Gooseberry Island

by Steven Manchester

  “Max Essington?” Lindsey asked, holding her breath.

  “Yeah, that’s David’s friend, right?” Christine asked.

  “His best friend,” Lindsey said, her face bleached white. “How?”

  “Drug overdose,” Ana reported.

  “Oh God, I didn’t know,” Lindsey squealed, panic filling every cell of her body. “I need to go see David!”

  “I thought he didn’t want to see you?” Sandi said.

  Lindsey shook it off. “David’s so messed up right now he doesn’t know what he wants.” She thought about it. “He’s going to need as much support as he can get.”

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Feeling like his life was folding in on itself, David sat in his Mustang, tipping the half-empty bottle of Vodka to the new vinyl top. He’d wept so hard his chest ached. Damn you, Max, he thought. Why didn’t you reach out for help? I would have been there for you. I would have… He sobbed like a child, his shoulders rocking back and forth. He shook his head and put the bottle back to his lips. Damn you, Max, he thought again, and took another long gulp.

  A half hour later, David staggered into Bobby’s Lounge. The other patrons quickly scattered, steering clear of him.

  Bobby took one look at him and shook his head. “You’re shut off,” he said.

  “Shut off? Are you nuts?” David argued.

  “Look buddy, you’ve already had enough for the both of us, so why don’t you just call a friend and…”

  “Because I don’t have a friend,” David screamed, “that’s why!” He shook his head. “And I don’t have a girlfriend anymore,” he slurred. “I don’t have anything…”

  Bobby rounded the bar and approached him.

  David stood. “Looks like Max’s tab will have to go unpaid,” he slurred and threw a round-house punch—missing the bartender by a mile and landing on his butt.

  “Any other day and you’d be wearing my boot in your backside,” Bobby said, “but it’s clear to me that no one’s gonna do anything to you that you haven’t already done to yourself.” Bobby extended his hand. “Now get up.”

  David eventually took the man’s hand, sliding onto a nearby chair. “I’ve lost everything,” he whimpered, “…my whole world.”

  “I’ll call you a cab,” Bobby said and headed for the telephone behind the bar.

  Once he spotted his opening, David sneaked out the door, slid into the driver seat of the Mustang and fired up the ignition. With one eye open, he pulled out of the crowded parking lot.

  Halfway through another sappy love ballad, the road’s yellow lines began to blur and then disappear. What the hell? David thought. There was a loud bang, followed by the sounds of breaking glass and twisting steel. The world outside the windshield appeared to tumble end-over-end. Whoa… Everything became hazy and confusing. There was one long hiss, almost as if the motor was breathing a sigh of relief. And then there was silence. A flash of light closed in on itself until there was only a pinpoint leading to complete darkness. David closed his eyes, preparing to greet the afterlife.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  David wasn’t three miles from his house when instead of being in bed, sleeping—where he should have been—he was soaked in his own blood. The police discovered him at the gruesome scene, hanging onto the bare thread of life. “This is a bad one,” someone screamed out, as others frantically worked on sustaining his life. The medical chopper finally touched down, lifted him into the air and carried his fate into the hands of whatever surgeon was on duty.

  In short, official reports indicated that David’s Mustang was traveling southbound on Route 103 at 1:15 a.m. when it careened out of control and flipped several times. The Mustang, now totaled, rested upon a guardrail with most of its driver’s body folded in half on the passenger side floor. While David was suffocating on his teeth and jawbones, nearly ten minutes had elapsed before the accident was reported. Not a soul stopped to help. Finally, at approximately 1:30 a.m., medical personnel arrived on scene. “Too bad people don’t stop today and help,” the exhausted paramedics complained over the whine of the helicopter’s cutting blades.

  A preliminary investigation was brief. From the empty vodka bottle, with blood splashed all over it, there was no need to search any deeper for the cause of the accident. Given that it was a convertible, it was a miracle that he hadn’t been crushed to death.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Lindsey was surprised to get the call. As she listened in shock, Craig said, “I know you and David haven’t seen each other in a while, but he’s been in a bad car accident, and he’s in critical condition.” There was a long pause. “He just got out of surgery, and he’s in intensive care.” It sounded like a cruel joke. “The nurse says he’s not doing well at all,” Craig finished. “You need to get here as soon as possible.”

  Goose bumps covered Lindsey’s body, and she burst into tears. It took a few minutes for the shock to wear off before she grabbed her car keys and headed for the door.

  Time switched speeds, as a veil of fog was pulled down over everything. Before she knew it, she was speeding down the highway, alternating her thoughts between David and her father. En-route, she picked up the cell phone to ensure that Coley, David’s best friend, had been notified. He confirmed he was on his way. The panic in Coley’s voice made her drive faster. Before Lindsey knew it, she was sitting in the hospital parking lot panting like an exhausted dog. As she jumped out of the car, a bolt of fear struck the core of her soul. David’s in trouble and needs help, she thought and started for the hospital at a sprint.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Craig was the first person Lindsey spotted. He was standing in the hallway, talking with the head nurse. His eyes were red and swollen from crying. Lindsey hurried to him. Craig grabbed for her and wept hard. “David’s dying,” he sobbed.

  Lindsey took his face in both hands. “Well, we’ll just see about that,” she forced past the lump in her throat.

  Craig nodded, and Lindsey let go of his hand to follow a young nurse, a woman who obviously had a difficult time concealing her feelings. As they stopped at a curtained-off room, she whispered, “He’s in here.” She sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  Lindsey looked back curiously, but the nurse was gone. She snapped back the curtain and immediately understood why the young lady had apologized. Betty, David’s mom, was lying beside a poor soul who might have been vaguely mistaken for a human being. David’s body was broken almost beyond repair, his mind already beginning the sequence of shutting down his organs.

  As if NASA had decided to create a hideous cyborg, there was a tangled maze of hoses and wires protruding from David’s deformed head and swollen face. Black patches of skin were now located where hazel eyes had once been. White gauze covered a nose ten times its normal size. A red, ribbed flex-pipe—inserted into his throat—spewed a steady flow of steam from his taped mouth. Lindsey gasped, realizing, Without it, David could never breathe. A white sheet was wrapped tightly around a body that sporadically spasmed. David’s left arm hung over the edge of the elevated bed. His hand was bloated and discolored. He’s a terrible mess, she thought.

  Betty looked up, leapt from the bed and rushed toward Lindsey. Lindsey tried to coax her spaghetti legs to meet the heartbroken woman halfway, but they wouldn’t move. Lindsey just couldn’t help it. For that one moment, she completely lost it. Her shoulders bounced to her heartbreaking sobs. She felt as if she were six again. “No, David,” she cried. “Please God…”

  Betty wrapped her arms around Lindsey. After a long embrace, she grabbed Lindsey’s hand and escorted her to David’s side. Lindsey scanned David’s damaged body, her pupils dancing between horror and grief. At last, she fell to her knees and simply wept. Between sniffles, she whispered messages to both David and God. As Betty rubbed her back, Lindsey mourned so deeply she felt like she was going to have a heart attack. She couldn’t even speak. The only clear words she offered David was “I’m sorry,” though the reasons for that would remain in her heart alon
e. She looked over to find that Betty had also dropped to her knees and was now praying for her dying son.

  The grief was indescribable, except to say it was consuming and changing reality by the second. Lindsey kissed whatever skin remained exposed, then stroked the patches of David’s matted hair. In response, he gurgled and convulsed. The beep of the life-sustaining monitor marked off each precious moment that he lived. Between the uncontrollable bouts of crying, Lindsey and Betty prayed. Strangely, in the midst of Lindsey’s desperate pleas, her thoughts began floating to other areas in her mind. She questioned, Why? But to her growing rage, no answer came. She vividly recalled the night she’d spent with David, as well as everything they’d shared over email and Skype, and hugged him for each memory. She worried about Coley, wondering, Why hasn’t he arrived yet? She then thought positively, believing, David will come out of this alive. He has to. The next moment, her thoughts turned negative, and she screamed out in agony. It doesn’t make sense, she thought, any of it. David’s dying. Her body, the parts that loved him so deeply, ached with a sharp, indescribable pain. In her heart, she was already mourning the loss of her greatest hope for an amazing life.

  Breaking Lindsey’s cruel trance of grief, Betty whispered, “The doctor says they’ve done all they can for him. The rest is up to him and God.” A dramatic attack of grief ended the explanation. She couldn’t mutter another word.

  As Lindsey wept with Betty, she squeezed her tightly, trying as best she could to offer the hurting woman any strength she could.

  In the same broken whisper, Betty concluded, “They say it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. None of them can figure it.” For a second, they grinned proudly at each other. They knew.

  Lindsey wept again.

  Before long, Coley burst into the room. The shock of David’s apparently hopeless condition nearly bowled him over, and the sight of it clearly took his breath away. Falling into Betty’s arms, he looked like a small boy. Lindsey wanted to run to him but didn’t. He’s in good hands, she figured.

  Completing the family circle, David’s Aunt Jeanne arrived. She never stopped to acknowledge anyone, but went straight to David. The room turned silent when she bent and kissed the blue flesh of her nephew’s cheek. “What did you get yourself into now?” she asked and then lay beside David and began to cry, “Oh, David. Oh, David…” Again, the wave that had subsided took a turn of the tide, and the tears started breaking. The entire room was immersed in both grief and love.

  David is so loved, Lindsey thought, and I really love him too.

  Emotions ran in vicious cycles, and to experience them all was overwhelming, leaving both the body and mind exhausted. Of course, grief was the most predominant. When it came to one of them, it acted as a contagion, spreading wildly through the room. Screams for mercy were followed by the soft whimpers of victims. Anger then took its strong hold. With no fingers to point, God took the brunt of it until that phase was replaced with a series of promises and negotiations with that same God. In time, perhaps from the merciful numbing of shock, laughter also filled the room. Family and friends held each other and shared stories of David that helped define their unbearable pain.

  Amazing, Lindsey thought and watched as the once-darkened room gradually became filled with a light that could only be described as love. There were apologies for differences long forgotten and amends made for neglecting to share in each other’s busy lives. The realization of life being taken for granted was brutally clear. And through it all, David hung on.

  Nurses came in and out, avoiding any real eye contact with the family. At one point, just after Aunt Jeanne had barged in, Father Baker arrived to administer the last rites. Grief reared its razor sharp head again, and the room rocked to the wails of the permanence they now faced. Father Baker praised God and prayed, “It is quite apparent, Father, that this man wisely used the time you gave him. I have seen very few loved more.” Lindsey witnessed these words bringing everyone in the room even closer, until they actually swayed in each other’s arms.

  Moments later, the whole room stood for another bout with misery.

  As the sobs gradually subsided, a loving debate took place. Although it was David’s wish, the family felt torn about donating his organs, so they discussed the possibility of offering up the final gifts. Lindsey was horrified. Craig put everyone’s objections to rest with one simple question. “Can you imagine this world without David’s heart in it?” There was a moment of silence followed by the beginning of another cycle of tears.

  When they’d first arrived, the doctors had sworn David was minutes away from death. Now, seven hours later, he showed a part of himself that had only been revealed to those who knew him well. He showed his will. As he used to say, “The good Lord never put the heart of a lion into an elephant.” All of the machines and monitors in the world could have never measured the strength of his spirit.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Somewhere deep in the thick fog, David heard a sound. It was a low hum, like the drone of a secret conversation. He tried to concentrate, but the heavy exhaustion would not permit it. In the darkness, he noticed two horizontal slits of light. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get anywhere near the shiny cracks. He shivered as he felt a blast of cold air running the length of his body. He looked down, only to discover that his body was no longer there. A moment later, as the exhaustion pressed its entire weight upon him, the light completely disappeared.

  A moment later—or maybe it was hours or even days—David felt suspended in air when he heard another sound. He listened harder this time, concentrating on what it might be. It’s crying, he realized and felt bad for the people who were weeping. “Oh David,” he heard. It was a woman’s voice; it was Lindsey’s voice. What is it? he tried to ask her, but his words remained silenced prisoners within his frustrated mind. I’m here, Lindsey, he thought and began to frantically search for those slits of light. It’s my only way out.

  Another moment later—or maybe it was hours or even weeks—David witnessed a flash of light burst before him. Somehow, he knew it was only happening in his brain and not in front of his eyes. It didn’t matter. It had gotten his attention. He searched the darkness with his thoughts until he spotted the two thin cracks of light off in the distance. Concentrating hard, he slowly traveled to that place. Once he reached it, he watched as Lindsey turned and smiled at him. Oh Lindsey, he thought, trying desperately to share his true feelings with her. I’ve missed you so much.

  She never responded but continued to smile.

  I love you with all my heart, he thought. What have I done?

  With the innocent giggle of a child, Lindsey waved him toward her. “Come on,” she whispered, her words dripping with the hopes of a life worth living.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  It might have been the very next moment or another week but, as if stuck in a delusional dream, a sledgehammer inside David’s skull slammed the cranium from within. Struggling to return all the way to the surface, he slowly opened his eyes. The light was now overwhelming and painful; it took a few brutal moments for him to adjust. When his eyes were finally able to focus, he saw Lindsey sitting by his bedside.

  I’m not dead, he realized, but didn’t feel any physical relief from the truth of it.

  Lindsey grabbed his throbbing hand. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. “We thought we were going to lose you,” she whispered.

  He stared at her and tried to smile, but his entire face felt like it was going to shatter.

  “If you’re going to kill yourself, David…” she started, but emotion stopped her from finishing the thought.

  “I didn’t try to kill myself,” he mumbled, barely able to form human words from the extensive damage in his mouth. He tried to wipe away the cobwebs and remember. “I just went drinking and…”

  “Don’t lie to me, David,” she said firmly. “Don’t you ever lie to me!”

  He opened his mouth again but decided against digging his hole any deepe
r.

  “You were trying to kill yourself,” she continued, stating it as a matter of fact, “and if you decide to do it again, please don’t put anyone else at risk because it’s not fair.” She was crying mournfully now. “And…and until you get your act together, I refuse to be part of your life and watch you destroy yourself.” Without another word, she got up and walked out of the room, never looking back at him.

  David laid there in terrible pain—physical, emotional, even spiritual. It’s not fair, he repeated in his throbbing head. He couldn’t decide whether Lindsey was referring to the other drivers on the road or herself. His head hurt too much to give it any more thought at the moment.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  The following day, David stood before the hospital room’s bathroom mirror. It was war, he told himself, looking deeply into his own eyes. And you’re going to let your whole life just slip away because of a war you served in? He shook his angry head. No, I don’t think so!

  He peered hard at his reflection. His eyes might have grown old in Afghanistan, but my heart’s still in there somewhere, he thought. Get knocked down and live with it for a time, he told himself, but remain seated and live with it forever. He shook his mangled head. Nobody can punish us more than ourselves.

  David thought about Max. And I’m not going out like that, he vowed. Remembering fragments of his recent dreams, he thought, I still want a shot at creating my own life and living it, not just drift by each day in a state of oblivion. He rummaged through his wallet and slid out a business card. He picked up the phone and dialed the number.

  A machine answered. “Hi, you’ve reached Brad Perry at Psychology Associates. Please leave a brief message, and I promise to get right back to you. If this is an emergency, beep me at five-five-five-one-three-five-five. Have a great day.”

  David cleared his throat at the beep. “Hello, Mr. Perry, my name is David McClain,” he said, speaking as slowly and as clearly as his broken mouth would allow. “I need your help. When you get a chance, can you please call me at five-five-five-four-five-eight-seven? I’d appreciate it.”