His phone is already in his hand, 911 on speed dial.
“Hello. Yes, hello. I think my daughter may have done something to hurt herself.” A pause. “Yes, that’s our address.” Another pause. “Yes she is breathing.”
He walks past me and reaches for the empty pill bottle. “Looks like my sleeping pills, Ambien 5 mg… No it’s empty….I don’t think she took all of them, I can see some on the floor next to her…” Another pause. “Yes I can hear them now.”
In the distance a faint siren is growing louder. The meds are starting to kick in now so keeping my eyes closed is no longer difficult.
When I wake up I am attached to a series of monitors making varies beeping sounds. Joe is here; asleep, sprawled out on a utilitarian chair. He doesn’t look comfortable.
I clear my throat which quickly brings him out of his stupor. He runs to my side, his anxious eyes searching my face.
I had come to live with Joe a little over a month ago. After my mother’s face no longer showed the slightest concern during similar situations. She began to look bored or sometimes angry. But never the heartfelt anxiety that was now present on Joe’s face.
I had made the right decision in moving here.