Speed of Life

by Carol Weston

  They called me back, and Kate said she’d be happy to pick me up at North White Plains Station the following Wednesday. “Depending on your schedule, Gregg,” she added, “you could come out Friday and leave Sunday.”

  Dad’s eyebrows went up. Were our daytrips going to turn into overnights—just like that? If Dear Kate thought it was okay, maybe Dad figured: Who was he to argue?

  But what about Mom? I thought foolishly.

  For a second, I wondered where Dad would sleep. Then I knew the answer.

  A song by Stephen Sondheim came to me: “Not a Day Goes By.” The Halsey Upper School chorus had sung an arrangement of it last fall, and it had gotten stuck in my head, playing over and over and over.

  • • •

  I texted Sam that I’d be back on Wednesday. He texted: Excellent! We agreed to meet at 3:00 p.m. at the club for a bike ride.

  Wednesday morning, when Dad was at work, I took a long shower, shaving my legs and washing my hair, and I was surprised to hear myself singing. It had been a while since I’d gone through my rusty repertoire—the Beatles, Disney, Spanish ballads.

  I got dressed, blow-dried my hair, and took the subway (switching trains alone for the first time) to Grand Central. I’d never taken Metro North before, but Dad gave me instructions and said, “Just act as if you’ve taken it a million times.” At Grand Central, I found the right track, then asked several women, “Does this go to North White Plains?” before getting on the train. Finally, I took a seat and opened the newest Fifteen.

  The train started moving, and I turned to Dear Kate’s column, nervous that one of my questions might show up. None did. Kate had mentioned that writing for a magazine wasn’t like writing for a newspaper or blog or website; she had to work months ahead. She said she’d turned in her back-to-school column before summer even started, a fact that struck me as depressing.

  On the train, I felt cold and conspicuous. Everyone else was much older.

  I remembered the first time I’d taken a taxi by myself, to a bat mitzvah while my parents were at a dinner party. I’d successfully hailed a cab, then got scared and phoned my mom. What if the driver was a kidnapper? Mom talked with me on her cell as if she were air traffic control. “No te preocupes.” Don’t worry. And she stayed on with me until I arrived safe and sound.

  Taking a taxi alone was a rite of passage for city kids. After the first, the rest were easy. I hoped taking a train alone would be like that too.

  I took a quiz (“Do You Think For Yourself?”) and was reading an article (“The Fine Art of Flirting”) when I heard the conductor announce, “White Plains!” I jumped up and hurried off. The train doors hissed shut behind me.

  I went to the parking lot and looked around. Where was Kate?

  It took me a few minutes to realize I’d made a mistake. I’d gotten off too soon!

  I called her cell. “I’m really sorry! I know you said North White Plains—”

  “It’s okay. Stay there. I’ll come get you. It’ll take me a few minutes.”

  I thanked her, apologized again, and waited by the curb for what felt like a long time. When Kate arrived, she studied my outfit. “You weren’t cold?”

  “I didn’t think about air-conditioning.” I looked down at my tiny pink skirt and white tank top. Underneath, I was wearing a matching pink bra and thong that Kiki had talked me into at Victoria’s Secret. “The thong’s the thing!” Kiki had said. “Once you get used to them, they’re more comfortable than regular underwear.” Like an idiot, I had listened. So far, the thong felt like a wedgie.

  “I made us dinner reservations at an Indian restaurant at 7:00 p.m.,” Kate said. “Your dad said you like chicken fritters and creamed spinach with cheese?”

  “Saag paneer! I love Indian food,” I said.

  “Great. Listen, Sofia, my October column is due in the morning, and I’m still working on it. If you’re interested, I’d love for you to take a peek when I’m done, you know, make sure I’m on target.”

  “I’d love to!” I said. Kiki would faint! But would this column include one of my letters? About lying or noticing girls or that stupid personal pimple? At some point, I knew I should either come clean or change my screen name. The longer I waited, the more underhanded it all seemed. I didn’t want Dear Kate to find out that I’d chosen to keep silent about our correspondence.

  “While I’m working, you can swim or read or just make yourself at home. Sound good?”

  “Sounds great. And I might meet a friend for a bike ride.”

  “Sure. I assume that would be okay with your dad.”

  “It’d be fine.”

  “Okay. You can bring her over after.”

  “Actually, it’s a…him.”

  Kate gave me a glance. “Ah, the plot thickens.” She nodded, almost to herself. I hoped Kate didn’t feel tricked—or used. Should I have mentioned the “him” part earlier?

  “I’d feel better if we ran this by your dad. Do you mind? Why don’t you call him? No biggie, but let’s keep everything in the open, all right? You’ll find I’m very reasonable if you keep me in the loop.”

  I pressed DAD, a pit gathering in my stomach. “He’s not picking up.” I left a message: “Dad, I’m with Kate, and I’m going to meet a boy at Windmill Club. He’s really nice and not a bad influence or anything. We’re going for a bike ride, and then Kate and I are going out for dinner at seven. Call us back. Or meet us! Love you.”

  “Good,” Kate said.

  “Is it okay that I said he could meet us?”

  “Of course. But it’s also okay if it’s just us.”

  I felt bad about missing my stop, being sneaky about Sam, inviting Dad on our girls’ night out, and withholding the truth about Catlover and Dear Kate. “I’ll make sure you meet the Mystery Boy,” I said, immediately regretting those words. Hadn’t I referred to her as the “Mystery Woman” back when we were emailing? “I don’t know why I didn’t mention him before.”

  “Oh, I do. Kids don’t tell adults everything. But I’d like us to be as up front as possible, especially while I’m, you know, taking care of you. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, tempted to tell her about Sam. No doubt Catlover would have written about him at length to Dear Kate. But now that I knew the real Kate, it was more complicated. I couldn’t exactly tell her that I’d made out in a windmill with a boy I barely knew.

  “After your bike ride, why don’t you bring him over to say hello?”

  “Okay.”

  I looked at her and wondered if I should spill all—well, almost all—about Sam and about Catlover. I was thinking about where to start when Kate said, “Oh! Look!” and pointed to a large, reddish-brown deer with velvety antlers. “A buck. Isn’t he magnificent? We rarely see the males!” Kate rambled on about deer, and then we pulled into her driveway, my confession unspoken.

  Maybe over dinner I’d find a way to open up—especially if it was just the two of us.

  • • •

  Sam was waiting for me at the club. “Kate wants to meet you later,” I told him. I didn’t want him to think I was overprotected or that I’d rushed to announce that we were a couple. But what choice did I have?

  “Actually, there’s something I want to tell you.” Sam looked troubled, and I thought, He wants to break up with me already? We aren’t even going out! But then his expression changed, and he asked, “Where’s your bike?”

  “My bike?”

  “It’s customary to have a bike when you go on a bike ride.”

  I laughed, embarrassed. “You think Kate has one I can use?”

  “I know she does.” We walked his bike back to Kate’s. He didn’t say what was on his mind, and I didn’t prod. We looked in the garage, and Sam went to a far corner and pulled out Alexa’s bike from behind a sled.

  “It’s a little big, but it’s okay,” I sai
d.

  “Put on this helmet.”

  “Oh, come on.” Was he serious?

  “I’m serious,” Sam said.

  “I don’t want to wear a helmet.”

  “You have to.”

  So much for my blow-dried hair! He helped me strap on the helmet, and our faces were inches apart. His fingers brushed my cheek as he fastened the strap under my chin and snapped the clasp. In the musty cool of the garage, he gave me a quick kiss, and the sound and feel and surprise of that kiss made up for the fact that I’d have helmet hair all afternoon.

  Sam waited by the bikes while I went back inside and called up, “We’ll be back soon. I’m borrowing Alexa’s bike.”

  “Have a good time!” Kate called down. I appreciated that she was treating me like a trustworthy teenager. I didn’t want to ruin that.

  Sam and I set off—out the driveway, onto the street, past a few houses, and whoa! That was quite a hill! Talk about steep! We weren’t really going to go down it, were we?

  I pedaled ahead, hoping I looked cute from behind and that my skirt wasn’t blowing too much. All I had on underneath was that tiny, pink thong. Why had I listened to Kiki? What had I been thinking? I looked behind me. Sam looked even hotter than he had last weekend, which was saying a lot. I turned toward the hill, then back to Sam, smiling while trying to hold down my skirt. One hand on the bike, one on the skirt. The wind whipped through my hair and I started going faster, faster. It was exciting but also scary and…

  • • •

  Dirt, pebbles, rocks.

  My knees. My shoulder. My head.

  Someone was moaning.

  Whoa, whoa. Was I moaning? Were those moans coming from me?

  What was going on?

  Someone was cradling my head, saying, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Kate’s voice? She was stroking my hair, but her fingertips felt wet. Why were her fingertips wet? “Has someone called 911?”

  “An ambulance is on the way.”

  “Can somebody call her father?” Kate’s voice again.

  “What’s his number?”

  “I don’t have my cell. 917—917—917—He works at Mount Sinai. Gregg Wolfe. Can someone get ahold of him?” Kate sounded so upset.

  I wanted to tell them my father’s number and tried to say it out loud. But no words came. Just “Ow, ow, ow.”

  Everything hurt. I opened my eyes, closed them, opened them again. A woman was hugging Sam. Sam! I forgot about Sam! Who was hugging Sam?

  A siren. Louder, closer.

  A streak of blurry red.

  The smell of burning rubber. An ambulance?

  Two men rushed toward me. It was like on TV. Who were they? Parachuters? Paramedics?

  “What happened?”

  “We were biking.” Sam’s voice! “She must have hit a patch of gravel. Or maybe she used the wrong brake? She went flying over the handlebars. When she hit the ground, she started shaking.” Sam’s voice was shaking.

  “Where’s the girl’s mother?” a man asked. I wanted to tell him about my mother. And I tried…but ow, ow, no words.

  A person above me was attaching something plastic to my neck.

  “Her mother died last year,” Kate said. This was true, but I wanted to shout, “She did not!” Or at least say something else about my mother. Didn’t anyone ever want to know anything about my mother besides that she died?

  Was I dying too? Was this what it felt like? A fuzzy, quiet fading away?

  “I’m dating her father,” Kate said, her voice strange and high. “Is she going to be okay?”

  Who, me? Why wouldn’t I be okay?

  “We’ll do everything we can.” Two people lifted me onto a stretcher, strapped me down.

  “Be careful!” Kate’s voice.

  “Ma’am, step away! Let us do our job.” They slid me into their ambulance as if I were a loaf of bread going into an oven.

  Another man’s voice: “Okay, come with us, quick! Get in front!”

  A door slammed, sirens blared. A woman—a nurse?—was next to me.

  A man was talking. The driver? “Valhalla isn’t the closest hospital, but it’s the best place for head trauma.”

  Valhalla? Like in mythology? Wasn’t that where heroes went when they died?

  Kate’s voice but husky. “Sofia, I’m with you. I’m up front. You had a bike accident, but you’re going to be okay.”

  An accident?

  “Oh no! Is the bike okay?” Hey, that sounded like my voice!

  “Sweetheart!” Kate sounded so relieved. “Yes! It’s fine! And you’ll be fine too!”

  The same words popped out. “Oh no! Is the bike okay?” Alexa would kill me if I wrecked her bike!

  “It’s fine. How do you feel?” Kate’s voice.

  “Oh no!” My voice again. “Is the bike okay?”

  “Yes, it’s fine. No worries.” Now Kate sounded worried. Why did she sound worried?

  “Keep her talking,” a person next to me said. “Keep her awake. I have the IV ready in case she needs antiseizure meds.”

  I was so tired, sooo tired. I’d never been so tired.

  Kate kept talking to me, and the driver started talking—on a phone? He sounded far away, very far away. “Fourteen-year-old girl…possible brain injury…contact seizure…bicycle accident…brief loss of consciousness…convulsions…cuts and abrasions on head, shoulder, elbow, knees…”

  Kate’s voice again: “I remember his number!” Then, softly, “Gregg, listen, Sofia was in a bike accident. We’re in an ambulance going to the Westchester Medical Center. She’s…talking. Meet us there. Drive carefully—or get a cab. I don’t have my cell with me, but I’ll call again as soon as I know anything.”

  Oh, I get it! Kate was calling my dad. She should call my mom too. Oh, wait, my mom, my mom…

  I closed my eyes again.

  I wanted to sleep, needed to sleep, sleep, sleep.

  • • •

  The back door of the ambulance flew open and daylight poured in. People lifted me, brought me inside. They set me on a table in a too-bright emergency room. It was like TV. Doctors in white and green were talking about a “chest, pelvis, and cervical spine x-ray.” They were also taking off the plastic collar. And cutting off my skirt. Wait, were they snipping the elastic of my thong?

  Whoa there! Just a second! Was I naked? In front of all these people?! This was so embarrassing! I heard my voice. A question was burbling up, popping out: “Oh no! Is the bike okay?”

  Everyone ignored me, but the words surfaced again: “Oh no! Is the bike okay?”

  “We want to make sure you are okay,” a female doctor answered. I saw a lady lean against a wall, crumple. Who was that? Kate?

  “Do you know how you got hurt?” a male doctor asked.

  “Diving board?” I replied.

  Kate said. “A bike accident. It was a very steep hill.”

  “But I’m a good bicyclist,” I protested. Kate looked shocked. Why was she so shocked? Did she think I was not a good bicyclist? “Oh no! Is the bike okay?” I added.

  “Yes. It’s fine,” Kate said. “We’re not worried about the bike.”

  A nurse with squeaky sneakers rolled me into a hallway. “We’re going to do a CAT scan.” She handed Kate forms.

  Where was my mom? I wanted my mom. Oh…right…

  I wished they’d turn off the lights and leave me alone and let me sleep. But wait, first, I had a question: “Oh no! Is the bike okay?”

  “It’s fine,” Kate said so quietly that I wondered if I’d destroyed the bike, completely totaled it.

  A doctor approached Kate. “Head injuries are weird,” he murmured. “Repetition like this is not uncommon. Some patients lose short-term memory and then it comes back.”

  “Thank you,” Kate sai
d.

  “No promises. All I’m saying is not to assume the worst.”

  I felt like I was wrapped in gauze. Everything hurt. Wait, was I in bed? How did I get in bed?

  “Kate?” My voice.

  “Yes?” Kate leaned over me, eyes wide and expectant.

  “Don’t go,” I said.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” She squeezed my hand, stroked my palm. “I’m staying right here with you.”

  I wanted to squeeze back but couldn’t. I was too tired. I felt her fingers curling around mine. It was nice, comforting.

  “We need to get her prepped for the CT,” a nurse said.

  I was being wheeled down a long corridor. “Oh no! Is the bike okay?”

  The nurse replied jovially, “Darlin’, who cares about a silly ol’ bike? We’re making sure you’re okay. Okay?”

  And then someone gave me a drug that took away the pain…

  • • •

  A small, white room. A hospital? In my arm, an IV. On the wall, a monitor with different-colored zigzagging lines. I opened my eyes and saw Dad and Kate. Side by side in two chairs. She was leaning on him. They looked tense and yellowy.

  “Daddy.”

  “Cupcake!” He jumped up and came to my bedside.

  “Am I going to be okay?” I whispered.

  “More than okay!” He kissed my forehead, held me. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I don’t know. We were biking. I hope Sam doesn’t think I’m a klutz.” Kate peered over the bedrail, looking as if I were saying something profound. “I really wanted to go on the bike ride.”

  “There will be other bike rides,” Dad said, looking younger and more himself again.

  A doctor appeared. “Sofia?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to say three words, and in a few minutes, I’ll ask you to repeat them, all right?”

  “All right.”

  “Cow. Ball. Bottle. I’ll be back in two minutes. Mom, Dad, no helping.”

  It bothered me that the doctor had assumed that Kate and Dad were my parents, and they didn’t correct him. But I could see how they could pass for parents, even though Kate didn’t look anything like my mom. Kate wasn’t small, and she didn’t have chocolate hair or Spanish eyes. And she didn’t resemble me.