What About Will
Page 18
want to get in their way.
Have you talked to your dad?
“Not yet. He’s working.
I left him a message.”
They’ll need a parent. Let’s call
the casino. It’s an emergency.
I Never Thought of That
I’m glad Mr. Cobb’s here.
Some things need adults
to take care of them.
He gets hold of Dad.
The guy paramedic talks
to him on the phone, tells him
what’s going on and what
hospital to meet them at.
“Can I go with him?”
Probably not the best idea,
says Mr. Cobb. They won’t
know anything right away.
Those waiting rooms are boring.
“Yeah. Plus, they stink.”
Some of them do, that’s for sure.
Will leaves the house
strapped to a gurney,
with a mask to help him
breathe over his face.
He’s still unconscious,
but as they wheel him by,
I promise I’ll tell him all about
the bot challenge next time
I see him. There will be
a next time. There will.
Outside, the ambulance
turns on its red and blue
lights and disappears down
the block. It’s still super warm,
but I have to shake off a chill.
“He’s going to be okay, right?”
I think so, Trace. It’s a good
thing you got here when
you did, though.
“The good Lord works in
mysterious ways?”
That he does, son. That he does.
Hey. You hungry? I was just
going to make some dinner.
“I haven’t eaten since lunch,
but I’m not sure my stomach
is very interested in food.”
Well, how about if I make us
something, and you can eat
if you feel like it? Then maybe
we could watch a movie?
“Okay.” It’s nice he wants
to keep me company. I don’t
want to be alone right now.
“And thanks, Mr. Cobb.”
He Stays With Me
Until Dad gets home.
Mr. Cobb is dozing
in the recliner and I’m
fighting sleep, watching
some old comedy show,
when Dad stumbles in.
I’m home.
“Dad!” I bolt upright.
“Is Will okay?”
For now.
For now?
“What does that mean?”
It means he’s holding on.
Still unconscious? asks Mr. Cobb.
Yes. It was touch and go.
He coded, but they were
able to resuscitate.
Coded? Like in the movies?
“You mean he almost died?”
Dad nods. He still could.
Do they know what happened?
Opioid overdose. Unknown
if it was intentional or accidental.
“Intentional? You mean
maybe he took too many
pills on purpose?”
It’s possible.
I have to let it sink in.
Down through layers
of believing everything
was okay, if not exactly
good. Bad, maybe, but . . .
“No way he wanted to die.”
That can’t be true.
We would’ve seen it.
I would’ve known it.
Depressed, yes.
Withdrawn, yes.
Mad at the world.
Reckless.
Fearful.
In pain.
I can understand those things.
I can’t understand wanting to die.
He Could Still Die
If he did, I wouldn’t
even get a chance
to say goodbye.
When was the last time
he and I talked?
What did I say to him?
Was it mean?
Did I tease him?
Insult him?
Make him feel bad?
I can’t remember.
Think, Trace, think.
I didn’t see him
at breakfast, so it must
have been last night.
For dinner we had . . .
toaster waffles, with peanut
butter and honey.
When he sat at the table,
change jingled in his pocket.
That reminded me
that he still owes the money
he took, but did I say anything
about that? No, it was . . .
Right Before We Ate
I had just finished
playing my keyboard.
I guess music is kind
of like pills for me.
It takes me to a place
where I can lose
my anger
by playing hard,
or find logic
in its math and order
when everything
seems a little crazy.
It brings me peace.
And that’s what
I was thinking.
Will came through
the living room on
his way to the kitchen.
“Hey, Will. Why don’t you
ever play guitar anymore?”
Mom taught him how
when he was little, and
he used to play all the time.
I remember him strumming
some of her music.
Sometimes they played
and sang together.
I gave up on guitar
when Mom gave up on me.
“That’s dumb.”
Not really. It reminds
me of before. When life
kept a steady rhythm.
“You should start again.
It might make you happy.”
What’s the point of being
happy? I can’t even smile.
He hardly ever talks about
that. I guess I’m just so used
to the way his face works
(or doesn’t) that I forget
he lost that part of himself.
For most people,
a lost smile is temporary,
something easily fixed
with a joke, a funny video,
or even just a kind word.
It’s hard to imagine
losing one forever.
I should’ve been nicer,
should have offered
a kind word or ten.
But what I said was
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
You can always smile inside.”
His eye roll was huge,
and when he answered,
he was snotty.
Interior smiling. Gotcha.
I’ll get right to work on that.
Pretty Sure
That was the last thing
I said to him, although
when he yelled to come
get a waffle for dinner
I might have told him
to make me two.
I should’ve
said I was sorry.
Should’ve
thanked him for
toasting the waffles.
Should’ve
asked him to play
a video game.
Should’ve
mentioned how much
I’d like him to come
watch the bot challenge.
Should’ve
told him I don’t care
if he can’t smile or that
his right cheek twitches,
don’t care if he forgets
me sometimes.
Because I love him.
Mr. Cobb Clears His Throat
Yanks me out of yesterday,
back into this terrible moment.
I’ll leave the two of you
alone, he says. Unless
you need me for something.
Not right now, answers Dad.
But thanks for everything.
I don’t know how to repay you.
Don’t worry about that.
Glad for what I could do.
“Hey, Mr. Cobb? The grilled
cheese was really good.”
He winks. Wait till you taste
my scrambled eggs.
Before he goes, he lays
a hand on my shoulder.
Positive thoughts. Your
brother will be okay.
The door closes behind him.
Touch and go.
Holding on.
For now.
Where do I hunt
for positive thoughts?
Sifting through desert sand?
The Sahara?
Death Valley?
Just east of Vegas?
Beneath mountain snow?
Mount Olympus?
Mammoth?
Tahoe?
Mom.
She should know.
I ask Dad if he tried
to get hold of her.
Yes. Left her a message.
I’ll try again, but it’s late.
Get some sleep if you can.
Tomorrow will be a long day.
I take the time to give
Dad a big hug.
At least I can tell him,
“I love you.”
Somehow
I must have fallen asleep
because I wake to the smell
of fresh brewed coffee.
When I follow my nose,
I find Mr. Cobb in the kitchen,
holding a big mug of the stuff.
Your dad went to the hospital
early and asked if I’d stay
with you until he gets back.
“Does this mean I get to
try your scrambled eggs?”
If you’re hungry, you bet.
While I work on them, I left
something for you there on the table.
It’s a small box.
Inside is a medallion
on a yellow ribbon with
red and green stripes.
“What is it?”
My Vietnam Service Medal.
I study it carefully. There’s
a dragon kind of hiding
behind some bamboo.
And sure enough, it says:
REPUBLIC OF VIETNAM SERVICE
“But . . . why give it to me?”
I’ve got no one to leave it to.
Leona and I never had kids.
Too busy working our lives away.
Maybe it will give you courage.
Maybe it will bring you good luck.
Seems like you could use some
of both right about now.
My eyes sting suddenly.
I don’t know what to say.
I mumble, “Thank you,”
but that’s not enough.
Without even thinking,
I jump up, run over, and
give him a huge hug.
“I’ll take good care of it.”
I have no doubt about that.
Now, let’s have breakfast.
His scrambled eggs
are awesome.
Will Hangs On
But he isn’t “out of
the woods,” as Grandpa
calls it, for a few days.
Meanwhile, our house
fills with people.
Plus one dog.
Lily.
Grandpa.
Clara.
They all hang out,
taking turns,
so I’m never alone.
Dad’s at the hospital a lot.
But he tries to work, too.
I need to keep my job.
Plus, it takes my mind
off things I can’t change.
I go to school,
but it’s hard to focus.
Luckily, we’re closing
in on the end of the year,
so it’s mostly review stuff.
Cat and Bram stay close
to me. It’s good to have
good friends.
Lily Picks Me Up
From school Tuesday
afternoon. It’s been
three days since Will
took too many pills.
He’s alive, but still
hooked up to machines,
and I don’t get to see him.
When I get in Lily’s car,
I don’t notice Sylvester
in the back seat until his
cold nose nudges my neck.
I reach back to pet him.
He really adores you, Lily
says. I mean, he likes most
people, but you’re definitely
one of his favorites. I think
it was doggy love at first sight.
That makes me smile.
Not many things have
for the past few days.
“Love you, too, Sylvester.”
It’s supposed to be a joke, but it
might be true. Strong like, anyway.
As we head toward home,
I say, “We’ve never had pets.
Will wanted a puppy once,
but Mom said she was allergic.”
Some people are. I’m glad
I’m not. I’ve always had dogs.
They’re the best because
they give love unconditionally.
“Good thing Dad’s not
allergic, then, I guess.”
Yes, that would make things
more difficult. I’m not sure
I could give up either of them.
“You love Dad.”
Very much.
“Why?”
Because he’s kind. Because
we have fun together.
And because of how much
he loves you and your brother.
Good reasons.
Hey, Trace? I can never replace
your mom. But I want you to
know I’m here for you, okay?
Cool
That’s what I say.
And that’s how I try
to act, even though
I’d kind of like to cry.
I need someone
here for me.
Someone besides Dad,
who can’t always be.
Someone besides Mom,
who divorced herself
from Will and me,
as well as from Dad.
Someone besides Will,
who has forgotten
the bond of family.
I feel like a kite
come loose from its string
and its tail tangled up
in a very tall tree.
No way to rescue it
unless a perfect
whisp of wind
plucks it just right,
sets it free.
It’s Wednesday
By the time Mom finally
gets here. Four days.
Apparently she and Rory
Davis were on some “silent
retreat” near Tahoe.
No phones. No electronics.
Just the two of them
communing with nature,
which I guess means
talking to the squirrels
and birds and stuff.
I’m in my last class
of the day when the school
secretary calls me down
to be picked up by a parent.
My first thought is it’s Dad,
and if he’s picking me up,
something terrible happened.
But when I get to the office,
it’s a beautiful woman with
silver-tipped hair standing there.
And no matter that it’s been
five months since I’ve seen her,
or that she never let me
know she was on her way,
I run the last few steps to reach her.
“Mama.”
No Clue
Where that came from.
If I ever called her “Mama”
before, it was a long, long
time ago. I don’t care.
She opens her arms,
and I tumble into them,
inhaling a familiar scent
of rosemary and vanilla.
She still uses the same shampoo!
I just came from the hospital.
Your brother turned the corner
this morning. He’ll be okay.
I stiffen.
I mean, I’m glad Will’s better.
Of course I am. I’ve dreaded
bad news for days now.
But couldn’t she give a few
minutes just to me?
“Yay! I bet it’s because of you.”
I don’t think so. It happened
before I got there.
But everyone is very relieved.
You ready? Rory’s out front.
“You brought Rory Davis?”
Well, actually, he brought me.
We drove down as soon as we heard.
I don’t know how to feel.
Happy
because she’s here.
Mad
because she’s not alone.
Relieved
because Will’s okay.
Irritated