Page 5 of A Rose of Steel
Piper had put her bouquet down and with a roll of her eyes plopped down in a chair. I had run to the kitchen and picked up my medical bag, but by the time I got down to the gazebo, I had found someone else was tending to Bumper’s needs.
I stood on my tiptoes to see over the crowd, still I couldn’t make him out. I was hesitant to push my way through, the groom already had help and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know who that voice belonged to.
“Please everyone.” The voice was coming from low to the ground now. “Stand back,” it ordered. “Someone tell me his name.”
“Bumper,” I heard a sobbing woman answer.
“Bumper, can you hear me?” A hush had come over the crowd of guests and I heard the palm of a hand slap wet skin. “Bumper, open your eyes. Can you talk to me?”
“He’s my son. That’s my son,” that same woman spoke through her tears. “His name is Michael. Michael Hackett, Jr, but he’s my Bumper.”
“Bumper! Bumper!” Jorianne screamed, echoing his mother’s words. She had torn her way through the crowd and by the sound of her footsteps was stomping on the wooden floor of the gazebo. “Oh please, no! Don’t let him die.”
“That’s my plan,” the voice said calmly. “I need someone to call an ambulance. Now.”
I stood still as a pack of people began to push past me. My feet wouldn’t move and a foggy haze seemed to crest over me, the sun lost behind a cloud darkening my surroundings had made me feel disoriented. I closed my eyes to steady myself.
It couldn’t be...
“And could someone get the... um... bride,” the voice said. “Ma’am, you’re going to have to let me work.”
“I’m not ama’am!” Jorianne cried. “I was supposed to be.” She let out a wail. “Today. I was going to be a ma’am today.”
“Come on, Jorianne.” I heard gentleness in Tonya’s voice. “Let’s get out of the way. Let the doctor help Bumper.”
“Call 911,” another voice called out, repeating the doctor’s request. “Call them now.”
“I’m already on it.” That was a voice I recognized. It belonged to Mr. Alvarez, the bride’s father.
“Daddy!” Jorianne seemed to just notice him, her voice rushing behind her as she left the covered area. “Oh, Daddy, what is going on?”
“Jorianne, I can’t call and get help if you don’t let me go.” His tone was rushed. Irritated.
“He has asthma,” Bumper’s sobbing mother said. “He’s got an inhaler. Somewhere.” Her voice was trembling. “Wait...” I heard her hesitate. “I have one in my purse.”
I now noticed two groomsmen, tall enough to rise above my blocked view of the downed groom and the doctor who came to his aid. Dressed in matching tuxedos, one white, the other black, both looked lost—teary eyes wide, jaws slack, but somehow the word “inhaler” seemed to jolt them.
“I got one,” one said. He was the thinner of the two, but still stocky. Six-foot-two at least, he was dark-complexioned and wore his shoulder length hair in dreads, falling neatly around his face.
“I’ve got one, too,” the other said, choking out the words. It seemed he was trying to keep himself from crying.
“I’ve got one!” the bride said loudly, seemingly not to be outdone. “It’s in my bag. Oh!” Panic rang through her words. “It’s back in the room!” She started bawling again. “I can’t get it! I can’t leave him! I can’t leave Bumper!”
“He’s not breathing,” the doctor said. Smooth and even. His words strong as he took charge. “An inhaler won’t be of any use. I’m going to loosen his bowtie and shirt.” I could hear his voice judder as he moved the body, grunting sounds accompanying the actions he’d announced. “I have to start CPR.”
“Oh my lord, please don’t let anything happen to my baby! Oh!” Momma Hackett wailed, “You Alvarezs are killing him. Making him do this. Oh Jesus, help me! Somebody help my baby!”
“Everyone stay calm,” the doctor ordered. “Someone please, can you help this man’s mother.”
“Bumper! No!” Jorianne shrieked.
She evidently wasn’t getting enough recognition.
“Get her a chair,” a stray voice said. “Get her into a chair before she hits the ground.”
Then I heard, “Who? Jorianne or Miss Hackett?”
Voices were coming from everywhere. “What happened to him?” someone whispered. “Can you die from an asthma attack... Oh my, that poor woman…” I heard the murmurings.
