save the life of my child

she knew she had to do it. she had been thinking about it for days, constantly thinking about it. she felt like someone had said to her, in three days you will be hit by a car. you cant avoid it, it will happen, theres nothing you can do to prepare. it was nervousness without the butterflies, dread without the final result being relief. but the alternative was so unthinkable, the nightmarishness of it trumping the nightmares she would surely have for the rest of her life after she did what she knew she had to do.
if she didnt, he would go. there was no stopping james, he was just as determined as she was. she knew what would happen, she knew like the time they had to take the cat to the vet and she had a horrible feeling about it, a feeling that james disregarded as her worrywartness, and sure enough their car broke down in the sheeting rain and she had to carry the cat in her arms the half mile home. she knew that he would leave and that he would be placed in the most dangerous area and that within a matter of weeks she would get a call saying he had died. that he had died in his countrys name and that it was an honorable, justifiable death. she knew what they would say because she had gotten a call like that before, decades before during vietnam. her brother was drafted and her family was proud, and nothing she could say could change their minds or his. she woke him up one night, in desparate tears, and said, ill break your legs, ill move with you to canada. ill do absolutely anything you want me to, no matter how horrific it seems, if only youll stay. and without moving a muscle, he simply said, i have to go. and she knelt by his bed, with her face in his flannel sheets, and cried until her face felt fiery. three weeks later the phone rang and she couldnt say anything to them, she couldnt say, youre wrong. she couldnt say how dare you. because it was true, he was dead and gone forever and the people who were to blame were so goddamned far away that anger almost seemed laughable. she never said to her parents, i fucking told you so. but they knew it was true, they all knew the truth, and again, anger seemed almost laughable.
it would not happen again. she didnt do everything she could with her brother, but with god as her witness she would do everything she could with her son. and gods was the only answer she needed, the only one she had ever questioned. god was the only one who she had to reconcile with tomorrow morning.
she sat on the edge of her bed with her hands cupping her knees and she prayed. she had images of her arms not working once she got into his room, so she prayed that she could muster the physical strength to do it. she assumed james would never forgive her, that he would live the rest of his life resenting her for keeping him from doing what he felt he had to do, so she prayed that if that happened she could live with it. she breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth like she tells her students to do before big tests. she nodded with her eyes closed, reminding herself that this is right and the alternative is wrong. this is keeping him alive.
she stood up and walked into the dark hallway where pictures of him, her only child, lined the walls. she walked down the hall, opened the closet door, and knelt down to pick up the hammer from underneath two winter coats, crumpled and waiting. she stood back up and, barefooted, padded to his door.
she opened it and saw him sleeping on his side, one leg under the sheet and the other one on top of it. his body was so new looking, so blank and clean. this was her child, this was her life and the reason her life meant anything at all. everything else she had ever done, from running a marathon to getting a state award for her teaching, was almost disturbingly irrelevant when compared with james. she would rather, and this is the thought that unlocked the tears from her eyes and gave them the right to slither down her makeupless face, go there for him. she would rather fight in a war that she felt was utterly wrong in every way, and she would rather be killed in the midst of it, than even risk his life at all by allowing him to go. there are times when parents can veto decisions, even if their child is nineteen years old. there are times when they can say no, not because they have more power or money or control over resources, but because they are more able to do whatever it takes. they can say no and pick up the hammer from the bottom of the coat closet and do whatever it takes to make sure that 'no' happens. there are times when parents just know better than the brilliant, stubborn, self-assured children they have raised.
her brother hadnt been asleep that night, she knew it because she could see his eyes open as soon as she walked into his room. he was just laying there, at three am, nowhere near sleep. she worried about that before, that james would be awake too, but she could hear his rythmic but snaggy breathing.
she tiptoed nearer his bed. his mouth was open and there was a dark stain on his pillowcase. she wanted to say something, something like one day youll understand. one day you will have a child and you will see yourself in the shape of their fingernails and the only real happiness in your life will be knowing that they are happy. and one day youll understand that sometimes things that are considered good, or right, just arent.
his knees were bent and stacked on top of each other. she raised the hammer and aligned it perfectly so when it hit it would hit the front, smooth part of his patella.
she knew she had to do it.