Prodigal Catharsis

Chapter Five

***Gregory Harden***

Standing out in the hallway, waiting for that girl, Rachel, to come out, all I can think about is the call I received from the school. I was at work standing on top of a ladder when my cellphone buzzed.

"Hello!" I snapped.

"Hi, is this Mr. Harden," the voice asked.

"Yes," I answered, "Who is this?"

"This is the Principal of Krause High School. Are you the father of Jeffrey McHale?" she asked.

"Yes, is he in trouble?" I asked impatiently.

"Not so much trouble," she started, "He got into a fight for self-defense and is now on his way to Saint Memorial Emergency Room via ambulance."

After a few moments of absorbing of what the f**k this lady just told me I replied with, "Thank you so much for informing me of this matter," I hung up the phone.

My heart sank as I hurried down the ladder and sprinted to Mr. Yates's office.

Mr. Dylan Yates is the electrical company supervisor of this construction site that we've been wiring for the last two months. He stands an even six feet tall, about forty years of age with a wife and two children. He knows I'm an honest man and would not lie about needing to leave early.

"Mr. Yates!" I began, "There's an emergency at my son's school, and I need to go."

"What's the problem, Greg?"

"My son is in the hospital," I answered.

"s**t, go ahead, man, I hope he's alright. Just don't forget to clock out," he instructed.

I punch out from the time clock and sprint to my truck, put it in gear and haul ass to the hospital. On my way there, I called Jessica to let her know, and she acknowledged, "Alright, I'm on my way as well," then hung up.

Normally, it would take thirty minutes to get to Saint Memorial from the jobsite, but I made the trip in fifteen minutes. When I arrived there, Jessica was pulling into the parking lot. I parked my truck next to her car, and we made our way inside.

Trying to be calm, however panicked, I asked which room they took Jeffrey McHale to, letting her know that we are his adopted parents.

"Trauma center room 137" she answered.

We both sprint down the hall searching for the correct room number. When we get to it, the doctor stops us, "Thank heavens you arrived Greg and Jessica. If I could ask you, please wait in the hall until I've finished with the proper procedure as called upon by protocol."

Then he stepped back into the room and closed the door behind him.

We both take the two seats just adjacent from room 137. About ten minutes later, Dr. Conlee steps out.

"He is alive," he said,"But I'm afraid that the blow he took to the temple was hard enough to send him into a coma, I'm sorry, Greg, the only thing we can do is wait until he wakes up. If you need anything, water or something to eat, let me know."

"Thanks, Stan. Can we go in and see him," I asked.

"Of course, Greg," he answered.

We enter the room to see Jeff unconscious and in a neck brace. Tears well up in both mind and Jessica's eyes. We never thought that in the last four years, something like this was remotely capable of happening. I make my way to the chair on the window side of the bed while Jessica takes the chair on the door side. We sit there holding hands for what seemed to be forever.

Neither Jessica nor I spoke a word for two solid hours until we heard the door creak open. On the drop of a dime, Jessica comes up from her chair and is in the face of a girl who seemed to be around Jeff's age.