Four Times Blessed (9 page)

Of course, I’m not alone back here, either. There are ten or so of my little boy cousins out in the grass, along with a few little boys from Zizi Angie’s side. All playing a game of bocce where chucking the balls at your opponents and random bystanders is apparently an integral part of the game. I’d say something but they’re laughing a lot. I watch the stars in the treeline.

              I jump. I just heard a noise. A pressing, raspy cry shredding through the party sounds. Trying to contain the tingly rush, I’m on my feet and moving towards the yell. The air must be thick from the dusk, because the boys’ voices undulate now instead of ripple, and the movements of their shadowy bodies are strained and slow.

             
“Oh my God there’s so much blood!”

             
I swallow a grunt. I reach the boys, jaw clenched, expression hard. There’s no telling what kind of trouble these boys can get into. Great grandmothers, please just let them be ok.

“What’s wrong?” I cut in to the rhythmless round, and the voices and feet go quiet. Shocked there’s a girl here, I’d say, from their soft drawn faces.

There’s some giggling and then, “Benito and Gino are bleeding all over the place.”

“Where?”

I move through them, following pointing fingers and moving them aside. Giving each a glance, making sure my touch doesn’t cause any unnecessary cringing. These ones seem fine.

Then I see the two bloody boys, hunched over with a few others hovering around them, a few more hovering just beyond that. 

“Ok, move back you guys. I need to see them,” I reach out and take both by the arms. Then I crouch down so I can see their faces. Well, they’re both conscious. That’s a good sign, right?

And Jesus, there really is a whole lot of blood.

I wish I’d taken the courses to become a certified corpsman.

Gino is tearing up. His face is scrunched with what I’m pretty sure is guilt while he holds a hand to his shoulder. He’s got blood on his fingers, true, but nowhere else. I put a hand on his back and rub it a few times as I turn to the other boy.

Benito squints at me through one eye. I barely touch his forehead to move his hair aside. It’s slick. His pupils are dilated, but it’s pretty dark so that’s normal, I guess. I move a finger around and tell him to watch it. No funny eye movements. His color’s good. If anything, he’s flushed.

I try not to sigh too loud.

I think he’s mostly just confused about what to do with all the blood that’s coming off of his head. It’s on his face and neck and arms. He holds out one of his hands in the air, gloppy fingers splayed like he’s afraid to let them touch. 

“Hey there, Benito. What happened?” I hear my sticky sweet soprano and realize I was talking kind of gruffly before. No wonder they all look so scared.

I take my cousin’s little hand, not so little as the last time I held it to keep him from running off on our Thanksgiving Day walk. I fold it in mine, rub it, and, with the utmost discretion I wipe it on my skirt.

“My head.”

“Your head? Ok, let me see. Can you show me where?”

He hovers shaky fingers just above the hairline.

“Ok, let’s see, will you let me look? Good, thank you,” I tell him, just because they’re all nice and normal things to say.

             
I put a hand on the back of his neck and he ducks his head. Dah. Ooo, I never checked for a neck injury. But he was hit squarely, he didn’t fall. It’s just his head. Grandmothers, please just that. I part the boy’s hair with as little touch as I can and try to find the cut.

There’s a good amount of blood making a swamp out of his scalp and it’s hard to tell exactly where it’s coming from. I’m going to have to clean it. And we might have to shave his head later, for stitches.

But first I think we just need to make the blood stop falling in his face. I’m not sure because like I said I never took the coursework to become a certified corpsman, but this seems reasonable to me. And I can’t hesitate.

             
“Alright, alright, Benito. You’re gonna be ok.” He stares up at me and I stare back. I swallow my own conviction down deep and hope that his wide-eyed, gleaming gaze means he believes me.

It’s hard to tell. Still, I feel him latched on my face and that makes me feel better. I turn back up to his scalp and ask if anyone has something to press on it.

              A bunched up shirt nudges my shoulder and I take it, still peering into the little boy’s hair. I touch my fingers through it. It’s dry sun-hot and moist body-hot. Just a cut, I think. No cracked skulls here. Maybe a concussion? My aunts can check him out for that later.

             
“You’ve got a hard head, Benito.”

Lifting the hand that’s in his hair, I replace it with the shirt. I press down gently, and Benito doesn’t react even though I pretend not to be looking.

              “Seriously, you’ve got, like, a tortoise shell for a skull or something. You could be some kind of a superhero. You sure you aren’t one? Ever been bit by a radioactive tortoise, Benito?”

             
The boy looks at me like I’m insane and shakes his head. This kind of freaks me out because he has a head injury and all, but I let up on the shirt and he doesn’t seem irritated by the movement. I’m suddenly exhausted.

I sigh, “Well, I guess that’s just your silly cousin talking. I am very silly, huh? But still, it would be kind of awesome. First superhero in the family, and all. But you’re fine even without getting bitten by a radioactive turtle. You’re pretty amazing, actually. We’re just gonna get you cleaned up and then we’ll have your aunties take a look at you, ok?”

I try to smile but I can feel it pinch up. He’s still staring at me, still looking pretty confused, but I feel like he’s working closer and closer to the verge of something more…rambunctious. I really hope he doesn’t cry. Please don’t cry, kid. Please.

I take one of the boy’s hands and place it over the bunched up shirt. I ask if he can hold that for me and he whimpers a brave affirmative.

              “Good, Bennie, you’re doing real good. You’re a brave kid. Don’t you guys think so?”

I stare down one of the nearest boys. One of Angie’s that I’ve never met. He’s rather startled, but when he catches on it’s like he can’t talk fast enough.

              “Yeah, you’re not freaking out or nothing. Did you hear Sal scream when he saw it?”

             
“Yeah, he was all, ‘aaaah!’” another boy says, rolling his eyes back and executing what I can only call a graceful swoon. I can’t imagine where he learned that. 

Benito cracks a smile. A corner of my own mouth slides up and I turn away.

For the sake of Benito’s pride, I try to make it seem like the only reason I put my arm around him now is because I believe he is in serious danger of suddenly collapsing, and I check back towards the house.

             
Someone has fetched his mother and she runs across the yard with hard chapped lips and wild eyes. I hand off the boys to her and she hustles them both back to the house, the others gaggling along behind her, not wanting to be left out of whatever happens next.

Well, I hate to tell them but what happens next is a lecture.

              I twist my hair up and, having no hair ties on me what with Eleni’s dress having no pockets- one reason I don’t completely hate my uniform- and the fact that even I know a hair band strung around my wrist just wouldn’t go with this outfit, I let it flop back down.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and wipe it on the dress. Hm. Probably shouldn’t have done that. Since I’m gross and really should go clean up, I turn around.

              “Ah!”

I scream and my lungs spring clean out of my chest. My voice is so off the charts high-pitched, I swear if it were a color it’d be ultraviolet. Jesus Christ Almighty. I’d be less shocked if it were Philbert the man-cow standing there.

              But it’s not Philbert, it’s two grown men. Who’ve apparently been standing right behind me without my noticing. It makes me feel a little better when they startle, too.

             
I guess I decide not to move, because I don’t. At all. Though I should.

Hey. I never said I was trained as a sentinel. 

Even as this new wave of panicky chemicals is just shocking my blood, a hotter one, one made of pure old shyness, floods through every pore of my body, inside and out.

I clutch a fist to my chest.

And accidentally giggle.

It’s a nervous habit and I can’t help it.