Ghosting (19 page)

FELIX

joey pigza and i are walking down the sidewalk, past bonnie’s sweet shop, and he’s bouncing along, like a springy crazy rubber ball, like he might bounce himself straight up to the sky.

but i pull him back down, and tell him we need to talk, about what happened, and he turns to me, all serious, and says he doesn’t want to talk about the past.

The past is messed up,
Joey, he says.

i get confused because i’m not joey, he is.

but then he’s telling me about his drinking, about how when he drinks too much he does stupid stuff. and now i’m really confused, because he’s not joey, and i’m not joey. instead, he’s my dad, or else he’s joey’s dad.

then he says:

I’m sorry.

and that’s when i wake up.

MAXIE

Felix is really groggy

and confused,

like he has no idea

why he’s in

the hospital.

Max?
he says in a hoarse raspy voice.

Yeah, Felix,
I say, my heart ready to burst out of my chest.

I know I should be calling

the nurse,

or

Felix’s mom,

but for

just this moment

I want to gaze back into

that open,

wide-awake,

no-more-coma

eye.

Then,

even though it’s like

a line out of

a dumb movie,

I can’t help myself

and say,

with a big, beaming

smile on my face,

Welcome back, Felix.

And guess what.

Felix looks at me

and smiles.

Friday, December 10

FELIX

when i woke up my whole body ached. and my vision was weird. i couldn’t figure out for a while that it was because my right eye was gone.

mom went nuts when she came in the hospital room and saw i was awake. and max’s smile couldn’t have been any wider. so even though my body felt weak and useless, like all my muscles had been vaporized, it still felt good, to be back.

here’s the amazing thing, though. i have no memory of that night. zero. zilch.

i remember getting high in the suv outside that party, hearing anil’s telescope story and max talking about her day at the beach with the sea glass and sandcastle. but after that, nothing.

mom and the doctors didn’t tell me right away what happened. just said there had been an accident. i assumed it was a car accident. but when i got stronger, when i wasn’t so freaked out about my eye, mom told me the whole story.

it was unreal. didn’t even sound familiar, or like it could actually be true. i mean, i believed her. i had to. but faith almost dying, brendan in a wheelchair, and a guy named
walter smith in jail awaiting trial, i couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

the doctors said that my amnesia about that night was completely to be expected. and that most likely i’d never remember any of it. it kind of bothered me to have this big fairly crucial chunk of my life be missing, along with my eye. but max said i was lucky.

max even said she’d give anything to have that night wiped from her memory, forever. and seeing the pain in her face, i realized that maybe i am lucky.

at least about that.

CHLOE

“One Thing I Wish I Hadn’t Seen”

When I’m doing

my volunteer shift

at the hospital

sometimes I spot

Brendan in his wheelchair,

arriving for, or leaving after,

outpatient rehab.

One day I see him chatting up

Suzie, this cute young nurse

with curly brown hair.

They’re laughing

and flirting and

I’m thinking it’s really nice

to see Brendan smiling

like that, but then I see her

slip him something that

looks like pills.

The way she darts her

eyes around to see if

anyone is watching

makes me wonder

FAITH

I dream

sometimes

about those

white birds

and in

the dream

they begin

to form

into wings

around my

shoulders,

a giant

pair of wings

made up

of white

feathered

birds

who are

lifting me

higher and

higher.

But then

I hear voices

from below,

calling me.

Faith,
they say.
Come back.

And it’s

Emma’s voice,

loudest

of course,

and Dad’s

and Mom’s,

even Polly

has a voice

in this

dream.

So I tell

the birds

that I need to

go back.

And gently,

very gently,

they start to

descend,

back down

to

earth.

I told

my friend

Francesca

about

that dream

and she

teased me

about my

Near Death

Experience,

said that

Oprah will

probably

be calling

to ask for

an interview.

And then

she folded me

the most

beautiful

white

paper crane

I’d ever

seen.

Wednesday, December 15

EMMA

I dream about that boy Walter Smith.

Over and over I dream about him,

his rifle pointed straight at me.

But in the dream when I raise my hand,

the thing in my hand isn’t a rubber crow.

It’s a gun.

In the dream I aim that gun at Walter Smith,

and I shoot him. Again and again.

Bullets tearing into him. Until he is dead.

FELIX

mom tells me that the first thing she did when i came out of the coma was to call my dad in afghanistan. she said it took a little maneuvering but he’s coming home, has a flight out next saturday.

I’m not seeing him,
I say, interrupting her going on about how excited he was to get the news and all of us being together for Christmas.

What?
she says.

He never said he was sorry.

What do you mean?
she asks, looking anxious.

He never told me he was sorry. Did he ever say he was sorry to you?

she stares at me.

Felix, if you’re talking about last year, that night when you saw . . . ,
she says.
I mean, it really wasn’t what you thought it was.

Mom,
I say,
I know exactly what it was. And it was really messed up. And it was even more messed up that you acted like nothing happened, that you’re still acting like nothing happened.

tears suddenly flood her eyes.

I . . . Felix, it’s just . . . ,
she starts.

then she breaks down, sobbing hard, her whole body shaking. and suddenly she runs out of the room. i want to get up and follow her but i can’t. more than three months on my back in a hospital bed has turned my muscles into a bunch of worn-out rubber bands. they say it’s going to take at least a month of rehab for me to even be able to walk again.

i stare at the door, feeling bad. but i don’t regret what i said. and i’m not going to change my mind.

Friday, December 17

MAXIE

I visit Felix

in the hospital,

a few days after he gets

his new eye,

his fake eye.

He asked me to come because

he said he wanted to

test drive it

with me,

since I had a good eye (ha-ha)

for

color

and light.

He had told me all about

how they would fit him

for it,

how it would match his

other eye

exactly,

how it wouldn’t be made of glass

like he was hoping,

but of some

acrylic material.

When I walk in the room

Felix is sitting up in bed.

And it is amazing

to see him,

with no more bandages,

and two eyes

looking back at me.

There is puckering

in the skin

around his right eye

and some faint white scarring,

but it really is

something,

how real

his new eye

looks.

Wow,
I say.

Yeah, it’s pretty awesome, what they can do,
he says
If you look closely, you can tell, because of the way it doesn’t move like the other.

If you say so. But the color is perfect. Amazing,
I say.

He smiles.

Thanks, Max,
he says.
I can do tricks. Wanna see?

I don’t know . . . ,
I answer, apprehensive.

And of course he does it,

pops his fake eye

right out of the

socket,

which gives me sort of a sick feeling,

mainly because of the hollowed-in

look of the empty socket.

But he’s holding the acrylic eye

in the palm of his hand,

and I can’t resist.

I pull out

my camera.

Flash.

He beams at me.

Nice,
he says.
You should submit that to the school lit magazine.

Maybe I will,
I say, smiling back.

He puts the eye back in,

and I don’t watch.

The nurses say I shouldn’t do that too much, unsanitary or something, but I knew you’d appreciate it,
Felix says.

Do you know when you might be going home?
I ask.

I think pretty soon,
he starts, but then I see him looking past me toward the door.

Emma is standing there,

leaning on crutches,

in the doorway.

Hey, Felix,
she says with a grin,
I heard you finally woke up.

Felix grins back.

I was just showing Max my new eye,
he says.

Emma comes further into the room,

peering closely at

Felix’s face.

Jeez, I can barely tell which eye is the fake one,
she says.

He points to

his right eye.

Excellent,
she says.

You doing okay, Emma?
Felix asks.

Yeah,
she says.
I’m hoping this next surgery is the last. It’s getting old.

She spots the pile of

Joey Pigza books.

Hey, I remember those,
she says, crossing over to them and picking one up.
You read them about twenty times, back in middle school.

Yeah, and did you hear about my Joey Pigza miracle? Max was reading it to me and, shazam, I woke up,
Felix says.

Good old Joey Pigza,
she says.
Faith had a miracle, too. An official NDE.

Very cool,
says Felix.

Yeah, there were these white birds and glowing light . . .

While she talks

Emma has been straightening

the pile of Joey Pigza books,

but then she trails off

and suddenly looks

like she’s about

to cry.

What’s wrong?
I ask.

Nothing,
Emma whispers.
It’s just Brendan . . .

She stops abruptly,

an uncertain look

on her face.

The three of us get quiet.

Then Felix clears

his throat.

Hey, Emma, I can do this amazing trick,
he says.

EMMA

At first, in the weeks and months after

that night, I hated Walter Smith. I hated

everything about him. Even his name.

I hated that he took so much

from all of us, but especially

from Brendan and Felix.

But something Faith said changed me,

not right away but gradually.

She felt sorry for Walter Smith.

I was pissed when she said it,

my soft-hearted, wrongheaded

little sister.

Walter Smith was a freak,

who raised a gun to his shoulder

and tore our lives apart.

Feel sorry for him? How?

But even though I tried to avoid reading

the stories in the newspapers, I couldn’t help it.

And one of them, an in-depth report

by someone who was a good writer,

told Walter Smith’s life story.

And it was really sad. Walter Smith had always had

so little. Not one single person cared if he

lived or died, except his crazy old grandmother.

No mother or father or sister. No friends.

Just his cowboy books and cowboy movies.

He never had a chance.

Monday, December 20

CHLOE

“How Many Dumb Blondes Does it Take to Screw in a Lightbulb?”

One of the nurses sends me

on an errand to the rehab unit

and I happen to catch Brendan

as he’s finishing

his physical therapy.

I can tell he’s really

working hard,

the way he used to

in lacrosse practices.

Which seems like a good sign.

Unlike that thing I saw

a while back,

with the nurse Suzie.

He’s all sweaty, with a towel

draped around his neck

as he wheels toward me.

When he gets closer I can

see that his eyes are red,

the pupils constricted,

like the eyes of a patient

I helped out with last week

who had been on narcotics.

Hey, Chloe Carney,
he says,
how’s Highland Park Hospital’s cutest volunteer?

Good,
I answer. And then I add,
So I saw you flirting with that nurse Suzie the other day.

Oh yeah?
he says, darting a little look at me.

Yeah,
I say.

What can I say? This chair is pretty much a chick magnet.