Riding the Bullet Page #5

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Hi, Annie. Jean Parker's son is here.

Could he come up and see her?

Annie's just going down to check in on her.

It'll just be a minute.

Thanks.

It's real.

Then why isn't she dead?

Okay, Annie. I understand.

I will. Thanks.

Annie says you can come up,

but just for a few minutes.

Your mother's had her evening medication,

and she's a little soupy.

Thanks.

Mr. Parker? Hurry up, she's going.

-Going?

-No, I just meant the sedative.

She's going to sleep, that's all I meant.

God, I am so stupid. No, she is fine, just....

-You're not going to faint, are you?

-No.

I know what you did, Al!

Alan?

Honey?

Now, don't you cry.

No need for that.

I came as soon as I heard.

Mrs. McCurdy called.

I told her that the weekend would be fine.

Yeah, to hell with that.

How did you get here?

I hitchhiked.

Gory.

You have blood in your hair.

It's nothing, Mom. I bumped my head.

Not good.

You have to take care of yourself.

I think we should let her sleep now.

She's had a rough day.

I know.

I'm going, Ma.

I'll be back first thing tomorrow.

You get some sleep, okay?

Sleep. That's all I do.

I dreamed we were at that amusement park.

You did?

Waiting in line...

for the roller coaster...

that goes way up high.

Remember that one?

-The Bullet.

-The Bullet, yes.

You were so scared.

And I shouted at you.

Shouted and swatted you.

It's all right, Ma.

I'm so sorry.

That was a long time ago.

You never got your ride.

Mr. Parker, it really is time to go.

I'm gonna see you tomorrow.

-I love you.

-I love you, too.

So sorry.

There's nothing like a brush with mortality

to teach you to appreciate life.

A little bite of death

can help you grow up real quick.

Mom got out of the hospital a few days later.

She walked with a limp for a while.

About a month later she was back at work.

She tried to quit smoking

and for a little while, she did.

Then I came back for spring break

a day early and there she was....

We had a couple of pretty good years

after that.

I visited her most every weekend.

We'd play gin rummy or talk politics

until all hours.

Had a bucket-Ioad of laughs,

as she liked to say.

Mom?

Then one night...

she stopped laughing.

I will never forget

and always regret the choice I'd made.

The memory of that night

out on the Old Ridge Road never faded...

and grew dreamlike, as I expected it would.

I'm sorry, Mom.

I can't help but think

that maybe George Staub...

if there really was a George Staub...

just teased me with a little more time...

a couple more years.

But I was glad to have them.

It unlocked my heart.

Jessica and I got married a year later...

but it didn't last.

It wasn't anybody's fault.

We tried, but nothing ever seems to last.

The Beatles never did get together

in Toronto back in 1969.

They never got together again.

John Lennon's life was taken

by a maniac with a gun...

George Harrison's by cigarettes and cancer.

And I never made a living as an artist.

But I still paint, because it's what I do.

I miss my mom

and I still think about her a lot.

I miss that time, too.

From the time of her stroke in 1969

to the time of her passing in 1972...

my world changed forever.

I think everybody's did.

Nothing seems to last...

but the Bullet.

The Bullet is constant.

The Bullet is always there.

You wait in line, that's all.

When it's your turn to ride the Bullet,

maybe you ride and maybe you run.

Either way, it comes to the same thing.

Fun is fun and done is done.

Nobody lives forever, but we all shine on.

You want a ride?

No, thanks. I think I'll walk.

Take your button and get out of here.

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