreed to take care of each other's kids if anything happened to them. Your being eighteen doesn't change how they feel about you.” He runs the back of his hand across my cheek, then holds my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “We love you. I love you. We'll get through it together.” He breaks a little smile. “You know, Grandma Mac used to say, God never gives you more than you can handle.”

“My grandma used to say something like that, except hers was, What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.” I shake my head, “It looks like I'm about to get a whole helluva lot stronger.”

“Jadyn,” Phillip says, stroking my cheek again.

Jadyn? Phillip has never called me that.

“You're the strongest,” he smiles, “and most stubborn person I know. I think maybe you'll realize just how much strength you already have.”

I don't know if it's thinking about Grandma, or what Phillip said, or the way his touch relaxes me, or just having it out with God, so to speak, but I feel a little better.

I say another silent prayer. Sorry for yelling, this is just such a shock. Please help my dad, and please help me.

Maybe I can get through this. I mean, lets face it, do I really have a choice?

No. I have to.

For my parents, I suppose.

“Thanks, Phillip. We better get back. I don't wa

He holds my hand as we walk back to the waiting room and that gives me strength somehow.

Mr. and Mrs. Diamond must've just arrived. They are crying and hugging the Macs.

They see me and hug me too.

“Oh, JJ. We're so sorry, honey. I just can't believe this,” Mary says tearfully.

We update Chuck and Mary, and I complain that we still haven't heard from a doctor.

“That's ridiculous!” Chuck tells us and marches straight into ICU. Da

While Mr. Diamond is in the ICU, Mrs. Diamond is on her cell trying to reach Da

Phillip nods at her.

Jake. Da

“Why he didn't bother to stop and see his mother while he was in town, I have no idea,” she mutters. “Anyway, I know his phone's not dead. Why have one if you're not going to keep it on and answer it?”

“He's probably back at his dorm by now. Why don't you try there?” Phillip suggests.

“Why don't you try?” she says to Phillip. “Maybe he's just avoiding his mother.”

Phillip takes out his cell and punches in Da

“Hey, it's Phillip. Your mom's been trying to reach you for a reason. Call me as soon as you get this. It's Jay's parents. Um, there's been an accident and it's… uh, not good. Call me - no matter how late.”

Mr. Diamond walks out of the ICU. He's lost his swagger. “The doctor will be out in a few minutes,” he a

Then he walks over and sits down beside me. He puts his big hand on my knee, but I'm not sure if it is meant to comfort me or bolster him. “You need to prepare yourself, JJ. The news isn't going to be good.” He swallows hard and tears well up in his eyes, and he starts to cry as he says, “They don't think he's going to make it and want to talk to you about organ donation.”

“Jesus, Chuck! Don't you think they should try to save him before they start auctioning off his body parts?” Mr. Mac yells, throws his coffee cup in the trash madly and storms down the hall.

We all ignore his outburst. We know he's very upset.

I watch him walk down the hall, sigh and say to Mr. Diamond, “I think he wanted that.”

“He did. I took care of your parents' estate pla

I sort of roll my eyes because, I'm sorry, finances are the least of my worries right now.

The ICU doors part, and a doctor walks out.

I stand up and rush toward him.

“Is he okay?” I ask.

“Jadyn Reynolds?” The doctor asks me. I shake my head yes. “Let's sit down.”

I cringe at the let's sit down. On TV, bad news always follows that saying. I sit down next to Phillip, who grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly.

“Your father suffered severe brain trauma, and his body is shutting down. We've revived him once, but we need to discuss what you want done when it happens again. Did he have a living will?”

I look at him kind of puzzled because I'm not exactly sure what that is.

Da

“What's that for exactly?” I ask.

Chuck turns to me and says very slowly, “Well, your parents didn't want you, or each other, to ever have to make difficult decisions about medical care should something like this happen. So they put their wishes in something called a living will. Your dad did not wish to be held in a vegetative state.”

Holy shit, I think. Vegetative state?

“So bottom line is, he's going to die?” I ask incredulously.

Please let this be a bad, bad dream.

“Yes, it's inevitable,” the doctor tells us.

“When?” I ask and then hammer him with a whole slew of questions. “Can I go talk to him? Can he hear me? Is he in pain? What are we supposed to do? What am I supposed to do?”