He had almost missed seeing his stepfather’s left foot slide outward; see his arms flail wildly as he reflexively tried to keep his balance; see him disappear from his stunned gaze as he fell, backwards.  He had almost not heard the *THUD* of his head against what had been (thankfully) a seaweed-cushioned rock.

“MOMMMM!!!!”

He yelled, un-heard over the crash of waves.  One of the particularly strong ones splashed droplets on his un-responsive face.  The tide was coming in — not the optimal time to be unconscious

or dead oh shit oh shit maybe hes dead maybe hes dead

on the rocky shore of the New England coast.

“MOMMMMMMM!!”

He ran toward the place where he’d descended, and then stopped.  Could he leave him there?  Could he help him if he stayed with him?

He remembered the First Aid class to which his mother had brought him.  He had not particularly paid attention; that had been an Adult Activity at which his presence was for want of babysitting funds, not his personal enrichment.  He had spent most of those classes reading, playing his handheld video game, muffled under his jacket.  None of which had prepared him for an actual emergency.  Such as his stepfather lying unconscious on the wet rocks, inches from the steady lapping of encroaching water.

yes unconscious thats all hes not actually dead and its not actually my fault

“MOMM–”

“OH MY GOD!”

It was, not his mother, but his aunt.  Her initial look of fear and shock quickly morphed into what he had expected: rage.