
Rude Awakenings After My Son's Death
Chapter 3
I was wrong about my husband.
He left us on the side of the road and we had to trek towards the school. I could already see my fragile baby slipping. I caught him and placed his hand around my shoulder. Jordan shouldn't be walking this much.
"Honey, let's go home. You can take the exam next year." I told him.
"No. I'm a Valente. A Valente never fails. I have to." There were tears in his eyes.
If there was one thing I could not stand, it was the tears in Daniel's eyes. He tried hard not to cry, but when he did, it was often for a serious reason.
"Please, Jordan. I will speak to your father."
"I will not forgive myself if I don't do this." He stared at his wristwatch. "How far away are we?"
If Daniel were driving us, we would still be about twenty minutes away from the school, but since we were walking, we were two hours away.
Jordan's exams were to start in an hour but I didn't want to tell him how far from the school we were. One of the doctor's directives was that we should always try to keep Jordan emotionally regulated. Never too happy. Never too sad.
But Daniel seemed to be an expert at pressing Jordan' sadness button. Despite my fears, Jordan swallowed whatever Daniel threw his way. I was starting to worry that Jordan would soon reach his limit and there might be no coming back.
His legs buckled underneath me. I could not bear the pain of trying to see him walk when he could have used his wheelchair, but Daniel had driven off with the wheelchair in the backseat despite my yells.
"Stop, Jordan."
He pulled his hand from my neck and still kept limping forward. If there was one thing Jordan inherited from his father other than a full head of hair, it was stubbornness. I had to cave or Jordan would walk himself to death.
"Get on my back."
"Mom?" He turned to me with disbelief. "I'm taller—"
"On my back now." I walked in front of him and bent so he could mount my back. When he was there, I placed my hands under his lap to secure him. "Give me your wristwatch."
"I need it."
"Now, Jordan." I grabbed it from him. I didn't want him focusing on how late we were.
We must've looked funny to anyone who saw us approaching the main gate of the school. A small mother carrying her grown child on her back and running like the hounds of hell were after us. The cold air whipped around us and it must've affected Jordan because he didn't say a word as he tried to steady his breathing.
"Stop right there." One of the security guards said, pulling out a baton.
"He's supposed to be here. His name is Jordan VALENTE. Candidate number 567894." I stopped, looking past the guard towards the empty front yard of the school gate.
"Writing in Hall C." Jordan replied weakly from behind him.
"I'm sorry. We were given strict orders. He can't come in at this time."
I let Jordan come down from my back so I could reach into his backpack to pull out his ID card. I pushed the card to the face of the guard. "Look at it. My son is ready to write the exam."
"He's an hour late."
Jordan begged, as he took his place behind me. “Please, let me write this. That's all I want."
"And he has special needs. Please." I had never appealed for anything using Jordan's sickness, but this time, I needed to. "We've just spent two hours walking here." I put the exam pass in front of the guard as I clasped my hand. "Please, consider."
"The exam was an hour ago. I'm sorry."
At that moment, if Daniel was close to me, I might have strangled him. If we had taken the normal route, even if we had to walk, we would not have walked for so long.
"Please."
"Try again next year." The guard tore Jordan's exam pass.
"Mom!"
I had never heard my son shriek so loud before. So loud that it felt like it was tearing my heart in two. I felt him try to clutch me but fail as his fingers brushed my body.
I turned and found Jordan clutching his heart as he convulsed on the floor. I ran to him and watched as his eyes rolled to the back of his face.
“Call an ambulance!” I yelled at the security guard while I reached for my phone to call Daniel, but when I did, a woman picked up first.