I screamed as more shots went off above my head. I plugged my ears with my fingers to block out the sound.
I wasn’t sure how long I was on the ground. I just knew my mom was next to me yelling at the police, telling them I was her daughter. She frantically patted my body, checking for any gunshot wounds.
“I’m okay. Where’s Mason?” I asked, grabbing her by the arm. She pulled me to my feet. I couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening around me. I wondered why the police were no longer there standing behind their car doors.
Mom pulled me toward the street.
I fought back, digging in my heels to stop her from making me leave.
“Kendall, honey, he’s been shot. Let’s go back to the house. We can call the hospital to check on him,” she pleaded with me. Somehow my feet started moving.
I heard the words. That Mason had been shot, but it didn’t make sense. I didn’t understand.
Why would anyone want to shoot Mason?
“I need to see him,” I screamed, suddenly frantic and afraid her words were real. I got free from her grip and ran back to the bank. I passed the ambulance and paramedics as they ran toward the bank with medical equipment.
I got past the cops and made it to the window before anyone could stop me.
I slammed into the glass, my palms pressed against it as I peered in.
“Those are his feet,” I cried out. I couldn’t see his face. But I knew those were his shoes.
One of the paramedics shifted just enough that I could see his face.
I screamed, banging on the glass.
I shouted Mason’s name, begging him to get up. I was inside before I could be stopped. I needed to see him.
“Mason!” I dropped to my knees beside him. He was bloody and still.
“Is he okay?” I asked the paramedic. Her expression was grim.
“Kendall, we have to go,” my mom said. She had been allowed to go inside to get me. “We can go to the hospital and wait there. They want you to talk to an officer; he will meet us at the hospital.”
My mom steered me through the crowd of bystanders. I didn’t fight—I had no fight left in me—and I got into her car. I just wanted to know what was happening to Mason and that he was going to be okay.
JULY 28
TH
WHY WERE HOSPITALS so white?
Was the designer of hospitals anti-color?
Was it supposed to make us feel more comfortable?
These thoughts were on loop in my brain as I sat in the waiting room with my mom. I rested my head against my palm, trying to find a comfortable position in the hard chairs.
The hospital staff was nice enough to give me a blanket to keep me warm as I waited.
The only thing that I knew was that Mason was still in surgery.
So we waited…
I kept my eyes shut to avoid conversation with anyone. Of course, the only thing anyone wanted to talk about was the gun battle that took place at the bank. Everyone had their own version of what happened at the bank. Lots of speculation and gossip filled the air and no matter what I did, I couldn’t completely drown out the talk.
They were saying Mason fired first. I didn’t want to believe that. I couldn’t believe Mason would ever shoot anyone. But a nagging thought kept running through my mind that he’d done it on purpose—that he wanted to get shot. That thought made me sick to my stomach.
“Do you even think they will tell us anything when they’re done?” I finally asked.
My mom closed the magazine she was looking at when I sat up. Her expression was somber.
“His mom is in jail. They have to tell someone,” she said softly.
I thought she must be right. I stood up and walked a few feet to the water fountain. Mason was tough. I just wanted him to be okay.
I wanted another chance to look into his eyes, to hear his voice, to feel his kiss.
I replayed his smile in my mind over and over again. I didn’t want to forget a single thing about him.
The cool water hit my lips. I didn’t drink it. I just let it pass over my lips for something to do—something besides waiting and worrying.
“Kendall,” a tall man said.
I straightened up and wiped the corner of my mouth with my hand. He flashed his badge and quickly shoved it in his shirt pocket.
“Yes?” I asked, hoping to hear news about Mason. Maybe he knew something.
“Could I speak with you for a moment? I’d like to ask you a few questions,” he said.
I stared at him.
He was maybe thirty, well groomed, and taller than most. I wondered how much sympathy a guy like him would have for Mason—or me.
“Sure,” I said, following him down the hall to the vending machines.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, shoving some coins into the machine. I watched his hands shaking as he pressed the buttons.
“No, I’m not hungry,” I said. There’s no way I could put anything in my stomach at the moment.
He nodded with understanding and moved on. “Tell me a little about Mason.”
“What do you want to know?” I asked. “He’s a great guy. He would never harm anyone. Is he okay?”
“I think I am going about this all wrong. My name is John Rhodes.” He wiped his hand against his khakis and offered his hand. “Please bear with me, this is all new to me,” he said. He rested his soda on the ground.
“Hi, John,” I said, letting out a sigh. Somehow it made me feel better knowing he was nervous.
“As of right now they only told me Mason is still in surgery. There was a lot of damage.” He left it at that. I just wanted to know if he was still alive.
“But he’s not dead?” I asked.
“He is not dead. I haven’t heard that.” He shook his head.
He picked up his soda and cracked it open.
“What’s going to happen to him?” I asked. I knew if Mason made it out okay he still wasn’t going to be free.
“I can’t really say either way. We have a lot of people looking into things. Mason committed a crime. And that can’t be ignored. But we also understand there are extenuating circumstances—that he’s been through a lot over the years,” he said.
He raked a hand through his short brown hair.
“Mason and I never had a choice. He was forced to go along with everything that’s happened all these years. He’s a good guy. He’s the most caring person I know. He would never hurt anyone,” I said. I wiped my tears away.
“Those two women, Wanda and Payton, they’re the ones responsible for ruining his life. They’re the ones who should be shot, not Mason,” I interjected.
“Look, I know you’re young and I’ve learned a little about your past. I feel for you, I really do. But Mason is a bit older than you and he’s made some bad choices. Choices you may not even be aware of. If he pulls through this, he’s looking at some major legal obstacles. I’m not going to lie to you, Kendall, it’s hard to say if there’s a judge out there willing to forgive someone like him,” he explained.
It was true. People were going to judge him. He wouldn’t get any kind of sympathy or credit for trying to save me.
“I won’t keep you too much longer. I just wanted to know if you ever witnessed Mason committing any crimes.” He pulled out a notepad.
I really couldn’t believe this man’s stupidity. As if I would confess to all of our sins. All the things we did because we saw no other options.
“No, I didn’t. The only thing Mason did was try to break free from Payton. He wanted better for us. That’s all he ever talked about,” I said.
He nodded, jotting something down on his paper. “I will let you get back now. Thank you,” he said.
I turned to leave and stopped in my tracks. “Who will they notify of his condition when he gets out of surgery?” I asked.