Slow Mover By Stephen Shooster,
Friday, 3 July 2009 at 4.30 pm, Houston, TX Written while my dad was having major surgery
Once upon a time I wanted a roaring engine with red and white stripes, a fast mover. I would roll down the main street revving my engine at stop lights; all heads would turn, a fast mover. Then, one day, my dad finds out he has a ticking time bomb in his chest, a weakness in the artery. Within a week, my world is upside down, finding my mom and brothers playing Scrabble in the ICU waiting room while my dad fights for his life. I let my mom win every time, to lighten her spirits and because she’s way better than me. With a tube in his throat and heart exposed, body cooled down, We laugh irreverently, nervously, full belly laughs. We held hope in our thoughts, no other choice. Finally, eight hours later... Alive... Repaired. Thinking back, all I wanted was a fast mover. Now, for my dad, the only way back was through the chasm. The only way back to our world for him was through a deep valley, being tested by 1,000 challenges. Bang! Restart the heart, stitch by stitch: Thwack, thwack, staples in the chest. Stitch by loving stitch, pronto. Rolling down the cavern into the cave, it’s dark; he can’t see a thing... The cave, the intensive care unit, the first step, no windows,
lots of attention. He hears a noise.
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