Pieces of Me

by Tich Brewster

  The pulsing in my ears grows louder when I stand. With every beat of my heart the thundering pulse resonates in my ears. A hand takes mine and I look down.

  Thaddeus is holding onto me like a lifeline, I am his and he is mine. Silently we walk up the stairs, never breaking contact.

  We bypass his room and walk to mine. “What will we do if mom doesn’t—”

  “Don’t even finish that sentence.” Thaddeus pushes open my bedroom door, releasing my hand. “Mom will be fine.” His words are reassuring but I can see it in his eyes. Even he doesn’t believe his own words. “Get ready and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  I nod and watch him walk away.

  Saint Francis hospital is only a fifteen-minute drive from my house, but tonight the drive is dragging by like hours rather than minutes. The longer I sit here, staring out the window, the more my imagination runs wild.

  So far, my mind has conjured images of my mom with massive head wounds, broken and twisted limbs, missing appendages, and even a disfigured facebasically, every grotesque thing imaginable. As if picturing them once wasn’t bad enough, my brain has these images playing on repeat in my mind and I can feel myself slowly going insane from the mental torment.

  Thaddeus is sitting in the front passenger seat, rocking back and forth, and I catch his reflection in the window. He is chewing on his thumbnail, a habit he hasn’t had since we were in elementary school. Watching him, I can see that the unknown is clawing at his nerves like it is mine. Grabbing the sleeve of his shirt, he wipes at his nose and continues torturing his thumbnail.

  Eryc is sitting next to me, one arm resting on my shoulder and the fingers of that hand caressing my upper arm. His other hand is stretched across his stomach and holding mine where it rests on the seat between us. This guy is offering me his strength and comfort through touch.

  I have ignored him for the last few years for my own selfish gain, but he is comforting me like nothing between us has changed. In my heart, I know I don’t deserve it but I’m thankful for his support.

  Buildings pass by in a blur and the dotted lines on the highway merge into one solid yellow line. My heart is hammering painfully in my chest.

  Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

  Fear is an ugly thing. It is a cloaked demon, breaking my heart and soul, piece by piece. This demon of fear is willing me to fall into submission. My self-control is teetering on the edge of submitting to fear or remaining strong for mom and Thaddeus.

  Through my torment, Eryc is my light in this raging storm. His light is giving me the tiniest bit of hope to hold onto, and it’s that bit of hope that is keeping me from succumbing to fear.

  I am terrified of what will happen if my mom dies. Will her death be the one thing that will push me over the edge? It might. I am already swimming in a black abyss and I fear mom’s death will be the thing that severs the air hose, leaving me to drown in my own misery.

  Restaurants and gas stations zip by and I know we are getting close to Saint Francis. The hospital is just another mile up the road. I close my eyes and lean my forehead against the cool glass of the window. Butterflies swim in my belly but it’s not the good kind of butterflies. These butterflies are brought on by anxiety and fear.

  A left turn brings us onto the hospital property. Rene follows the curve to the left and pulls up to the emergency doors. “Go on in. I’ll park and meet you inside.”

  The sound of a car door opening and closing does nothing to stir me. Thaddeus is standing on the curb, his back to me and his leg is bouncing in a nervous tick. I hear Eryc encouraging me to exit the vehicle but my body is paralyzed. I’m glued to the seat, so-to-speak.

  Another door opens and closes, the car shifts when this person exits the vehicle. Then Eryc is suddenly in my view and opening the door, holding his hand out for me.

  It baffles me, really, that he can continue to be nice to me when I have done nothing but ignore him for the better part of our high school years. I’m not sure I could respond the same way if it had been him ignoring me. Not to this level of kindness anyway. He will never know how much this means to me. This small act of kindness is what is standing between me and that bottle of Oxycodone and razors in my medicine cabinet at this very moment.

  Thaddeus holds my left hand, Eryc my right, and we walk through the double doors. I know I look like an awful mess in my pajamas, flip-flops, and a mass of wild curls frizzing out on the top of my head. My brother looks only slightly better with his ripped jeans and winkled shirt, which probably came out of his hamper.

  Behind the glass window, a receptionist is typing on a computer. She glances up at us but furrows her brows as she once again focuses on the screen in front her.

  I bend toward the small opening. “Excuse me, I’m here to see my mom.”

  The buttons on the keyboard click with each movement of her fingers.

  The dark-haired receptionist doesn’t acknowledge me, except to raise one finger to gesture for us to wait. Two nurses enter the reception area with electronic devices in hand. One of them flips through a filing cabinet and the other leans her hip on the counter as she waits for her co-worker.

  Eryc knocks on the window and the redheaded nurse approaches the window. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Eryc steps toward the large window, bending to down to speak into the speaker hole in the glass. “We’re here for Brenda Yasmeen, she was brought in earlier. She’s in surgery.”

  Opening her device, she cradles it in one hand while typing with the other. A few clicks later she says, “Take the elevator down the hall,” she points to our left, “up to the third floor. Follow the orange signs on the right, past the double doors, and the waiting room will be at the end of the hall.”

  “Thank you.” Eryc takes my hand and leads me to the elevators.

  Chapter Eight

  Eryc

  Makayla walks beside me, zombielike, allowing me to guide her through the hospital. I’m not sure she is aware of much going on around her. Sure, she looks at the doctors and nurses we pass in the hallways but her stare is blank and unfocused. It’s like the lights are on but no one is home. I can only imagine how scared she must be.

  Thaddeus is no longer walking beside his sister. Instead, he is following along behind us, his biker boots are smacking the tile floor with each step he takes. He seems to be doing better than Makayla but I think it’s because he is trying to be strong for her.

  The waiting room is mostly empty, there is only one other family in here. A man, a woman, and three small children. Several chairs and two small round tables are vacant on the other side of the room, so I lead Makayla over to the first table. She picks up a magazine and thumbs through it but her gaze is at the window in front of her and not on the magazine.

  Thaddeus sits next to his sister and the legs of his chair scrape the tile as he scoots toward the table. I have no idea what to say to these two. Small talk seems too insensitive considering their mom is critical so I go with something more expected.

  “Thaddeus, would you like me to give Heather a call?” I saw the two of them together at school today, and then again at their house after school, so I know the two are still dating.

  Tired and sad eyes peer up at me. Without saying a word, Thaddeus removes his cell phone from his back pocket and slides it across the table. I pick up the device and light up the screen. Heather’s contact information is saved to his home page. Touching the image of her, I open the message tab and type a simple text.

  Thaddeus: This is Eryc. Brenda is in surgery, she’s critical. We’re at Saint Francis.

  Pressing the off button on the side of his cell phone, I’m just about ready to hand him the device when the screen lights up with an incoming text. Out of curiosity, I glance at the name on the screen. It’s Heather. Thaddeus is chewing his thumbnail, again, and staring at a spot on the floor so I open the message.

  Heather: OMG. I’m on my way.

  Leaving the text open, I hand Thaddeus
the cell phone. He makes no move to grab his phone so I slide it over to him and tap his arm. Thumbnail chewing ceases and Thaddeus looks over at me. I nod down at his cell phone and his eyes follow. After reading the text, he resumes chewing on his nail.

  The magazine Makayla had been thumbing through hits the table with a thud. She rubs her face with both hands and lets out a long breath. Red tints her neck and face and I worry that she is stressing to the point of making herself sick.

  “You okay?” I ask. Her chest expands in quick, short bursts. If she doesn’t calm down, she will pass out again. “Makayla?” When I say her name, I reach out to touch her knee.

  At my touch, she hurriedly scoots her chair back and runs from the room. Thaddeus watches her leave but makes no move to go after her. In her frame of mind, she shouldn’t be alone so I follow her. Since it’s late, the halls are empty which makes it easier for her to run. I jog to keep up with her.

  As she rounds the corner toward the elevator, a nurse is coming from the other direction and the two collide. The dark-haired nurse steadies Makayla and asks if she is alright but Makayla continues around her like the two of them never crashed into one another. The nurse never smirks or remarks about Makayla’s rude behavior. Actions such as this must be a common occurrence for the nurses.

  To right the wrong, I call out an apology over my shoulder as I rush to catch up with Makayla before the elevator takes her away. When I turn the corner, the elevator doors are beginning to close.

  Shoot.

  I lunge forward and catch the door with my hand, forcing it to reopen. The button for the first floor is lit so I lean against the steel wall, hands in my pockets, and watch her. Her face is pale and her breathing is labored.

  Ding. Ding.

  Two seconds later the steel doors open and Makayla dashes out. I’m fast on her heels. Almost to the door, a hand reaches out and stops me in my tracks. Heather.

  She watches Makayla exit the sliding glass doors before speaking. “Eryc, where is Thad? He isn’t answering his phone.”

  “Third floor, just follow the orange signs to the right, past the double doors. He’s in the waiting room at the end of the hall.”

  “Thanks.” A wave of blonde hair wisps past my face when she turns around.

  Panic settles in when I look out the doors and don’t see Makayla. Where did she go? The sliding doors take forever to open and I’m ready to scream my frustration when they crack open enough for me to squeeze through.

  Not a sign of her anywhere. The parking lot is void of activity as is the smoking area to my right. In her frame of mind, I worry she will aimlessly wander the streets and get hit by a car. I need to find her. Walking to the edge of the sidewalk, I scan the parking lot, looking for any sign of her. There is none.

  Dread creeps up from my feet and fills me to my core. I cannot lose this girl.

  Then I hear it. Retching. I follow the sidewalk around the side of the building and there, with her hands on her knees, is Makayla. She is leaning over between two bushes, gagging. Foul odor permeates the air around her but I don’t care. Standing beside her, I pull a few tissues from my back pocket and hand them to her.

  “Please don’t look.” She wipes the bile from her mouth and blows her nose. “I’m a mess, just leave me alone.”

  “Not happening.” For years, she has been pushing me out of her life. Today I refuse to be pushed. Let her harp or scream at me. I don’t care. She is hurting and I am not going to stand by and watch her go through this alone.

  When she folds the tissues into a tight square, I take them from her hand and stuff them back in my pocket then I pull her into my arms. Her body goes stiff but she allows me to cradle her here on the sidewalk. What in blazes has happened to her that would cause her to clam up every time I touch her? This reaction is the same I received when I brought her cookies earlier. It baffles me but I keep my questions to myself, she has enough on her mind.

  Finally, she leans her forehead on my shoulder and cries. Not quietly. No, her crying is anything but quiet, it is loud, heartbreaking sobs.

  Her hands fist my shirt and she lets it all out until her voice is hoarse. When her body goes limp, I gently lower myself onto the sidewalk, bringing her down with me. Now her sobbing is quieter and tremors wrack her body as the tears run in a steady stream down her face. If I could take this pain from her, I would, in a heartbeat. But for now, I sit and allow her to cry and snot on my shoulder.

  A doctor and nurse walk past us with curious expressions but say nothing. The nurse glances back when they pass and offers a sympathetic smile.

  Using the collar of her shirt, Makayla wipes her face, lets out a breath, and stands. Night air cools my skin where she had been and I long to have her back. She is standing in front of me, waiting, so I push myself up and my knees pop and crackle as I do.

  Motioning toward the entrance, I say, “Come on, let’s go check on your mom.”

  Chapter Nine

  Makayla

  Walking toward the waiting room is a lot like a prisoner awaiting the jury’s verdict. Sweat beads on my forehead and upper lip as my anxiety spikes up another five notches. Suspense increases my heartrate to the speed of a locomotive and the oxygen around me seems too thin to inhale. I feel as if I am suffocating.

  Just breathe, I tell myself.

  An infomercial advertising a product that will cook potatoes in the microwave is playing on the television when we enter. The other family is now gone as is my twin. The only person occupying this room is Rene. She is sitting in a chair near the window and has her face buried in her hands. A pile of used tissues is in her lap, a testimony that she has been ugly crying.

  Images of my mother lying on a cold metal table in the morgue fill my mind and my knees go weak. Reaching out to a nearby chair, I steady myself. Needing to know, I open my mouth to speak but a croak is all that comes out.

  Rene lifts her head and her eyes go wide. “Oh, sweetheart.” She stands and crosses the room, taking both of my hands in hers. I’m lost for words so I just stand there like a lost puppy in need of love. “Your mom came out of surgery a few minutes ago. She’s in ICU.”

  She’s in ICU.

  Hearing those words, I lean my forehead against her shoulder and sob. My mom is in ICU, she is not dead. I cry until my nose is stuffy and my face is hot. Who would have thought I could have so many tears inside me? Surely, I have cried a river in the last few hours. Where are they all coming from?

  “Is she going to be okay?” Eryc asks the question I couldn’t get to leave my lips.

  My head is still resting on Rene’s shoulder but I see Eryc’s black chucks as he moves next to me. He is standing to my right, rocking back and forth on his heels.

  Rene rubs circles on my back with one hand and strokes my hair with the other. “She’s stable but they have her heavily sedated.”

  Pulling away from her, I furrow my brows. “If my mom is stable why is she sedated?”

  Rene is squeezing my hands. I know she is trying to comfort me, trying to keep me grounded, but all she is doing is freaking me out. Now, images of my mom in a vegetative state is flooding my mind. “Honey, your mom is stable at the moment but she did suffer internal bleeding. She had a laceration to her spleen and there was also some spinal cord damage which will require some therapy once she’s healed. But right now, their main concern is her skull fracture which resulted in some bleeding on her brain.”

  Laceration on her spleen, spinal cord damage, skull fracture, and bleeding on her brain? All these words swim in loops in my head, my mind understands very little. For whatever reason, these words are not computing, probably because I am stressed to the max. All I want to know, is if my mom will be okay.

  Confusion must be evident on my face because Rene kisses my forehead and releases my hands. “Let’s not focus on any of that right now. The doctors are going to take great care of her. Why don’t you go see her? She’s unconscious but she’ll be able to hear you. I’m going to visit with t
he nurses and go over her chart.”

  Eryc steps forward, close enough that his arm brushes against mine. “Which room is she in?”

  “Follow the hall back toward the elevator. The intersecting hallway, just before the elevators, is the one you want. Just follow the blue signs to the double doors. There’s a doorbell, press that and they’ll open the doors for you. Room 326.”

  Words are failing me. I must look like a crazed loon. Thank goodness Eryc is here to come to my rescue. He thanks his aunt then ushers me out of the room and down the hall toward my mom’s ICU room.

  Spleen laceration, spinal cord damage, skull fracture, therapy. The words are on a repeating loop. The colored signs on the wall that give direction don’t register, I am just robotically following Eryc. The closed patient doors taunt me with the possibility of my mom dying. To add to my agonizing torment, the sterile air around me is a reminder that people die every day and their existence is wiped clean.

  The buzz of the doorbell is what brings me out of my tormenting thoughts. A click sounds as the lock turns. “It’s open,” a voice comes through the intercom on the wall.

  Eryc holds the door open for me.

  A large circular nurses desk is directly in front of us. A nurse in pink scrubs taps her pen on the countertop in front of her. “Who are you here for?” She must have been the one to speak into the intercom.

  Eryc steps forward. “Brenda Yasmeen.”

  The nurse types on her computer then looks back at us. “Are you family?”

  Eryc guides me forward to stand by his side. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She sizes us up, probably trying to determine whether we are being honest. Before she can say another word, Thaddeus exits a room at the end of the hall. He looks exhausted, like he is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  Dark circles outline his eyes. “Sis.” Wiping his nose on the back of his hand, he clears his throat before continuing. “Brace yourself, she looks pretty bad.”