Whiskey and Country

I flipped him over my forearm as instructed, his head low, and hit his back at an angle with the side of my other hand.

“Breathe, little guy. Breathe. Come on. Do it. One breath. That’s all I’m asking.”

My eyes were trained on Jack’s lifeless body. I could do this. We could do this.

My chest hurt, my aching heart about to rip it open, twisting on itself. Now wasn’t the time. I kept my focus on the child.

I hit his back again. And again.

“Breathe, Jack.”

I hit his back once more.

“Don’t even think about not breathing. That’s not an option. Not while I’m here. Spit whatever is in there. And breathe. Do it. Now.” I refocused on my technique. “Derek, help me here. Please. I can’t go through this again,” I muttered through clenched teeth.Because right now, I needed to believe in every saint.

Holding my breath, I hit his back one last time.

A tiny half-chewed piece of banana flew out of his mouth. Jack squirmed in my arms, color returning to his cheeks. My heart untangled itself. I coughed, whizzing air.

Oh god, he’s breathing. He’s alive.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, little guy,” I said, pulling him close to my chest, tears scorching the back of my eyes, raw from not blinking, my adrenaline running high in my bloodstream, as a mix of relief, fear, and helplessness stirred inside me. “I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

All my thoughts went chaotic inside my head.

How could Jack choke on such a tiny piece of food?

I exhaled my relief, my heart thrumming in my chest.

With my fingers, I combed his hair.

“Sir, the ambulance is on its way. Wait for it. How’s the boy? Please check for any breathing distress.” I bobbed my head as if the dispatcher could see me.

“Thank you. I’m fine. We’re fine.”

She kept talking, reassuring me, making sure we were okay.

I hung up as the sound of sirens got closer.

“Thanks, bro,” I said, looking at the ceiling. I kissed two fingers and saluted over my head.

A tightness grew in my chest, and a sensation of dread filled the cavity.

I could have lost Jack. You didn’t, a voice in my head said. Jack is okay. He’s alive. Stop worrying. He’s here. With you. Breathing. But still, I had trouble believing it. The reassurance did nothing to call my jittery nerves.

While Jack and I waited, I gasped to control my shallow breaths, my emotions swirling so fast inside me I couldn’t get a grip over them.

With my eyes squeezed shut, I took a big whiff of his baby shampoo, the chamomile scent laying a balm over my thundering heart.

With both hands, Jack pushed back. Was I hugging him too tight?

We stared at each other for a moment.

Without looking away, he framed my face with his tiny hands as if I was the one who had to be comforted. The one who stopped breathing. “No cry, Nick. No cry. It’s okay. No tears, okay?”

How could he be so calm? He was the one who almost choked to death.

The ambulance arrived a few seconds later, and the paramedics checked Jack’s vitals before laying him on a stretcher.

Rushing to the living room, I picked up his blanket before joining him.

When we settled at the back of the emergency vehicle, I relaxed my stance. Soon enough, I dreaded the phone call I knew could change everything.

“Sir, you did good. The boy is fine. We’re taking him in just for observation. He should be released quickly,” the paramedic, a man in his late fifties, said, clapping my shoulder. “He’s lucky to have you.” His smile resuscitated me, and the giant clamp that was crushing my insides released its grasp a little. Jack wrapped his fingers around mine. My eyes drifted to our joined hands, and I blew out a long breath.

The boy was alive. Nothing else mattered.

“It will be okay. I’m here.” I ruffled his hair, kissed the side of his head, and grabbed my phone, knowing I’d potentially just lied to him.

With a roll of my shoulders, I cleared my throat. “Hey Dahlia, it’s me. Listen…” I paused my breathing until I drew in enough courage to deliver the news.

She screamed. She cried.

And I died a little more inside.