Free Still With Me by Thierry Cohen Page B

Come quick!” He had fear in his eyes. And hatred.
    Jeremy leapt up. In the kitchen, Simon was on his back, unconscious. Blood gushed from his arm.
    “He slipped and cut himself. His head hit the floor. Hard.” Thomas’s voice shook. He looked at Jeremy, waitingfor him to say something reassuring. Jeremy crouched over Simon. He’d fallen on the pieces of glass Jeremy had pushed into a corner a few minutes earlier. His forearm was slashed in several places. His breathing was slow.
    “Is…is he dead?” Thomas asked, sobbing. He stood behind his father, waiting for a diagnosis.
    “Don’t worry,” Jeremy said in a reassuring tone.
    Jeremy patted Simon on the cheeks. Simon opened his eyes.
    “You’re all right, Simon. Everything’s fine. It’s bleeding a lot, but it’s nothing serious. We’re going to call an ambulance. But first, I’m going to bandage you up.” Jeremy pressed a cloth over the wound, not entirely certain of what he was doing or whether it would have any effect.
    “Daddy, it hurts,” Simon said, sniffling. The little boy looked at him anxiously.
    “It’s going to be all right.”
    With Thomas at his heels, Jeremy picked Simon up and carried him to the living room. He set him down on the sofa and picked up the telephone. Thomas watched his father and held his little brother’s hand. Simon smiled.
    “It’s not serious, Thomas. Daddy said so.”
     
    “Okay, it’s not serious,” his older brother repeated.
    Jeremy dialed 911, nervous. The child had lost a lot of blood, and while the bandage had slowed the bleeding, some was still seeping through.
    “It’s urgent, it’s…my son,” Jeremy explained to the professional voice on the other end of the line. “He cut himself on the wrist. He bled. He lost consciousness. I made him a sort of tourniquet. My address?”
    He stumbled over his words: “Yes, miss. I don’t…I’m a little panicked…I’m…My address, yes…” Jeremy, at a loss for words, felt ridiculous and weak at the same time.
    “Nine Recollets Street, in the tenth arrondissement,” Thomas supplied coldly.
    Jeremy repeated the address to the woman on the phone and hung up. “I…I forgot…But they’re arriving in a few minutes,” Jeremy announced, embarrassed.
    “Daddy, it hurts.” Simon’s face was by now very pale. Sweat pasted his curly brown locks to his forehead.
    “The doctor’s coming. It’s going to be all right.”
    “We have to call Mom,” Thomas said.
    “Yes, you’re right. But not now. Let’s wait until the doctors are here. We’ll call her when we know more.”
     
    The three of them sat in silence. Thomas held onto his little brother’s hand. Jeremy stroked his face. Once again, the present caught hold of him, more violently this time. He’d been absorbed completely by the urgency, fear, and necessity. And now the guilt. I’m not a responsible husband. I’m not a responsible father. I’m a danger to my family when I’m having a crisis. And I’m an unfit father when I’m well .
    It was the arrival of the ambulance that pulled him out of these dark thoughts. Under Thomas’s fearful gaze, the EMT examined Simon. “He didn’t lose that much blood. One vein severed and maybe a scratched tendon. We have to move him to the hospital for service. You’ll come along?”
    “Yes, of course,” Jeremy replied. “Thomas and I will go.”
    “Where are we going?” Simon asked weakly.
    “To the hospital. We’re going with you.”
    “I’m going in an ambulance?”
    “Yes.”
    “With a siren?”
    “If you want,” the EMT replied with a wink.
    “Cool.”

     
    The operation was over. The doctors had reassured Jeremy. Thomas was sitting on a bench, knees folded, head between his arms. His demeanor remained cold and distant.
    I can tell Thomas doesn’t like me. He judges me, evaluating my performance. Everything I do disappoints him. Yet somehow he doesn’t seem to hate me. He needs a father and hopes I’ll fulfill my role. But what