intent on getting at his juice bar, and tugged at its plastic wrapper with his teeth. The loud music was still playing. A young Hispanic mother with a toddler arrived toplace her order with the driver. She noticed Tim Pat almost drop his lemon-lime bar when the wrapper tore loose. She would later testify that she saw Tim Pat bobble the juice bar, drop his change, and then stumble forward from behind the blind side of the truck, directly in front of Lupe’s oncoming van.
Lupe hit him before she could get her foot from the gas to the brake, saw him fly into the air and hit the curb in front of the ice-cream truck. Even though she was driving slowly, it’s one of the laws of physics: F = MV. The inertial force of an object is determined by the mass or weight of the object and the velocity at which the object moves. Lupe’s van had a lot more mass than Tim Pat—and the velocity was just enough. She stopped immediately, placed both hands over her mouth, got out of the car, and ran over to Tim Pat. As she knelt down, the driver of the ice-cream truck turned off the music and sped away.
The lemon-lime bar remained whole, but had started to melt on the hot concrete, the gravel and pebbles of the old street showing through its chinked and sun-bleached cement. Dan’s coins had rolled to one side, the bills were scattering.
Lupe screamed when she saw the impossible, skewed angle of the motionless boy’s neck and the blood spreading in a widening pool from the back of his head. His eyes were wide open, filled with an expression of surprise. She didn’t have to touch his body to feel for a pulse. The child was dead; she had killed him. She sobbed and she lost her breath, but she didn’t feel the skin on her knees begin to tear as she knelt on the gritty street surface, bent over Tim Pat’s body. She bent double, her head almost in the blood. She managed to sign to Jesse, who brought the clinic’s cell phone from the van and kneeled silently down beside his sister.
“Ay, Dios mío,”
Lupe said. Oh, my God.
Dan had heard the ice-cream music stop, waited for it to resume. He became curious when it didn’t, then started for the street just in case.
Lupe dialed 911, her fingers stiff as chopsticks. She waited silently, hardly breathed, went more silent still. Neither she nor Jesse knew whatelse to do. When the operator answered after four rings, Lupe reported the accident and the address and the body. The operator took her information, then instructed her to remain at the scene. Lupe made the sign of the cross. Tears streaming down her face, she began to sign to Jesse what the operator had said.
Dan saw the little body instantly, saw it as if down a tunnel of whitest light. Shock hit him and a crushing weight pushed down on his chest as his heart rate soared. He felt himself go crazy, felt his feet flop on the pavement as he raced to the motionless figure. He slid to his knees, shoved Lupe and Jesse aside. He cradled Tim Pat.
Earl heard Dan’s howl. He ran to the street. Dan was hunched over his grandson. His body was rigid, drops of Tim Pat’s blood on Dan’s lips. Dan looked again at his baby boy.
“I shouldda gone with him! Jesusjesusjesus!” Dan was sobbing.
“Dan, he’s been buyin from the truck by himself for two years,” Earl reminded him.
“I shouldda been with him.”
But Dan hadn’t, and now the last candle in his life had been snuffed out. Like some benumbed mother ape, Dan tried to shake life back into Tim Pat’s little body. But Tim Pat was dead and that was it. Two lifeless eyes looked out at him, the dull film of death already starting to form across them. Dan tried to kiss Tim Pat again. His lips wouldn’t move.
Earl bent down. He tried to get Dan to stand, wanted to get Dan someplace where he couldn’t see what was on the ground. But Dan would always see what was there, would see it in flashes of morning light off of plate-glass windows, would see it in the pale faces of heart and cancer
Lupe hit him before she could get her foot from the gas to the brake, saw him fly into the air and hit the curb in front of the ice-cream truck. Even though she was driving slowly, it’s one of the laws of physics: F = MV. The inertial force of an object is determined by the mass or weight of the object and the velocity at which the object moves. Lupe’s van had a lot more mass than Tim Pat—and the velocity was just enough. She stopped immediately, placed both hands over her mouth, got out of the car, and ran over to Tim Pat. As she knelt down, the driver of the ice-cream truck turned off the music and sped away.
The lemon-lime bar remained whole, but had started to melt on the hot concrete, the gravel and pebbles of the old street showing through its chinked and sun-bleached cement. Dan’s coins had rolled to one side, the bills were scattering.
Lupe screamed when she saw the impossible, skewed angle of the motionless boy’s neck and the blood spreading in a widening pool from the back of his head. His eyes were wide open, filled with an expression of surprise. She didn’t have to touch his body to feel for a pulse. The child was dead; she had killed him. She sobbed and she lost her breath, but she didn’t feel the skin on her knees begin to tear as she knelt on the gritty street surface, bent over Tim Pat’s body. She bent double, her head almost in the blood. She managed to sign to Jesse, who brought the clinic’s cell phone from the van and kneeled silently down beside his sister.
“Ay, Dios mío,”
Lupe said. Oh, my God.
Dan had heard the ice-cream music stop, waited for it to resume. He became curious when it didn’t, then started for the street just in case.
Lupe dialed 911, her fingers stiff as chopsticks. She waited silently, hardly breathed, went more silent still. Neither she nor Jesse knew whatelse to do. When the operator answered after four rings, Lupe reported the accident and the address and the body. The operator took her information, then instructed her to remain at the scene. Lupe made the sign of the cross. Tears streaming down her face, she began to sign to Jesse what the operator had said.
Dan saw the little body instantly, saw it as if down a tunnel of whitest light. Shock hit him and a crushing weight pushed down on his chest as his heart rate soared. He felt himself go crazy, felt his feet flop on the pavement as he raced to the motionless figure. He slid to his knees, shoved Lupe and Jesse aside. He cradled Tim Pat.
Earl heard Dan’s howl. He ran to the street. Dan was hunched over his grandson. His body was rigid, drops of Tim Pat’s blood on Dan’s lips. Dan looked again at his baby boy.
“I shouldda gone with him! Jesusjesusjesus!” Dan was sobbing.
“Dan, he’s been buyin from the truck by himself for two years,” Earl reminded him.
“I shouldda been with him.”
But Dan hadn’t, and now the last candle in his life had been snuffed out. Like some benumbed mother ape, Dan tried to shake life back into Tim Pat’s little body. But Tim Pat was dead and that was it. Two lifeless eyes looked out at him, the dull film of death already starting to form across them. Dan tried to kiss Tim Pat again. His lips wouldn’t move.
Earl bent down. He tried to get Dan to stand, wanted to get Dan someplace where he couldn’t see what was on the ground. But Dan would always see what was there, would see it in flashes of morning light off of plate-glass windows, would see it in the pale faces of heart and cancer
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