Chapter Fourteen
Just a Bit of Help
When you were little, it was the monsters under your bed. It was the boogie man in the closet. Then, well then we grew up. We stopped looking under the bed and in our wardrobes because we all realized one thing. The monsters we feared, the ones that kept us awake all night, they were inside us. So maybe it's not the boogie man or anything. Its the kind of monsters we can't see, yet fear so much. We all know them-you've probably met a few of them in your time. Pain. Grief. Fear. Guilt. The list goes on and on. What we don't realize is, all of these 'monsters' are not actually monsters. They're just emotions. Yet sometimes, emotions can be scarier than any boogie man. Especially when we have to face them alone.
I spring up in bed, sensing someone else's presence. Sammy jumps back, frightened by my sudden rising. I'm panting and sweating all over my body- my hair is soaking wet. She knows I've been having a nightmare. She probably heard me scream from her own room. She doesn't speak, instead she waits for me to pull back the covers on the side I don't sleep on so she can curl up beside me. She crawls into my bed and lays her head against the cold pillow. I lay down too and we face each other, almost breathing onto each others faces, silently. The only sounds between us are of the rain against the window, the bellowing wind.
These nights are always rare and they are becoming increasingly less frequent as Sammy grows older. For a moment I fear the day when we will both be too old to seek comfort in each other. One day she won't need to crawl into my bed when she is afraid and I'm not always going to be here for her, at least not in this house. I shake off the thought of not having these nights anymore and smile to Sammy, happy that, for now, I can enjoy these nights with my sister. She smiles back, faintly. Her eyelids are becoming heavier and heavier and I watch as she begins to drift off. She doesn't know, but I love these times more than she does.
Before she fully falls into unconsciousness, she whispers into the night.
“Will Emily be okay?”
I consider letting her question go unanswered. Part of me hopes that she will just fall asleep and forget she ever asked me because, if I'm being honest, I don't think Emily will be okay and I don't want to say it out loud. If I say it out loud its like I'm accepting it, like her not being okay, is okay. Sammy opens her eyes slightly, waiting for an answer. I run my hands through her long, blonde hair and inhale.
“I really don't know, Sam. All we can do is hope. Get some sleep, it's late,” I say. She turns over on her side, her back facing me and within seconds, she is asleep. I envy her. At least someone will get some sleep tonight. All you can do is hope, Jack, I tell myself. Hope.
I can't remember when my brain finally decided to shut off and fall asleep, so I am shocked when I wake up at seven in the morning. Sammy is still fast asleep. It's Sunday, she has no reason to get up early. Neither do I really, but I guess I'm just used to waking up at this time. I left my curtains open before I went to bed last night, I was so tired after coming back from visiting Emily, so mentally tired that I just collapsed. So, when a bright, golden sun begins to rise in the distance, its rays shine directly into my room, slowly making their way across it's surface.
I can't remember that last time I watched a sun rise. Maybe I never actually took the time to do it. To actually sit and watch it. So this morning, I decide to lay there and watch it. I watch my room grow brighter and brighter and then I listen to the birds chirp in the tree outside my window. Their songs bring me back to my childhood and for one, undeniable moment of bliss, everything is how it used to be. Dad is alive, I have a best friend who doesn't abandon me and reappear, I'm not responsible for the death of a mother and I haven't got the burden of guilt over Emily. I breathe in this magical feeling and let it fill me up.
Then reality strikes and the sun has disappeared behind a mountain of sinister, black clouds that will surely produce some rain any moment now. Is that all I have to look forward to now, one measly minute of happiness in the morning? I sigh and slide out of bed as quickly and silently as possible, trying my best to not wake Sammy. She stirs slightly but doesn't wake. I close the curtains for her- no one should wake to see the rain, and then I slip out of the room, closing the door behind me as I do.
The cold, wooden floor sends shivers up my body. Socks would have been a good idea, maybe even those slippers mom bought me last Christmas that I never wore. I walk, almost on my toes, to the bathroom. I barely notice as I walk by the mirror over the sink, but barely isn't enough. It only takes a flicker to see it... him. I know he's there now, waiting for me in the mirror. It was only a matter of time before he reappeared, I knew that. As soon as the guilt over putting Emily in hospital set in, I knew I'd see him one day. The skeleton. He only ever comes at times like these, but his visits are always consequential.
He is the monster that lives inside of me. He looks like me, in fact, he is me. Just a lot more skinnier. His cheeks aren't as meaty as mine are now- you can see every bone in his face. His hair is much thinner, his eyes much darker. Even his skin seems paler than mine, something I would have thought near impossible. I fear him, yet some part of me wants to be him. Or at least, wanted to be him. At some point in my life, not even two months ago- I would have killed to be as skinny as he is. Now though, he reminds me of how far I've come.
I finish in the bathroom, but just before walking out, I take a glance in the mirror. I don't stop like I used to. I don't test the skeleton. Thats all he wants anyway. He wants me to stop and look at him and listen to his words that will send me right back to square one. Right back to St Clares. But I do glance at him, maybe out of respect, I don't really know why. I see him smiling. Smiling as if he knows I'll give in, again. Smiling as if this is all part of his master plan, like he is some James Bond villain. I don't give in though, not now. He is not the villain in my story anymore. He fades away as I walk by him. I know he's not finished with me yet.
Will he ever be finished with you?
The stairs creak as I walk down them, but not loud enough to wake anyone up. Creeping down the stairs like this in my bare feet, reminds me of when I was a kid. I'd get up before anyone else, make my own breakfast (usually just a bowl of cereal) sit on the couch that seemed too big for me and watch the early morning cartoons. Then the times came when I didn't eat cereal anymore at all and the last thing on my anorexic mind was cartoons. It's hard to believe all of this started at such a young age. This morning though, I feel like salvaging some part of my childhood.
I stop suddenly when I enter the kitchen. Mom is sitting at the round table we usually eat breakfast around. Her face is buried in her hands and it takes her about five seconds to react to my entrance. Her face is strained and almost old looking. Her eyes look dead. The light that used to shine behind them seems to have faded. She has been like this for a while now and I don't know why. One could say its because of the stress I've caused, but I don't know. Should I feel guilty over putting mom through this pain too? Am I to blame for the state she is in lately?
“Morning,” she says, her voice dry. She swallows and I can tell her throat is dry. I can almost hear her saliva as it makes its way down her mouth. She wipes her eyes, stands up slowly as if at any moment she could lose her balance and fall over. She puts the kettle on to boil and then stands over the sink, looking out to the backyard. I know she loves to do this because from this window, you can see the city of Seattle in the distance. Its small and you kind of have to squint to see it, but its there and for some reason it brings her some comfort. I know dad proposed to her there, maybe thats why she loves it so much.
“Sammy slept with me again last night. Its okay, I'm not complaining or anything. Just thought you should know,” I say, trying to ease the atmosphere. I can tell she has something on her mind, something thats eating her alive. She nods and I take this as her reply. Maybe she hasn't had her coffee but, when I look to the breakfast table, there's three empty mugs. Has she been awake all night?
“Have I failed you, Jack? As a mother, I mean. Have I failed you?” Mom asks, still not looking at me, keeping her eyes focused on the Space Needle Tower, Seattle's main attraction, in the distance.
“No, mom. Not at all,” I reply. She may not be looking at me but I am staring at her. She is freaking me out, scaring me with this weird attitude. She finally turns to face me, tears glistening in her lifeless eyes.
“Then why do you keep failing me? I give you everything I have. I shower you with love and all you seem to do is let me down,” she says, emphasizing the last three words. “Maybe Keith is right. If it wasn't for you, your father would still be here and that girl, that poor, innocent girl would still have her mother and would not be dying in a hospital right now!”
Her words force me to fall into a chair beside the table. I look to the ground, ashamed to show a few tears that are falling down my cheeks. “She's not dying. Emily is not dying,” I say, not looking up. Mom turns around, with a slight smug look on her face.
“Her doctors called while you were asleep,” she says. I look up, terrified. “Her heart stopped last night, Jack. Just after you left. I didn't want to wake you, though. What kind of mom would I be if I did that?”
I stand up a bit too fast and stare at her coldly. She proceeds to pour herself a fresh cup of coffee and then faces me again, every so often sipping from the cup. Why wouldn't she tell me? Why wasn't I contacted directly? I have my name on the emergency contact list. I may be second on it but still I should have been contacted. I'm her person, I should be there. I shake my head imperceptibly and turn to walk out of the room. My silence says it all, but I need to have the final word before I leave.
“I may have failed you, especially lately and in the past. I have failed you in possibly the worst ways ever,” I begin, not looking at her, instead speaking as if I'm talking to the ground. “But today, at this very moment, you have failed me. You've let me down.”
Its not enough, I want to say more. I want to tell her how not telling me about Emily's condition was probably the worst thing anyone has ever done to me. I want to shout at her, make her see sense and snap her out of this weird mood. Yet, I know what I've just said has hit her hard. She places the coffee cup on the counter and turns back around to gaze at the city in the distance. I know I've had the last word. For now at least. I swallow my disappointment and leave her alone. No childhood will be salvaged today. I race upstairs to dress quickly, picking up unwashed clothes from my floor and then dash down the stairs again.
I slam the door extra hard on my way out and I know she probably jumped a little in the kitchen. It may have even woke Sammy, but I don't care. I'm so distraught, so full of rage that I'm not thinking straight. I'm only thinking of one thing and of one person. For all I know Emily could be dead, long cold. Anything could have happened. I try wrap my head around the possibility that I will never see her alive again, but the thought is so vulgar and so strong that I quickly dismiss it. But, its still there in the back of my mind, slowly creeping forward like a thick fog. Will I ever see her eyes, with life bursting behind them, again?
I'm at the end of my driveway, walking by Keith's pick-up truck – he must have stayed the night – when I hear the front door open and then slam shut. I look back expecting to see my mom but I'm surprised to see its Keith, walking towards his truck as he slips into a brown, leather jacket. I turn away from him and begin walking in the direction of the hospital. Its a long walk, I know that, but I have to get there. I'm surprised when I hear him shout out to me. “Get in the truck, Jack. I'll drive you there,” he says. I'm in no position to turn down an offer like this. I stand still, considering it for a moment. Don't be selfish, Jack! Put your anger aside, if not for you then do it for Emily.
I turn around and walk briskly to the passenger side of his truck. Before I climb in I look over to him as he stands by his door. “This changes nothing, Keith,” I say and he nods, almost in agreement. Maybe he despises me just as much as I despise him. Yet, when I think about it, how bad can he really be if he is willing to take me out of his way to the hospital? And if I really hated him as much as I think I do, how can I even sit beside him in his own truck? Is it possible that my feelings for Emily are overshadowing my feelings towards Keith?
A million and one thoughts go through my head as I sit, helpless, in Keith's truck. I'm thinking so many things that the journey seems to fly in and before I know it, Keith is pulling up outside the hospital. I sit there for a moment, sensing the familiarity. I was only here yesterday with my mom, visiting Emily for the first time. Yesterday, I was so full of hope. Hoping that Emily would pull through this. Now, as I sit beside Keith of all people, who annoyingly taps his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, I am only hoping that she isn't dead.
“I hope she is okay, Jack. I really do,” Keith says, breaking the silence and making it even harder for me to hate him. I unbuckle my belt and open my door, step out into the cold air. Before I shut the truck door I speak;
“We don't have to hate each other, you know. You can be Keith and I can be Jack. You didn't have to bring me here today, you could have let me walk. For that, I am truly thankful,” I begin, but I am not done. “We don't have to hate each other, but we don't have to like each other either.” I nod and then close the door.
I don't waste time going to the receptionist, who probably has a grudge against me, to ask for any information. Instead, I take the stairs, two steps at a time, to Emily's floor. With each step I take I am surprising myself by how much I actually care. Yes, part of it is because I'm the reason she is here in the first place but most of it is for my undeniable feelings for her. I reach the door that will lead me to her floor and I find myself standing behind it a moment too long. That fog at the back of my mind, that I've been keeping at bay, finally pollutes my mind.
My hand finds the door knob and I twist it, yet I don't pull the door open. I absorb the silence around me and brace myself for the worst. She may be on a floor much lower than this one, getting colder and colder by the second. I almost convince myself that she won't be here. I pull the door open and I am immediately hit with the sounds of the hospital. The squeaking of shoes on the floor, the beeping of pagers, the chatter of nurses. I look around and then walk towards Emily's room.
My heart sinks as I get closer to her room, for I can see that the blinds are open and her door is wide open. Surely they wouldn't do that if she was still in her room. Yet, when I turn the corner into her room my heart suddenly rises again and I almost break down on the spot.
Emily rests in the exact same position that she was in yesterday. The only difference is that there seems to be more medical machinery around her, maybe some more tubes connected to her body. It takes me a moment to realize that she is not alone in her room. Her father, Dave, sits in a chair by the window and a blonde nurse is talking to him. They both look at me and I recognize the nurse as Skylar, the much-to-young-to-be-a-real-nurse nurse. She holds a clipboard in her hand.
“What are you doing here?” Dave says, standing up. “Nurse Bonnie I told you to keep him out of here.” Skylar looks flustered and stands in between us. I understand why he wouldn't want me here. I hope he doesn't know that it was my father driving the car all those years ago that claimed Dave's wife, Emily's mother, too. Then again, if he knew, would I really be standing here? I decide to ask the burning question.
“Is she okay?”
“Her heart stopped beating last night. It's common, but obviously it wasn't a good sign. She's stable for now, but there's no telling how she progresses from here,” says Skylar, as professionally as she can. I can tell she remembers me too.
“Why wasn't I contacted? I'm on that list thing, I'm her person! I'm on the thing!” I exclaim, me emotions running a high.
I try with all my might to keep my eyes away from Dave and also from Emily. I can't bear to see her like this. Skylar falls silent, stutters a bit and then looks to Dave, who almost has a smug look on his face.
“You weren't contacted, Jack, because I took you off that list. You're not her person, not anymore. Not if I have anything to do with it. Nurse Bonnie, tell Jack why your here right now. Tell him what you just told me,” Dave says, sitting back down on the chair. I look to Skylar for an explanation. She looks at her clipboard when she speaks.
“I came here today to talk to Mr Gray about organ donation,” Skylar says.
“Organ donation? Does Emily need a new heart or something?” I ask, confused.
“No, Jack. They want Emily's organs. They want my permission to turn off her life support machine, so that they can harvest her organs,” Dave answers.
Of the million and one thoughts that went through my mind this morning, not one of them was like this. I can barely wrap my head around it.
“What! You ... you can't do it Dave! There's still hope, right Skylar? You don't give up on someone when there is still hope,” I shout. Dave shakes his head and Skylar stands uncomfortably between us.
“Her organs could help countless people, so it's something to think about,” Skylar says. Dave turns his focus to the view outside and it appears that he has settled down. It doesn't seem like he is trying to decide anything. Its like he already has his mind made up.
“Just go, Jack. You've already caused enough damage,” he says, without looking at me. I will hold these words with me for the rest of my life. They play over and over in my mind as I leave the room. Skylar follows behind me, calling my name, but I don't stop to talk to her. I enter an elevator and look up to see Skylar walking towards me, but the elevator doors close just before she reaches me.
*
Is this more painful? Would it have been easier if she had just died last night? How can I just stand by and let them take her apart? How can I be so helpless and let them take everything away that made me fall in love with her? They even take the eyes. I walk slowly along a road, not paying much attention to where I am going or where, in fact, this road will lead me. I just walk and kick an empty can of beer along with me. The hospital is long out of my view.
Was Dave right? Have I caused enough damage for one lifetime? Surely someone doesn't cause so much devastation in the space of seventeen years. I feel responsible, guilty, in so many ways. I've brought nothing but pain to my family, to Emily's family and even to myself. Would life have been better for everyone if I was never born? At least three people would still be living, smiling. I kick the can a little too hard and it goes with the wind into a ditch. A car drives past and is out of view within a minute.
I slide my cold hands into my jeans pockets. There is something in my left pocket, some kind of hard paper. I pull it out to examine it, unfolding the colorful paper with inquisitive eyes. It's a pamphlet and I suddenly remember where I got it. While I was away at St Clares, a guy I once knew had taken his own life because of bullying. His father, a teacher at our school, set up a club for people like his son, so they would have a place to go, to be heard, and to be accepted. He called it the Good As You club.
I take out my cell phone and dial a number I haven't dialed in so long. I'm even surprised that I can still recall it. It rings a few times before I hear his voice greet me. Of course, his voice has changed since the last time I called him – it's much deeper.
“I need help. I need a place to go, people who will listen to me. I need to be heard, Chris. I'm sorry for not calling you and I'm sorry for ignoring your texts,” I say to Chris. This is the first time we've spoken since our argument on the beach when he suddenly reappeared, very much alive. He exhales on the other end. “But right now, I need someone. I need my best friend. I need help, Chris. Help me.”
Emotions can be scarier than any monster under our bed, scarier than any boogie man in our closets. But all of us, at some point in our lives, will have to go through them. Face them, like the brave little kid who faced those monsters under the bed all those years ago. Open that wardrobe and don't be afraid of what you find on the inside and know that deep down, you are not alone. And even if you feel alone, don't be afraid to ask for a bit of help.
Chapter 15
- THE WINTER FINALE -
22 . 12 . 12
Check out The Promo Trailer for the Winter Finale in the video section!