Peter Lee's Notes from the Field

by Angela Ahn

  “What was she doing in a car so late at night?” I was confused.

  “We don’t know, Peter. All we know is, she took the car by herself.”

  “But Hammy hardly ever drives! Especially not at night!”

  “I have no answers right now,” Mom said wearily.

  “Should I get dressed?” I asked as I kicked the blankets off.

  “It’s one thirty in the morning. Your dad and I are going to pick up Haji and go to the hospital. You stay home with L.B. You’re almost eleven now and this is an emergency. When L.B. wakes up, can you make her breakfast? I’m counting on you, Peter. One of us will be back as soon as we can, but I don’t know how long that will be.” Her voice started to quake.

  “Okay.” I wondered how L.B. was going to take the news.

  Dad popped his head into my room and whispered, “Bye. We’ll be back as soon as we can. Thank you for taking care of L.B.” He turned to walk down the hall and then abruptly turned around, came into my room and quickly gave me a hug.

  I hugged him back. I listened to them close the front door and watched their car drive away into the night from my bedroom window. I sat in the dark for a moment before I flicked the light switch.

  I was wide awake now. I didn’t know what to do. The feeling of worry was practically choking me. I reached for my inhaler. What happened to Hammy? I pursed my lips tight and, as I paced back and forth in my room, the lens on the microscope that Haji had bought me in Drumheller caught the light and refracted brightly.

  Memories of our road trip started to flash through my mind. Suddenly, I wanted to see my journal of Environmental Observations from our trip. I needed to reread all of the notes I had taken while observing Hammy. As quietly as I could, I dug out the journal that I had left in the bottom of my duffel bag.

  I flipped through the pages; my last entry was written when we were in Drumheller, almost three weeks ago. I had stopped writing in journals since…giving up paleontology. I started thinking about Hammy. What had I missed? There were days when she forgot little things, but then there were days she was fine. I felt stupid, because she clearly wasn’t fine. Some “scientist” I was—I had done a terrible job observing and recording information about Hammy. I didn’t deserve to be a paleontologist anyway.

  I wondered how L.B. could have slept through all that phone ringing. I crossed the hallway, quietly opened the door to her room and peered inside. She was sound asleep, with Trixie tucked under her arm. What was I going to tell her in the morning?

  I worried L.B. would wake up before me if I went to bed and fell asleep. Our parents weren’t home. I was in charge. So I decided I had to be there right when she woke up. I grabbed my blanket and pillow and settled in for a long night sleeping on her floor.

  7:05 a.m.

  I woke up screaming. L.B. was staring at me, her face uncomfortably close. She was sitting cross-legged next to me on the floor of her bedroom, with Trixie sitting on her lap.

  “Good morning, Petey,” she said with an air of curiosity.

  “You scared me.” I propped myself up on one elbow.

  “May I ask why you are sleeping in this unusual spot?”

  “L.B.” I rubbed my eyes to wake myself up. “Nobody else is home.”

  She looked surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “They had to go to the hospital last night to see Hammy. There’s been an accident,” I said cautiously but clearly.

  She gasped.

  “I don’t know anything, so please don’t ask me,” I said, feeling helpless.

  Fortunately, we heard the front door open and, like a rocket, L.B. ran out of her room.

  “Hammy?!” she shouted. I got up and trailed her.

  It was Dad.

  “L.B., Peter, you’re up,” he said tiredly, taking off his jacket.

  “Is Hammy okay?” L.B. demanded.

  “L.B., calm down. Have a seat.”

  “How can I possibly be calm?” L.B. practically screamed. I thought she was going to rip Trixie apart she was so worked up.

  Dad sighed heavily. “Hammy is okay, but she’s pretty banged up.”

  “I have to see her now!” L.B. wailed.

  I breathed deeply, relieved that she was alive.

  “L.B., she is in no shape to see you right now. She is heavily medicated and wouldn’t even know you were there,” Dad said as gently as he could.

  L.B. collapsed on the floor.

  7:10 a.m.

  Dad called 911. I stared at my sister lying on the ground. My heart was racing and I held my fingertips up against her nose to make sure she was still breathing. She was. Because it is what they do in the movies, I also felt her wrist for a pulse.

  “Peter! Is she breathing?” Dad was kneeling right next to me, but his voice was loud and frantic.

  I nodded.

  “Yes!” he told the operator. He covered the mouthpiece of the phone, leaned into me and said, “They’re sending an ambulance.”

  That’s when L.B.’s eyes popped open and, wide-eyed, she looked at me and then at Dad, who dropped the phone.

  “Petey, we have to stop meeting this way,” L.B. said. It was the strangest thing that could have come out of her mouth. But she was back and I felt relieved.

  Dad, who by this time was sweating profusely, practically shouted, “What on Earth is she talking about?”

  I shook my head. “It’s a long story.”

  7:45 a.m.

  The taller, blond male paramedic asked L.B. questions and checked her eyes and pulse. He turned to his female partner and they consulted each other before he said, “We think she fainted from shock.”

  “Actually, the correct term is vasovagal syncope,” L.B. corrected as she sat up. She picked a fine time to be obnoxious.

  The paramedics broke into huge smiles at her. How could they not? They probably thought it was cute to be so small and know ridiculous things like that. Plus, she was still wearing her pajamas with the hamburger-and-fries pattern that Hammy had bought for her. The whole package must have just seemed so adorable.

  “You can take her to the hospital if you want to be extra safe, but it’s probably okay if you just keep her home and monitor her for the rest of the day,” the female paramedic said as she packed up her things.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Dad mumbled as they left the house. His hair was sticking up, his shirt was sticking out. It looked like he was going to be the next one to need medical assistance.

  Mom phoned again, and I picked up.

  “How’s L.B.?” she frantically shouted.

  “The paramedics just left. She’s fine. They think she just fainted from shock.”

  “Vasovagal syncope!” L.B. said, sipping the water Dad had brought her. Trixie was in her lap.

  “Now is not the time to be picky about terminology!” I said, exasperated.

  Dad collapsed on the sofa with his forearm covering his eyes.

  “Did she just correct you?” I could hear my mom sobbing.

  “Yes.”

  “L.B.’s going to be just fine.”

  “How’s Hammy?” I asked.

  “No change. I’ll try to come home later.”

  “When can I see Hammy?” L.B. yelled.

  “Tell her not yet,” Mom instructed me.

  “Mom says not yet,” I told her.

  L.B. pouted.

  “Peter,” Mom continued, “can L.B. hear me? You know she has ears like a bat.”

  “Just wait.” I walked away from L.B. “I’m upstairs now.”

  “Peter, I want to tell you something. Remember when you asked me in Drumheller what was wrong with Hammy? Well, we knew she was having trouble with her memory, but it’s a lot more serious than we realized. I hesitated to tell you then because I didn’t want you kids to worry. But now with the accident…
the doctors want to keep her in the hospital for a while to do some more tests. I’ve been thinking a lot, and I don’t think L.B. can handle this situation…emotionally.” She paused. I breathed heavily into the phone. “She’s just so attached to Hammy…”

  “I know,” I whispered.

  “Peter, if L.B. asks about Hammy, change the subject or be optimistic, okay?”

  I scrunched my brow. I didn’t like lying to L.B., but I didn’t want her to faint again either.

  “Okay, I’ll try,” I promised.

  “Good. See you later.”

  I carried the phone back downstairs and L.B. was standing at the bottom of the stairs waiting for me.

  “What else did you and Mom talk about?”

  I paused. “She wanted me to make sure you were keeping on top of your math exercises and that you didn’t forget your homework for your programming class.” I was shocked at how easy that was. That sounded totally like Mom.

  She scowled at me. “Unbelievable! Hammy is in the hospital and she continues to worry about my enrichment. Where are her priorities?”

  Chapter 22

  LET THERE BE CAKE

  Monday, August 12, 5:30 p.m.

  Conditions: Fairly bleak

  My eleventh birthday came and went. Nobody said anything. No one. Mom, Dad and Haji had been busy the last few days with Hammy—so busy that everybody forgot my birthday. All day yesterday, I felt a prickly sensation waiting for somebody to acknowledge me in some way, but the day passed and, when there was nothing, I felt numb. For the first few hours of the day, I wanted to drop a hint or point to the calendar, but I didn’t because the thought of me complaining about nobody remembering my birthday made me feel like a giant turd. Hammy was hurt and her recovery was more important than my birthday, so I shrugged it off as best as I could.

  Joe didn’t even send me a text or anything! But then I remembered we were dudes and we didn’t do that kind of thing. After my lousy July, I really didn’t think August could be any worse, but I had never been so wrong. So much for August being the best month.

  At home, there was really nothing else to talk about except Hammy. Mom updated us on Hammy’s progress each night, since L.B. and I weren’t allowed to see her while she was in the hospital. L.B. tried everything to get Mom to change her mind. She tried using reasonable arguments like “Hammy would be pleased to see her only granddaughter.” Mom shook her head no. She tried whining, “I need to see her! Why won’t you let me see her?” Mom shook her head no. She tried begging, “You are so mean! Please can I see her?” Mom shook her head no. L.B. finally gave up and sent a substitute instead. “Can you please take Trixie to her?” Mom finally nodded yes.

  “Hammy knows how much you love Trixie. I’m sure this will mean a lot to her.” This morning, Mom took Trixie to see Hammy at the hospital and L.B. was left with two big holes in her life.

  L.B. seemed different, quieter. When she wasn’t seeing her math tutor or doing her online computer programming course, she mostly sprawled herself on the carpet and stared at the ceiling. Mom hadn’t signed me up for anything this summer, so I did a little bit of that too. Some days I didn’t even feel like playing Asteroid Cataclysm on my tablet.

  It was a chaotic time for my parents and so I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that nobody bothered to look at the calendar or paid attention that my birthday had passed. It was all Mom and Dad could do to make sure one of them had ordered takeout so at least we’d have some kind of a dinner.

  Today at dinner—the day after I turned eleven—we were all sitting around quietly eating pizza when Haji slowly turned around, looked at the calendar and slapped his knee.

  “Peter!” he exclaimed. “We all forgot.”

  That wasn’t entirely true, but I kept my mouth shut.

  L.B. looked at the calendar and then burst into tears.

  Mom and Dad’s faces were both frozen in horror.

  “It’s okay,” I tried to reassure everybody. “You’ve been busy.” I looked at the empty seat at the table.

  Dad suddenly stood up. “If I hurry, I can still make it to the Chinese bakery on Kingsway!” He scrambled for his wallet and keys.

  “No, Dad, it’s okay.” I tried to stop him. “You can get a cake tomorrow.”

  “I’m getting a cake right now!” He ran out the door.

  Mom reached for my hand. “I’m so sorry, Peter.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

  I shrugged. “Really, it’s okay!”

  “Hammy would have remembered,” L.B. said quietly. She added, “If she were here.”

  “Tomorrow! I take you shopping!” Haji declared. “I buy you something nice!”

  “No, no. You already bought me that microscope.”

  “I buy you something else,” he said definitively.

  We were cleaning up plates and cups when my dad rushed through the door with a cake box in his hand.

  “Just made it before they closed!” he said, smiling. “They only had strawberry left, but you like strawberry, right?”

  I didn’t say anything, but Hammy always got me a mango cake.

  Dad cut the ribbon and opened up the box. “Come on!” he yelled in frustration.

  “What? What’s wrong?” we all said at the same time.

  Dad slowly held the cake out for us to see and said, “They were not happy to help me two minutes before closing.”

  My cake said “Happy Birthday Pity.”

  “I thought it would be cute if they wrote Petey,” Dad said, distressed. “I wrote it down for them, but I guess they couldn’t read my printing.”

  “There is something tragic about this cake,” L.B. declared with a frown.

  “Let’s eat it and forget it,” Haji said.

  “Good idea. Candles?” Mom asked Dad hopefully.

  He slapped his forehead.

  Suddenly, Haji started singing loudly, “Happy birthday to you!” The rest of the family joined in, but it was a pathetic chorus.

  After they all stopped singing, I’m not sure what got into me—maybe it was listening to my tone-deaf family or maybe it was my misspelled name—but I leaned over and blew out imaginary candles on the cake as dramatically as I could muster. I pretended that the whole cake was covered in candles and I just blew all over the darn thing. My spit flew everywhere.

  “That was the strangest thing I’ve ever witnessed. It’s also a horrible way to spread germs needlessly,” L.B. said.

  “It’s my belated birthday! I can do what I want!”

  My parents looked at each other, confused.

  I grabbed a fork and didn’t wait for Mom to cut the cake. I just started eating. I started with the word Pity. I stabbed it and lifted a chunk of cake right out so that the word, piped in chocolate, disappeared. “Well, come on,” I said with my mouth full. I chewed the P and I and T and Y as forcefully as I could. I motioned to the cake and the rest of my family joined in. Mom tentatively stabbed her fork into the whipped-cream edge. She held the piece of cake near her mouth, hesitating. I don’t know why he did it, but Dad pushed her elbow and the cake missed her mouth and hit the side of her face. And that was it. We all exploded into giggles and ate like we hadn’t had a meal in a week.

  L.B. didn’t even use a fork; she just dug her fingers right in. “We should break with convention more often!” L.B. said gleefully.

  It was the first fun we’d had since Hammy’s accident. My face had forgotten how to smile and it felt good to laugh again.

  After the cake was mashed up and mostly eaten, I helped clean up. The recycling box next to the back door was too full to handle the cake box, so I quietly put on Mom’s outdoor slippers and headed to the garage to put the recycling into the large bags the city gives us for weekly collection.

  I tried picking up a wad of random cardboard and paper and jamming it into the bag, but everyth
ing just tumbled out of my arms.

  “Argh!” I yelled; the sound of my own voice echoed around me in the garage. The mail that my mom had received after we got back from Drumheller caught my eye. And that envelope she’d received as a special Saturday delivery months ago. I looked through the recycling. More brochures, booklets and pamphlets I had never seen before. I flipped through them. Mom had marked some of the pages up with a highlighter. She had circled key phrases like twenty-four-hour nursing care, private or semiprivate rooms, and meal programs. I couldn’t breathe. This was for Hammy. They were going to send her away.

  It all made sense now. Mom wasn’t blind; she had seen things too. My knees started to wobble and I reached for an old stool we kept in the garage. I sat down and thought hard as I flipped through the pages of these glossy brochures. Hammy wasn’t so bad that she needed this—she just needed a little help! The thought of her living in a seniors’ home made me so sad. The pictures tried to make those places look so happy and cheery, but I wasn’t fooled. How could you be happy living far away from the people who cared about you? What about Haji? How could he do without her? What would I do without her shuffling around her old house, passing me plates of nicely presented food after school? No. She was not going to the Golden Sunset Active Living Centre. Not yet. Not if I could do something, anything to help her.

  Chapter 23

  TREASURE HUNTING

  Tuesday, August 13, 10 a.m.

  Conditions: Hazy, but chance of clearing in the evening

  Haji honked the car horn at ten o’clock. I was sitting in the living room waiting for him. “I’m leaving now! Haji’s here!” I shouted to nobody in particular.

  “Okay! Have fun!” Mom shouted back from the kitchen.

  I opened the door to Haji’s rental car and hopped in. Their car was still in the repair shop.

  “I’m sorry this will be late, Peter. It’s just so…” He struggled to finish his sentence.

  “It’s okay, Haji,” I reassured him. I buckled my seat belt.