Free Darius Jones by Mary B. Morrison

That’s when I knew for sho you were the one. And what about that day we met that psychic lady in Berkeley by Skates? She was the real deal. I could use her help now and you know I don’t believe in psychics.” I paused, then whispered, “I love you, baby.”
    Recalling what that psychic lady told me, “Death follows you,” my breath stopped at the edge of my nostrils. Was this accident God’s plan? Was He breaking me down to build me up? Was he going to take from me the person I loved most? The psychic lady had also said, “You’ll be happy again.”
    Until a couple of hours ago, I was happy. “Lord, I’m begging You. Please don’t do this to—”
    The doctor entered the room interrupting my flow but that was cool. His role was more important than mine. My mother entered behind him carrying DJ. Thankfully DJ was asleep and Grant wasn’t with them. I hugged my mom tight. Didn’t want to let her go but had to.
    Mom covered her mouth when she saw Fancy. “Oh, Darius. What on earth happened?”
    I knew Mom seeing Fancy was a shocker considering DJ had surface scars and I had none. “Not now, Ma. I’ll tell you later. I’m glad you’re here.” I hugged my mom’s waist, then asked, “Doc, give it to me straight.”
    â€œI’m Doctor Duke. Mr. Jones. Your wife has to remain in guarded condition because she’s in a coma. We’re doing all we can to bring her out. Temporary comas are not uncommon for auto accident victims. Those air bags and seat belts saved both of you. Don’t know how you walked away or how your wife doesn’t have any broken bones but someone up there is looking out for your family.”
    I looked at Mom. “We know exactly who.”
    The doc continued. “Your wife responds to pain by opening her eyes but she doesn’t respond to light touches or sound. When the minor swelling in her brain dissipates, that should relieve pressure on the stem. Accident patients sometimes regain consciousness within a few days, or it could be several weeks. Or sometimes not at all.”
    I never imagined being a single dad or having to make it on my own without Fancy. Maybe if I did some good in the world, the way Shaq and LeBron always gave back to their community, God would heal Fancy. Maybe if I donated a few million to the people in Haiti or built a few homes for the forgotten Katrina victims, my wife would regain consciousness. And if I apologized to my exes, would God let my wife be normal again? Damn, what if she suffers permanent brain damage? Will she remember me? Will our lives be the same if my wife is permanently disabled?
    â€œYour talking to your wife is good. Do that as much as you can. She may be hearing you, though I’m not sure because she’s not responding at a high level. But she is responding. If you want to spend the night, I can have another bed delivered immediately.”
    I nodded so as not to interrupt him, then glanced at my son. DJ was still asleep. How could my wife be fighting for her life while we were healthy enough to go home?
    â€œWe’ll check on her around the clock. I’m staying the night just in case an emergency develops. Any questions?”
    I had mad love and respect for Doc. I had to do it. I hugged him. “Thanks, man.”
    Mom asked, “Can I stay with her when my son is not here?”
    â€œAfraid not,” the doctor answered. “Under her circumstances I shouldn’t allow Mr. Jones to stay overnight.” He paused, looked up at me, then said, “but he is the league’s MVP. I’m personally making this exception for you, Darius.” He patted me on the back, then left the room.
    â€œMa, when I’m not here, stay as long as they’ll let you. Please. Right now I need for you to take DJ home.” Who would watch DJ, when I was traveling and my mom was here with Fancy?
    DJ opened his eyes.