Bad sign.Bad sign. I accelerated and let the speed pick up to ninety. Forty-five seconds. Thirty seconds. The boy's breathing was coming in spurts. Twenty seconds. He was trembling, his little hands shaking. Ten seconds and I got ready to jump hard on the brakes as I rocketed into the exit ramp. The boy was going to retch any second and I could see him taste the bile as it rose in his throat. Five seconds and the car started sliding sideways on the gravel with stones flying out in all directions. The car stopped and the boy tried frantically to open the door but he was unsure of how the door handle worked. I thought about leaning over past him and opening it but I changed my mind and I opened my own door and jumped out. I ran to the other side of the car and jerked his door open. The boy looked up at me, too frightened to move as vomit rose up his throat and into in his mouth. I realized that he was too weak to raise himself up. I held his head, touching his soft dark hair, and pulled his head toward me and out over the door sill towards the ground. The boy shuddered violently, gagged for a second, and then his vomit seemed to pour out. There was a horrible choking sound and then deep long sobs that rose up from deep in his chest. Then more vomit. The sweet sick smell rose up from the ground and from where it had splattered over the side of the car. I felt his small body heaving as he shuddered with each spasm. In those few terrible minutes I was suddenly very aware of how fragile the boy was. He seemed very young and I began to rub his back gently, letting my fingers travel from the end of his spine all the way up to his neck to brush the long silky-soft hair lightly before going downwards again. He recovered very slowly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand and smearing away the vomit from his mouth as he began to breath more normally. I gave him my handkerchief. |