The Rose

Jiao-An McMillin opened the door and screamed.

There was no mistaking it. Her only son was dead.

There he was, lying under his dark blue covers, on his back, as if fast asleep. Except, his body was motionless, his chest was suffocatingly stiff and his face was ghastly pale.

It was as if he was already lying in his casket.

She went over to his bedside and instinctively shut off his alarm. It was 7:34 a.m.

His alarm had been going off for at least a half-hour, maybe more. School started at 8 a.m. In fact, he was supposed to be on his way there right now.

Shakily, she reached over and caressed his black hair, as if to confirm her suspicion. His forehead was cold, clammy even.

He wouldn’t be going to school today, she realized. And, to think, in her worry, she had even thought of driving him.

Then, she heard the cautious footsteps approaching and she rushed to close the door.

No, her nine-year-old, Jue-Ai, must not see her older brother dead. Certainly, she could see the body at the funeral, but not like this.

No, no. She would tell her later, after she had discussed it with David, her husband. For now, let her believe Heng-Guang had the day off of school today, and that he was simply sleeping in.

Heng-Guang’s oak, bedroom door clicked shut behind Jiao-An just in time.

“Mom, mom! Are you ok? I heard you screaming.”

In the cool darkness of the early, Michigan, December morning, Jue-Ai’s young, beautiful, slender face popped up from the stairwell and into the hallway, concerned.

The hallway light illuminated Jue-Ai’s black hair, almond eyes, bright green, shiny flats and her white and navy elementary school uniform, rumpled with crumbs from this morning’s breakfast. Jiao-An had made eggs and toast, per David’s request, and Jue-Ai had been finishing her portion just before Jiao-An had gone up to check on Heng-Guang. It was only Tuesday, after all; and, Heng-Guang had a test today. But, he wasn’t getting up, even after his alarm went off. She worried; but, because he was a 16-year-old sophomore in high school now, she had tried to be patient and let him get up himself. She had waited until the last possible moment, and then—

Jue-Ai stepped cautiously toward her mother, who, hand on the knob, was pressed against Huang-Guang’s door like she had just emerged from combat.

Inside herself, gazing at her daughter, Jiao-An’s heart was breaking. Heng-Guang was fine yesterday. Why did he have to go and die now? She had brought him to life. She had pushed him, like her parents had done with her. She had changed his diapers, taught him to walk and talk, fought with him over soccer practice and piano lessons and checked and double-checked his grades to make sure he was the best. She had even consented to enrolling him at St. Peter’s, a Catholic high school, because David had said he would be more prepared for college that way.

Didn’t he know? He was supposed to grow up, have children and take care of her when she got old. But now, for no reason at all, he was just dead.

Heng-Guang. Her son. Oh! Oh! OH!!!!

But, she refused to let Jue-Ai see her tears. No, let her David see that. Let him hold her and try not to cry too. And then, maybe she would stop crying, to be strong for both of them.

“No, I’m ok Jue-Ai,” she managed to say in Chinese, keeping her tone level. “Don’t worry. I just stubbed my toe coming out of Heng-Guang’s room and I screamed. I’m all right now.”

For a moment, Jue-Ai’s face scrunched up, doubtfully. “你确定吗?” (“Are you sure?”)

“Yes, I’m fine. Now, go finish getting ready for school.”

Jue-Ai nodded thoughtfully. “But, what about Heng-Guang’s alarm? Doesn’t he have school today?”

“No, he has the day off. I went in there to turn it off and he told me he was sleeping in today. So, we don’t need to drive him to school after all.”

Jiao-An paused, reading her daughter’s quizzical expression. “Now, hurry up! Or, you’re going to be late!”

Jue-Ai seemed satisfied for the moment, but didn’t turn to go without raising an eyebrow.

“Dad says if you sleep in too long, you’ll grow moss,” she said, walking away. “Will Heng-Guang have moss on him when I get home?”

The passing comment tore at Jiao-An’s heart like a dagger, ripping it to shreds. It was not Jue-Ai’s fault, though. She could not possibly know the truth about what was behind Heng-Guang’s door. But, quite soon, Heng-Guang would indeed start growing moss—literally.

“No, of course not,” she strongly asserted, probably more to make herself feel better than Jue-Ai. “Daddy is just saying that to make you move faster. Now, hurry up and finish your breakfast. And, don’t make me say it again.”

She flashed a warning look at the child, in a way only a mom can do, and Jue-Ai relented.

“Mom, I’m going, I’m going,” she groaned as she disappeared into the stairwell.

Jiao-Ai heaved a sigh of relief and managed to take her hand off the doorknob, ensuring it was secure. Grabbing her cell-phone out of her back pocket, she hit the number for Heng-Guang’s high school she kept on speed dial in case of emergencies. She would call them first; tell them he wasn’t coming. Then, she would call David at work and tell him what happened. And then, she was going to call the police. And then, she was going to go in her room, lock the door and cry.

But, first, she needed to drive Jue-Ai to school.

This short story is copyright 2012 of Jessica Anne McLean.All rights reserved.

Note to reader: This story is fictional (but based on true events). All characters, details or events are purely coincidental.

For more information, view this story’s key at: https://thewriteaholic.wordpress.com/other-work/sudden-death-story-key/.