Family Tree

I notice him almost immediately. 

My partner is about to climb into the driver’s side of the ambulance when I tell him that I’ll be right back. He follows my gaze across the street and nods in recognition. I hand him my unadulterated coffee. 

It’s not the fact that he’s in a school playground, or the way he observes the tree. 

It’s the rope in his hand. 

It’s been three months since his face was plastered everywhere. Drunk Driver Kills Nephew In Car Accident. 

He turns as I approach, remorse and guilt etched across his entire body. 

“Fitting, isn’t it? He told me this was his favorite place, this playground,” he tells me, tears already flowing. He wipes his sleeve across his nose. 

I remain silent as he continues, clutching the rope like the lifeline that it isn't. 

“If I had known that I would need to pick him up that day, I wouldn’t have been drinking, you know? You have to know that,” he pleads. 

I nod slowly. 

“Do you think I’ll be forgiven?” he whispers as if he’s afraid to imagine the possibility. 

I give a silent sigh as I grasp his shoulder and look him in the eye. 

“Yeah, I think so,” I say. 

He seems to crumble under my hand. 

“Why?” he sobs. 

“Because I lost my son,” I tell him, grip firm and eyes full. “But I can’t lose my brother, too.” 

He throws the rope into the wind as we hold each other up.