Chapter 2 Not Tragedies

~ WILLA's POV ~ So last week, I decided to give Wes a call. I told him I was coming back on our birthday and he agreed that we should meet at the diner, ‘just like old times’ he said. Mom was still on call at the hospital, so I would see her later tonight. Mom still lived in the same house in Brooklyn, but Wes had moved out. Even though it was still in the city, it would take an hour and thirty minutes to travel from Brooklyn to Columbia, so Wes decided to get a roommate and moved in to the city. Turning the corner, I reached my old neighborhood, and memories of my teenage years filled my head. That bench was the bench where I had my first kiss. It was with Anthony Russell and we were in the ninth grade. That lamppost was when my first ever serious boyfriend, Michael Wallace, asked me to the prom. He held a large pizza box with M&Ms on it making the word ‘Prom?’. Cheesy, I know. No pun intended, but I was really into the Princess Diaries back then. I was half-smiling, half-cringing as I remembered my high school Willa. She was a confused and naïve girl. She believed in love and fairytales and happy endings. But a lot has changed since then. No, I wasn’t the same Willa White that first left the city at eighteen. My travels had taught me that love was overrated and fairytales don’t always have a happy ending. The world out there was cold and ruthless, and you had to play the game to survive. Having seen my fair share of the world, I learned how to handle people and how to carry myself in situations. I learned how to observe and read through people’s hidden intentions. Because everyone always had hidden intentions. I knew when to keep my mouth shut and when to say my piece. And I learned how to say my piece in the most efficient, eloquent, and uncompromising way possible. Twenty one year old Willa was a force to be reckoned with. I came back a different, better, and stronger. I was mindlessly walking towards my house when suddenly I noticed the red and blue lights of a police car parked right outside. In New York City, seeing a police car around was a natural sight. But this was different. Something was wrong, and I could feel it. I walked up the steps to my house and saw two officers in NYPD uniform at the door, knocking and ringing the doorbell. “Can I help you, officers? I asked them. The two men turned around and the guy with the mustache asked, “Do you know the people that live in this house?” “Yeah, it’s my parents’ house, but my mom’s out working,” “Are you related to Weston Daniel White?” the other one asked. “That’s my brother. What’s going on, officers?” They exchanged a look before turning to me and said, “You need to come with us. Something’s happened to your brother,” “What?” I gaped. “We’ll explain everything on the way. Come with us,” Before I could say another word, the two men led towards the police car and I got inside. Seconds later, the car pulled away and that familiar siren started ringing in my ears. The car sped through town and I just sat there completely bewildered. Sure, I miss New York and all, but I wasn’t expecting this kind of welcome at all. What did Wes do this time? What’s going on? Just like any other normal adolescent teen with grief and other issues, Wes had a knack for trouble. Ever since our dad’s death, things got worse him. He was always partying, drinking, vandalizing things in the neighborhood, but I thought he straightened himself out once he got into Columbia. Mom told me he was doing well. He got straight A’s and was always on the dean’s list. As my mind kept racing, the car pulled to a stop and we arrived in front of Mount Sinai Hospital. The officers got out and one of them pulled the door open for me. “What’s this? What’s happening?” I asked him. “Please, follow me,” he strode towards the hospital’s entrance and I quickly followed behind him. We walked down a long hallway and he said, “There has been an accident. Your brother is in critical condition, but he’s stable as of now,” “What accident?” I gaped. I felt my heart sank to my feet. This can’t be real. “I think the doctors will explain it better,” he replied and gestured to a room, “Right here,” I pushed the door open with shaky hands and all the while I was still thinking, this couldn’t be real. I was probably just dreaming. This kind of thing couldn’t happen in real life. But after my dad died, I should know, these things are as real as it gets. The first thing I saw was the doctor standing next to the bed. A guy was lying on the bed, bandaged, and all hooked up to all these machines. I stepped closer to get a better look. Maybe it’s not him. Maybe they got the wrong guy. But my eyes shot open and my jaw fell to the floor as soon as I saw his face. It was a face that I knew so well. I grew up with that face. Hell, I had that face. “Wes…” I croaked and tears welled around my eyes. “Oh god, what happened?” His eyes were closed. He looked so pale and frail. He was lying there motionless. He didn’t even flinch when I touched his skin. And his skin felt cold. Oh god. No, I take it back. Wes… I’m so sorry, I don’t want you to die. Oh my god. - - - - - - - - To Be Continued - - - - - - - -