Playing Doctor by Honey Palomino
Prologue
DOC
JUNE, 1958
Blood.
So much blood.
Not only was it splattered all over my clothes, all over the ground, and all over my best friend Danny’s screaming face, but it was still currently spurting out of the gaping wound of what was left of his hand.
And there wasn’t much.
Barely attached by the tendons and who-knows-what else, it dangled loosely from his arm like a deflated balloon.
I stood frozen in time, my eyes darting over Danny, his mangled hand, and the still buzzing circular saw that was now lurching over the ground. My mind raced, his screams piercing my ears painfully.
My thoughts pulsed through my head one by one, like a loud drum.
We were alone.
We needed help.
I needed to run inside his house and call his father.
No, an ambulance first, and then his father.
But the blood. There was so much. Crimson-red and warm and sticky, it seemed to cover everything in sight.
A flash of a movie I’d seen exploded in my head and I knew what I needed to do.
First, I unplugged the saw so it didn’t do any more damage. It came to a sudden stop in the corner, covered in Danny’s blood.
Then, I reached down and pulled off my belt. Quickly, I wrapped it around Danny’s arm and pulled it as tight as I could.
His scream pierced my brain.
“I’m so sorry, dude, I have to do this to stop the bleeding!” I insisted. “Don’t move!” I wasn’t sure, though. I was only copying what I saw, and who knew if it was right or not. All I knew was that I needed to do something.
I took off running for the house.
“I have to get help!” I shouted to Danny over my shoulder, hoping he could hear me, hoping he could understand through his blinding pain and fear that I was going to call for help and not just abandoning him.
It took way too long to finish the calls and his father was hysterical, but he assured me he was on the way, as well as the ambulance dispatcher.
By the time I made it back to Danny, he was pale and shuddering. The blood spurting from his arm had slowed just a little. I’d grabbed a towel in the house and now I gently placed it around his limp hand and tried to apply pressure but I had no idea where to press.
It was easily the worst thing I’d ever seen in my young life.
Danny and I had been best friends since we first met in second grade three years ago. During the summer, we hung out at his house together while all of our parents were at work. He’d wanted to surprise his father with a father’s day present and was confident he knew how to use the saw in his dad’s workshop safely.
Apparently, that was not the case.
“It…hurts…so…bad,” His mouth quivered as tears poured from his eyes.
“You’re gonna be okay, Danny, I promise,” I said. The fear in his eyes was too painful to look at. Almost more painful than hearing his screams.
I’d never been more happy to see anyone than when that ambulance arrived.
“Did you do this?” One of the men asked when he saw the belt around Danny’s arm. My own fear rose at his question. Had I messed up? Had I hurt my friend?
“Yes, sir,” I answered, haltingly.
“You may have just saved your friend’s life, buddy,” he said, before he and his partner lifted up the gurney that held Danny’s alarmingly lifeless body.
Hope soared in my heart at his words, even though Danny’s appearance did not strike hope at all. I chose to believe the man.
Danny’s father pulled up and rushed out of his car just as they were loading Danny into the ambulance. His wild eyes were frantic with worry.
“Danny!” He screamed, his voice full of anguish. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Thanks to the quick thinking of his friend, I think so,” the man replied.
His father’s head swiveled over to me and a wave of gratitude washed over his face. I tried to nod to him reassuringly, but what did I know?
“Thank you, Mason,” he said, before the doors closed, shutting Danny into the back of the ambulance with him.
I stood alone, watching them drive away with the sirens blaring, my own bloody hand waving a slow goodbye.