The Book in Room 316 by Reshonda Tate Billingsley

Author:Reshonda Tate Billingsley [Billingsley, Reshonda Tate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

chapter

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23

The only other time I’d felt fear like this was when I’d held my dear Elizabeth’s hand and watched her take her last breath. I was mortified at the sight of my grandson teetering on the bridge, overlooking Highway 59. Thankfully, they’d stopped traffic below so there were no cars. I’d had to take back streets to get here and left my truck illegally parked in someone’s driveway.

The firemen had set up a trampoline under the bridge, I guess to catch him if he fell. I wanted Jeremiah to see me, because maybe I could get through to him.

“Dad! Thank God you’re here,” Charlie said when I approached the scene. Though they’d been near Jeremiah when I first saw them on the news, they were now standing behind some police tape about a hundred feet away.

Britt was a nervous wreck, sobbing and moaning, “My boy, someone save my boy.”

I ignored her as I turned to Charlie.

“What happened?”

“We were fighting as we were headed to pick up Paige, and the next thing I knew, he jumped out the car at the stoplight,” Charlie said. “Now, the cops won’t even let me try to talk to him.”

“My boy . . . My boy . . .”

I wanted to tell Britt that she was just making everything worse, but I kept my focus on Charlie.

“What did you say to him?”

“How do you figure it was me?” Charlie asked, then another police car sped up on the scene. “Can you believe this mess Jeremiah has gotten us into?” Charlie barked. “It’s all on the news. This is just ridiculous.”

I wanted to shake some sense into my son, get him to focus on the real issue at hand, but he’d have to wait.

“Please, may I get through?” I asked the police officer standing in front of the yellow tape.

“No, sir. No one can go in yet,” the officer said.

“I’m his grandfather. I may be able to talk to him,” I pleaded.

The cop looked over at another officer who was looking our way. The other officer nodded, and the cop in front of the tape stepped aside to let me through.

I took measured steps toward the wire fence. Jeremiah had his fingers intertwined in the fence from the other side as he stood on the tiny edge of the bridge, facing away from me. One wrong move and he would plummet thirty feet.

“Jeremiah, what are you doing?” I gently said.

Tears were streaming down my grandson’s face, and my heart dropped as he looked at me but didn’t say anything.

“Son, talk to me,” I said.

He didn’t reply, just continued crying. Finally, he said, “I can’t take it anymore, Grandpa.”

“I know.” I nodded. “I know firsthand how hard it is for you.”

I took a step closer, then motioned to the officers nearby to let me do this as they moved in like they were about to stop me. Thankfully, they backed down.

“No, you don’t know what I’m going through,” Jeremiah said. “I’m bullied at home. I’m bullied at school, and I’m just sick of it.

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