Drowning in You (13 page)

“
But—but I
don’t get it.” Darcy leans around to ask Lisa, “Will he
live?”

“
Charlee, it’s
fine. I can run through details with you alone later. After the
doctor gives you an official status.”

Please, no. I do not want to
hear it. More so, I cannot physically be in that room when she
tells me these things or else I may lose my mind.

“
No! I want to
know!” Darcy shouts.

I hush him and press my arm
more tightly around him.

Lisa breathes in slowly and
places her hands on both of his thighs. “Darcy, your dad isn’t
dying now. The doctor will have to chat to you later when he’s done
but to give you an idea, your dad will need some operations to help
his body parts that don’t work so well anymore. After the accident
we helped him, but his insides are still hurt.”

Lisa turns to me and lowers her
voice, “The issue with the transplant is your father is in a
delicate state. His health looks like it will continue to decrease
overall in the coming weeks. He’s on a drip to replace the
nutrients he isn’t receiving through his food, and we have
medication to sustain him, but—”

“
But he will
still die soon.” Darcy scoots closer to Lisa and looks at her.
“Next month?”

“
Darcy!” I
yell. An old lady hobbling in on a young lady’s arm stares at us
from the other side of the dividing nurses’ station. “You can’t say
that. Dad isn’t dying and he won’t die, so be quiet!”

“
Charlee, the
current situation is halfway between your estimations, actually.
Walter’s condition may worsen within minutes or hours, in which
case emergency surgery will be necessary, but he’s in very safe
hands with our experts here at this hospital, which means the
slightest issue, like this afternoon, and we’re on it in
seconds.”

Lisa points to something behind
Darcy and me. We turn, but I don’t get what’s she’s referring
to.

“
That little
red light on the wall? Well, Darcy, that and our pagers and alarms
alert us the very millisecond anything happens to your dad. He’s in
the best place he can be with the smartest people to help
him.”

Darcy wipes away his sniffle.
In my grasp, I feel him deflate. “Oh. Okay.”

I want to ask what she’s really
saying. That our dad will always be in this limbo state, one step
forward, two steps back until he falls off the end of the
staircase, tumbling into a black abyss where living doesn’t
exist?

In fact, my mom would be
badgering me to ask this very question. A surge of power courses
through my body. It’s this responsibility, this position I’m in,
where my mom can’t help, my brother understands what any
ten-year-old hearing this will understand, and I’m supposed to be
this adult that’s strong and resilient.

You see this stuff. Those teens
in the movies who save the day. The three-year-old toddler who
dials emergency services to save her mother who’s collapsed.

Well, that’s not me.

Once again, for the umpteenth
time since the accident several weeks ago, I don’t ask questions. I
accept what she tells me.

Her promises do sound good,
when I think them over. There are too many professionals within
this building helping my dad—doctors, specialists, nurses, so many
of them.

Still, this thought doesn’t
comfort me.

What comforts me is knowing my
dad can’t die anyway.

Mom?
I think.
Dad won’t leave
us like you did.

12. Alcohol and Women

Dexter

“
I don’t think
that’s a good idea, bro.”

I called
Elliot to hang out at Bar 9 and that was his reply. They
weren’t
his
words
but he passed them on from our other friends who are close with Rob
and Benny. After their idiotic KFC stunt, I’ve reached a point of
not caring about judgmental dickheads anymore.

I park my dirt bike in a far
corner of the parking lot near the bar and chain it to a pole,
since the thing has the security level of the rusted piece of metal
it is. When I pull the helmet off my head, a girl in line next to
Elliot points in my direction.

I’ll kill the guy. He brings
along girls. And not just any girls but Raych’s two friends. Thank
God Raych isn’t here because I can’t take her anymore. I used to
want the sex but now I don’t want that and she doesn’t really talk
to me.

I picture the evening playing
out, one friend eventually sliding her hand up my thigh, the other
plastered to my hip, leaning in real close, boobs jiggling as she
laughs at everything I say. Somehow it doesn’t sound very
appealing.

Funny how some things change
you. I’d much rather turn around and pretend I couldn’t make it
after all, but Elliot spots me and waves me over to join them.

Friend One says hello by
scowling at me, and Friend Two sniffs the air as if my scent is
poison, and turns her head away.

So, not what I
was
exactly
expecting, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

I’m about to give it to Elliot
for bringing them along, when a bouncer waves us up the line and
asks for IDs. We all hand them over and everyone is waved through
the door until they get to me.

“
Sorry. We’re
full,” the seven-foot-tall guy grunts.

Well, as I’m not known for
turning away from someone who wants to block me, I say, “No, bud,
you’re mistaken. My three friends are in there already and one
extra damn body isn’t going to mean shit for this club except for
the money I spend buying those girls drinks at the bar.”

“
No,
bud
,” he says, stepping
close to me, “it’s now full and you’ll have to get
lost.”

He stares me down with his best
Schwarzenegger glare that I guess I’m supposed to find menacing.
Instead, I smirk, pushing past the arm that’s blocking my path. He
grabs my arm and throws me back. The other bouncer takes hold of me
and says, “That’s fine, I’ll escort him back to his ride.”

“
Fuck off,” I
say, peeling back his fingers.

He twists my arm behind my back
and takes me around the corner into the alley, to my “ride”. He
gives me a few goodbye blows and wishes me a good night. “Don’t you
go murdering anyone else,” he croons, disappearing from view.

I stagger to my dirt bike.
Eventually, I notice my cell’s been ringing. I pick it up but the
call ends.

Elliot’s left two messages
asking where I am. Why wasn’t I out front when he came back to see
why I wasn’t following.

I
text,
I threw up and they barred me. Have
fun. I’ll cya another time.

The truth would ruin his night,
so I’ll keep it to myself.

The ride home is long. My shirt
feels like it’s made of gauze, the sharp breeze easily pricking my
skin as hard as if I were standing in a wind tunnel. I lean the
bike against the carport and when I’m in the living room, collapse
face-first onto the sofa.

I’ve wondered if I was being a
wimp, using the excuse that “holding Charz at arms’ length” was for
her own good. After tonight, I can’t ever go out with her anywhere
because I was right. If those bouncers were to think about laying a
hand on her, I’d use some very convenient wrist pressure points
until I had them kneeling, and I would stop pummeling them only
when they stopped moving. Either that or they’d beat the shit out
of me before I got the chance.

I don’t make many smart choices
but the one thing I know is if I don’t spend time with Charz in
public this can’t happen.

I should really take my own
advice, but, then again, all I can think of is what the nape of her
neck would taste like.

* * *

The next day I
laze around, strumming chords from some of Maroon 5’s songs and
picture Charz twirling in bed sheets, at the edge of that big water
fountain feature in the music clip to
She
Will Be Loved,
imagining her shuddering
under my touch as I trace the small of her back and the dimples
there.

I’m starting to cave. I want to
see her. When my cell rings, I jump. “Mom” pops up on my screen.
Strumming random chords on my guitar, I watch as the cell rumbles
to the edge of the bedside table with each ring. There’s a sense of
relief thinking about it falling off the edge, but phones don’t
smash on carpet, no matter how hard you wish for them to break, so
I snatch it up. Hearing her voice suddenly makes me feel glad.
“Mom. What’s up?”

“
Hi, sweetie.
Just doing the rounds here at work. I really need some sleep.” She
pauses for a yawn. “Oh,” she sighs, “sorry about that. What are you
up to?”

It’s Saturday, Mom. I should be
going with my friends to the movies to eat too much popcorn that
Elliot refuses to stop buying, and wasting money on games at the
arcade next door.

But instead I say, “Just
messing with my guitar.”

“
I’ll buy you
an extra large coffee if you meet me for lunch at the shops
downstairs. I might buy you food, too, if you’re nice
enough.”

Her voice is light and playful,
but this is Mom, so I know what she’s really saying is “I’m tired
and I’d really like you, my son, to hang out with me because I want
company.”

“
Sheesh, I
dunno, Ma. Free lunch sounds expensive.”

“
What? I won’t
let your dad know. Don’t worry, Dex. He won’t know about it. I
won’t let you pay me back a cent.”

“
No, I mean
for you. I don’t know if I’d be able to live with myself knowing I
let my mother pay for my lunch at twenty-one. This shit gets
around, you see. I’d be known as the pansy who has lunch dates with
his mom.”

Better than what I’m known for
now.

She makes a
sound of relief, half-chuckle, half-sigh, and presses me to come.
The poor lady must actually be desperate so after a few more
back-and-forths, I pretend I’ve finally caved in, which makes her
all
oh, thank you!
and
I really appreciate you taking
time to see me
.

If my friends are willing to
fuck me off that quickly, I guess it has come down to lunch dates
with Mom. I couldn’t care less.

I put my guitar back in its
case (two layers of ratty blankets) and push it under my bed.
Weaving around my floordrobe, I find and sniff the drawstring pants
I added yesterday. They smell damn terrific. So I pull them on and
climb into an old T-shirt I used to wear pre-gym. But I can feel
the material hugging my muscles so I throw on a sweater so Mom
won’t notice. She offers to pay for my clothes so I can have new
ones but I prefer my comfortable, broken-in stuff.

As I walk out the front via the
carport, I run through the bus timetable wondering if I have to run
my ass off to the stop around the corner or if I have time to
dawdle—but it doesn’t matter. My dirt bike is still leaning between
the fence and the carport, under its cover. It’ll take time to get
used to having my own ride.

When I kick
back and start the engine, a thrill pinches between my shoulder
blades. Awesome that the damn thing decided to
start
today. For fun, I rev the
handle a couple times, inhaling the fuel fumes through the
full-head helmet.

I take off and speed to the
hospital. I’ll tell Mom I was close by so she won’t catch on, but
I’d rather get caught for speeding than spend my life never
experiencing the adrenaline rush from riding this thing. Luckily,
the cops aren’t around much in the middle of the day, so I should
be good.

It’s as the wind peels up my
loose pants and whips at the material at my wrist that I remember I
forgot my candy. As a nurse, Mom has a fucking heart attack every
time she realizes I’m out in public without them.

Minutes, Dex. You could fall
into a coma within minutes of what’s happening to you and you’re
helpless.

What if I don’t give a fuck?
What if I can cope without them, huh? The thought of my diabetes
holding me back from life, from being able to eat lunch in front of
anyone other than Mom, Dad and Tahny without ducking to the
bathroom first to jab my insulin injection pisses me off. I hate
being half fine with how things are with my body; having to hide
parts of me and pretend I’m feeling confident. Who does that make
me as a person? No one? When I leave my candy behind, there’s
always a feeling of satisfaction that I’ve somehow won, that I
don’t need to rely on sugar to save my life as per every other
normal person.

To say Mom is shocked when I
come up behind her and rest my hands on her shoulders is an
understatement. She yelps, spinning out of my grip and turning to
face me, only then bringing her hand over her chest and
sighing.

As promised, she finds the
nearest nurse and tells them she’s signing off for lunch and
hurries me downstairs. We buy lunch: her a bean salad and me a lean
steak and sushi rolls, and take it to our usual spot. When we turn
the corner and methodically sit on the retaining wall, a memory
rushes back to me: being worried I would crush the brown, dying
leaves behind me, worried I’d get dirt on my ass, trying to smell
Charz’s sweet candy perfume through the wind.

Trying to ignore those feelings
I blurt out, “How’s Dad doing these days? I barely see him.”

Mom spoons a mouthful of beans,
having me wait while she covers her mouth and chews. “I’ve been
meaning to chat with you about this.”

It sounds like she’s thought
over this conversation many times. I gulp down a piece of steak,
which I’ve cut too small to chew this much, and which still somehow
feels like a plug in my throat when I swallow.