Me Again (24 page)

From behind me I heard my father’s voice.

“I’m going to, uh, take a little walk or something...” His voice sounded shaky and small.

“Okay,” I said. I was on my knees in front of the stone, but I didn’t remember kneeling. “I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” came my father’s voice, already farther away.

“Maggie,” I said, perhaps to the stone, or to the ground, or to the small coffin it concealed. Or maybe to myself.

I looked at the ground between my knees, and realized I recognized the sight. I had knelt in front of this stone before.

Without thinking I reached my hand down, probing the grass just in front of the stone. Then I was probing deeper, thrusting my fingers into the soil, trying to break the surface, feeling for... feeling for what? My fingers struck something round and smooth, and I knew.

I dug both hands in now, and in a moment I had excavated the small hard object I’d been drawn to like a dowsing rod to water.

I brushed the dirt off it, and the red smooth surface glinted in a ray of sunlight that had managed to penetrate the shade of the gnarled tree.

“Buddha belly,” I said, regarding the small smiling figure that sat cross-legged in my palm. The last one. The one Mrs. Margolis said had been lost.

“Jesus, Jonny – what the hell are you doing?” My father’s voice broke my reverie, signaling his unexpected return.

But I was neither startled nor upset. Without looking up I said, “I just found something I left for Maggie. Something I knew she always liked.” I was smiling. Kneeling and dirty atop my sister’s grave, I was smiling.

I turned to face my father, holding the ceramic figure out for him to see.

If he recognized the object, he didn’t show it. He regarded me intently, as if reevaluating some assessment he had made of me.

“You buried that thing the time I brought you here?
That’s
what you were doing?”

“I think so. But I never remembered it until now.”

Dad looked pretty uncomfortable, but I had to acknowledge he’d been having an unexpectedly rough morning. “So,” he said, “you want to keep that thing to remember her by?”

I looked at the Buddha, considering. “No,” I finally said. “I want to leave it here. For her to remember
me
by.”

Now it was my father’s turn to say “Oh.”

I turned and dug my fingers back into the soil, creating a small opening for my parting gift to my sister. Just as it had seemed important so many years ago, it seemed important now to return this gift to its proper place.

Dad stood over me, watching in silence as I re-buried the small statue, then straightened and smoothed the surrounding turf.

Finally I stood up, working the dirt off my hands as best I could.

“You ready to go home?” my father asked.

“Yeah,” I said, “I’m ready.” I started to walk towards the car, but then my father surprised me by striding past me and stooping over the stone. He put his left hand on the stone and crossed himself with his right. Then he said something I couldn’t quite hear, and turned to join me on the path back to the car.

“Thank you for bringing me out here,” I said. “And I’m sorry for the way I sprung this on you.”

Dad cleared his throat. “We’ve all had a lot sprung on us this year. I’m just glad this is out in the open.”

Hastily he turned to me, his voice concerned. “I’m not sure how much this will change things at home. You know, as far as Maggie’s, uh, situation. I mean, we’ve kind of fallen into a routine.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I think we all have to find our own way to deal with things.” I realized as I spoke that I had just paraphrased Mrs. Margolis.

“Yeah,” my dad said. “I think you’re right.”

“And Dad?” I reached out and touched his arm, startling him. We stopped, standing among the graves of people unknown to us, looking at each other.

“Even though I don’t remember you,” I said, frightened about what I was about to say but convinced of it being what I needed most to say, “I love you. Here and now. I love you.”

Dad nodded awkwardly, his voice a choked whisper. “Yeah,” he said. “You too.”

We walked in silence back to the car, where an electronic chirping noise came faintly from within.

“Is that your phone?” Dad asked.

Patting my pant leg, I said, “Maybe so. It must have fallen out of my pocket while we were driving.”

Dad clicked his remote at the car, which unlocked itself with a thunking noise.

“There,” Dad said, “see if you can grab it before they hang up.”

* * * * *

“Hello?”

“Jonathan, is that you?”

“Yeah, who’s—"

“It’s Leon, man. From the hospital?”

“Oh no,” I groaned. “Was I supposed to show up for PT today?”

“No, no – that’s not it, man. Listen – you know that chick Rebecca what’s-her-name? That fine-looking chick had the stroke, and then cut off all her hair?”

I smiled. “Yes, I know Rebecca.”

“Well, she’s here in the hospital, man. I thought you might want to get down here.”

My smile got bigger. “Why, is she asking for me?”

“No, man – don’t you understand? She is
in
the hospital. In the ICU. Crazy bitch tried to kill herself.”

Chapter 29

W
HILE DAD DROVE ME TO THE HOSPITAL, Leon filled me in on what he knew, his voice tinny and punctuated by static.

“Looks like she swallowed a bunch of pills. Her husband went for a run, and when he came back, she’s lyin’ on the floor, out cold. They pumped her stomach in the ER and sent her up to Intensive Care. I sometimes hang with one of the chicks that works up there, and she told me about it when we were getting some coffee. I guess she remembered Rebecca from when they brought her in after the stroke or—"

“Is she okay?” I managed to say, interrupting Leon’s narrative.

“I don’t know. On one hand, it ain’t exactly a good thing to be in intensive care, know what I’m sayin’? On the other hand, that’s the best place to be when you sick – they watch you like a hawk when you in the ICU.”

“I guess that’s true,” I said lamely. “Leon, thank you for calling me.”

“It’s all right. I seen you two together. I know you was tight.”

“She’s my best friend,” I blurted.

“Yeah, well, like I said. I know you was tight. Listen, man, I gotta go. But I’ll be around most of the day – you come down to PT if you need me, all right?”

Dad was pulling into the drop-off lane in front of the hospital. I unbuckled my seatbelt and said, “Thanks, Leon. I just got here. I’ll try to catch up with you later, okay?”

Leon said, “You got it,” and hung up.

I turned to my father, who gave me a worried look.

“You want me to stay?”

“No,” I said. “Let me find out what’s going on, and then I’ll call you later. I can take the bus home if I need to.”

Dad looked dubious, then he nodded. “Okay, but don’t be afraid to call. Your mother or I will be happy to help.”

“Thanks, Dad. I better go.”

I got out of the car and hurried to the bank of elevators. Although I’d never been inside the ICU, I knew its location well from the many laps I’d done around all the hospital’s hallways, first in a wheelchair, and then pushing my walker. I was thankful to be able to move much more quickly than I had back in those days.

* * * * *

“She’s in Bay Six, but I can’t let you in to see her,” said a stern-looking woman dressed in hospital scrubs made of a fabric printed with images of a popular cartoon character. “Immediate family only. No exceptions.”

“But I just want to see her for a minute,” I said. “I’m a good friend of hers.”

“No exceptions.” The woman possessed none of the warmth of the cuddly yellow bear that festooned her clothing, an irony I doubted she would appreciate if pointed out to her.

“Hey, aren’t you that coma guy?” A younger man had walked up behind my current adversary and was eying me intently.

“Yes,” I said, my hopes rising. “I was in a coma for six years. Then when I woke up they brought me from St. Louis to the stroke unit here. That’s where I met Rebecca – the woman in Bay Six.”

“I knew I recognized you. And I’ve seen you and her down in the cafeteria.”

I nodded. “That was us. She was a big help during my recovery. Is there any way I could see her, just for a minute? I just want her to know I’m here.”

The man and the woman stared at each other at length, engaged in a dialog that seemed to require no words. Finally the woman let out a sigh and said, “Fine. But if I catch any flak about it, I’m throwing
you
under the bus – you got that?”

“I got it,” the man said, allowing himself a smile. “One bus. My name on it.”

“And not
my
name,” the woman insisted.

“Of course not,” he said. “We never even had this conversation.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Their business concluded, the woman went back to her paperwork, ignoring me entirely. The man turned to face me, jerked his head to the left, and said, “This way. And if anybody asks, you’re her brother, got it?”

“Got it,” I said. “And thanks.”

The man said, “Hey, the way I figure, you’re one of our best customers. Just be discreet, okay?”

“Discretion is my middle name,” I assured him.

“Better than mine,” the man said. “Who the hell names a guy Beverly anymore?”

Before I could proffer a response, he held up a hand, stopping me outside an area obscured by a sliding curtain.

“Let me check to see if she’s alone,” he said. I finally caught a glimpse of his nametag, which showed my host to be named Jason B. Drake. I could see why he preferred his first name. Jason stuck his head behind the curtain, then re-emerged and whispered, “Come on back here.”

I followed him behind the curtain, where my breath caught in my throat. There she was, propped in a hospital bed with tubes hanging down all around her. Rebecca’s skin was a pasty white, and her lips were unnaturally dark – almost black. Her eyes were closed, with dark, hollow rings underneath them. I’d never seen her look so bad, and I felt the impact of this dreadful sight at a physical level.

“My God,” I said. “How is she? I mean, is she going to be okay?”

“Sorry,” Jason said, “I should have braced you for how she looks.” Walking closer to her bed, he read some of the gauges and digital displays on the machines that clicked and whirred next to her, then consulted a chart clipped to the foot of her bed.

“I think she’s going to be all right, because we got her stomach pumped pretty quickly after she ingested the pills. But we still need to monitor her, to see how much got absorbed into her system. We use charcoal to help absorb the toxins – that’s why her lips are black. But it makes her look even sicker than she is.”

“Thank God,” I said.

“I’m not making any promises here,” Jason said, apparently concerned by my relief. “She’s not out of the woods yet. But based on how quickly she was treated, I think her chances are good. She’s strong, and she’s in really good shape. That helps a lot.”

I vowed to find Lucinda in PT and thank her for working Rebecca so hard, even if the act of expressing my gratitude to the daunting woman might prove fatal to me.

Frightened of the answer I might get, I dared to ask, “Do you have any idea when she might regain consciousness?”

Jason surprised me by saying, “Oh, she’s not unconscious – she’s just sleeping. The stomach pumping woke her up, I can assure you, but it also wore her out. That’s a lot to put a body through, on top of the overdose. She’s going to be sleeping a lot while she’s healing.”

“Was she... lucid?”

Jason shrugged. “Fairly, I guess. I mean, she was groggy. And likely pretty upset. Most of all I think she was scared.”

“Scared?”

Jason’s face grew more serious. “Most people who try this sort of thing – they don’t really want to die. So then when they realize they might actually die anyway, even after they’ve decided they don’t want to... well, it’s pretty scary to contemplate. You wake up with all these tubes stuck in you, puking up black liquid charcoal – that’ll pretty much scare the shit out of anybody, no pun intended.”

Part of me was thrilled to learn that Rebecca had regained consciousness. But the idea of her so sick, so frightened – it was painful to contemplate.

Eyeing a chair next to Rebecca’s bed, I asked, “Is it okay if I sit here for a while?”

Jason considered this for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I guess. But we’ll have to kick you out at some point. And when her husband gets back, you’ll have to work it out with him – we don’t want too many people in here at a time.”

I then realized how strange it seemed that Big Bob wasn’t here. “Where is her husband?” I asked. “Isn’t he the one who brought her in?”

Jason frowned. “Yeah, he came with her in the ambulance. He might be down in the cafeteria getting coffee. Or maybe in the chapel.”

Based on what Rebecca had told me about Bob’s religious fervor, I suspected it was the latter.

“Jason, I really appreciate this. Really.”

He shrugged. “Hey, it’s no problem. Just remember...”

“I know,” I said. “Discretion.”

“Beats the hell out of Beverly,” Jason muttered as he walked away.

I sat for a long time watching Rebecca. I felt terrible, my stomach and chest clenching at the sight of her looking like this. Looking like she was dead.

I tried to calm myself by calling on the medical insights I’d picked up through my own not inconsiderable time spent in a hospital bed. The fact that she was not on a respirator was a good sign: she was breathing on her own. And the fact that she was not surrounded by a frantic bevy of medical personnel indicated – I hoped – that things were under control. Still, it was awful to see her like this, just awful. My entire torso hurt, and I suspected that some world-class indigestion was on the way.

In my helplessness, I found myself talking to her, my voice cracking as I said, “You’re going to be okay.”

I cleared my throat and tried again, saying, “I’m right here, Rebecca. It’s me – Jonathan. You’re going to be fine – they’re taking good care of you.”

My voice was taking on the singsong quality some people use when talking to their babies or their pets, and I suddenly felt silly. Embarrassed, I sank back in my chair, closing with one last “I’m right here, Rebecca.”

“Jonathan?”

I jerked forward.

Rebecca was stirring, blinking her eyes and looking confused. Her parched, blackened lips moved, and she said it again.

“Jonathan?” It was barely more than a croak.

“I’m here, Rebecca!” I leaned in close. “Right here!”

She turned her head, tracking the sound of my voice. Then she looked at me, her eyes bloodshot and ringed with dark folds of skin.

“You’re here,” she said, her lips forming the beginning of a smile.

“I’m here,” I said, stupidly. “Right here.”

Her mouth was still working on trying to form a smile. “I thought I heard your voice,” she whispered. “But I thought that was a dream.”

“I’m right here,” I said, growing aware that my remarks were becoming redundant. “That was me talking to you. I was hoping you could hear me.”

“I thought it was you,” she said hoarsely. “You always call me Rebecca. Not Becky. I like that.” She succeeded in giving me a weak smile, one which I returned unabashedly, forgetting how misshapen some of my facial expressions can be.

Then her smile dissolved, replaced by a grimace.

“I did a really stupid thing.” Her voice was a little stronger, but still raspy and choked. I didn’t know what was involved in pumping somebody’s stomach, but I suspected it was not easy on a person’s throat.

Treading carefully, I said, “I heard you took a bunch of pills.”

Rebecca nodded, closing her eyes briefly as if the movement of her head had been quite painful.

“I pretty much swallowed our whole medicine cabinet,” she said. “But it didn’t stay down very long.”

“Thank God for that.”

Rebecca’s response chilled me. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you really want to die?” Instantly I regretted the question, which in retrospect was probably a very stupid thing for me to ask. I knew nothing about talking to suicidal people, and perhaps a question like that opened the door to a train of thought I did
not
want to encourage. But there it was – I had asked.

“No,” she said, to my immeasurable relief. “I don’t. But I don’t want to live like this, either.”

Unsure of how to proceed, I said, “Live like what?”

“Like what I am,” Rebecca said. “Damaged goods.”

“Don’t say that.”

“But I am. And so are you.”

I had nothing to say to this. She was right. At least about me. But I couldn’t accept that assessment of herself. Focusing on that, I tried to counter her argument.

“You’re not damaged goods. You’re just... changed. You’re different. But not in a bad way. I like the way you are.” I stopped myself from saying
I love the way you are
– a small victory on my part.

“But it’s not like I used to be,” she protested.

“So what?” Conscious that I had raised my voice, I took a breath, then said, “There’s nothing...
bad
about the way you are. You’re still nice. You’re still smart. Hey, at least you can count past two.”

This won me a slight upturn in those blackened lips, but it didn’t last. Instead, her eyes began to well up.

“You don’t understand,” Rebecca said. “You don’t know how I was.”

“Bubbly,” I said. “You’ve told me. What’s so great about bubbly?”

“You never saw me,” Rebecca said. “Not before.”

“I didn’t need to. I like you right now.”

“You never saw me,” she repeated. Her voice grew soft. “But I did.”

“I don’t understand.”

Rebecca looked at me with eyes unblinking. “I saw myself. Before.”

Seeing the puzzled look on my face, she went on.

“There was a video. I think Big Bob left it out for me to see. You know, part of his whole
let’s get Becky back to normal
training program. Just another way to remind me of who I once was.”

The bitterness in her voice was hard to listen to.

“It was from a friend’s wedding. Down in Key West. The reception was in a nice hotel, and we were all drinking and dancing and having fun.”

She looked away, remembering. Then she returned her gaze to me, her voice growing even harder.