Shaken

Struggling to his feet, John slid his back up against the wall and pushed up. He couldn’t see anything. He tried focusing on his hands by raising them in front of his face. “Dad! What’s happening?” he heard Bethany cry. John shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Tom yelled, “Dad, something is wrong with Ernie. He’s slumped over in his chair!” “See what’s wrong. Everyone calm down.” Darlene mumbled something. John blinked hard; spots of faint light filled his vision. Think, man, think…what in the blazes is happening? “Dad, I think Ernie stopped breathing!” “What?” Darlene whimpered. A chair scooted on the tile, then something thudded to the floor. Shapes, objects, that’s it, come into focus, more, more, yes! John’s mind scrambled. “Tom, call 911!” He heard his son rush into the kitchen and knock over some dishes. “Honey, what is it? I can’t see,” Pamela cried out. “Daddy, I can’t see either! I’m scared,” said Bethany. “Stay calm, John said. “My vision’s coming back. Yours will too. The light just blinded us.” Darlene was on the floor next to Ernie, sobbing noisily. “Dad, the phones are dead!” Tom yelled from the kitchen. “Try my cell phone!” “I did! It’s dead!” “Try your mother’s!” “I did!” Tom’s voice reached a fevered pinch. “Daddy, what’s happening? What was that light?” Bethany sobbed. “Damn,” John said, ignoring his daughter as his vision came into focus. He could see the dark image of Ernie lying on the floor, with Darlene stretched over him. Darlene’s sobbing continued. He took a few steps forward and stooped down. He tried to pull Darlene away from Ernie’s unmoving form. “Move!” She fell back on her butt and curled up, hunching over her stomach. Pamela and Bethany scooted next to her to comfort her. John knelt down to start CPR. He undid Ernie’s belt and trousers and ripped open his shirt. “I think I can remember my CPR training. CAB, CAB,” he repeated under his breath. “Chest compressions, airway, breathing.” John interlocked his fingers, put his palms on Ernie’s chest and began pushing down in rhythm. The chest compressions pushed blood out of the heart, through the lungs, and sent oxygenated blood through Ernie’s body. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, … to 100 compressions per minute. John cocked Ernie’s head back and blew a long breath into his mouth. He began the process again, checking for breathing then repeating the chest compressions and breaths. What I really need is a defibrillator! He knew that Ernie’s chances were slim to none unless the EMTs came and restarted his heart. “Don’t let him die, please,” Darlene pleaded, and tried to grab John’s arm. Pamela and Bethany restrained her. They held Darlene back until she fell on top of them, then Bethany flipped over and lay on top of her, pinning her to the ground. The room grew quiet except for John’s repeated counting of chest compressions. “One, two, three, four, ...,” John pumped. “Don’t let go, buddy. Stay with me.” Sweat built up along his hairline. A drop of sweat dropped from his eyebrow and swooped into his right eye, stinging his eyes. He squinted, opened his lower lip, and blew air up into his face to prevent any more sweat from dripping into his eyes. After 15 exhausting minutes, he stopped. He put his ear to Ernie’s chest and felt his wrist. No breath. No heartbeat. No pulse.