Chapter Thirteen
Just Keep Breathing
Life is a carousel. A never ending, spinning until you feel sick, carousel. Its one from a crappy carnival passing through your town. Its one that you used to love, but once you grew older, you began to hate until one day you completely forgot about it altogether. We are all stuck on this endless ride. Through the doom. Through the laughter. We watch the people whizz by and sometimes we laugh. Sometimes we cry. Other times we feel nothing at all, other than, get me off this God damn ride. There are those lucky few though. The people who just go along for the ride, smiling through all the pain. We all know them. The happy-go-lucky people. The, glass-half-full people. Don't you just hate them? Nonetheless, the carousel of life keeps turning, and no matter how much you want to, you can't get off.
Remembering that night comes in flashbacks and echoes. Waking up in the middle of the night, screaming. Its like I'm twelve years old all over again, going through the same pain- same guilt. Only this time, there's that flicker of hope almost blinding me by its brightness. I didn't have this the last time. There was no hope, none at all. Yet, hope is not always a good thing to have because just like your keys or your cell phone, you can easily lose it. And hope, is a very dangerous thing to lose. Without it, I have nothing. If I can't hope for things to get better, what do I have to look forward to?
She doesn't trust me to drive anymore, and I can't blame her. Mom fixes her hair in the rear-view mirror, ironically, as she drives. And she says I'm dangerous? She's flustered this morning, pale, no make up, shirt buttoned the wrong way. But she's here for me, she's doing something for me so I don't comment. Not that I've chose to comment on anything much lately. Ever since the crash two weeks ago I've been anything but conversational. Long, lonely days spent in my room- and it's not doing me any good either. When your alone, you just have your thoughts. And my thoughts, my over-thinking, can be dangerous. I'm my own worst enemy.
So it's come to this. A visit to Bridge Bay Memorial Hospital. I've never been to this one, which is funny considering how much of my childhood and adolescence I've spent in hospitals. I wonder will it be like the familiar, and somewhat comforting, confinements of Saint Clares. Mom thinks a visit will do me some good, maybe help me deal with my guilt. I, on the other hand, think it will only make matters worse. Even the thought of seeing her lying there, lifeless yet alive, scares me and makes me feel a thousand times worse for putting her there in the first place. Emily. The girl who understands me. The girl whose smile is brighter than the sun. The girl, who because of me, is now in a coma.
Mom turns out of our street and I watch, in the mirror, as our house grows smaller and smaller. Sammy sits quietly in the back, gazing out the window. It begins to rain, small drops at first and then suddenly its pouring. The window wipers swish across the windscreen as fast as possible, as mom leans forward in her seat to see better. Their sounds are the only thing we listen to for the whole ride and, for the silence, I am thankful. My eyelids become heavier and heavier and I soon let them fall but it feels like as soon as I do, the car halts to a sudden stop.
I wipe my window clear so I can see out. The hospital is rather large. It has a huge porch made entirely of glass. If i look closely I can see doctors and nurses walking by. A pregnant woman in a pink robe stands outside the hospital, puffing away on a cigarette. Mom sighs, seeing her at the same time I do. I don't move from my seat, afraid of what I must finally face. It's been two weeks since I've seen her face and that last time I seen it, it was covered in her own blood. What will it be like seeing her in a hospital bed? What will it be like being in her presence without being able to look into her eyes or to kiss her lips?
“I'll pick you up in an hour. Visiting times ends at six. You should pick something up at the gift shop for her. A teddy-bear or something,” mom says, reaching into her handbag and pulling out a twenty dollar bill. She hands it to me and I nod. I slide the money into my pocket and unbuckle my belt. Its sound, the un-clicking of the lock and the clanking of the metal buckle, brings me back to the night just for an moment.
“You're not coming in with me?” I ask, not looking at her. I even feel guilty towards her. This is the longest sentence I have said to her in two weeks. I'm only stalling, afraid to face the inevitable.
“No, Jack. You have to do this alone. Be a man, Jack, not a coward.”
I look back to Sammy before getting out of the car. She sends me a light smile, though it is plagued with sympathy. Mom's words echo in my mind as I walk, as slowly as possible, through the rain. Be a man, Jack. I step in a puddle of cold, rain water. Shaking my foot off of any water, I stop for a second. Stop thinking, stop worrying. I put my wet foot back to the ground and stand under the rain, letting it fall all over my body. Its coldness sends shivers down my spine. I'm only wearing a light t-shirt and jeans but I don't care. The pregnant woman watches from underneath the porch. She's still smoking. I smile at her and she scowls, turning away from me.
The hospital is warm when I enter. Its much different to how I expected it to be and a lot different from Saint Clares. This hospital is much more glamourous. It's like something from a soap opera. All the doctors and nurses are beautiful people, with bright, white lab jackets and pale blue scrubs. An African-American woman sits behind a rather large desk right in front of me. She's on the phone and seems a lot less friendly than Jessica, the woman who sat behind the desk at Saint Clares. At least Jessica smiled.
I walk up to her, hair and clothes soaking wet. She looks up to me, still buried in conversation on the phone. She raises one finger up to my level and I wait for her to finish. I don't even think she's talking to a patients family or anyone important really. Unless she gossips with all the patients families. I doubt they would enjoy listening to her disaster date story anymore than I do at this very moment. Yet, I wait for her to finish her chat and stand in silence for a moment or two after she hangs up. She suddenly remembers my presence and looks up.
“Can I help you?” She says, looking down to her paperwork. I don't really know what to say. I'm never the person visiting, usually the person being visited and even that was a rare occasion. I start mumbling while playing with my fingers, avoiding eye contact with the receptionist. She drops her pen and then looks at me like I've just insulted her. I stop mumbling, heck I even stop breathing for a moment, expecting the worst. “You're here to see that car crash girl aren't you?” She asks.
“Yes,” I say, almost ashamed. I wonder if she knows that I'm the reason the car crash girl is even here. “Yes, I'm here to see the car crash... Emily... I'm here to see Emily. Emily Gray.” I exhale, feeling some kind of relief. As if the worst was over.
“You know, I've been working here a while now and I remember faces. I remember the worried face of Emily's father. The frightened look on her friends faces. Their kind of hard to forget. I do not, however, remember your face. What's taken you so long to visit her?” The receptionist asks. I do not know how to answer her, so I stare at her blankly- my lips tempting to quiver but I keep them pursed. She accepts that I won't reply and sighs. Returning to her paperwork, she says, “ICU, room 2342.”
Facing her is inevitable. It must be done. Yet, standing outside her room, all I can think of is running away. I know I won't- I know I have to push open this glass door and face reality, but life is so much easier when I'm standing behind it. I can't see inside, the blinds are shut. My heart rate is accelerating in the same way it did when I saw her for the very first time. I have to bite my bottom lip to stop it from shaking, but remembering her at Chris' memorial and then again at Saint Clares cracks the dam that was holding a wave of emotions behind it. I place a reluctant hand on the door handle and push it down.
On entering the dimly lit room, I am immediately hit with the smell of lilies. I keep my body facing the door, my eyes tight shut and hold onto the door handle, afraid to let go and face her. I inhale, my breath shaking and then open my eyes and turn around. She's barely recognizable as she lays on the hospital bed. A long, plastic tube that I assume is helping her breathe extends from her mouth and is connected to a machine. A heart rate monitor beeps every two seconds, I count. She still bears the cuts and bruises from the crash on her arms and face, especially the one that runs over her lips and extends over her left eye. Her lips, so dry. Her eyes, closed.
A bouquet of lilies in a vase sit on the locker beside her bed, slowly dying. A few petals lay around the vase beside a picture of Emily, her dad and a woman I assume is her mom. Her father must have brought the picture to the hospital. I look to Emily before walking over to the photo frame and picking it up to examine it. It's morbid, thinking of how I am responsible for the death of Emily's mother and now I may be responsible for the death of Emily herself. I basically killed two people in this photograph- the other person, however, wants to kill me. Can you blame him?
I carefully place the frame back to its original place and then fall into the chair beside Emily's bed. I'm close enough that I can reach her hand, but I don't. Maybe it's too soon or maybe I just feel like I'm not worthy enough to hold her hand and that she, if she had a choice, would probably not want me to take it. I sit forward, my chin in my hands, elbows resting on my legs and I just watch Emily. Watch her breathe. It's all she can do. Just breathe. I hadn't given much thought into what I was going to say, so I surprise myself when I open my mouth and start talking.
“So, it was in second grade. I was working on this jigsaw puzzle and I had the whole thing complete. You should have seen it, Emily, it was like a masterpiece,” I say, smiling remembering the day. I don't know why I'm telling her this, but I can't stop. “But there was just one piece missing, a piece from the centre. That's when Chris walked over. It was like ten years ago but I can still remember it as if it were yesterday. He had the piece, the piece that I needed and he completed the jigsaw for me and that was the day I met him and we became inseparable.”
“That day at the beach café when you asked about the jigsaw piece I had in my hand, I told you I would tell you the story behind it another day. So now I'm telling you.” I think of Chris for a moment. He's been trying to contact me these past two weeks, as has Mandy but, I just can't bare to face either of them. Not yet. “And now I realize how stupid me telling you that story is when you can't even hear it.” I jump up to my feet. Running my hands through my messy hair, I begin pacing the room.
“Look, Emily, I'm trying here. You know me, I'm not good at things like this. I mean, doom and gloom loves to follow me around. It sure shows up more than shiny and happy! You would think, by now, I'd be used to it all,” I say, looking Emily in her lifeless face as if expecting a reply. Her heart monitor beeps a few times, the ventilator pumps air into her lungs. “But I can't get used to it and I need you, Emily. You can't leave me here, all alone. I won't let you.” Tears begin to well up in my eyes. I'm standing right beside her. “You can't just die. You're my person. The person. You are the puzzle piece I never knew was missing. Please don't give up on me,” I say. My head falls onto her chest and begin to sob into her hospital gown. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Emily.”
I take hold of her hand. It's warm and familiar. And soft. So soft.
“Without you there's no point. You changed my whole life. You changed me. I don't know what I would have done without you,” I say, almost a whisper. I trail my hand along her body until it finds her damaged face. I look to where her eyes are. My hand rests on her cheek. “I can't live without you, Emily. So if you die, I die.”
Before leaving her room, I place a small, brown teddy-bear beside her pillow.
I stand in the lobby looking out at the car park. The rain has ceased and an easy calm has settled over Bridge Bay. Even inside the hospital things seem calm. There's no doctors running around, no phones ringing. I look over my shoulder to see the receptionist still sitting behind the desk. She's typing into a computer and doesn't notice me as I walk over. I don't announce myself but when she hears my tone of voice, she immediately looks up, surprised.
“So imagine you had to visit the person you loved in a coma. Imagine, everything about that person you loved couldn't be seen. Their eyes. Their smile. It would be horrible right?” She doesn't answer, I'm speaking too fast. “Now, imagine you and you alone were the very reason that person was in a coma in the first place. You asked me why it took me so long to come visit it her. Well there's your answer. Don't think just because you sit behind some desk you're better than anyone else here. We're all on this ride together, it just takes me a little longer to get used to the turning.” I nod and walk away knowing she has no idea what I'm talking about yet understands every word I've said. I walk out through the doors into the car park, and inhale the freshest air I can ever recall.
Strangely, I feel good. Better than I felt two hours ago. The best I've felt in two weeks. I finally confronted what I spent so much time avoiding. I put aside my guilt and done all that I could do. Sometimes, sorry is all there is. Maybe I can be one of those people. The happy-go-lucky ones. Maybe for once in my life I will look at my glass as half full and deal with what I have. Life is surely a carousel.
I see her pink robe before I see her face. She walks out of the hospital and stands beside me. The pregnant woman. She takes out another cigarette and lights it up. I turn to face her, feeling this renewed sense of life and look right at her. She puffs on her smoke and scowls once more. “You got a problem, kid?” she says.
“You know what? You should be ashamed of yourself. Look at you. You're what, nine months pregnant? And here you are, outside a hospital of all places- smoking?” I shout. She doesn't react, instead she drops her cigarette and places both her hands on her bump. I don't take much notice and continue ranting. “I mean, do you have any respect for human life whatsoever? Your like, poisoning your baby before it's even born!”
“Stop!” The woman cries. I finally take notice of her and see that she is in pain.
“What's wrong?” I ask, worried now. Maybe I shouldn't have been so hard on her.
“It's coming. The baby is coming!” She shouts. She looks me dead in the eye and I hold her stare. She's scared and so am I. Was it my lashing out at her that forced her into labour? A pool of water surrounds her feet and its not from the rain.
She starts panicking and breathing heavily. I take her arm and wrap it around my shoulder, so fast and calmly that I surprise myself, and lead her back towards the lobby. The doors slide open and I instantly shout for help. Two nurses come running over from the reception- one with a wheelchair.
“I don't know what happened. We were outside and then suddenly her water broke,” I say to one of the nurses. She's young, almost too young to be a real nurse, maybe just interning. She nods and looks to the older nurse who has already helped the pregnant woman into the wheelchair.
“She's going into labor. I'm going to take her upstairs, Skylar. Follow me up,” the older nurse says. Skylar, the young blonde, nods.
Before being pushed away, the pregnant woman turns around in her chair, her face red with stress already and reaches out for my hand. I take hold of hers.
“Thank you. Thank you so much,” She says in one breath, and then is whisked away. I stand with Skylar for a few seconds in silence and we just watch the woman being wheeled away. Skylar turns to face me.
“That was a real nice thing you did,” Skylar says, sweetly. Our eyes connect for a second and we both smile awkwardly. I point to the door.
“I was leaving. I better go. I'll ... em... I'll see you around.”
I cannot help but smile. I helped that woman. Yes, it could have been my outburst that forced it all to happen, but I could have just walked away. I didn't. For once, I didn't walk away. I was helpful and for my help, I was thanked. My helping hands were appreciated. As I walk out of the hospital once more, I think of how a new life is being brought into the world. The joy of new life brings a wide smile to my face and I can't seem to shake this feeling. This feeling of how life doesn't always have to be in black and white.
As the nurses scramble to help the woman give birth, and as I climb back into my moms car- smiling to myself, Emily's heart monitor, in her room, beeps faster and louder until it becomes one, unbroken beat. The unbroken beat sends waves of panic into her doctors, who race to save her life all the while thinking of how they always knew she was a lost cause. A small teddy-bear falls onto the floor, barely noticed by the bustling doctors. The teddy is kicked under the bed, to be forever forgotten.
A new, innocent life is brought into the world at the same time, so it seems, as an innocent soul is taken. We are all stuck on this endless ride. Through the doom. Through the laughter. We watch the people whizz by and sometimes we laugh. Sometimes we cry. Other times we feel nothing at all, other than, get me off this God damn ride. Nonetheless, the carousel of life keeps turning, and no matter how much you want to, you can't get off.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Just a Bit of Help
COMING SOON!