Chapter Five

That night Jordan found out that he was staying at Aurora Health, the same hospital where his uncle was undergoing his chemotherapy. Suddenly seeing his uncle was the only thing on his mind, and after an hour of screaming, arguing, and threatening to rip out his IV and leave, he finally got one of the nurses to help him into a wheelchair and roll him down to the oncology unit, much to his doctor’s dismay.

The oncology unit wasn’t so much a wing of the hospital as it was an adjacent treatment facility. A very convenient one at that. If somebody ever went into the hospital and was diagnosed with cancer, they could just ship the poor soul over here to discuss treatment. And if one of their patients had a bad reaction or side effect or needed a tumor removed, the hospital was right there.

Jordan’s uncle was considered an extreme case, especially since he lived alone and had no one to help take care of him while Jordan was at work, which meant he was temporarily living at the facility. Jordan had come to see him as much as he possibly could, but he still felt guilty, like he could have been doing so much more.

Once the nurse finally made it down the familiar hallway and into the main treatment room, Kenny wasn’t very hard to spot. He was both the youngest, and the darkest skinned person in the room. He had on a headscarf, thick woolen socks, and at least three blankets that hung off his frail frame like they were draped over a skeleton. He was lounging on a reclining chair with a monitor on one side of him and an IV on the other. He looked tired and dejected, but his eyes lit up as soon as he saw Jordan. He didn’t even question why he was in a wheelchair, which meant he’d probably already heard about the shooting. 

“Boy I thought for sure you was dead!” he said with his slight lisp.

Jordan’s lip tugged upward just a tiny bit.

“Nope,” he said. “Still here.”

Kenny stuck a finger out from under the blankets so he could point it accusingly at his nephew.

“Why you ain’t been answering your phone then?”

Jordan motioned for the nurse to wheel him in closer.

“I just woke up from surgery,” he explained. “Apparently I was shot in the chest.”

Kenny grimaced and then nodded once. He reached out a shaking hand and squeezed Jordan’s knee with surprising strength.

“Well I’m glad you’re okay,” he said softly. They were probably the most openly affectionate words his uncle had uttered to him in years. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his nephew and everything. It was just that he was too stubborn and proud to ever say it out loud.

Jordan bit his lip. He cast his eyes up toward the nurse who was still hovering over him with one hand resting on the back of his wheelchair and the other on the pole from which his IV bag was suspended.

“Can you give us a minute?” Jordan asked.

The nurse shook his head.

“Sorry. In your condition I can’t let you out of my sight.”

“You ain’t gotta let him out of your sight,” Kenny interjected. “Just let us have a private moment to talk without you breathing down the boy’s neck, all right?”

The nurse frowned, but he did take several steps backward and pulled out his phone. Satisfied, Jordan turned back to his uncle.

“So, you heard about the shooting?” he asked.

Kenny sucked in a long breath and nodded.

“Yeah I heard about it. It’s all anyone’s been talking ‘bout the last couple of days. Then when you missed your visit and stopped answering your phone, I remembered the name of the mall you said you were working at and I put it all together.” Kenny cleared his throat, no doubt uncomfortable with the nature of this conversation. “I tried calling the police and asking them to look for you, but they said the best they could do was give me a list of the confirmed dead. Your name wasn’t on it, but I didn’t know if that was because you were still alive or because nobody was able to identify your lonely ass.”

He spoke about it in a stern and detached manner. The way of someone who had lost many loved ones before and was always prepared for the worst. Only Jordan, who knew his uncle better than anyone on this earth, could sense the underlying fear and relief in his voice.

“I tried to save everyone,” Jordan admitted after a few moments of tense silence. “Stupid, I know, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

Jordan idly touched the spot in his chest where the bullet had gone through. It was still pretty numb thanks to the painkillers in his system, but there were stitches, plus a raised bump there that he doubted would ever go away. Uncle Kenny was quiet for a few moments. The only sounds in the room were of the poison being injected into his and the other patient’s veins.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked finally.

Jordan took a deep breath and worked up the nerve to ask the question he had been most afraid to ask.

“Did they catch the guy?”

“They didn’t have to. Sorry bastard killed himself when the police had him surrounded.”

“How many people died?”

He wasn’t really sure he wanted to know the answer, but his morbid curiosity was getting to him all the same.             

“Thirty one,” his uncle said with a sigh. “And maybe a dozen more seriously injured. Including you.”

Jordan’s eyes welled up with tears. He couldn’t help it. Thirty one people. That was more people than were in his entire Greek mythology class. More than most major sports teams. It was impossible to fathom how so many lives could be wiped out of existence in an instant by one sick man with a gun.

What made it even worse though was knowing that he had stared that man, death personified, straight in the eyes and lived to tell the tale. How was he supposed to cope with that? There were thirty one people that could have been here instead of him. Thirty one people who probably had children and parents and bright futures ahead of them. Jordan didn’t deserve this second chance. He should have died heroically; laying his life on the line for the sake of others before happily drifting off to meet his parents in whatever semblance of life came next. But he couldn’t even do that right.

“Hey now,” Uncle Kenny said with a sniff. “Don’t you get started with that boy or I’m gonna start too.”

“Sorry,” Jordan said, dabbing at his eyes. “It’s just a lot to process.”

Kenny nodded his agreement and sat back in his chair.

“I know that look Jordan Mitchell. You’re feeling sorry for yourself and you need to quit it. Right now.”

Jordan took a long shaky breath.

“It’s just...I was barely getting by before, now this,” he gestured vaguely at the medical equipment all around them. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive. It just feels like too much, like I’ll never get ahead of this. I’m going to be paying these medical bills for the rest of my life.”

Kenny was silent for a moment, but his bony hands were clenched into fists.

“You sound like a quitter to me,” he said tightly. “So, you went and got shot by a crazy white fucker while you were just minding your own business, huh? That shit’s been happening to brothers for as long as I can remember. That don’t mean you should just lie down and accept it.”

Jordan sighed.

“Uncle Kenny. It’s not as simple as that.” He didn’t know too many racist police officers who also happened to murder thirty one people in one day. Those types usually limited themselves to one atrocity at a time.

“Like hell it ain’t,” he argued. He leaned closer to his nephew, causing his bones to creak.

“I don’t want to argue with you,” Jordan whispered. “I just came to make sure you were okay.”

“Tough shit boy. You’ve already got an argument on your hands. I didn’t raise you to be a martyr. I raised a fighter, and that’s what you did that day with the shooter, and that’s what you’re gonna continue to do. You’re gonna get better and you’re gonna march out of here with your head held high. If you’re still alive after all you’ve been through, that must mean God has some big plans for you. There’re good things coming down the pipeline, but ain’t nobody who was mopin’ ever drew those blessings into their life. Keep. Moving. Forward.”

Jordan sniffled, but didn’t say anything. His uncle took this as grounds to continue.

“Besides, feeling sorry for yourself ain’t gonna get either of us out of this shithole any sooner.”

Jordan laughed despite himself. It was nothing he hadn’t heard from his uncle a million times over, but it still made him feel just a tiny bit better. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until Jordan’s nurse decided that was enough family bonding for the day and insisted on taking him back to the ICU. Jordan didn’t argue. He was exhausted. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep.

“I’ll come back and see you as soon as I can,” he told his uncle. “Hopefully before your next round.”

Kenny nodded and leaned in for a quick hug. It felt like hugging fragile glass, but he gave Jordan two solid pats on the back anyway.

“Take care of yourself boy. You’re all I got.”

“I know,” Jordan whispered. “I will.”