Three

Jasper

When my grandpa died, I thought a lot about what death was like. I hadn’t thought much about it before then. I mean, I knew it was inevitable, that we all eventually had to pass from this life to something else.

But what happens in those moments between life and death? Is it cold and unforgiving when the body shuts down, organ by organ? Or do angels carry us to the clouds before we feel an ounce of pain, just like we learned in Sunday school?

For me, both are hard to think about in any real sense. I guess I can’t imagine my mind ever not functioning. Every second of every day, I’m thinking, and for that to end, wouldn’t my soul have to be gone, too?

Maybe.

Probably.

I don’t know.

Seeing Winnie on the ground took me back to that night when my grandpa passed away. It was one of those nights that felt like it was over in a minute or two, yet it somehow managed to stretch on for hours.

I wasn’t ready to live a day without him, and he wasn’t ready to leave me either. But, as the rising and falling of his chest slowed, I realized I had to be the one to let go first. I leaned down and whispered in his ear that I’d be okay without him. That was a lie, but I said it anyway, so he could have some peace. And, as soon as he heard my words, his eyes closed, and he sucked in a couple of breaths, gasping quickly after each one. Lips parted, he pressed his lids closed like he was in pain, and once his lashes met his cheeks, his eyes never opened again.

I thought it was over, that he’d died, but his lips lifted into a smirk, and he smiled. There was no way to tell if that smile was his last moment of life or his first taste of death, but I knew I’d never forget the peacefulness that surrounded me during those few seconds. That tiny smile meant he wasn’t suffering.

Whatever happens during those final moments between the edge of heaven and earth, I hope they’re that peaceful for everyone. If Winnie’s headed there now, I hope her dad’s waiting for her, welcoming her with open arms. And, if it’s not her time, I hope he gives her back to us and convinces her to stay with me forever.

“She’ll be okay,” I tell myself. “She has to be okay.”

But there was so much blood. Too much blood. That’s why I have to get to the hospital before it’s too late. Because the difference between a minute and a second could be the difference between seeing Winnie alive or dead.

After ducking under the yellow tape surrounding The Whip, I take one last look at the pool of blood staining the parking lot and say a silent prayer that Winnie still has enough life left inside her to make it.

I say two more prayers in the time it takes the bus to pull up. As soon as the doors open, a slew of half-drunk men file off, completely unaware that their favorite drinking hole has been shut down for the night. I’m sure the shooting’s all over the news by now, but I’m too afraid to check my phone for any updates. If Winnie’s gone, I want to find out from a doctor. Not on some app that delivers the facts without caring who they hurt or whose life they change.

She’s not dead, Jasper. Winnie wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye.

I pick a seat in the middle of the bus, and as soon as my butt hits the hard plastic, my knee starts to bounce. If Winnie wakes up in the back of the ambulance, she will probably be so scared. She’s the toughest girl I know, but she has more secrets than a magician. All it’ll take is one nurse or doctor to get too close or ask the wrong question, and she’ll panic. I’ve seen her shut down. Her turquoise eyes zone out, and her entire body drifts through some dark nightmare. They won’t know how to pull her out of it.

The bus jerks forward, and I grip the metal bar on the back of the seat in front of me. There are at least five or six stops before mine, and everyone’s moving so slow, like they have no place to be.

Maybe it’s the fumes that blow through the bus when the doors slam shut, or maybe I’m slowly losing it, but I grip the seat so hard, my knuckles turn white. There are plenty of open seats around me, but an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair insists on sitting in the seat next to me. Even the driver finds it odd, as his eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.

“You look worried,” she says.

“I’m on my way to the hospital. My friend was…” I can’t say the words out loud to finish my sentence.

It’s like, if I say them, it’ll mean it’s really happening. Winnie has a bullet inside her body.

“Your friend was injured?” she questions the way a mother would.

“Yes. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t know anything.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Loosening my grip on the chair, I crack my knuckles and rub my sweaty palms on my shorts a couple of times. I have to get my shit together before I get to the hospital. They’ll never let me see Winnie if I’m freaking out. And, when she sees me, I need to be calm for the both of us.

When I don’t answer her, the woman presses me further. “Do you need a place to go? There’s this group home on Edgemore. They’ll keep you for a night or two until you figure things out.”

“No,” I whisper. “It’s nothing like that. I’m just trying to get to the hospital.” That’s when I realize she’s wearing scrubs and likely works there.

“What happened? Sometimes, it helps to talk about it.”

“My girl’s dying.” Why I chose those words, I’m not sure.

I could have told her there was an accident or the truth—that Winnie was shot. Instead, I gave the worst-case scenario. Maybe I’m trying to prepare myself for the news I might get once I get to the ER, or maybe it’s Winnie sending me some kind of signal from the other side. But she’s in trouble, and this time, there’s nothing I can do to help her.

The woman loosens the colorful scarf around her head. Little wrinkle lines by the corners of her eyes pop out along with a scar on the side of her face. For a split second, it’s all I can focus on, and I think about the marks on Winnie’s leg. There’ll be new scars from the bullet, inside and out, and the trauma might be too much for her to carry around.

How much pain can one person endure before they give up?

The woman reaches for my hand. I didn’t realize I was gripping the seat again. She pries my fingers off, one by one, and then takes my hand in hers.

“I’ve worked at the hospital for thirty-two years. I’ve seen the best, and I’ve seen the worst. Life and death, there’s a very fine line, but if she’s in trouble, they won’t give up until every last option is exhausted. You’re one of those options.”

“Me?”

“Yes, your girlfriend needs everyone she loves praying for her.”

“You believe in prayer? I said one back at the bus stop, but I don’t think God heard me or anything.”

“How do you know that? For all you know, your prayer is being answered as we speak.”

“I don’t want her to die.”

“Then, choose to believe,” she says so easily.

Choose to believe.

I shouldn’t tell lies if I’m asking for help. “Winnie’s not really my girlfriend. I just want her to be.”

A little chuckle slips out of her mouth, and she tries to hide her smile. “God forgives, son. He won’t hold a little white lie against you.”

Son.

I haven’t told my own mother what happened at The Whip or where I am going. I left her with Lydia and took off. She probably has no idea Ace is being interviewed at the police station or that he could be in a lot of trouble, especially if they shut down The Whip for good. He’s gotten warnings in the past about cleaning the place up and keeping the drugs out.

I thought he was doing good—until I started working there. That was when I saw how bad it really was, how messed up people’s lives are. They might keep it hidden behind closed doors, but you can still see the damage.

Ace has always been too good for a place like that. But he got caught up in the dollar signs, like the rest of them. Add a little girl with a mother who took off to the mix, and what choice did he really have? He wants the world for Lydia, and working at The Whip gives him the kind of money he needs to save for her future.

What kind of future will she have if he’s behind bars?

“Fuck, everything is so messed up.”

“Just breathe,” she whispers. “We’ll get you to the hospital, and then you’ll figure the rest out from there.”

I hope she’s right.