Grief Girl by Erin Vincent Page B

that place.

    If only…
    I could turn back the clock.
    I could go back and stop them leaving home that Sunday.
    They had gone to visit Nanny’s grave the day before.
    Mum had stayed in the car.
    Dad weren’t so forceful.
    They had crossed the road two seconds later or two seconds earlier.
    They had crossed a little faster or a little slower.
    There had been a crosswalk.
    They hadn’t been holding hands.
    The fruit stand had been closed.
    They had kept driving.
    The car wouldn’t start when they left the cemetery.
    They had wasted a few minutes calling me before they left.
    The tow truck hadn’t been speeding.
    The truck had hit them differently.
    I had been with them.
    I had been a better daughter.
    I hadn’t thought that thought.
    This were a dream.

    They say they can fix Dad. Rebuild him. Better, faster, stronger than he was before.
    The world’s first bionic dad.
    Ron Vincent will be that dad.
    They’re going to put metal pins that look like big fat skewers into his legs.
    I work myself up to be happy and bright when I see him. I want to joke about Dad Kebabs, Roasted Ron, Fondue Father, Pierced Parent, Barbecued Big Daddy, but maybe now’s not the time to try and cheer him up the old faithful way. Usually you can cheer Dad up with a joke. Not anymore. Dad’s legs are crushed. The doctors say the pins might never help, but they’ve got to give it a try.
    â€œThere is a possibility that he’ll be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life,” the doctor says.
    â€œNo, that’s not right,”
I want to say.
“This is my big hearty dad you’re talking about. You don’t know him. He just won’t stand for that. I mean he
will
stand. That’s my whole point.”
    â€œAnything is possible. We just have to wait and see. Now he’s in a lot of pain, so he might not be able to talk long,” the doctor says on his way out. My dad is just one in a long line of patients to him.
    It’s late, so we have to leave too. This is the worst part. We lift Trent up to kiss Dad goodbye before the three of us walk out and leave him there all alone.
    At least Tracy, Trent, and I have each other.
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    I don’t feel so alone at school anymore.
    I have my friends, but I can’t burden them with my problems all the time. Julie’s been great. She treats me the same as she always has and listens to me go on and on about how terrible I feel. But I don’t want her to get sick of me.
    â€œIf you ever need someone to talk to, Erin, I’m here,” my science teacher, Mrs. Stockbridge, told me the other day.
    I want so badly to do well in science, so I’m going to study extra hard. Mrs. Stockbridge isn’t like the other teachers. She just looks me in the eye and comes right out and says it.
    â€œI can’t even begin to imagine how you must feel, Erin. It’s just devastating.”
    She doesn’t tell me she knows how I feel or that “time heals all wounds.”
    She doesn’t say “Just give it time,” like all the other adults do, because she knows that time is the problem. Everything moves so slowly. The time it’s going to take to get through this is what scares me. Don’t talk to me about time!
    I now spend almost every lunch period with Mrs. Stockbridge. It’s the only way I can get through the day. We sit in her classroom at a gray lab table by the Bunsen burners and eat our sandwiches and talk. She hasn’t said why, but I can see that she finds life hard too.
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    It’s the day of Dad’s surgery and all I can think of is the game Operation.
    I keep seeing Dad’s nose buzz bright red whenever they touch his skin with their metal instruments. I can’t get the image out of my head.
    I wish Dad’s only problem were a charley horse (a white plastic horse) or water on the knee (a little plastic bucket).