The Lunacy Fringe

Twenty-Two

My dad always said that the Lunacy Fringe acted as a reminder of my humanity. It was never a curse outright. But it frequently came around just to knock me back down to earth. To let me know that I could never get too comfortable with my life. It was also the start of what my family eventually called Ruby's Annual Hospital Visit.

Sometimes these visits were very minor. A stitched-up cut. A minor surgery. But sometimes, they were pretty bad. A broken bone. A severe infection. And in this case, broken ribs, arm, concussion, and crushed lungs.

I was, thankfully, on the mend. But only after spending several hours in surgery and several more days in the hospital.

When I was finally given the okay to go home, I wasn't in the best shape. My dad had to help me wobble out of the truck and carry me into the house. I could walk if I tried hard enough, but it was painful, took too long, and often winded me before making any real headway. So my dad thought it would be easier to just carry me into the house and let me get some rest.

He closed the truck door and then managed to scoop me into his arms.

"Hey, Mr. Emery," a voice said once my dad got me situated in the fetal position. I was too afraid to move. The pain was sharp. I couldn't breathe. And I felt like I could drift off to sleep. My head was pounding, and I just wanted to get out of the glaring San Diego sun.

"Hey, Felix. How's it going?" my dad replied. And then I definitely didn't want to talk or open my eyes. It was easier to pretend to be sleeping than have to speak to Felix from my dad's arms like a baby. I was also reasonably sure I didn't look my best.

"I'm fine. How's Ruby?"

"Well, she's recovering. She can walk—she's just—very slow. But they said she'll make a full recovery."

"Do you need any help? Getting the door open, maybe?"

"Sure, that'd be great." I groaned quietly, and my dad had to disguise his laugh as a cough. He carried me up the steps to the front door, waited for Felix to unlock it, and let us in.

"Is it alright if I come by later?" he asked as he set the keys on the table for my dad.

"Yeah, I'm sure she'd like that."

"Okay, see you later."

"Thanks for the help."

"Not a problem."

He left, and my dad shut the door with one of his feet. Then he carried me up the stairs to my room, complaining that I was too goddamn heavy to be carried like a baby.

He'd initially wanted to set me up on the couch. But he didn't think I'd get any real rest with him moving around the house, working on repairs, and installing grass or whatever. The dog was jumpy and excited, and the TV was too loud. So he laid me down on my bed and pulled the covers up to my chin like I was still a kid. The fan was going in the window, making my room much cooler than the outside.

"I picked up a small TV for you so you'd have something to do," he said. "Signal is pretty good up here."

"Oh, okay. I think I'd rather take a nap, though," I told him, keeping my eyes shut and trying to get comfortable through the stabbing, pinching feeling in my ribs.

"Anything I can do?"

"I'm good."

"I don't feel right leaving you here in the quiet," he said. It was far from quiet. Over the drone of the fan, I could make out the sound of a siren in the distance and birds squawking from a nearby powerline.

"You could turn on the radio," I suggested.

"Sure, I can do that." He turned the dials, finding the station he knew I'd like, and then turned the volume down low enough so that I could sleep but loud enough to drown the birds and sirens. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

When he left, I was stuck staring at the back of my eyelids. The medications they had me on made me tired and lethargic. I wasn't hungry or cold or hot or any sort of anything. I just was. Of course, there was still pain, and my lungs struggled to push air in and out. But for the moment, I didn't feel much of anything.

I woke a few hours later when I heard my dad coming back up the stairs. He was talking to someone in a hushed voice, but my bedroom door was still open.

"Ruby, are you awake?" he asked, popping his head into my room. I tried to stretch and immediately regretted it. The medications were wearing off, and now I could definitely feel a lot of things—mostly pain.

"Yeah, I'm awake."

"Someone is here to see you."

"Oh, okay." He disappeared into the hall again.

"I'll leave you two alone." Then his feet were back on the stairs, and Felix filled his place in the doorway.

"Hey," he said softly, approaching my bed like I was dying. He had his hands in his jeans pockets and looked kind of uncomfortable. But the sun was setting and filling my room with a warm orange glow. Making him look unfairly beautiful in a bedroom with ugly cowboy wallpaper.

"Hey," I replied, still trying to get comfortable.

"It's me, Felix." I laughed.

"Yes, I think we've met once or twice." He laughed too.

"I wasn't exactly sure how bad you were." I shut my eyes and groaned, giving up on finding comfort.

"I have full control over my brain. I think." He was still standing nervously in the center of my room. Like he didn't know what to say. Either that, or I just looked really terrible, and he was rethinking all the flirting and that one drunken kiss.

"How's the rest of you?" he asked.

"Kind of hurts a lot," I admitted. "But they said I'll be okay."

"I sent you some flowers. Nothing special. Just from my mom's garden. A few of those jasmines that grow on the fence. And a penguin."

"Yeah, I got them. I think my dad left them in the car, though. Thank you. I really like the jasmines."

"I'm sorry—for what happened. For everything." I shook my head. I had no idea what he thought he had to be sorry for.

"Why?" He finally moved from his awkward spot and reached for the chair under my desk. He pulled it out and dragged it to the side of my bed. Then he sat down and twisted his fingers in his lap.

"I shouldn't have let you guys go," he finally said. "I knew Quinn was drunk. And he's a shitty driver even when he's sober."

"It's not your fault," I told him. "I'm just as much to blame. But we're okay. We'll be fine."

"Hardly."

"How's Quinn? I haven't even seen him."

"Well—he hasn't come back to school yet. He still seems pretty angry at himself. Won't talk to anyone. Not even Billie." He reached out and pulled the blanket away from my chin, finally exposing all of my face to him. I wasn't hiding intentionally, but when I was hit with a sudden flood of self-consciousness, I realized I probably should have been. Especially since his eyebrows creased and he looked at me like I was Frankenstein's monster. "God, look at you," he whispered.

"Is it really that bad?"

"No. I mean—It's just—they wouldn't let me see you when I came by with Billie. I didn't know your lip was busted. And you're going to have a gnarly scar right here." He ran his fingers up my forehead and into my hairline.

"I've never actually heard someone say 'gnarly' unironically before. Except in movies about California." He laughed and sat back.

"It's not as bad as it sounds. Radical is another word I might have used." I smiled.

"I've never actually heard anyone say 'radical' either."

"Well, welcome to California."

"I'm glad to be here."

"Are you really?" I thought about it for a moment. He was asking seriously. As if he knew I'd been having trouble adjusting. But then I remembered what I was thinking right before Quinn crashed his car.

"I think that—I'm supposed to be here," I admitted. "If that makes sense. I'm sure I'll get the hang of the lingo eventually." He smiled and nodded.

"You'll have to if you want to win any gnarly surfing competitions." I laughed.

"I'm pretty sure surfing is out of the question for a while."

"Try forever."

"You're right. I should never be anywhere near a surfboard. I tend to hurt myself a lot. I mean—this definitely takes the cake so far. But it happens at least every few months."

"Well, I'm glad you're alive."

"Me too." He nodded.

"You know—you're really lucky you didn't break your neck."

"I know. I'll probably never drink again, either. And maybe my dad is onto something with the whole mandatory seatbelt rule."

"Yeah, I think we all feel the same way."

"Is my dad mad at Quinn? Do you think?" He took a deep breath and let it go.

"I don't think so. He saved your life." Now I was genuinely surprised. No one had really told me about Quinn beyond telling me he was fine. Aside from a pretty nasty bump on the head.

"He what?"

"You punctured a lung, Ruby. You were suffocating."

"I didn't really—get the whole story." He shrugged and looked down at his twisting fingers again. They were long—full of guitar calluses and chewed nails.

"Like I said—you're lucky to be alive. Seems kind of pointless to give your life for a couple of beers and a fucking squirrel."

"I didn't know about the squirrel either." He looked back at me.

"I think I'll head home. You look pretty tired. I'll be back tomorrow, alright?" I nodded slowly.

"Yeah, alright. I'll see you. And thanks. For stopping by. And for the penguin. And the flowers. And tell your mom I said thanks." I was rambling, and he smiled as he watched me. And then it only made it worse. My stomach got all squishy, and I had to force my mouth shut to stop blurting out more nonsense.

"You're welcome, Ruby. I will." He stood up and gave me a short, nervous wave before leaving.