March 3, 2025
The Question
Episode 2
“Wh..Wh…Where is Dave?” I heard the weak and trembling voice say. I took off my over coat and wrapped him in it hoping to keep him as warm as possible. He had to be close to shock at this time.
“I don’t know. He went to make sure the area was secured. Did you see the man who caused this injury to your side? Can you tell me what he looks like?” I asked as his eyes closed.
“Where is Dave?” I mumbled to myself. Had he gotten lost? Does he realize how close this man is to death? This was not going the way I hoped.
The man lay before me and if then by my reasoning claiming matters couldn’t be worse, he started to hallucinate. He started reaching out as if he were trying to grab something. I pulled him closer to me hoping the warmth from my body could in some way comfort him.
“Hold on just a little longer. The ambulance is bound to be here at any time. You just must hold on!” I said loudly as if the decibels of my voice rising could somehow make a difference.
“Do you hear that?” I heard him murmur from his quivering lips. I looked around hoping that he had heard his friend coming back to check on him. After several looks around the vicinity, I realized that was not the case. I realized the blood loss was starting to affect his mental faculties.
“Tell me something about yourself. Where are you from?” I asked the almost hypothermic man. He looked up at me and his eyes seemed to have grown dimmer.
“I have been a world traveler,” he said in a hushed tone. “I …was in the Middle East recently. It was a touch warmer there.” He laughed as he turned his head and coughed.
“I would venture to guess you have a story to tell about that,” I engaged him further. He closed his eyes as to seemingly fall asleep. I shook his still body and stated, “You need to stay awake and talk to me.” I was afraid he was not going to wake.
“Please do not be so rough. After all you know as well as I, the gaping hole in my side isn’t healing itself. It is also quite painful,” he said looking at me with a pained expression.
“What were you doing over there in the sandbox?” I asked. He turned his eyes towards me.
“What?” he asked.
“The sandbox was a name my friends and I gave the Middle Eastern countries,” I responded.
“I traveled there to help people and hopefully I comforted some of them along the way,” he replied as he seemed to stare off into the unknown for several long seconds.
“I know the situation appears troubling, and you may not believe me seeing the predicament I am in, but I am an ambassador of sorts. Not a spy, nor a terrorist; by the look on your face you are presuming the worst,” he said as he paused and took several shallow breaths.
“I was not thinking such grave or devious thoughts of you or the situation in which we find ourselves at the moment,” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster. He looked back at me with his piercing bluish gray eyes.
“Who is Thomas?” he asked. The question caught me off guard. I had hoped he would not have remembered the name I had called him earlier. I was horrified at thinking of how to answer the question. The thought of forming the words to tell him about my son seemed to penetrate my soul—just as his side had been penetrated.
“If it is all the same, I would like to avoid talking about him. It is something that I have not spoken of since the day…” I looked up at the gray sky as soft white snowflakes gently landed on my cheeks. I could feel the tears gathering in my eyes. The warm liquid starting to turn icy as they gathered around my cheeks. I wiped my eyes and cheeks with my jacket sleeve, noticing that the blood had collected on the lower part of my right sleeve.
“Please. There is no comforting me in this situation. Though, if you were to be able to ease the burden of your soul during my time of distress, something good may come from this terrible tragedy,” the man said in a low pained tone. I looked at him. There was such sincerity in his eyes. How could one possibly focus such attention on another in such a difficult repose?
“Well, to be honest, I have not spoken his name in many years. He was my son—a very bright child. So intelligent and loving. His level of curiosity for the ways of this world never ceased to amaze me. He reminded me so much of my father—his eyes, the way his brow furrowed when he was in deep thought. He was a true blessing to me. Nothing, or no one else, could ever hold a candle to what he meant to me.” I noticed a tear starting to form again in the corner of my eye. I recounted my thoughts to the injury-stricken man.
“You know tears are a good healing tool. Do not be ashamed to let them fall. I have cried many times, thinking over the suffering I myself endured. But the real pain is shedding the watery weight of emotion for those that we love,” he said as I listened in amazement to the level of empathy the injured man was showing. You could just tell by his manner that he was different. There was just something that was a cut above about this man.
“Please finish telling me about Thomas. He sounds like a wonderful kid,” he said as my mind drifted back. All I could see now was his grayish colored eyes. His eyes—they seemed to be changing to a lighter grayish color. The blue seemed to diminish. His smile though seemed to be warm and welcoming. I need to stop this. This is leading me somewhere that I do not want to go. I need to focus this man’s attention on something other than my son.
