Saving Beck

by Courtney Cole

  I was lost and she knew it, and she turned my face to her with her grubby thumbs.

  “You’ve made me feel again,” she said. “And that’s something, King. That’s something.”

  She made me feel something too, something warm, something soft. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time. She made me feel accepted, and her acceptance wasn’t laced with condemnation or judgment, and that was the purest thing in the world. I told her that.

  “But do you love me?” she asked simply, and in this moment, I’d never seen anything so beautiful as Angel. I found myself nodding, and her smile was the sun.

  “I do,” I said out loud.

  “Good,” she decided, and deflated into my arms. “Real love should be reciprocal. It’s sad when it’s not.”

  She was troubled now and I knew she was thinking about her mother, but I wanted to distract her from that. She was worth more than her mother gave her credit for.

  “Some people don’t recognize true value,” I told her, and when did I become so wise? “And they never will because it cannot be taught. It just is. Your mom . . . she just didn’t know how to love you.”

  Angel nodded, her eyes closed. “I know.”

  She was so peaceful now, and I wondered if she’d finally accepted that. Her mother was missing something inside of her, an important piece. It wasn’t Angel’s fault. It never was.

  I started to point it out, but I was interrupted by something wrong. Something very, very wrong.

  Angel began to shake. Hard and vigorous and violent.

  Even in my stupor I saw it. Her head snapped back and her chest arched up and she was convulsing and I didn’t know what to do.

  “Angel,” I tried to say, to snap her out of it, but she couldn’t answer because there was foam in her mouth and her nose. Flecks of it flew as her head shook, and her eyes rolled back in her head until all I could see were the bloodshot whites.

  “King,” she managed to say, and her teeth slammed together like prison doors. “Something’s wrong.”

  “I know.” I grabbed at her, trying to soothe her, but whatever was wrong was wrong inside of her, and there was nothing I could do. “I think it’s bad heroin.”

  I was starting to shake now too, just a little, and it was taking longer to work into my system because I was bigger and she’d gone first.

  “Hold on,” I told her. “Just hold on. I’ll get you to the doctor.”

  But she was crying now, and her snot was mixed with the foam, and Winston was running around and whimpering because he knew something was wrong. Angel tried to say something, but her jaw was clenched tight, like it was stuck. She tried again and grabbed my arm, her fingers sharp as talons.

  “Sa . . . rah . . .” she managed to say, and there was blood on her lip. “My . . . name.”

  I was stunned and I stared, because she didn’t want me to know that, because that was her past life and this was her new one. And Sarah didn’t fit her at all.

  “Greene,” her teeth chattered, and her arm flopped on the cement. I grabbed her up and buried my head in her shirt, and it was wet with foam and blood. Sarah Greene.

  “Angel,” I begged. “Stay here with me. It’s okay. You’re my Angel. You’re okay.”

  But she wasn’t and I knew it.

  She was convulsing now and her head was lashing from side to side and she couldn’t talk or breathe.

  “I love you,” I told her, and I was desperate. “Stay with me. Stay.”

  Time stopped and her eyes said a million things, some good, some bad, some terrified. I wanted her to say she loved me too, but a tear slipped from the corner of her eye onto the bridge of her nose, and time started again, and things moved so fast, too fast.

  “Stop!” I shouted, and I begged God to help her but He didn’t. He wasn’t even listening.

  I knew this because she died.

  It happened suddenly, like someone turned off a light and closed the door behind them.

  Her body seemed to deflate, the birds that were sitting in the broken windowsill fluttered into the night in a flurry of black rasping wings. The sound filled my ears. Whir whir whir.

  Angel’s arms were limp and her eyes were open. But she was so very, very still. The tear on her nose dripped down down down and fell onto the ground.

  Then there was nothing else.

  I was shaky and hot and flushed and it was happening to me too, but I tried to press on her chest to pump her heart, and it wouldn’t work.

  She wouldn’t breathe and her heart wouldn’t beat because she was dead.

  “No,” I yelled, my teeth starting to slam together, and it was coming for me. I lay down next to Angel and I draped her arm over me like we slept, and her body was still warm and this is how I would go. Next to someone I loved, next to someone who loved me.

  The end doesn’t hurt, I decided.

  “It’s like falling asleep,” my teeth chattered to Winston, and Angel would kill me for leaving him.

  But I rested my head next to Angel’s and Winston lay down next to me, and for a minute, just a minute, I was ready.

  I was ready for this to end.

  For it all to be over, this struggle, this fear, this addiction, this life.

  But then . . . but then . . . I heard Angel’s voice. From somewhere and from nowhere.

  “Get up, King. Get help.”

  I opened my eyes and they stung and twitched, and the bad heroin was pulsing through me, deeper and deeper, and I felt it penetrate my heart, into the tissues and valves, and Angel was gone, but her voice was so loud in my head.

  Get up.

  Get help.

  I’d do anything for her and she knew it.

  “I’m Beck,” I whispered into her ear, even though she couldn’t hear me. Her eyes were open, and I could hear her voice in my head. Get help. “My name is Beck.”

  She deserved to know that.

  I staggered to my feet and my vision was tunneling, darkening, and it was hard to see but I managed to stagger out of the alley and the few blocks to the L. I pushed my way on and dropped into a seat, and I was convulsing but no one noticed or no one cared.

  I don’t know if I can make it, I thought to Angel.

  You can, she assured me. You will.

  But I didn’t think so.

  The light was fading away, and no one was around me, but everyone was, and I knew that. I could hear their voices and they all blended into each other like notes in a song and I was so fucking high, so messed up, and I couldn’t feel my hands. I couldn’t feel my feet. Was this real?

  The orange flecks on my sleeves from Angel’s mouth told me it was.

  I clenched my fingers together to try to stop the shaking and I thought they might snap like old wood, and the train squealed to a stop and I somehow got to my feet. I didn’t know how.

  But I did.

  I stepped one two three four five steps before I ran into a wall and someone said Dude, you okay?

  But I couldn’t answer, and they didn’t ask again.

  They were gone and the light was gone and everything was dark, and I walked as much as I could and my feet found their way. They had a memory and they knew where they were going. They knew where home was. It wasn’t far. I had traveled this path many times home from practice.

  I fell going up the steps, but I saw the porch and I fell again.

  I hit hard—my cheek slammed into the brick—but I didn’t feel it. The porch light turned on, and it was in my eyes and I shook hard hard harder and then the foam came.

  It came out of my nose and throat, and into my mouth and onto my shirt, and I heard my mother.

  “Beck,” she cried out, and I was in her arms.

  I’d made it.

  I tried to tell her about Angel, to ask for help for Angel, but my lips wouldn’t work. They weren’t connected to my body anymore, and the muscles were fading and my tongue had fallen away. I tried again, and I might’ve gotten it out. I felt a hand on my head, and then there were lights
, red and blue, and I couldn’t stay awake anymore and everything was gone and it was just like falling asleep.

  thirty-seven

  NATALIE

  MERCY HOSPITAL

  10:39 P.M.

  I’M WATCHING THE TIME TICK by on the clock. Second by second, it pushes forward toward eleven p.m.

  “It’s almost time,” Elin tells Beck, and she’s nervous. She’s been here almost the entire time, and she hasn’t wavered. I’ll never question her love for him again.

  Over the intercom in the hall, the “Rock-a-Bye Baby” chime plays and a baby has been born while my baby lies still in this hospital bed. I try not to think about that, or wonder again if the universe has to balance life with death.

  The door opens, and I look up to find Vinny standing there, hesitant. He finds Sammy with his eyes.

  “We’re here,” he says simply, and my mouth opens.

  “We?”

  “I told him to bring the kids,” Sam answers. “Nat, they need to see Beck. They should have the opportunity.”

  I want to argue, to say that they’ll have plenty of time for that, but I look at my son and he’s so pale and tired. Devin and Annabelle didn’t get the chance to see Matt. But they can have it with Beck.

  I nod, and Sam is relieved.

  Vinny pushes the door open wider and Dev and Annabelle come in, timidly, nervously.

  “Mama,” Annabelle cries, and she runs to me, her eyes on Beck. Devin is more reserved, but that’s just who he is. Elin makes room on her side, and Devin joins her, his small face pale behind his glasses.

  “Is he going to die?” he asks seriously, and he lays his freckled hand down on Beck’s. His fingers are small and Beck’s are long. My throat tightens up and I can’t lie.

  “We hope not,” I tell him. “Your brother is strong. He’s a fighter, Dev.”

  “So was Daddy,” Annabelle pipes up. I think we all flinch. Matt was a fighter, but his injuries were insurmountable. No one could’ve survived them.

  Annabelle gets up and sits next to Beck, and she’s so careful not to bump her big brother.

  “Becky, don’t forget your promise,” she reminds him, and loops her pinkie through his. “You can’t break a pinkie promise.”

  She’s so serious, and I don’t know what she’s talking about.

  “What pinkie promise, sweetie?” I ask, my voice low.

  She glances up, her hand still entwined with her brother’s.

  “He promised me he wouldn’t die,” she answers simply.

  Oh God.

  Sam sucks in an audible breath, and my throat is so tight now I can’t breathe. Annabelle’s face is grave.

  I’m getting ready to comfort her, to give them both a hug, when the monotonous beep from Beck’s machines changes. It turns from a staccato beep into one long wail, and the green line on the screen turns flat and straight.

  I’m shocked, and I can’t move, and the medical staff rushes in, surrounding Beck in a swarm.

  “Code blue, room two twelve,” the intercom shrieks. “Code blue, room two twelve.”

  I’m paralyzed with fear because we’re in room two twelve.

  thirty-eight

  BECK

  THERE IS CANDLELIGHT EVERYWHERE AND I feel so light. All of the weight from my shoulders has lifted and there is no pain at all.

  How can that be? Where am I?

  I look around, surprised to see I’m surrounded by stones and candles and an immense sense of peace.

  It seems familiar here. I’m warm and safe, and I realize suddenly that I’m in the grotto on the Notre Dame campus.

  How did I get here?

  “Isn’t this a nice place to sit and think?” my father asks, stepping from the shadows. He’s wearing khakis and a tucked-in polo shirt, just the same as he was the last time we were here.

  “Dad?” I’m standing, no longer confined to a hospital bed. He smiles at me, and suddenly he’s next to me, giving me a warm hug. I hadn’t seen him move, but his arms are strong, his body is warm. I’m enveloped by a sense of safety, the safety that only comes from being with my father.

  “Were you expecting someone else?” he asks, and he’s so flippant, like always.

  “I don’t know,” I admit, and I feel a little stupid. “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

  “Well, that’s life,” he says, shrugging, and it’s not even important. I sense that very little of my former life is important now. I feel it in my bones.

  “I’ve missed you, Dad,” I tell him. “So much.”

  “I’ve missed you too,” he answers, and his eyes are solemn. “You don’t know how much.”

  “Am I dead?” I ask, and I’m hesitant.

  “Do you want to be?” My father isn’t worried, and he isn’t hesitant. He’s matter-of-fact. He’s calm.

  Do I want to be?

  “I don’t know,” I admit because it’s the truth. “It’s nice here.”

  Serenity seeps into my bones and everything feels right, like I’m meant to be here. Like I was always meant to be here.

  “You’d miss your mom,” Dad tells me knowingly. “I know I do.”

  “Then why’d you leave?”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” Dad says.

  “I’m so sorry,” I tell him, and my mood darkens and the weight threatens to return. “I’m so sorry. It was my fault.”

  My dad stares at me with that level stare that he often gets, and he almost laughs.

  “Why are you sorry?” he asks. “I’m the one who let you drive. It was nighttime and you were tired. You were a new driver. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m the one who’s sorry, Beck. I don’t want you to carry guilt. It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”

  Not long ago I wouldn’t have believed him. But tonight his words seem to have so much weight. It’s as though once he spoke them, they became fact in my heart. Why didn’t I think of that point of view before?

  “Do you really believe that?” I ask him. “Do you really think that’s true?”

  “Of course,” my dad says, nodding. “It is absolutely the truth.”

  “I’ve been a bad person,” I say doubtfully. “I’ve made mistakes.”

  “Who hasn’t?” Dad asks. “No one is perfect.”

  “Mom was with Kit,” I tell him, and I don’t know if I should have. “It turns out that Kit has loved her for a long time.”

  “I know that,” Dad tells me, rolling his eyes. “Do you think he could hide anything from me? He’s the worst at secrets.”

  “Don’t you care?”

  Dad stares at me. “Kit would never have done anything inappropriate,” he says sternly. “You should know that. You know him, Beckitt.”

  “So you’re not upset?”

  “I think I’m incapable of being upset now,” Dad says thoughtfully. “All I feel is peace. I love your mom but I want her to be happy. I want you to be happy too.”

  “I’d like to be happy,” I say quietly. “I just don’t know how.”

  “Well, the first thing I would suggest is waking up,” he says, and he’s staring at me again. “I love you, but your mom needs you. You can come here some other time.”

  “But do you think I will?” I ask, and I’m worried now. “What if I can’t come back?”

  Dad smiles and I feel the love coming from his teeth, shining upon me like a light. “Of course you can, son. Just wait for a few years. Maybe seventy.”

  He laughs, and is this happening?

  “Am I dreaming?” I ask, because I’ve grown used to the line of reality and fantasy being blurred.

  “Does it matter?” my father asks. “I mean, truly matter?”

  I think on that, and I guess it doesn’t.

  “Did you ever listen to that CD I gave you?” Dad asks.

  I shake my head. “No. It was too hard. Your voice. And you gave it to me that night . . .”

  My voice trails off and Dad shakes his head. “You should. There’s some good stuff on there. I’m a pr
etty bright guy.”

  “And modest,” I point out. He smiles.

  “You’re just like your mother.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s time to wake up, son,” he urges me. “You can do it. Just open your eyes and it will be done.”

  I try, but nothing happens. I’m still here in the grotto and the candles flicker in the night.

  “I don’t know if I can,” I say. “It’s harder than you think.”

  “You can do it,” he tells me confidently. “That’s one thing about you, Beck. You can do anything you put your mind to. I love you, son.”

  “I love you too, Dad,” I answer.

  He smiles at me, and it lifts me up and buoys me, and suddenly I’m free.

  thirty-nine

  NATALIE

  MERCY HOSPITAL

  10:41 P.M.

  I’M IN THE CORNER OF the hospital room. Everyone else was shoved out, but I stayed and they didn’t order me out.

  Beck’s hand once again dangles on the side of the bed as they try their best to resuscitate my son, to restart his heart and breathe life into his lungs.

  “Please, God,” I whisper. “Please. Take me instead. Let him live. Please. Let him live.”

  One of the nurses turns and it’s Jessica. She starts to say something to me, to tell me to leave, but she changes her mind, her eyes kind. She motions to me to stay where I am, and I do. I’ll stay out of the way and they’ll save my son.

  I watch and hold my breath and chant prayers, hoping God will hear my uttered words.

  I’ve never been so afraid. I’ve never been so desperate and out of control. My son, my beautiful, beautiful son isn’t breathing. And his heart isn’t beating.

  I’d listened to that heartbeat when he was still in my womb. I’d listened to him take his first breath, and God, I don’t want to listen to him take his last.

  I stare at the bed and the boy in it, but I can’t really see him now. Only his fingertips dangling in the air, and his hand moves as they pump at his heart, but it moves with their efforts.

  I see him when he was a baby . . . the first time he smiled at me. It was bright and wide, like the sun.