Ghosting

by Edith Pattou

  And people around me

  try to do it for me.

  I even yelled at Bobby once for that,

  which made me feel like shit afterward.

  Getting the car with hand controls

  made a big difference.

  I mastered it pretty quick

  and right away felt more independent.

  And I’m still good at faking most people out,

  in order to get what I want.

  The main thing I want right now is to numb the pain

  and I figured out a good way to do that.

  The only other thing

  I care about is Bobby.

  Don’t want him freaked out by

  his crippled big brother.

  So he’s my first passenger

  in the new nifty handicapped car.

  I can feel him watching me closely

  as I work the hand controls.

  I take him to his favorite fast-food place,

  drive-through, which is a godsend for crips.

  We sit in the car, munching french fries.

  And it feels good.

  I wanted to go to the hospital, Bobby says suddenly.

  It’s okay, I start to say, but he interrupts.

  Dad didn’t let me.

  I think about that.

  And I guess Dad was protecting Bobby.

  Which could be the one thing

  that he and I agree about.

  I think Dad was hoping he could make me better before you saw me, I say. But it turned out he couldn’t.

  But you’re going to be okay, right? Bobby asks.

  Yeah, I say, with a reassuring grin. Not exactly what I was planning. But I’m good.

  Are you still going to college?

  Dunno, I say. You need some more fries?

  He shakes his head. I heard you tell your girlfriend once that you really wanted to go to college in Colorado.

  You did? I ask, surprised.

  Yeah, he says, and I think you still should, even if you can’t ski anymore.

  I reach for his fries.

  ’Sides, Bobby says, persistent as ever, I looked it up on the Internet and there is some way people in wheelchairs can still ski.

  I feel some weird lump in my throat,

  like I may throw up or cry.

  That’s bullshit, I say, my voice coming out rough and angry.

  Bobby shuts his mouth then,

  looking at me with a confused expression.

  I swallow hard,

  trying to dislodge the lump.

  I’m sorry, Bobby. It’s just that sometimes I get tired of all the pretending, I say.

  I wasn’t, he protests. I did see it on the Internet.

  I’m sure you did, I say, feeling suddenly exhausted.

  So, he says, his words halting, does this mean you won’t be taking me ice-skating this winter?

  Before, when I wasn’t in this chair,

  ice-skating was one of our favorite things to do.

  We’d go every winter,

  just the two of us.

  No, I mean, yes, of course, I’ll take you ice-skating, I say, forcing enthusiasm I don’t feel. Are you kidding.? I wouldn’t miss it.

  His face lights up and we high-five,

  me with a big fake smile on my face.

  Like I’ve just made a promise

  I intend to keep.

  Tuesday, November 16

  MAXIE

  Ever since

  that night

  I’ve been going to

  the hospital,

  regularly,

  to visit Felix.

  Still in a coma,

  hooked up to machines.

  I sit by his bed

  and read to him.

  Felix’s mom is there a lot.

  She’s very friendly,

  likes to chat,

  and I learn that

  Felix’s dad came home

  from Afghanistan

  right after the shooting.

  But then he went back

  when it looked like

  Felix wasn’t going to wake up

  soon.

  She says he had to go

  because they need the money.

  She’s had to quit her job

  to be with Felix.

  But she seems okay,

  strong even.

  Not the depressed mom from before

  who couldn’t get her act together

  to pay bills

  and cook meals.

  Now she’s more like the mom

  I remember from when we were

  kids.

  When his mom isn’t there

  I read to Felix.

  At first I read him

  random things,

  like homework

  assignments, but then

  I remember

  those Joey Pigza books,

  his favorites

  from 5th grade.

  I get all four books

  from the library

  and after I finish

  the first one,

  I decide to read them

  all straight through.

  And I begin to have this

  superstitious belief

  that Felix will wake up

  when I come to

  the last word of

  the last book.

  I get my hopes up

  way too high.

  And keep looking at him

  after practically every sentence

  during that last chapter.

  But he doesn’t

  wake up.

  The machines just keep

  whirring.

  So I pick up the very first book

  and start over,

  from the beginning.

  Tuesday, November 30

  EMMA

  One afternoon I go to

  visit Brendan and he is

  playing a video game.

  It’s the kind where you

  track people down

  and shoot them.

  I can’t believe he’d want to play

  a game like that, not after

  that night.

  Seeing the splattered blood,

  hearing the muted death cries,

  makes me feel sick.

  I struggle to tune it out,

  cold sweat prickling my skin.

  I ask how his Thanksgiving was.

  It was okay, he says. Though I passed when it came to the whole what-have-we-got-to-be-thankful-for routine. For obvious reasons. Patting the arm of his wheelchair, he gives me a sweet, dimpled smile.

  Then he blasts a guy in a tan raincoat

  and blood fountains out onto the sidewalk.

  My breathing gets ragged. I want to go.

  But I find myself wondering;

  is Brendan imagining that each of these

  guys he’s blowing away is Walter Smith?

  Before that night I would have asked him,

  I would have made him tell me

  what’s really going on with him.

  But I can’t now. And I don’t know why,

  except I think it’s because I’m afraid,

  afraid of what I’ll hear.

  Brendan sets down

  the game controller and

  wheels himself around to face me.

  So, Emma, he says, looking me straight in the eye, it’s really nice of you to make the effort to come see me. It’s more than a lot of kids have done. And I do really appreciate it and all. But I’ve been thinking, it’d be better for me, if you didn’t, anymore.

  I stare at him.

  I’m sorry to be so blunt, but I . . . I mean I guess it’s just not working anymore. Guess I need time.

  Okay, I mumble, if that’s how you feel.

  It is, he says, picking up the controller again.

  Brendan, I blurt out, are you okay?

  Which, the minute I say it,

  sounds so unbelievably


  lame.

  He looks at me,

  and his mouth twists up into

  a smile.

  And for a minute I see something dark,

  a deep black rage,

  underneath that smile.

  Then he just turns back to his video game

  and blasts some guy in a cowboy hat

  to hell.

  Thursday, December 2

  MAXIE

  It’s a quiet Thursday afternoon

  and it must be somebody’s birthday

  because a couple of

  Mylar balloons are bobbing

  over the nurses’ station.

  And a dark-haired nurse

  gives me a cheery smile

  as I walk by.

  Felix looks the same as usual,

  the right side of his face

  swathed in gauze,

  covering his

  missing eye.

  The machines are whirring away,

  the IV bottle doing its continual

  dripping thing.

  I sit down,

  staring at the steady

  rise and fall

  of his chest,

  and suddenly I am

  overcome with

  sadness.

  What if Felix

  never

  wakes up?

  Tears prick at my eyes

  and, determined not

  to cry,

  I pick up Joey Pigza,

  and start where I left off

  the day before.

  Then I come to

  one of my favorite bits,

  when Joey Pigza’s dad talks

  about the bad stuff he

  did in the past when

  he was

  drinking

  too much.

  Joey’s dad says, “My past. . . gets sort of scary and ugly and to tell you the truth I’d just rather have, you know, the new times to talk about. The now times. I’d rather just show you Storybook Land and play baseball and work on making new memories.”

  And I can’t help thinking about

  my dad

  and his beers this summer and

  also about

  Felix’s dad

  and what he did to Felix’s mom,

  and then about MoonBuzz and

  the bad things that happened

  that night.

  And I begin to start wondering

  if there can ever

  be any

  new now times

  to replace the

  old bad ones.

  Tears come.

  Blinking them back,

  I take a few deep breaths

  and start reading again.

  But all of a sudden

  I hear

  a little

  noise.

  I automatically look

  at the machines

  hooked up to Felix

  to see if something is

  wrong,

  but they’re all

  humming along,

  same as usual.

  Then I look at Felix

  and his eyelid,

  the one that isn’t

  covered with bandages,

  is

  twitching

  all over

  the place,

  which I’ve never seen

  it do before.

  Then the noise

  comes again

  and I see his mouth

  move

  and that the noise

  is a little grunt

  coming from

  HIM.

  My heart starts

  hammering.

  Felix?

  FELIX

  joey pigza and i are walking down the sidewalk, past bonnie’s sweet shop, and he’s bouncing along, like a springy crazy rubber ball, like he might bounce himself straight up to the sky.

  but i pull him back down, and tell him we need to talk, about what happened, and he turns to me, all serious, and says he doesn’t want to talk about the past.

  The past is messed up, Joey, he says.

  i get confused because i’m not joey, he is.

  but then he’s telling me about his drinking, about how when he drinks too much he does stupid stuff. and now i’m really confused, because he’s not joey, and i’m not joey. instead, he’s my dad, or else he’s joey’s dad.

  then he says:

  I’m sorry.

  and that’s when i wake up.

  MAXIE

  Felix is really groggy

  and confused,

  like he has no idea

  why he’s in

  the hospital.

  Max? he says in a hoarse raspy voice.

  Yeah, Felix, I say, my heart ready to burst out of my chest.

  I know I should be calling

  the nurse,

  or

  Felix’s mom,

  but for

  just this moment

  I want to gaze back into

  that open,

  wide-awake,

  no-more-coma

  eye.

  Then,

  even though it’s like

  a line out of

  a dumb movie,

  I can’t help myself

  and say,

  with a big, beaming

  smile on my face,

  Welcome back, Felix.

  And guess what.

  Felix looks at me

  and smiles.

  Friday, December 10

  FELIX

  when i woke up my whole body ached. and my vision was weird. i couldn’t figure out for a while that it was because my right eye was gone.

  mom went nuts when she came in the hospital room and saw i was awake. and max’s smile couldn’t have been any wider. so even though my body felt weak and useless, like all my muscles had been vaporized, it still felt good, to be back.

  here’s the amazing thing, though. i have no memory of that night. zero. zilch.

  i remember getting high in the suv outside that party, hearing anil’s telescope story and max talking about her day at the beach with the sea glass and sandcastle. but after that, nothing.

  mom and the doctors didn’t tell me right away what happened. just said there had been an accident. i assumed it was a car accident. but when i got stronger, when i wasn’t so freaked out about my eye, mom told me the whole story.

  it was unreal. didn’t even sound familiar, or like it could actually be true. i mean, i believed her. i had to. but faith almost dying, brendan in a wheelchair, and a guy named walter smith in jail awaiting trial, i couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

  the doctors said that my amnesia about that night was completely to be expected. and that most likely i’d never remember any of it. it kind of bothered me to have this big fairly crucial chunk of my life be missing, along with my eye. but max said i was lucky.

  max even said she’d give anything to have that night wiped from her memory, forever. and seeing the pain in her face, i realized that maybe i am lucky.

  at least about that.

  CHLOE

  “One Thing I Wish I Hadn’t Seen”

  When I’m doing

  my volunteer shift

  at the hospital

  sometimes I spot

  Brendan in his wheelchair,

  arriving for, or leaving after,

  outpatient rehab.

  One day I see him chatting up

  Suzie, this cute young nurse

  with curly brown hair.

  They’re laughing

  and flirting and

  I’m thinking it’s really nice

  to see Brendan smiling