My memory of the day my eldest son died is still blurry. It happened six months before Tuesday when I went to pick up Noah, my youngest son, from kindergarten. It always kept me a little away from the parents, who were normally standing in front of the school door with coffee cups in hand, looking at their phones. I watched the glass doors as if they were going to swallow the last vestige of my universe while squeezing the car keys. Noah smiled from ear to ear when he finally ran out.
He swayed on my legs and shouted, “Mom.” Today, Ethan visited me.
In an instant, I felt my breath cut off. I tried not to show any emotion. I stroked his hair and said softly, “Oh, honey.” Did you miss him today?
Noah frowned. I was at school, right here.
I grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. What did he say?
Noah excitedly. You should stop sobbing, he urged you.
I felt a stinging pain in my throat. I accompanied him to the car nodding as if his comments were completely normal. Noah kicked against the seat and sang happily while driving home. My mind was in the past, but I kept my sight on the road. I recognized the yellow stripe of that deadly road. While Mark was taking Ethan to his football training, a truck veered into the lane. My eight-year-old son didn’t survive, but Mark did, with minor injuries. The doctors at the hospital told me I was too weak, so I was never allowed to identify his body. It left me with an indelible vacuum in protecting myself from the terrible reality.
The oppressive silence of our house that night was suffocating. Mark sneaked into the room while I was standing by the kitchen sink with the water running. “Is Noah okay?” he asked, looking away.
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I said, “Ethan came to see me at school today.”
Mark Doubted. The kids talk nonsense.
He recalled in particular that Ethan told him that he would stop crying.
Mark massaged his forehead. Maybe it’s his way of coping with the loss.
I said, “Maybe,” but I felt an uncomfortable tingling in the skin.
Mark extended his hand to take mine, but instinctively withdrew it. He seemed hurt, for he stood still. Since the accident, our distance had only increased, and this reaction only served to expand it.
I decided we had to go to the cemetery on Saturday morning. Noah was wearing the bouquet of white daisies that he had brought him with both hands, as if it were a very important task. The tombstone was still incredibly cool when we arrived at the cemetery. I knelt and pulled the leaves away. I held back tears as I murmured, “Hi, honey.”
Noah didn’t come close. I said, “Come here and we say hello to your brother.”
Noah became completely stiff while contemplating the smooth stone. What’s the matter, sweetie? he asked.
Noah swallowed saliva with difficulty when he told me. Ethan’s not in there, Mom.
What do you mean he’s not present?
Noah pointed beyond the tombstone. It’s not inside.
I stood slowly as I tried to understand what I had said. This is your brother.
Noah grimaced. No, he told me himself. He claimed not to have been present.
I felt my hands getting cold. Who informed you of this?
Noah’s eyes were big and serious when he responded to Ethan.
Panic, I tried to change the subject. Well, let’s have a hot chocolate.
Noah approached briefly, showing clear relief. But keep in mind that it’s a secret.
On Monday afternoon he got into the car and said the same thing again. Ethan visited me again. With my seat belt half-putting, it was paralyzed. At school, he asked in a trembling voice.
He’s sitting with his head. Next to the back fence. He spoke to me and made some statements.
What kind of items?
Noah looked away. It’s a secret.
I grabbed my seat belt. We don’t hide anything from Mom, Noah. Who’s talking to you?
The little boy murmured, “He told me not to tell you.”
You have to tell me even if someone advises you to keep a secret. You understand?
He nodded after a moment of hesitation. That night, while I was sitting at the kitchen table with the phone, my heart was beating hard. Mark stood on the threshold. “What happened?” he asked, noting my distress.
At school, someone heads to Noah using Ethan’s name.
Mark paled. Are you sure?
Noah claimed that Ethan had told him not to inform me. An adult is talking to our son.
Mark urged them to call the school right away.
I didn’t even take off my winter coat when I walked into the kindergarten office the next morning. I have to talk to Mrs. Alvarez.
The administrator arrived and, as soon as she saw my expression, her kind smile disappeared. Is Noah okay?
I firmly stated, “I need to see yesterday afternoon’s security footage.” The back door and playground.
It frowned. Our privacy practices are very strict.
A stranger approaches my son. Show me the video right away.
She after meeting my gaze and sensing my urgency. Come with me.
The smell of printer toner and old coffee permeated your workspace. He selected the recording by scrolling through the camera footage. The video showed first scenes of a normal playground. Then Noah headed towards the back door. He stopped, slapped his head, smiling and made a gesture toward an invisible person.
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He insists on expanding that area.
Mrs. Alvarez enlarged the image. On the other side of the fence, a man was squatting. He leaned forward to talk to my son, keeping his body down and out of sight, while wearing a baseball cap and work jacket.
Who is that? Noah let out a chuckle and answered the man as if they were old friends when he asked.
The man passed a small object to Noah by sliding his hand through the fence. Pure fury clouded my sight.
Mrs. Alvarez gasped. One of our contractors is that. He’s been repairing the exterior lights of the building.
His work didn’t worry me. I was too afraid to read the accident report carefully, but I recognized the man’s face. I knew the driver of the truck.
I took out my phone and made a 911 call. He’s that.
Who do you mean? asked Mrs. Alvarez, confused.
The man who assaulted my family.
I communicated with the operator clearly. I’m in the neighborhood kindergarten. Recently, a man who was involved in a fatal accident approached my son by the back fence. I urgently need the police presence.
Mrs. Alvarez grabbed my arm. Please stay here until we find you, Mrs. Elena.
I told you you wouldn’t let him go.
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