JERICHO
ONE MONTH LATER
The house is complete. As I look around and take in every small detail I’ve created, I give myself a pat on the back. It took a lot of blood, sweat, and some tears as I purchased paintings to hang up around the house when I pictured Raiden’s face as he examined them. They all remind me of him. Everything in our house reminds me of him. And as soon as he wakes up, I’ll bring him home. I’ll shower him in attention and never let him leave my sight.
It’s been one month of waiting on pins and needles for one of two things to happen. Best case scenario: Raiden wakes up. Worst case scenario: Josh goes to the police and reports me.
Neither has happened, so I guess life could be better or worse so I shouldn’t complain.
I have plans later to go to work for a little bit and help Hollis out sorting through paperwork for our next job. I’ve been slowly getting back into the groove of working, taking local cases and committing as much time to them as I can. The one thing I’ve been adamant on is never working later than five. Every day after work, I head straight to the hospital and sit with Raiden until visiting hours are over. Ema and Rodney havebeen staying there with him every night, giving me the space to work on myself. I can’t let Raiden wake up and see how much of a downhill slide I’ve been on without him. He would be so disappointed.
It’s been trial and error trying to figure out how to live on my own in this big space. The windows that face the front yard, leaving a clear sight to the street, are covered in a thick curtain that I’ve started pulling back during the day to let some sunlight in.
Call it whatever you want, but after I left Josh’s house and drove down back road after back road, blaring music and trying to figure out how I need to get my life together, I had an epiphany. Or more like an epiphany was forced upon me when I saw a random sign off the side of the road advertising for a new therapist’s office opening in town. It could have been a ploy to get willing victims to walk in the front door and then they would skin me alive and wear my body as a meat suit. Or they could be trying to get clients.
I showed up, bloody knuckles and all, and the therapist saw me immediately. Dr. Kincaid had experience in PTSD, especially in people who served in the military. His background in the marines provided him with more insight than a typical therapist could normally give me, and his acceptance of my dark humor made me not feel like such an outsider. Not everyone understands that sometimes you have to make jokes of the shitty things in life to be able to move past them.
Connor, Hollis, Ace, and the other guys have been cool, too. We started doing our football scrimmages again, and last weekend they all came over after and we had a cookout. There was one noticeable person missing when everyone else showed up, but we kept his memory alive as I shared stories of him. It didn’t hurt as bad. The wound in my chest has gone from a gaping hole to a healing wound. It hurts, and if I focus on it fortoo long I can feel the pounding ache. But it’s not as detrimental as it was.
I’ve been holding on to the hope for when Raiden wakes up, we can continue this tradition. Having our friends and family come over. Spending nights alone, just the two of us tangled in the new baby blue satin sheets I bought for our California King bed. There’re so many memories I plan on making, and every day he’s not here. Instead of focusing on that, I think of new things for us to do together. I have a list on the stainless steel fridge in the kitchen of all the activities I want us to try together. What started as a small checklist has turned into four pages waiting for the tick marks to be checked off.
I put up the final dish I used to make breakfast, my own spin on dango with a sweet sauce. It’s not anything like Ema’s, but I did use her recipe. Maybe it just takes time to master it. Or maybe she’s just better at it because it’s a part of her heritage. Whatever it is, I won’t let it deter me from still trying. I want to be able to provide Raiden with parts of his heritage even when his mom isn’t here to do it for him.
I pop one of the small dumplings in my mouth, satisfied with the taste and the consistency. I chew through them as I scroll through the emails on my phone, checking the one’s from Hollis and the other ones waiting in there.
My mom spread word around town of my woodworkingbusinessas she likes to call it. I keep getting requests for customs pieces. My turn around time has been slow, but people don’t seem to mind because they keep my inbox full. Last weekend, I finished up a set of custom shelves for the library. It didn’t take very long, but it was a fun project and to see the smile on my mom’s face as she started loading it up made it worth the late night I stayed up sanding it to make it look perfect.
My phone rings in my hand, the loud sound cutting through the silences of the house. Speaking of the devil… “Hey mom,” I say, biting through the dango and trying to avoid spilling the sauce on my clothes.
“Get to the hospital,” she says, frantically. I can hear her breaths puffing through the phone as she races around doing whatever it is that she’s doing.
“What?” I question dumbly because I’m obviously too focused on my breakfast to truly take in what she’s saying.
“Get to the hospital now, we’ll meet you here.”
“Wait–Mom, slow down. What’s going on?” My heart races in my chest as I tuck the phone between my shoulder and my ear so I can run to my front door and put my shoes on. Cursing the laces as I do because I was too lazy to untie them last night when I got home. I knew I shouldn’t have just slipped them off, but I was too tired after I stayed up working on the wishing well for the Carpenter's house.
“You need to get to the hospital, I can’t tell you right now what’s going on. But you need to trust me Jericho.” I can hear her car dinging and my dad saying something to her, and then a door shutting loudly.
“Okay, I’m about to leave my house now.”
“Be careful, Jericho. We love you.”
Going into the garage, I automatically go to get into my truck, pulling open the door before my eyes catch on my motorcycle. It’s been so long since I’ve rode it, not wanting to replace the last memory on it with Raiden.
But.. this is what my life is now. I spent months grieving, holing myself up until there was nothing left of me except dust. I’m changing that now, I’m doing things for me.
I get out of the truck, and carefully maneuver my bike between the wall and my truck. Knowing my luck, I’ll scratch the entire side and piss myself off.
It’s been a while since I’ve straddled it, feeling the intense weight underneath me and trying to adjust my position so my prosthetic can hold up against the weight.
I start the engine, feeling it purr and I grin to myself. The joy of having a bit of freedom slaps me in the face. I’ve been truly neglecting myself.
But as I strap on my helmet and take off down the road to the hospital, feeling the warm breeze blowing past me, I feel free. When Raiden comes home, I’m going to be taking him for rides every chance we get.
Pulling into the parking lot of the hospital, I park beside my mom, in between her car and Ema and Rodney’s.
My parents are waiting in the lobby of the hospital, and when they see me through the window they rush out to greet me. Before they can pull me into their arms, I ask to chuck my helmet in their car so I won’t have to worry about it while we’re in the hospital.
