Speed Racer Fan Fiction ❯ The Streets of Heaven ❯ The Streets of Heaven ( Chapter 1 )

Mrs. Racer awoke from a deep and peaceful sleep with a start. Beside her slept her husband, Pops Racer. At first, she thought his snoring had awakened her - he sounded like a freight train, after all - then she realized that wasn't it. Something, somewhere in the house, was wrong. Quickly, she rose and checked on her sons.

The first son she checked on slept as peacefully as she had been. He had a wide and bright smile on his face, dreaming away without a care. She kissed his forehead lightly and covered him up to his chin. He had a terrible habit of kicking his covers off.

When she checked on her second son, she knew that something was wrong. His blankets had been kicked onto the floor and he tossed and turned violently. Figuring he was having a bad dream, she sat down next to him and tried rousing him from his sleep. Her expression turned from mild concern to horror the instant she touched him. He was burning up!

"Oh no . . . RICHARD!!"

***

Pops woke to the sound of his wife screaming his name. He jumped out of bed and bolted to the room where he heard his wife screaming for him, his eyes bleary from sleep.

"What? What is it?"

She didn't even have to answer. He saw for himself the sweat-soaked child and his erratic thrashing, despite being cradled in her arms. Pops didn't need to be told what to do. In a matter of seconds, he had his entire family in the car and racing towards the hospital.

***

"Hello God, it's me again. 2:00 AM, Room 304. Visiting hours are over, time for our bedside tug of war. This sleeping child between us may not make it through the night. I'm fighting back the tears as he fights for his life."

Mrs. Racer stared blankly at the I.V. line that dripped the antibiotic and pain medicines into her son's body, his hand held tightly in hers. He had long since quieted into a semi-restful slumber. Every now and again, he stirred but he never opened his eyes. The only sound that came from him was an occasional whimper but it never lasted long.

She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

"I love you, baby. Everything will be all right. I promise."

***

"Well, it must be kind of crowded, on the streets of Heaven. So tell me: what do you need him for? Don't you know one day he'll be your little boy forever? But right now I need him so much more. He's much too young to be on his own: barely turned seven. So who will hold his hand when he crosses the streets of Heaven?"

'Please let him be okay. Please let him make it through. The doctor's wrong. There's no way my son is dying. He's a strong boy. Please let the doctor be wrong.'

Mrs. Racer looked at her son, his hand still held tightly in hers. He grew weaker with each passing moment. She saw it on his face. The doctor had told her and her husband that his chances of living through the night were slim. The sickness had hit him hard and strong, and the longer he slept, the less chances he had to survive. She squeezed his hand. He could fight this and win. She knew it. He had always been a strong boy.

'Please, baby, wake up. I love you and I don't think I can live without you in my life. Please, baby, wake up.'

***

"Lord, don't you know he's my angel? You got plenty of your own. And I know you hold a place for him but he's already got a home. Well I don't know if you're listenin' but praying is all that's left to do. So I ask you Lord have mercy, you lost a son once too."

The room had been decorated in flowers of white, red, orange, and yellow but a heaviness and sadness hung in the atmosphere. Everyone gathered chatted quietly amongst himself or herself, each remembering a special moment with the loved one who had passed away suddenly, quietly into the night. Mrs. Racer sat in a chair, tears flowing down her cheeks but unaware of the people around her. She had lost a son, not once, but twice. This time, however, it was final. He wouldn't be coming home, like she hoped the first one would do.

'He's gone . . . what am I going to do? I can't live like this. No one should have to suffer like this. Why? Why did this have to happen?'

She stared at the coffin that held her son and wept silently with the rest of the mourners.

***

"Well, it must be kind of crowded, on the streets of Heaven. So tell me: what do you need him for? Don't you know one day he'll be your little boy forever? But right now I need him so much more. He's much too young to be on his own: barely turned seven. So who will hold his hand when he crosses the streets of Heaven?"

"Mrs. Racer?"

She looked up at the mention of her name. Before her stood Racer X. She couldn't be certain but he looked like he had been crying.

"Yes?"

"I just . . . wanted to say I'm sorry." His voice cracked slightly. "When I heard the news, I came as quickly as I could. I only wish I had gotten here sooner. Maybe . . . maybe it would have made a difference. Maybe . . ."

"All you could have done was be there for him," she whispered, tears still flowing down her cheeks. "There wasn't anything anyone could do. The doctors said as much."

He gazed at her, as if he didn't want to believe that. She didn't want to believe it herself. Then, he broke down and started crying. Slowly, she stood up and hugged him, a gesture he returned.

"At least he didn't suffer, Racer X," she whispered, more for herself than anything. "He wasn't in any pain. He wasn't in any pain . . ."

***

"And it must be kind of crowded, on the streets of Heaven. So tell me: what do you need him for? Don't you know he'll be your little boy forever? But right now I need him so much more. Lord, I know once you've made up your mind, there's no use in beggin'. So if you take him with you today, will you make sure he looks both ways, and would you hold his hand when he crosses the streets of Heaven."

"Mommy, I want Speedy to come home."

Mrs. Racer choked back her tears when Spritle said that. She, too, wanted her son to come home but knew it was impossible.

"I do, too, Spritle. I do, too."

~Finis~