Holding On

By Bakerj

~~~

I stared up at endless blue sky.  For weeks, Pa had been grumbling we could do with rain, but with a sky like that, it wasn’t likely.  Dry heat filled my lungs.  But it wasn’t so dry that I couldn’t feel the slick moisture spreading on my skin. 

My fingers pressed down on the kerchief that covered the ragged hole torn into my flesh.  The effort of lifting my head was too much.  I let it drop back.  What good would looking again do?  It wouldn’t stop my blood from spilling out of me.  Soaking into the earth—taking my life with it.

Two months shy of eighteen.  A hell of an age to die.  And all over some stupid accident.  But why not?  Andy Tate died last summer after diving into the pond and hitting bottom.  He was only nine.  If he could break his neck and die, why not me?  Why should I be any different? 

My eyes narrowed at the bird wheeling high above me.  Its wings caught the air.  Rising, falling, then rising again.  An eagle?  Or a vulture?  Hoss would know.  What’re you doing, Joe?  Who cares what bird it was?

I turned my head.  Scuffed and battered boards covered the side of the building.  The alley was deserted—that was the idea.  A quiet place where Doug and I could sharpen our fast draws.  Any time we came in for supplies, I’d roust Doug out, and this is where we came to practice.  

After we’d loaded our supplies and split up, the last thing Pa said was he hoped I wouldn’t be wasting time with Doug.  Even Hoss had a low opinion of my friend.  “That fella’s got more tumble than weed,” he’d say. 

They may have a point.

That idiot couldn’t even pull off a trick shot.  When his Colt spun out of his hand, I busted my sides at the look on his face.  My chuckle died in a gasp.  I sucked in short breaths.  The pain eased.  Hell.  It hadn’t been so funny when the gun went off.

My eyes drifted shut.  I forced them open.  Stay awake!  Keep breathing.

Tightening my fingers around the soaked kerchief, I winced but kept up the pressure.  I needed to stay alive.  Pa lost Ma without getting to say goodbye.  I’d be damned if I cheated him of that chance with me.

My insides knotted.  What a way to go.  Dying defending my family would’ve meant something.  Made Pa proud.  Even an illness wouldn’t be so bad.  That was life.  But this?  This I’d never live down.  My smile twisted, then slipped away.  Sweat trickled in my eyes.  I blinked.  How long since Doug went for help?  My hand squeezed the kerchief.  Blood oozed over my fingers.  I wouldn’t be beat.  I would stay alive.

At last, feet thudded on the earth.  Doc. Martin’s face hovered into view.  “Good grief, boy.  What’ve you done now?”

“Someone find Ben Cartwright.”  The voice was Roy Coffee, our new sheriff.  Good.  All I had to do was hold on.

Hands reached to lift me.  I bit back the moan from the firebrand igniting in my side. 

By the time we reached the Doc’s office, I fought to stay conscious.  Roy helped lay me on the table.  Lifting my hand, I hooked my finger into his shirt.  The rough wool felt warm to my touch.  I’d never felt so cold.  Whatever happened, I couldn’t risk Doug being blamed because he was all thumbs.  I focused and pulled.

“I think he wants to tell you something, Roy.”

Smart man, the doc.  The sheriff leaned over.  “What is it, Son?”

The effort of speaking became a battle.  Straining my throat, I breathed out the word, “Accident.”

The sheriff nodded, “I understand.”

“All right, Roy.  I need to get to work.”

Doc. Martin came toward me with a cloth and a bottle.  Ether.  My breathing hitched.  “No.  See… Pa.” 

Shaking my head, I struggled to move away.  Hands pinned me down.  “Little Joe, this can’t wait.  I need to stop the bleeding.”

This wasn’t the plan.  If I died on the table, Pa would never hear my goodbyes—never know what I needed to say.

But my body refused to cooperate.  I couldn’t fight back or stop the cloth from being held under my nose.  That sweet smell of overripe fruit chilled the flesh inside my nostrils and slowed my breath.  And then, the world drifted away.

The murmur of voices pulled me back.  I couldn’t make out the words, but I recognized one.  Pa’s.  A weight lifted.

“He’s waking up, Ben.”

Pa was right beside me.  I knew he would be.  I opened my mouth, “Pa…”

The enormity of what I wanted to say flooded my chest, tightening my throat and choking off my voice.  I knew what losing a son would mean to him.  I knew what leaving my family meant to me. 

Right then, I had no use for regrets.  Clenching my jaw, I dug deep.  Shifting, I lifted my head.  “Pa…”

Strong, gentle hands eased me back down.  “Hush, Son, hush.  Don’t speak.  You’re gonna be fine, but you need to rest.  You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

I let the words sink in like water to a thirsty plant.  Pa had never lied to me.  It had to be true. 

A movement behind my father drew my gaze to the doorway.  My brothers peered into the room.  The relief on their faces sent a knife through me.  I’d put that weight on them.  Hoss dropped a hand on Adam’s shoulder, and they exchanged a look.  Adam folded his arms.  Hoss grinned, “Well, Little Brother, you sure do find interesting ways to avoid doing chores.” 

“Doug told us what happened.  Trick shooting.  Didn’t I tell you that boy was a fool?”

Pa was mad, but that didn’t stop him from squeezing my hand.  Hoss winked.  Taking a breath, I dragged up a smile.  “You… were right, Pa.”

~ The end ~

April 2026