I walked out of my job, cheerful and ready to head straight to Jackson’s game tonight. Being a receptionist at a dentist’s office was a far cry from what I’d set out to be in life, but hey, we all have plans for our lives, and fate always seems to step in and change the game. It’s all how you look at it, I guess.
I choose to look at the positive side of life. Everything happens for a purpose—a good reason—and what defines us is how we choose to deal with adversity.
I wouldn’t trade being a receptionist for Dr. Meckler, even though the irony was that I was initially going to college to become a dentist myself. Funny how it all worked out. When I graduated high school as valedictorian, I envisioned myself sitting in the doctor’s chair.
I’d have loved to have finished my schooling—I’d even done some evening online classes over the years—but with Jackson’s seizures and treatments, I never had much time for myself. I didn’t mind. He was my number one priority. I wanted him to live like an average kid who didn’t suffer from this genetic disorder, and I was about to watch him live it up tonight at his football game. Nothing made me happier than watching him thrive.
Ring! Ring! Ring!
“Hey,” I answered Jackson’s call as I weaved my way through the brisk streets of the city. “What’s going on?”
“Just making sure my number one fan will be at my game tonight,” he said.
I smirked, nodding at the man I was almost shoved into while turning to hail a cab. “Ah. What’s really up, Jacks?” I asked with a laugh.
“I love you?”
“Jackson Thomas Stein.” The kid was no good at pulling one over on me, but he wouldn’t be Jackson if he didn’t try.
While Jackson was beating around the bush, I was about to be thrown into a damn tree by a grouchy old woman determined to grab the taxi I’d flagged down. I could hear Jackson’s friends laughing and goofing off in the background as the hag tried to shove her way around me.
“Mom? Hey, Mom?”
“I’m here. Hold on.” I held the phone against my chest and turned to the woman whose freshly shaped pink nails threatened to puncture my skin if I didn’t back off this cab. “Hey,” I eyed her with more shock than not. “Seriously, why don’t we—”
“Listen here, you little tart,” she snapped, and suddenly I was face-to-face with the nasty woman. “I waved the cab down first. You can wait. I might—”
“Take the fucking cab. Dear God.”
“Fucking? How dare you speak to me—”
“All right, knock it off.” A man from out of nowhere stepped between the old lady and me. “I think that’s enough.”
Honking, traffic, and a bitter old woman—combined with this dude getting in the middle of whatever was happening between her and me—were leading to mass hysteria. I’d rather walk eight blocks or eight goddamn miles just to get out of this situation.
“I said to take the cab.” The quicker she got out of my face, the better.
“I was planning on it!” she snapped before she shoved her way into the taxi and smugly flipped me the middle finger before the cab drove away.
What a sweetheart, I thought, resisting the urge to be childish and flip her the bird right back.
“Mom?” I heard Jackson’s muffled voice question again from where I held the phone to my chest.
“Right here,” I sighed, putting the phone to my ear and smiling at the man who’d broken up the senior citizen fight I’d become an unwilling part of. “Thank you, sir,” I said, hoping he knew I appreciated him hailing another cab for me to get the hell out of here.
“Just another day in the city. Have a good one,” he said, waving as my cab driver pulled into the stopped traffic on the street.
“Hang on, Jacks,” I said as I climbed into the taxi and gave the driver my address. “Okay, sorry. What were we talking about? Oh, yes. I’m going to your game if I can get home and get friggin changed.”
“Friggin?” Jackson laughed. “Coming from my sweet mom who drops F-bombs on a poor old woman? I heard you.”
I rubbed my forehead. “I’m sorry about that. I think that was the strangest encounter I’ve ever had in my life.”
“When will you listen to Warren and me when we say that grabbing a cab is old news? Just call a stupid Uber and be on your way.”
“In this city? What’s the fun in that?”
“Well, maybe you won’t go to hell for cursing out old women? That’s elderly abuse, ya know.”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay,” I said with a smile. “What do you really want, Jackson?”
“I want to know if Paige and I can hit the movies tonight and maybe…” He held onto the word maybe for a bit too long.
“Maybe? Maybe what?” I asked with a little more firmness in my tone.
“Well, you and Warren have met her parents, and we just, well—”
“The fact that you’re nervous to ask if you can stay at your girlfriend’s house tonight should tell you my answer is no,” I finished with a smile.
“Mom,” he tried to settle me down with a sigh.
“Shouldn’t you be in the locker room or something, getting ready for the big game tonight? It’s the final game of the season, and here I am, about to go over how the word no means no.”
“It’s just that—well, what if we win tonight? That means I led the team to our finals and toward another championship.”
I rolled my eyes. “There is no I in team,” I said with sarcasm, knowing it would annoy him. “So, if the team wins tonight, Paige can join you with all of your teammates after the game like the cheerleaders always do.”
“Mom,” he pushed.
“Jacks, I don’t care if Warren and I have met her parents or not. I don’t care if the NFL drafts you tonight because of how well you play. You’re not going to Paige’s house.”
“Damn it, Mom,” he snapped.
“Oh no, you don’t. Don’t you dare curse at me. Get with your team, and we’ll see you later at the game.”
“Fine. Bye.”
The cab stopped, I paid the fare, and the new skirt I wore snagged on the door as I jumped out. How did this lovely day go on such a rapid downward spiral?
Ring! Ring! Ring!
“Warren,” I answered my fiancé’s call. “Please tell me you’ll be at the game tonight.”
“Well, that’s why I was calling,” he said. “It looks like I have a hang-up.”
“A hang-up?” I nodded and smiled as I walked through the lobby of our lavish building. “Please don’t tell me you’re working late again.”
“I’m working late,” I heard his smile through the phone, “but I’ll be sure to meet my beautiful fiancée—who can’t decide on a wedding date—at Jackson’s game.”
I blew out a breath of relief. “Good. In the last hour, I’ve dealt with nothing but crazy.”
“Another patient giving you trouble because they forgot to floss, and the doctor is sending you to take care of the bill?”
“Huh? What does that even mean?” I said with confusion. Warren could be semi-funny at times, but most of the time, his attempt at humor was massively lame. “Nevermind. I’m walking into the house. Jacks is trying to sleep at Paige’s house, and I almost got into a brawl with an old hag.”
“Wait, what in the world are you talking about? Start with the old-lady brawl,” he chuckled as I heard him greet his driver.
I breezed into our apartment, which had a combination of Warren’s baroque tastes and my cozy farmhouse taste, and I plopped onto the sofa in the atrium. Somehow both of our styles worked, but it took a damn good interior designer to marry the two opposites.
“It was nothing, just an old woman being nasty by claiming my cab. She flew in on her broomstick and stole the damn thing.”
“Shit, you did have a bad day,” he said with a laugh.
“No.” I smiled, feeling more relaxed smelling the fragrance of the lilies he’d bought me after we’d gotten into a stupid fight over something I couldn’t remember anymore. “I was having a great day until that woman came around. Now, Jackson’s trying to work some skill with staying over at Paige’s because we met her parents.” I rolled my eyes and half-smiled when I heard Warren laugh.
“And so, it all begins,” he chuckled again. “Let him stay. Her parents seem just as responsible as we are.”
“No, that’s not the point, Warren.” I sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time since answering Jackson’s phone call. “If we allow this, he will take more and more liberties. He’s only sixteen. Just forget it,” I said, sitting up and slapping my palms on my knees. “I need to get ready to go. Let’s all revisit this conversation later, shall we?”
“We could have the night alone?”
“Um, no,” I said, marching toward the steps leading to our master suite. “You’re not getting anything tonight.” I smiled, hearing Warren’s laugh. “I’ll see you at the game.”
“Love ya, babe,” he said, and we ended the call.
I was at my usual spot in the stands, watching and cheering on my son’s team as they led the game in the third quarter by fourteen points. I loved everything about football nights, especially watching my son play so well and throw the football with such ease and finesse.
The cool, crisp air had me chilled to the bone. I was counting on Warren to be here and keep me warm, but no dice. As usual, he got held up and had to go back to the office to handle a last-minute deal instead of putting it all to bed for the night and dealing with work in the morning.
I wasn’t surprised, though. Warren’s job held him prisoner, and that’s why I was wrapped in my fuzzy, warm blanket, watching intently as the ball was being thrown in a beautiful spiral by Jackson. That was until everything stopped, and my ears rang while things went into slow motion as if I were watching a horror movie with my son as the star.
After the ball was thrown, Jackson was rushed by the biggest player on the opposing team. The guy got past Jackson’s offensive line, and Jacks was slammed into the ground so hard that I felt it in my bones.
As any mom would, I stared in disbelief at first, and that’s when I saw it. Jackson’s body was rolling into a seizure as the coaches and team medical staff ran out to him. I bounded down the bleachers, skipping multiple steps at once, knowing that I needed to get to my boy as fast as possible. He hadn’t had a seizure in so long that he was cleared to play ball, and now this?
I was on the field, running to him, when the ambulance drove onto the grass. Jackson was in the final jerks of this seizure, and tears streamed down my face as I had to stand back and let the medical team aide him.
“Mrs. Stein,” I hardly heard Coach Wartham’s voice. “This is Jackson’s mother.”
My head snapped over to the medic. Jackson’s body was limp as the medic checked his pupils and called out the vitals to someone I couldn’t focus on.
“Yes, I’m his mom,” I said, my eyes never leaving my son. “Is he waking up?”
“His vitals are stable. We’ve got to take him to the hospital, though. He took a very hard hit, losing his helmet and getting hit in the head by another helmet in the process.”
“I’m riding in that ambulance,” I demanded as if they wouldn’t let me.
“Yes, ma’am. We need to leave immediately. You can make any necessary phone calls on the way. Your son needs a scan, which is being arranged with the ER trauma team waiting for us.”
“Thank you,” I said through chattering teeth.
I climbed into the back of the ambulance while oxygen was strapped over Jackson’s mouth, his eyes still closed. The medic reassured me that Jackson was stable, but this injury could be critical.
I numbly gave Jackson’s medical history to the attending medic while the ambulance sped away from the stadium. I held his limp hand, feeling as helpless as always when he had seizures. This felt different, though, and I was scared.
It was Jackson’s first seizure in a very long time, but he wasn’t waking up. So many variables ran through my head, from brain trauma to concussions—they were things that affected Jackson differently than the average person because of his condition. It felt like my world was frozen, and all I knew to do was talk to my son to let him know I was with him.
God, please let him wake up and be just fine.
I must’ve chanted that over and over in my mind until the ambulance pulled up to the hospital, and I watched the ER and trauma staff receive my son. I had no idea what would happen, but my motherly instinct told me it wasn’t good.
