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The EMTs arrive within ten minutes, and as soon as I see the lights, I throw open the front door.
“You think this is an overdose?” the EMT asks, his voice cutting through the fog in my mind as he strides in through the door, a woman a few paces behind him with a gurney.
I stand there, trembling, tears streaming down my face. “Yeah,” I manage to choke out, shaking my head so hard it feels like my neck might snap. “She was addicted to heroin. I tried to get her to stop, but she wouldn’t.” My voice wavers and cracks, raw from holding back sobs.
“Addicted,” the EMT repeats softly, not as a question but an acknowledgment.
“Yeah,” I say, swallowing hard. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she overdosed or if there was fentanyl in it. This shit’s everywhere now.”
The EMT nods, scribbling something down on a pad.
His partner is already lowering the gurney next to the couch.
She waves him over, he helps her get my mom on the gurney, and they strap her in.
The two of them go outside and put my mom in the back of their ambulance, but the man comes back.
His partner closes the doors of the ambulance, my mom’s lifeless body inside.
The sight makes my knees weak, and I nearly collapse.
“She’s been struggling for years,” I continue, words spilling out like a dam breaking. “Far from perfect, but she tried, ya know? She was still my mom.”
“I know,” the EMT says gently, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll take it from here. You did the right thing calling us.”
“Sorry for your loss, son,” the EMT says. His voice is calm, but it feels like a knife to the gut. “You should follow us to the hospital.”
“Yeah,” I manage to croak out, my throat raw from the screaming and crying that won’t come anymore. “Yeah, I’ll be right behind you.”
I stand there alone, the weight of everything crushing me. The trailer park is eerily silent, the kind of silence that follows a storm. All I can think about is how I’m gonna get out of this place, how I need to run far and fast, leaving behind the ghosts that haunt these broken streets.
“Fuck,” I whisper, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “Fuck this life.”
I turn and walk back toward the trailer, each step feeling heavier than the last.
The ambulance pulls away, and I stumble to my bike.
The engine roars to life, but I feel dead inside.
I follow those red tail lights down the dark road, the wind slapping my face but not waking me from this nightmare.
The hospital parking lot is almost empty.
I park my bike and trudge inside, feeling like I’m moving through molasses.
The receptionist gives me a sympathetic look as she directs me to the emergency room.
I hate that look. It makes everything too real.
“She’s been declared deceased,” the doctor tells me when I finally make it to the sterile room where they’ve taken her. He looks at me with pity, but his words are clinical and detached. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, my eyes fixed on the floor. The linoleum tiles are dull, like everything in this place. Dull and lifeless.
“Do you need a moment?” the doctor asks, but I shake my head.
No, I don’t need a moment. I need a fucking lifetime to process this.
“Got a phone?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “I left my phone at the house. I need to call a funeral home. Get her cremated.”
