Ruin

by Clarissa Wild

  We stare at each other for a few seconds, and then I watch the regret slowly slip into his eyes.

  “I’m …” he mutters. “I didn’t mean to yell. It just … came out.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do. And I still think it’s my fault that you almost fell. I pushed you to walk. I told you it would be okay. Just like when I gave my dad a turkey sandwich when I knew damn well it could kill him. I always mess everything up.”

  “A turkey sandwich?” I mutter.

  “Oh, just ignore me …” he says.

  I suck in a breath. His father? It’s the first time he’s ever talked about something so personal. I wonder what it means.

  “Tell me about your father.”

  He frowns. “You don’t want to know that. Not now.”

  “Yes, I do,” I say, biting the insides of my cheek again. “Tell me.”

  He swallows and looks away at the window. It takes him a while to start talking again. And I can tell from the way he flicks his fingers along his nails that it’s something important.

  Something that may have made him feel like it’s always his fault.

  ***

  Alexander

  Before

  It’s just another ordinary day, like many before.

  When do we ever wake up knowing it’s not?

  Never.

  Are we ever prepared for the impossible?

  When the day comes that you’re eating a turkey sandwich while watching TV and, all of the sudden, your dad says, “I don’t feel right.” Something he never said before.

  When you look at him and see the pieces of sandwich drop from his mouth as he struggles to breathe. When you see his hand grasp for his chest. When you rush to him and realize the choking sounds have stopped and so has his breathing.

  When you see his eyes roll back into his skull.

  No one.

  No one is ever prepared to be the one to call 911.

  Every child is prepped, and so was I. I know which buttons to press, what to say, my address, what happened—my dad is dying. I know exactly what to do.

  But I am not prepared for this day.

  I am the one who sits next to him, holding his limp hand and waiting for the ambulance to come.

  The first person who comes through that door I’ve been so desperately gazing at isn’t a paramedic, though. It’s my mom.

  The look of terror on her face as she sees my dad on the floor and puke everywhere will stay with me forever.

  Fear floods over me as she rushes to his side and asks me what happened.

  I explain it in a monotone voice. My tongue feels swollen and my lips completely numb. I don’t know what else to say other than stating all the facts and leaving out the rest.

  The turmoil. The screams.

  We wait, and it seems like forever until they finally come for him.

  They greet my mother and sit down beside my father, unpacking their supplies while ignoring me. I sit back on the floor and watch them tear open his shirt so they can start CPR. All the things I’ve seen on the TV are now happening right in front of me.

  By the time they pull out the stretcher and lay him on it, too many minutes have passed.

  I watch them lift him up and carry him out of the living room, his body still as lifeless as when he first collapsed. As my mother follows them out the door, they tell me they can only take one person, so I stay behind.

  I sit down on the couch, alone, and think of all the ways I could have possibly prevented him from choking. How I could’ve taken his sandwich away or not have given it to him at all. How I could’ve stopped my mom from buying it, or how I could’ve told my dad to exercise more.

  And if there was no avoiding his collapse, at least I could’ve learned CPR. How I could have not been a failure.

  I also think of the last time I saw my father alive.

  Eating a sandwich.

  Laughing at the game show on TV.

  And I realize it may have been the last thing I’ve ever done with him.

  ***

  Maybell

  Now

  “Oh … wow.” I don’t even know what else to say.

  It sounds horrible.

  Now, I understand why he’s so upset about seeing me fall. He really does think everything is his fault.

  “Fuck,” he growls, jumping up from his seat. “I should not have told you that.”

  “Why? There’s nothing wrong with what you did, Alex. If things happen, they happen because they must. We don’t have any control over the world.”

  “It was wrong!” he yells. “All of it!”

  Then he slams his lips together and stares ahead.

  He doesn’t say another word before turning around and leaving my room.

  The silence is deafening, and I hate it.

  I should be checking out my leg, calling the nurse, and making sure that I haven’t broken it again. And I will, in a minute.

  However … all I can think about right now is how I hope he’ll return.

  I should’ve told him to stay.

  Awkwardness is Human

  Maybell

  I’ve been playing games on my laptop the entire day, mostly World of Warcraft, just to keep myself busy. I also ordered a bacon and cheese sandwich just because I could. Ever since I realized I might never dance again, I figured it didn’t matter whether I got fat.

  Plus, I need something to keep me occupied.

  I still can’t take my mind off Alex.

  I wait hours on end for him to come. I hope he does, although I have a feeling he might not. He seemed pretty angry with himself yesterday. I have to tell him it’s not his fault … none of it ever was.

  I pull out my phone and text him on the number he gave me the other day.

  Where are you?

  My finger hovers over the send button as I consider whether to send it. But my thumb had already pressed by the time I thought about it clearly. There goes my last chance not to be stupid. Oh, well. I hope he takes it the right way.

  Ten minutes pass and still no reply.

  I know he’s seen it. There are two checkmarks beside the text.

  I wonder why he’s not responding. If maybe, it really went too far for him. But at the same time, I wonder if he shouldn’t be doing his regular rounds today. Even if he doesn’t visit me, he could still help other people.

  My mom barges in, and I put the laptop aside before she can see I’m playing that game she hates so much.

  “Here you go,” she says, handing me a Snickers bar. “I don’t understand why you can’t eat healthy food.”

  “I broke my leg, Mom. I need something sugary so I can feel good, okay?”

  She sighs and says, “Yes, yes … I know.” She sits down beside me and watches me tear the package and eat the Snickers. “Chew with your mouth closed.”

  I roll my eyes but don’t complain. I know she’s only saying these things because she can’t help herself. My annoyance is reaching its peak, though. My fingers automatically start twisting my hair up into curls as I eat the Snickers and dream about being able to run and dance again. When I’m done, I throw the wrapper in the bin and stare ahead.

  It’s silent for a while. Until she opens her mouth.

  “You’re doing it again.”

  “What?” I frown.

  “That thing …” She points at my hand that’s rubbing my leg over and over again.

  I do it because the fabric feels nice against my hand, and when I stop, it tingles. I love it.

  Mom … not so much.

  “Oh …” I mutter, stopping so she’s not bothered anymore.

  This is why I don’t like having people around. They always tell me to stop being myself.

  I wish Alex were here instead of my mom, even though she’s my mom and I hardly know him. But he accepts me the way I am. Is that such a bad thing to want?

  “Hey
… nurse. Nurse!”

  I turn my head when I notice my neighbor Mr. Chang getting up from his seat.

  “You two are nurses, right? I need to go.”

  “No, we’re not nurses,” I say, confused.

  “Hi, there …” My mom waves at him, but he just stares blankly at her.

  “Who are you?” he asks.

  “I’m her mom.”

  I lean closer to her and whisper, “Don’t tell him too much. He’s a bit whacked up.” I twirl my finger close to my temple, and my mom makes an O-shape with her mouth.

  “Where are the nurses?” he asks.

  “I can call them for you,” I say, pressing the button.

  “This isn’t a hospital, is it?” he says, taking a step forward.

  “Yes, it is,” I say.

  “No, you’re lying,” he growls, his brows furrowing.

  I laugh. “Why would I lie? I’m a patient too. See? Look.” I point at my leg and show him the nasty scar.

  He seems confused for a second but then continues to step forward. “I’m leaving.”

  The nurse comes in, and luckily, this time, it’s before he’s escaped. It’s not the first time this has happened.

  “Sir, where are you going?” she asks.

  “Home.” The determined look on his face tells me he’s serious.

  “But you can’t leave yet, sir,” the nurse says.

  “I can leave whenever I damn well please!” he yells.

  My mom and I can’t stop staring at the ordeal.

  “You’re in a hospital, sir. You’re not better yet.”

  “Of course, you’d say that. You’re one of them!” The accusing tone in his voice makes me a bit anxious.

  “One of who? I’m a nurse, sir. Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

  “No, you’re … uh … yes, I actually do have to go.” He nods a few times, clearly not sure where he’s going or why.

  “I’ll help you,” she says, grabbing his arm. “Let’s go to the toilet, okay?”

  “But … I need to go straight home after that. I have a customer waiting for his supplies.”

  “Of course, sir. After you recover,” the nurse says, and I chuckle a little because she’s playing it off so well.

  When they disappear through the door, my mom asks, “Was he for real?”

  “Yep. Completely losing his marbles every day.”

  “Wow …”

  “Some days are better than others. This is one of the weird ones, I guess.”

  “He must be a handful, having to call the nurse every time he gets up to do something silly.”

  “I think I’ve called them more for him than for me.” I snigger.

  “Maybe that’s why they put you in here with him.” She leans in and winks. “So you can keep an eye on him.”

  “At least that gives me something exciting to do,” I muse, sticking out my tongue.

  We smile, and then it’s quiet between us again. I hate the silence. I always have, but only when I’m with someone—never when I’m alone.

  “So … how is your therapy going? Any progress?” mom asks to break the ice again.

  “Yeah … I can walk with the crutches now.” I smile back when she smiles awkwardly.

  “So you’ll be up on your feet in no time then.”

  “It’s still going to take twelve months of rehab,” I add.

  “I know, but at least you’ve got something to look forward to.” She folds her arms. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do now with your leg and the dancing and all that?”

  Just the mere mention of dancing makes goose bumps appear on my skin.

  “No, Mom …” I make a face. “I haven’t, and I really don’t want to right now.”

  “But what are you going to do when you get out of the hospital?”

  “Go to my house?” I joke, but she’s not laughing. Just like all the other times I attempt to make a joke, it never works.

  She rolls her eyes. “I meant with work. You need a job. Money.”

  “I know …” I sigh. “Mom, can we please not talk about this now?”

  “But …” She swallows and lets out another breath. “I’m just worried about you. A lot.”

  “I appreciate that, but I need to figure this out on my own. How else am I supposed to learn?”

  “You’re right …” She pouts. “I just can’t help seeing you as my baby.” She caresses my cheek. “I know how tough it is for you with your condition and everything.”

  “It’s called Asperger’s. You can call it by its name,” I say.

  “No, you’re not just an Aspie, May. You’re special. You’re unique. You’re you. Maybell Fairweather. And I’m damn proud I made you, no matter how things go.”

  She smiles, tearing up a little as I lean in for a hug. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “You know you can always call for help, right?” She kisses my cheek and pets my hair.

  “Yeah,” I say, nodding as she gets up.

  “I have to go now, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Thanks,” I say, and she walks out the door, leaving me alone again.

  I grab my laptop again and start up the game. It’s the only thing that lets me escape the bitterness of my reality and forget the obligations yet to come. Stuff like how I’m going to take care of myself, my house, and of course money.

  Just mentioning the words already makes my stomach go haywire, and I don’t want to hurl.

  Instead, I log in to my favorite character and explore the game world, letting myself go in the fantasy that I can beat all the monsters that cross my path.

  After about ten minutes of playing, I pick up the can of Pepsi my mom brought with her from home and open it so I can take a drink.

  When I bring it to my lips, I notice a figure standing in the doorway.

  I nearly pour the drink down the front of my shirt.

  “Shit!” I hiss, putting the can on the bedside table while I wipe away the drops from my chin and neck.

  Alex’s familiar chuckle resonates through the room. “Need a straw?”

  “Nah, I’m good,” I say, muffling a laugh, but I’m blushing too. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

  Now, his face turns a bit red too, and mine heats up to freaking stove temperatures.

  Why do I always say stupid stuff that gets me into trouble?

  “Sorry … I …” he begins, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

  “It’s okay,” I say, gently smiling. “I understand. After yesterday …” I clear my throat. “I didn’t think you’d visit again. I thought I ruined it.”

  “No …” He shakes his head vigorously as he walks toward me and grabs my hand, kneeling near my bed. “You haven’t ruined anything. You could never …”

  My heart warms from his words, beating faster ever so slightly.

  “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I didn’t mean to.”

  I place my hand over his. “I understand why you did it. Although I don’t know what it feels like to go through what you’ve been through, I don’t blame you for anything.” I look him in the eye. “My falling was not your fault. I was too enthusiastic.”

  “But your leg—”

  “My leg is fine,” I interrupt, and I shuffle out of the bed to show him how good I can bend it. “See? Fine. My good leg just hurts a little, nothing major.”

  He visibly relaxes, his shoulders less tense than before. “I don’t understand …”

  “What?”

  His fingers reach for my face.

  I freeze as he touches a lock of my hair and slowly tucks it behind my ear, his eyes scanning every inch of my face.

  “How you can be so happy to see me.”

  I turn red as a beet.

  Did he really just say that?

  “Of c-course,” I stutter. “You’re my best friend in this place.”

  Damn, that didn’t come o
ut right.

  The left corner of his lips perks up. “Best friend … I like the sound of that.”

  It’s quiet for some time, but the silence isn’t strange anymore.

  The more time I spend with him, the more acquiescent I feel to the silence between us. It’s as if it doesn’t matter anymore what or when we say a word because we can tell an entire story just by looking into each other’s eyes.

  “So … is your dad …” I don’t want to imply anything that’ll make him feel bad, but I do think it needs to be talked about.

  “Oh no, he’s not. It was a long time ago, back when we were still in high school. He’s still alive,” Alex answers, clearing his throat. “But he’s not the same guy anymore.”

  “How come?”

  “Well … the choking turned out to be a cardiac arrest. It was so severe they had to put him into a coma for two days. He was out of oxygen too, so it did some damage to his brain.”

  “Oh, wow …”

  “Yeah, but he survived, thanks to the nurses and doctors, and I’m grateful for every additional second I get to spend with him. Even if he’s a grumpy old bastard.” He muffles a quick laugh.

  “Hmm … I can imagine,” I say.

  It’s quiet again as I take a sip of my drink while Alex keeps looking at me like he wants to say something but doesn’t know quite how.

  “Maybe that’s why I like working in the hospital now,” he adds. “I can help people here.”

  “Yeah … it must feel really rewarding.”

  He nods, and then it’s quiet again. I wish I could keep a conversation going, but I’m so bad at socializing. I hope he doesn’t mind.

  “So … are we all good again?” I say after a while.

  “Why wouldn’t we be?” He raises his brows, making me smile.

  “Okay, then. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course,” he says, scooting a chair closer so he can listen.

  “Do you always just go to my room and no one else’s?”

  He smirks. “I just like to entertain you the most, that’s all.”