• A squeal of tires, a high pitched scream, and then… silence. Cold, harsh silence. My little brother was gone… and I knew he was never coming back.
    My mom ran outside and pressed her hand to her mouth, her eyes silently filling with tears. The television blared on in the living room, unaware of the tragedy that had just taken place. The guilty car and driver raced off while my mom and I just stood there in shock. Mom was the first to come out of it. “I’ll… I’ll get you!” she yelled raggedly after the car. Her voice broke and she crumpled to the ground, sobbing. I couldn’t bring myself over to her. I tried my hardest not to look at the road, but for some reason, my eyes were fixated on it. I knew he was gone. My brother… my angelic little brother… I would never see him smile again. Never see him laugh when I made funny faces…
    Mom had stopped her crying and was now simply rocking herself back and forth in a crouched position. I couldn’t make out was she mumbling to herself, but it sounded like, “He’s not dead. He isn’t! No, David, don’t play in the streets… Listen to your sister… No, David… No, no, no.” Tears started to come, but I pressed them back. Someone had to take charge in this situation. I inhaled heavily and made my way back into the house.
    Once in my room, I picked up my phone and looked out the window. Mom was crouched over David’s motionless form on the road. A lone tear slipped down my cheek and the phone dial tone was suddenly at my ear. A cool voice answered, “Hello, emergency department, how may I help you?”
    “Um, I, uh,” I exhaled shakily and tried again. “I… I need an ambulance right away. My brother... he got…hit…by a car…” I held back the tears once more as the operator asked about my location, time of accident, and so on. I hung up the phone as soon as she was done and ran down the stairs to Mom.
    “Mom? I, um, I… I called the ambulance. They’re coming soon.”
    My mother turned and stared at me. She finally spoke, “Thank you Lizzie. That…that was very wise. I... I should have… I… I told him not to! I-” She broke off and seconds later was rocking with sobs. I could already hear the faint sounds of sirens turning 42nd Street, then going past the bakery, and then outside of our neighborhood. I finally released the tears and held on to Mom. We cried together and waited for the medics to come.
    Hours later, in the painful white of the hospital, Dr. Adams came out and slowly shook his head. He said to Mom, “We did all we could. I’m so sorry for you loss.”
    Mom had tried to convince herself he wasn't gone, but I knew the doctor's words were true. “You… you mean… David’s not…. not coming home?” she asked pitifully. The doctor pulled her aside and began talking to her softly. I scanned the ultra clean waiting room for something to take my mind off the grief-stricken future. A little girl, about six, was tugging on her parents arms and trying to pull them out the door. She had a cast on one of her arms and was acting like she had no other care in the world. Her parents smiled and each other and walked out happily with her. If only Mom and I could act that carefree. Our pain would take a lot more than a cast to make it all better.