Written in the Scars(84)

He reaches inside and pulls the cord. Immediately, the cart starts to move upwards. “What are you doing?” I scream, tears pouring from my eyes. “Cord! Damn you!”

“Take care of Yogi for me,” he shouts over the sound of the dirt giving away.

I see his eyes in the sea of darkness as I ascend. I collapse into a heap on the floor of the makeshift elevator, trying desperately to hear his voice.

“Thanks for everything you’ve ever done for me, Ty,” he shouts as he slips out of sight. “I love you, man!”

“Cord!” I shout, slumping against the back wall, sobbing.





ELIN


“Mrs. Whitt,” Vernon’s voice says beside me. “One more is on the way.”

I’m afraid to look, but there’s no way I won’t. Taking a few tentative steps toward the television, I hold my breath.

The man makes it out of the cart, on his hands and knees, before a blanket is thrown over him and he’s helped to his feet.

“Who is it?” I ask, wheeling around. My heart threatens to explode in my chest. “Who was it!?”

Vernon pokes his head out of the door and pulls back inside. “It was Ty.”

I fall to my knees, weeping into my hands.





TY


“Get Cord!” I scream, my words broken with grief.

I know there’s no chance. The water was too high and the channel was disintegrating as we rose. The cart will never be able to reach him. I know that, but I can’t believe it. I can’t give up.

“Get Cord,” I shout again, my vision blurry as halogen lights shine brightly on me. “Hurry!”

“We’re going back down after him,” a man says to me, but I don’t see his face.

“You have to get him!” I throw my helmet to the side and tug at my hair. “Get him. You have to f*cking get him!”

“Why did you do this to me?” I scream as tears stream down my face as I sob into the night. “Why? Damn you, f*cker!”

My head buries in my hands as my body racks with grief that my best friend just gave his life for me. “Damn you, Cord!”

No one approaches me for a few minutes, giving me time to get myself together. Whether I look together or not on the outside, I’ll never be the same on the inside. A piece of me will be down that hole, a part of me as jagged as the walls of that room.

“Where’s my wife?” I ask, finally taking a proffered towel and wiping at my burning eyes. The white linen is smeared with grease and debris. “Where’s Elin?”

“We’ve sent someone for her. We need to take you to the emergency room, Sir.”

“Not until I see her,” I say, refusing to get into the ambulance. “I need to talk to someone. I need to know if they got Cord.”

A man in a black business suit comes into the tent set up with a look of defeat on his face. “Mr. Whitt?”

“Did you get Cord? Tell me you got him. Please . . .”

“I’m sorry. We hit water.”

“No!” I wail, covering my face with the towel. “No!”





ELIN


“He’s in there.” Vernon points to a grey tent.

I start running, bumping into people, tripping over cables and wires, ignoring requests for me to slow down and questions about who I am. I run, my focus clear: to get to Ty.

Shoving the tarps open, I quickly scan the room. But I hear him before I see him.

My throat closes shut, my heart splintering, as I hear him sobbing from the other side near the ambulance.

Sprinting to the sound, I see him. He’s sitting on a chair, covered from head to toe in black mud. He’s leaned over, his face buried in a towel, his body shaking, nearly convulsing.

“Ty!” I scream and he looks up. I run to him and he stands, catching me as I nearly leap in his arms. “Oh, baby!” I cry, running my hands through his hair, burying my face in the crook of his neck.

I pull back and kiss his face, his lips, as he pulls me the tightest he’s ever pulled me into him before. His entire body is covered in some kind of oily grease. It’s caked in his hair, his ears, his eyes.

“Are you okay?” I ask, wiping the muck off his face. “Tell me you’re okay. Talk to me, baby. I need to hear your voice.”

“I’m fine,” he says. “But Cord . . .”

My heart stops. “Cord?”

“He didn’t make it.”

“No!” I gasp, my legs threatening to go out from under me. Lurching forward, my heart splintering into a million pieces, I reach for my husband.

His big, beautiful eyes fill with tears and our cries mix together, a haunting, lonely sound, as we sink to the ground.

“Cord!” I sob. “No . . .”

Those friendly eyes, his charming smile, his cheeky grin—it all flashes before my eyes. His voice drifts over my ears, not so much words, but the timbre. The ease of his spirit, the kindness in everything he did washes over Ty and I as we sit, entwined, on the dirt floor.

Ty breaks down in my arms, his body shaking violently. “I told him . . . I told him not to . . .” His words are barely able to be understood through his wails. “God, Cord. Why?”

Pulling my husband as close to me as possible, I soothe him the best I can in the midst of my own suffering. Just as I feel myself start to go over the ledge, I feel him. I feel Cord. Like a rush of warmth from a mid-afternoon sun, I know his spirit is here.