The Little Runaway

By: Terry
(© 2013-2014 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 11
[Michael]

Michael was a sweet child, who by default was born with more determination than most people could handle. His mother knew they were due a son, even before he was born, from the practise she was getting, or was that the practise he was getting? Lorraine told her husband Mike, "Your son is well on his way to becoming a football pro," with a certain amount of discomfort.

His time to be born seemed to be of Michael's choosing. Inside the womb, he still kicked his imaginary football - and to the battle worn and weary mother his birth couldn't come soon enough. But as needs must, even for Michael, he was born on the 21st of May, 1956. Michael Steven Riley was born a healthy 6 lbs 8 ounces. Mike cried when he first saw his son - he was perfect. By Thursday, mum and son were sent home with smiles all around. Michael had now been released onto the world, and they were going to find out what that meant - parents and other folks alike.

Lorraine and Mike Riley were going to find out in more ways than one what having a son like Michael meant. As time went by, they would see that no matter the test, their son would never back away. He would face the problem head-on, with the determination to ride the course … take the hurdle … and master its downfall. They had a genius in the making; a boy with his head screwed on and his feet firmly on the ground.

Michael was a beautiful and lovable child. He would help the oldest or youngest of souls. Go out of his way to give every ounce of himself … but bullies had better watch out and be prepared. As the saying goes 'no prisoners.' Trooper is one word to describe him, and boisterous … another word of many. He was not to be messed with. So-be-that-as-it-may, cars, toy soldiers, mud fights, and video games were on the agenda. He played toy fighting … losing to the one or two that were on the weaker side wasn't a problem for him. His heart was always for the under-dog. He fought with grit and determination.

Now you're probably thinking that he must have been a nightmare to bring up? Yes and no. He was lovable … and as far as his parents were concerned, he was lovable, helpful, and very polite - like an angel you might say. But give him a reason to dig his heels in, and even mum and dad sometimes bowed to the inevitable. This doesn't mean to say that he always got his own way. He was a kid on a mission, and keeping up with him could be a nightmare. On his days of wrath, he could be, and was the devil in disguise. All through kinder years... well, let's just say he gave as good as he got, which on the odd occasion had the other parents knocking on his door about him fighting with their lovely children. Now, there's one for the books … but if you weren't a bully, you were safe with Michael around.

He went from little angel to baby boy, then to the inevitable pre-teen little monster. He became more independent, but still kept his good manners and respect, which in itself is what made him the little angel - not. But boys will be boys. I mean to say, he was never in any trouble … apart from bullies and their parents.

As an infant in school, it helped young Michael associate with others his age, which in time would show how he could adapt with people and circumstance with aplomb… but bullies beware. From the minute he entered primary school, he took to the change like a duck to water. What he didn't know, he asked - much to the chagrin of the other students; but that didn't deter him one iota. His parents would tell you 'That's where he gave as good as he got,' and usually with a vengeance. Again, boys will be boys.

His average was A+, but Michael himself thought it wasn't good enough … kids! At the start of the school term, having been bumped up two grades, he dug in deep, asking for extra curriculum as homework on what he conceived as his failing subjects. At home one evening, Michael was asked about school and how he was settling into his new environment. He looked perturbed - mum and dad seeing it. As was always the case, he sat and thought before he answered.

"My lessons are good. I know I'll get and keep my results at the end of the year easily! So, I've asked for extra curriculum in English, math, and geography." He saw the doubts of his parents. "Mum, I need to do this!" He said with some trepidation.

It seemed that this kid had to be the best at whatever he did - no compromise.

There was a pause from conversation between his parents. "Son, you have all the time in the world to be the best, you already know you don't have to prove anything to us. Son, your dad and I think you're taking on more than you can handle."

"I need to do this, Mum! Dad! Give me a chance, if it looks like I'm falling behind, or neglecting my chores, I'll stop … I promise."

Again a pause, "Son, this is not about chores; this is about you taking on more than you can handle." There was another brief pause. "Okay, Son, but we'll be watching! And you need to be honest with us if you can't manage … you promise?"

"Thanks, Mum."

Dad knelt down, taking his boy into a hug, "Son, I know you want to better yourself, just don't overdo it, okay? I'm so... so proud of you." Giving his son a final squeeze, "Michael, be a child as long as you can, don't grow up too soon, okay?"

At ten years old, he was ready for the battle. Only a brave person would doubt his commitment and resolve.

Sunday morning, the family was in church, as usual; and the pastor was again taken aback at hearing the angelic tones of this boy named Michael. His voice rang out within the realms of beauty, leaving all who heard it retreating into the depths of their soul. During his final reading, the pastor asked if Michael and his family would remain and speak with him after the service. A little surprised, they remained seated until all had gone home. The pastor came back into the church, arms outstretched in greeting. He looked at the boy smiling. "Child, you have a gift, a gift I wish was mine. When you sing, I see the joy, I see the happiness, I see a boy who has the love of singing. Son, would you like to join the choir?" Looking up to his parents in anticipation, they smiled, then nodded. He hugged them both enthusiastically, with a smile that would light up the Tower Bridge.

Pastor Knowles looked at the boy, "Son, it can be hard work. Practise is twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir, I love to sing." And sing he did. For two weeks he practiced, then the second Sunday of the month, Michael finally got the chance to sing in the choir. His voice was heaven sent - it was beautiful.

October, on a mild autumn day, the pastor asked Michael if he would do the solo for the All Saints' Day service. "You'll have to keep practising!" The pastor was nearly bowled over by the response. Tears of joy flowed down the cheeks of the happy, young boy as he left to go home.

A month of dedication followed. He worked tirelessly on his solo "Amazing Grace." Mrs. Thompson, the organist, looked up to the heavens with tears in her eyes as the final practise came to an end. She knew he was ready, come the service. Michael was like the cat that got the cream. It looked like his face would split in half, his smile was so wide. His mum and dad were so proud. Their son spoke constantly of his solo, he was so excited. Getting him to calm down enough to eat was a major event, but with some serious coaxing they succeeded... eventually!

As is usually the case, the time of reckoning came, and nerves set in. Michael looked scared to death. There was nothing Mum and Dad could do now, all the steel and resolution he had would now have to take over.

Heaven sent was the only way to describe the sound that came out of the mouth of Michael. A field of green daffodils swaying in the breeze, the sky blue with white clouds slowly drifting by, the bright yellow glow of sunlight that gives tranquillity to the heart. Your mind given a sense of peace, as the sound slips into your very soul, while the tones drift into your ears like the glow around a flame. If that wasn't enough to make the heart flutter - come an angel without wings. A tenor would weep with joy at the beautiful and delicate tones that came from what is a vocal avalanche of a child with no fear. The patrons in this house of worship will forever be silenced by what was heard that day. Tears that fell, made their eyes sparkle, which gave cause for one to close their eyes at the glare that shone inside the church. This could have been a second coming with the stares of joy and disbelief at what now spread around the church like a magnet to metal.

After the service, all left at no more pace than the motion of a butterfly. Mum and Dad had to wait till the very end to get close to their son; such was the queue to approve the angel in waiting. Michael asked his parents if he could stay and tidy up, to which of course, they said yes.

There wasn't a lot to be done, except collect the hymn and prayer books, going down each row, making two piles at the end of each pew. Then he would go down the centre aisle, pick up each pile, stacking them in front of the church in a cupboard off to the side near the organ. He sat down in the front pew looking at the statue of the Virgin Mary. The statue of Jesus was at the back of the alter on a wooden cross, situated in between two stained glass windows of Matthew and Mark on the left, and Luke and John on the right.

He was starting to drift off to sleep when he heard the pastor coming in from the vestibule. This had happened a few times over the last couple of months; he was glad he didn't have the headache this time. He put it down to the long hours of practise, the homework, and the extra assignments from school.

"Are you okay, son? You look tired."

"Just extra homework, Father."

"You'd better get yourself off home, then; but be careful." The pastor watched as he unlocked his bike. He waved to Pastor Knowles and set off for home. As he got out of the small courtyard, he decided to take the scenic route through the park. He liked how the trees draped over the lake like a handkerchief.

As he got into the wooded area, he started to feel tired and nauseated, so he got off his bike and sat against one of a huddle of trees. Somehow, he knew that this was more than tiredness. He got up with great difficulty; his head was starting to hurt really bad. Picking his bike off the ground, he walked with it till he came to a clearing, before collapsing in a heap on the soft ground. He woke up sometime later unsure of where he was. Slowly coming to his senses and picking up his bike, he set off again, unsteady as he walked. What should have been a five minute ride had now turned into a journey of forty five minutes. Not having the strength to get to the garage, he collapsed on the lawn, his bike halfway across the path.

His parents were out back, unaware their son was in distress. After a short time, he picked himself up to try to get inside to his parents. As he got to the door, he collapsed again with a thud, and his head hit the door. His mum hearing what she thought was a knock at the door came from the side to see who was at the front door. "Mike, Mike!" The father of their child came running from the back of the house in shock as to why his wife was screaming. When he saw his son, he panicked and ran to him, taking his head in his hands. Michael opened his eyes and looked at his dad.

"Dad, I don't feel too good," then his eyes closed again. Mike carried him inside, while Lorraine dialled 999. She came back with tears streaming down her face. Sitting by her son, she brushed the hair back that now covered his forehead. "Oh, baby, wake up, please wake up." Opening his eyes again, he looked straight at his mother.

"Mum, what's wrong with me? I feel so tired... my head hurts... I feel sick."

"Being so stubborn about all the extra work," she smiled a false smile, but enough to get a smile back in return. Her child was now put at ease … while Lorraine's unease could only give a smile in return. That's what parents do, reassure their children … but who reassures the parents?

They heard the siren, and Dad ran to let them in the house. "He's on the couch," he shouted, as they rushed in. While one ambulance man worked on his son, his dad told the older ambulance man how they found their son collapsed at the front door. He couldn't tell him what had happened, because he didn't know.

Michael's breathing was now becoming labored, and one of the ambulance men opened the respiratory kit. They saw the man inserting a tube into their son's mouth. "It's to help him breathe," said the older man.

After both men were satisfied, he was put on the stretcher, and they set off running to the ambulance to continue working on him. "I'll come with you," his mother more demanded than asked.

"He'll be going to Ipswich General."

"Okay, I'll follow you in the car." With that, they took off, sirens blaring.

Michael would have to fight hard now. Medical help was giving him every chance; but now it was up to him to step up to the plate. Mike arrived at the hospital, parked the car, then hurriedly went to find Lorraine.

Mike came in and, seeing his wife at the reception desk, walked straight to her. "How is he?"

"I don't know." She'd been told with some contempt by the woman at the desk that she would get to her in a minute.

"My son Michael Riley was just brought in, I'm his father," Mike said, holding little regard to his attitude.

The woman at the desk looked at the man, who was somewhat perturbed, then looked away to pick up the phone. "The doctors are with him. I'll tell someone you're here," the receptionist said.

"I know that, I just came in with him," raising her voice in unimagined grief as she leaned into her husband in complete shock.

Lorraine and Mike never left the desk … Lorraine wanted to know about her son, with no concern as to the looks she was receiving from the receptionist.

"They're working on him." Crying, she looked up at her husband, "I'm frightened, Mike. He looked so terrified at home - terrified! God, Mike, why Michael? Why?"

"I don't know, but he'll fight; he's never given up on anything in his life." She nodded, then laid her head against his shoulder still weeping.

A nurse came out and took them to one of the consulting room to the left of the reception desk. "The doctor will come and speak with you when he's finished working on your son."

"How is my son? Is he awake?" Voices raised, trying to get an answer.

"He's his holding his own," the nurse said with a hint of reassurance.

Just then the doctor walked in. Not waiting for the doctor to speak. "How's Michael? Is he awake?" Lorraine asked.

"Mrs. Riley?" Upset and irritated, she nodded. "He's breathing with help. One of the ambulance men said he complained of pains in his head? So, we're sending him for x-rays to be on the safe side."

Mike moved over toward the doctor. "Can we see him?"

"For a few moments, but I must warn you, your son is in a critical condition. When he arrived, he was in severe distress - his breathing labored, so he was immediately put on a ventilator. He is stable at the moment, but we need to get him to x-ray as soon as possible. I know this isn't easy, but please try and keep calm... if only for your son. It is known that patients can pick-up on the distress of people around them."

Wires were draped across the bed with some movement as Michael inhaled and exhaled. A clear hose that was taped to his face came from his mouth into what looked like a pump in a glass tube as the display at the side of his head beeped with every heartbeat. The tubes from two clear bags snaked on either side of him as fluid drained into each arm. He looked like death warmed over, he was so pale. Lorraine, her hand across her mouth, was in shock to see what hours before was a happy, fun loving, young boy - their son! Trying to keep calm was more a case of don't be alarmed.

Mike went to the other side of his son, lifting his hand and enclosing it in his own. There were no words spoken... they weren't needed. He prayed with every ounce of will he had that their son would wake up.

The doctor came in, followed by a porter and two nurses. "Time to go," the doctor said. Michael was wheeled out of the room to the nearest elevator. "Soon as he's had his x-ray, he'll be taken straight to Intensive Care till his condition improves. Someone will come and get you." Then they were gone. The nurse took them to a small waiting room to come to terms to, what in truth, was their grief. Asking them if they wanted anything to drink, which both refused as they sat down. Lorraine leaned over onto her beloved Mike and wept for her son. Mike sat in a daze, thoughts of earlier at the church flooded his mind. His boy, who had more love in his little finger than most had in their whole body. His son, who lit up a room with his joy - what happened…?

"God, my son - one of your children - needs you! Where are you? Please don't take my... our … son away from us!" If the thought had been spoken, it would have been deafening.

A child is what makes a family. How can you console two grieving parents, who need to give the love to keep a family alive? Michael would never be alone in this fight - but he was in a battle that only he could win.

To be continued.... 

Posted: 12/12/14