Ricky’s chest moves up and down, but sometimes his breath is uneven. His skin is cold and clammy. I need to tell someone where we are, to get help. What if Ricky stops breathing? My shaking hands search the ground around us, and I find a towel, stepped on but still somewhat dry. I wipe myself off and feel my thigh. I can’t tell the difference between water and blood. What blood is still in my body is pounding in my ear. I need some clothes. I’m shivering and exposed as I reach between the shrubs for the clothes we removed earlier in the evening. It’s a relief they didn’t get taken. I pull on boxers and shorts, not sure whose are whose.
I’ve got to warm Ricky up somehow. I’m afraid to move him much, so I tilt his head a bit to ensure he is getting air, and prop it in place with a sneaker. I lay the damp towel and a shirt over Ricky. Will that be enough? Panic surges through me, but I push it away. I need to stay in control right now. Ricky is depending on me to get us out of this. I feel around the moist grass until my fingers touch the cold surface of my phone. I should call 911, but all I want is my mom.
Sarah Ward writes young adult fiction, poetry and journal articles in the field of child welfare. Over a twenty-five-year career as a social worker, Sarah has worked with young adults and families with harrowing backgrounds. She won the 2007 Editor’s Choice Award for the New England Anthology of Poetry for her poem “Warmer Waters,” and she is a member of the League of Vermont Writers since 2008. As a social worker, Sarah has published several journal articles, and was recently a co-author on an article published (December 2016) in Child and Youth Services Review titled, “Building a landscape of resilience after workplace violence in public child welfare.” In her limited spare time, Sarah enjoys a good book, a little yoga, and a cup of tea in her home in Williston, Vermont.
