“Did you get shot?”
“Knife,” he wheezes.
“Oh my God! I’m calling 9-1-1!” My hand is on his forehead as my other fumbles with my phone. I drop it twice before I get a person on the line. I’m crying so hard she can barely understand me, so I have to say it twice.
“Somebody stabbed my boyfriend!”
Luca’s struggling to keep his eyes open; they’re clinging to my face. I’m holding his cheek as I sob my way through the phone call with the dispatcher. She tells me to put pressure on his wounds, and I hang up, wanting to focus on that.
His face is bone white, and his entire body’s shaking. I’m pretending the hot liquid seeping through my pants is something else. I stroke his hair back off his damp forehead and a strangled moan escapes him.
His eyes shut as I peel his jacket back, horrified to find that blood is everywhere. His lips tremble, and he makes a small sound like a whimper, followed by a groan. His full-body shaking picks up as he says, “I…love you…rosa. And I…love…our baby.”
His teeth start to chatter, and there’s blood on his mouth. I wonder if I might pass out as I say, “I love you more, but you’re okay.” I get onto my knees so I can lean over him more, so he can see me better. “They’re going to be here in a second, and the ambulance will help you.”
“Press…on…my chest.” He sounds like he’s choking.
“Oh shit, that’s right!”
I pull off my coat, ball it up, and press it to his chest. I’m sobbing as his half-shut eyes try to hold mine.
“I’ll…find you…” His eyelids drop shut. “Promise.”
Then he’s still. I check frantically for a pulse at his throat, feeling like I might faint with relief when I locate one.
“I love you. Please stay with me. I can’t do this without you!”
That’s the moment that the ambulance arrives. I jump up, waving it down. After its wheels stop rolling, time seems to lunge forward, moving faster and more frantic. I watch numbly as they put Luca on a stretcher—his blood stains the white sheet. As they lift him through the doors, I run behind them. “You can’t leave me! I’m his wife!”
Someone in a blue suit helps me into a small, plastic seat in the back corner of the ambulance, telling me if I’m not quiet, it will be bad for my husband. I nod; I don’t think I could speak if I wanted to. I watch in shock as Luca’s clothes are ripped off. He’s so pale and there is so much blood. I’m shaking so hard that I worry for the baby.
His head lolls as they tape wires and stickers onto him, two people working on him at the same time, shouting things I can’t decipher.
“I love you!”
His lashes flutter. He looks pained, and then I can’t see him for the paramedics’ uniform-clad bodies.
“I don’t like how low this is.”
“We’re ninety-six point two.”
“BP eighty over fifty.”
One of the men looks at me. “Do you know his blood type?”
“No. I’m so sorry,” I sob.
The other one is holding what looks like a blanket to his chest.
“Start fluids, I’ll give a vasopressor. If that doesn’t work and we have time, we could do some O-neg.”
One of them puts a plastic mask over his gray face. Tears are streaming down my cheeks.
“Let’s lift legs. Three…two…one.”
His eyelids flutter as someone puts pillows under his legs. His face twists as one of them does something to his chest.
“It’s okay, Luca. I’m here,” I call.
“Rosa?”
“I’m right here.” I try to lean closer so maybe he can see me.
“I don’t like…blood,” he groans. Then he falls still again, as if he’s passed out.
The paramedics move so fast; it’s like a symphony sans music. I can’t track what they’re doing or make out what they’re saying.
“Is he okay?” I hear myself shout as the ambulance swerves sharply left.
“We’re doing everything we can,” one man says tersely. My stomach heaves so hard, I’m scared I might get sick. Then the ambulance stops hard, as someone speaks over what must be a walkie talkie.
“Ma’am, you stay put until we get out!”
Seconds later, he’s just gone. A woman in green scrubs is walking me in through some automatic glass doors.
“What’s your name?” the lady at the ER’s front desk asks me.
“Sarah…Galante. My husband just came in,” I sob, surprised how badly I’m losing it here in front of a whole room of strangers. “Please help me! I have to be with him!”
“His name?”
“Luca Galante.” I try to say that part quietly.
“One moment.”
She steps away from the desk, makes a call on a black phone that’s mounted on a cement block wall, and then, after a few quiet nods, she straightens, hangs the phone up, and waves me back. “Your husband’s headed into surgery. Follow me right down this hall, please.”