911

I'll be fine, I said.

Just going to stay home and read some books, I said.

They all left to see the new house. Mom, Dad, Kate, Josh, the family car, all gone. For a few hours, they said.

Yeah, right. I wasn't going to read. That simply wasn't going to happen. There were video games to be played.

After a few hours of Jedi dismemberment, I calculated that my family was surely on the verge of coming home, and I didn't want them to see me still on the computer. I picked up a believable book and plopped myself on the couch.

After about another hour on the couch it was getting dark and I was starting to get worried. And hungry.

One of those I could fix. After a few string cheeses and a handful of tortilla chips, I was only worried.

With a bit of food, my imagination went into overdrive. The grueling silence was beginning to echo around the unfinished basement. Darkness was creeping in the blind-free windows.

I needed to do something. I went around the house, turning on lights. I flipped the TV on and cranked the volume. Ambient noise buzzed through the house.

Having turned on every light in the house, I went upstairs and sat in the living room. Waiting.

Didn't help. I couldn't stop thinking. What if they were bloody and dead, their car a burned-out husk? Who would tell me? Who would inform the family (me)?

The police. The police would come to the door, just like in the movies. "I'm sorry, son," they'd say. "It's about your family."

I had just moved to Logan: I didn't know anyone. I'd have to find some phone numbers of family members. I'd have to call and ask to be adopted by some other family--maybe my uncle. I saw myself in a black suit, standing by four caskets.

I paced the house, moving from room to room. It wouldn't leave my mind. I was panicking. My breathing intensified. My heartbeat was stuttering.

I should have gone with them. I could've saved them. I could've changed things.

Phone numbers. I needed to know which extended family members to call. My hands were shaking as I rummaged through the basket of bills and phone numbers my mom kept next to the corkboard in the kitchen.

I took that deep shuddering breath that always precedes some serious crying. She had always done bills, but it was past-tense now. She was gone and nothing I could do would bring her back.

I had led to the deaths of my family members because I wanted to play some stupid video games. My lie had been the difference between life and death.

The only thing left to do was to get the confirmation. I was crying now. I picked up the phone next to the now-scattered collection of bills and paperwork. Hands still shaking wildly, I punched in the numbers.

"911 Response, please state your emergency."

I was sobbing into the phone. "I'm home alone and. And. And."

The respondent was all business. "Remain calm. What's your emergency?"

I couldn't ask the question I wanted to ask. I needed to ask.

"Are any of my family. Are. Are. Are."

The front door opened.

They were all there. I was standing next to the kitchen counter, holding a phone, sobbing uncontrollably.

My mom hurried to me. "What's wrong?"

Nothing, I lied. Nothing at all.

Yeah, right.