Takedown

by Gemma Brooks

  The clerk, a middle-aged lady with straight, gray hair chopped into a sleek bob, looked me up and down. She had no reason to believe me, and I knew that. Plus I wasn’t immediate family. She owed me no favors.

  She picked up the phone and spoke softly before hanging it up a short while later.

  “If you want to have a seat, I’ll let you know when he’s accepting visitors,” she said.

  “Accepting visitors?” I said, incredulous. “He’s unconscious. He has a history of head injuries. I need to speak to his doctors.”

  “Ma’am,” she said, her patience seeming to be virtually nonexistent. “We have it under control, I can assure you.”

  I stood, feet planted, and locked eyes with her. She was just doing her job, but it didn’t make it any easier. Used to being on the non-patient end of things, I finally understood firsthand why people grew frustrated with the medical system and their overabundance of rules.

  Relenting, I turned on my heel and found a chair in the corner of the room. It was going to be a long night.

  ***

  “Ma’am?” a young gentleman in teal scrubs said as he nudged my shoulder. I sat up in the chair, my neck aching on one side from a night spent sleeping in the emergency room waiting area. “You can go see your friend now.”

  I rubbed my eyes and stretched my neck from side to side.

  “He’s on the 8th floor,” he said. “Room 8477. He’s still not awake yet,” the nurse told me.

  I stood up and gathered my things as he pointed me to a long hallway that led to a set of elevators.

  “They told me you were here all night,” he said, his eyes sympathetic.

  I nodded.

  “Good luck.” His hands toyed with his name badge as he studied my face. It was almost as if he knew something more but couldn’t tell me.

  I lingered in the doorway to Rowdy’s room. Lying in his bed, hooked up to a beeping monitor with a myriad of red, black, blue, and green wires all running from various parts of his body, it nearly knocked the wind out of me. I never expected to see him like that. My once quietly powerful fighter was now fighting quietly for his life.

  I tip toed towards toward the side of his bed and pulled a chair close.

  “Rowdy,” I said softly. “It’s Gia. I’m here.”

  I reached for his limp hand, took it in mine, and squeezed it hard. I shut my eyes and stilled my mind, hoping and praying that he’d squeeze my hand back. Even the littlest squeeze would’ve told me things were going to be okay, but nothing happened.

  “I wish you would’ve listened to me,” I whispered. “This never would’ve happened, you know.”

  I shouldn’t have chided him, but I was angry. Angry that he caution to the wind and jeopardized his own safety to make a few bucks. Angry that he didn’t listen to me. Angry that he was lying there in the hospital bed and that I might never get a chance to truly know Rowdy Matthews.

  “You need to fight, Rowdy,” I whispered into his ear. “Please. You’re a fighter. You can do this.”

  I wiped away a couple of tear that had welled in the corner of my eye and rolled down my cheeks.

  “For some crazy reason I really like you,” I said with a quiet laugh. “A lot. And I really want to be with you.”

  The room was silent except for the ticking clock on the wall. Those ticks seemed to echo and bounce off the sterile, white walls and fill the void silence between each beep of the heart monitor.

  It was almost nine o’clock. I should’ve been at the airport, checking in for my flight home. I needed to call work and tell them I wasn’t going to be there on Monday. I needed to call my parents. I needed to get some coffee.

  “Hi, there.” A woman with kind eyes and chestnut brown hair swept back into a ponytail entered the room and began to log onto the computer. “Are you family?”

  “No,” I said. “A friend.”

  I should’ve lied. I should’ve said I was his sister. Now she wasn’t going to tell me anything.

  “He’s got a long history of concussions,” I told her. “He never should’ve been fighting.”

  The nurse said nothing as she glanced up at the machines around him and typed data into the computer.

  “I know you can’t tell me anything,” I began. “But…”

  What was I going to do? Ask her to break the law and violate patient privacy? She could lose her job for that. I pursed my lips and ended my question just like that. I’d experienced firsthand in nursing school what happens when you give information to the wrong people, and it wasn’t fun.

  “The doctor should be making rounds shortly,” she said with a reserved smile. “His family has been notified. I believe his father’s flying in later.”

  In other words, she was telling me to wait until his dad could tell me what the hell was going on.

  The morning sun beat down through the window and cast a harsh glare across Rowdy’s face. I ran over to the window and lowered the blinds. I didn’t care if he was too unconscious to appreciate it.

  I returned to my chair and grabbed his hand once again. I wasn’t going to let go of it for anything. I brought it to my lips and kissed it. His hands were calloused but strong and still warm. I held it against my cheek for a few minutes before setting it back down on the bed and interlacing my fingers with his.

  “Don’t leave me, Rowdy,” I whispered. “Please.”

  As if he’d heard me, his index finger twitched. I sat up, spurred, and willed him to do it again. It had been a long night, I was tired, and my imagination easily could’ve been playing tricks on me. I squeezed his hand hard and then waited. And waited. Until finally his finger twitched one more time.

  CHAPTER 15

  I curled up in the chair next to Rowdy and closed my eyes only for a minute. The whooshing, humming, and beeping of the machines in the room served as an ironic lullaby that lulled me to sleep.

  “Gia,” man’s soft voice said. A hand warmed my shoulder. I peeled my eyes open and glanced at the clock. I’d been sleeping a good three or four hours.

  “Mr. Matthews,” I said as I sat up and tugged my clothes back into position. I stood up and wrapped my arms around him. I barely knew the man, but it was situations like this that really brought people closer. Plus I needed a hug. I needed someone to tell me he was going to be okay. I was certain he needed the same thing.

  “Hey, Gia.” Frankie stood several steps back, paralyzed at the sight of his big brother lying defenseless and unconscious in a hospital bed. He stood in the doorway not wanting to come in.

  “Frankie,” I said. In that moment, it didn’t matter how he felt about me. I walked over and wrapped my arms around his thin frame. He was just as tall as Rowdy and my head landed right at that perfect spot on his chest.

  I took Frankie by the hand and led him inside as I motioned for him to sit in my chair.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” I said to Rowdy’s dad. “They can’t tell me anything. I have no idea what’s going on with him medically. I want a prognosis. Something. Anything.”

  I stepped out of the room to get a nurse. They needed to know his family was here, and I wanted information.

  I rushed back into the room. I didn’t want to be away from Rowdy any longer than necessary. Frankie and Mr. Matthews were standing on both sides of Rowdy, staring down at him, their hands shoved in their pockets. They weren’t a touchy, feeling family that much I knew, and it explained a lot about Rowdy.

  It wasn’t but fifteen years ago when my mom was in and out of the hospital with cancer. My dad and I spent every waking hour there when we weren’t at work or in school. I used to crawl under the blankets and lay next to my mom, cuddling up to her frail little body. She rarely had enough energy to speak, so I would do most of the talking. Sometimes I would tell her about my day and other times I’d read her stories I’d written at school.

  My dad would always make sure she was comfortable, and he would only tell her about the good things happening. Cousin Josie is pregnant wit
h twins, he’d tell her. Your Aunt Becky won $25,000 on a scratch off card. Rich and Deb are celebrating their fifteenth anniversary with a trip to Hawaii in the spring. All he ever did was give her hope. Hope that things would go back to normal someday. Hope for the future.

  Every night just before visiting hours were over, my dad would lower the blinds, fluff her pillows, and straighten her blankets. He’d refill her water bottle and adjust the thermostat. We never knew if that night’s goodnight hug and kiss was going to be the last, but for her sake we never let it show.

  If I’d learned anything from watching my mother fight her illness it was that sometimes doctors were wrong and sometimes people could wake up one morning and everything had changed.

  I’d never forget holding my dad’s hand as we walked into the hospital one sunny Saturday morning in April. My mom was sitting up, bright eyed, with a huge smile plastered across her face. She’d never looked so alive before, so vibrant and bursting with love and light. Even a hint of color had returned to her cheeks.

  “Monica,” my dad said as he rushed to her side and crouched down next to her.

  “Dan,” she said with twinkling eyes. “I feel great. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. I feel alive again.”

  My dad began crying tears of joy as he let months worth of pent up grief and emotion and uncertainty go. And the next day she was gone, just like that, as if someone had blown out a bright little candle that flickered in the dark.

  “You must be Rowdy’s father,” a young doctor in a white lab coat said as he walked in behind me. I stood to the side, arms folded, and hoped no one would ask me to leave if I didn’t attract too much attention to myself.

  “I am,” Mr. Matthews said as he shook the doctor’s hand.

  “As you can see, Rowdy sustained a mild head injury,” the doctor said. “But due to his history of concussions, this one really took him out. His vitals are good. He’s mostly breathing on his own. His CT scan was normal. We expect him to recover, but nothing is ever certain. I will say it’s rare for someone to have this sort of a reaction to a concussion, but given your son’s history, it’s not completely out of line with what we’ve seen.”

  Mr. Matthews stood in a sullen silence as he took in everything the doctor had just told him. “So what are his odds that he’ll fully recover?”

  “I’d say they’re good,” the doctor said. “Probably 80%. He might have a little bit of residual brain damage but we can always hope for the best. We just won’t know until he wakes up.”

  “But he will wake up, right?” Frankie asked, his eyes filled with subtle uncertainty.

  The doctor tugged on the stethoscope around his neck and cleared his throat. “That’s the hope.”

  The doctor checked Rowdy over and asked if they had any other questions before exiting the room and moving onto the next patient.

  “Sounds hopeful,” I said as I approached the bed once again.

  Mr. Matthews smiled at me, but I could tell he didn’t quite feel the way I felt. His heart, scar-tissued from years of love and loss, wouldn’t allow it.

  “You have to tell him to stop fighting,” I said. “I tried to get him to stop. I tried to tell him this was going to happen. He wouldn’t listen.”

  His father looked over at me, his eyes meeting mine, as he kindly said. “No. No, I can’t do that. This is the only good thing he’s ever had in his life. Well, that and you.”

  “Excuse me?” It was as if the wind had been knocked out of me but in a good way. “What do you mean?”

  “Rowdy’s crazy about you,” his dad said with an amused chuckle. “Plain as day. I can see it all over his face when he mentions you. He’s never acted like this with anyone else before. He’s different with you.”

  “No kidding,” Frankie huffed. “He’s never fixed a girl’s car like that before. I don’t even think he’s gone out on a real date with a girl before either. He likes you alright.”

  I turned my head away and wiped my eyes before they could see the tears that were filling in them.

  CHAPTER 16

  On the fifth day in the hospital, Frankie and Mr. Matthews had long since gone home. The flowers and calls tapered off. The local news had dropped the story like a hot potato. The only person who still checked in on him was his coach, but I was certain it was more for professional reasons than anything else.

  I never left his side unless I absolutely had to. Showers and food became mere inconveniences. Another week and I’d probably lose my job, but I didn’t care. Nothing else mattered except for Rowdy.

  I’d picked up a book in the gift shop earlier that morning. There was only so much T.V. I could watch in that quiet little room of his.

  I nestled into the chair next to his bed and let the warm sunlight wash over me as I read out loud from the pages of the book. It was a romance novel, which I was sure wasn’t his thing, but I needed hope. And I needed to give him hope. I needed that happily ever after, even if it wasn’t real.

  “Odessa dove under the sheets, hoping Rowdyander wouldn’t see the overabundant curves of her Greek derriere in the broad daylight that filled the bedroom,” I read. “But when she least expected it, he yanked the covers from the grip of her delicate hands.”

  I stopped and sat the book down. I couldn’t get into the story. My mind was too distracted.

  “Not into it?” I asked Rowdy, though really I was just talking to myself. “Me neither.”

  I rested my head in my hands with my elbows on the side of his bed and watched his chest rise and fall. My Hercules looked so vulnerable lying there so still and lifeless. It wasn’t right.

  Maybe it was the exhaustion finally setting in or the fact that the days were all starting to blur together, but my hope was starting to falter and my strength was falling apart little by little.

  Rowdy’s body was so warm and his strong arms, though limp as they were, beckoned me. I lifted the covers and crawled underneath them, nuzzling under his left arm and hooking my arm softly around his chest. I closed my eyes for just a moment and pretended like he was just sleeping.

  I pressed my ear against his chest to listen to the faint thumping through the thin fabric of his faded hospital gown before interlacing our fingers once again. Rowdy was a good man with a heart of gold. I would’ve given anything for the chance to tell him that someday.

  Late afternoon had begun to set in and the fifth day was coming to an end. I needed to head back to my hotel, but peeling myself away from him was proving to be harder than I thought it would be.

  I sat up and forced myself to stretch a bit. My stiff back was a sure sign that I’d been laying in the same position far too long but it was nothing a couple Tylenol couldn’t dull. I slid off the edge of the bed and reached my hands to the ceiling as I took a deep breath and stared out the window.

  The parking lot below was filled with hundreds of cars, with several coming and going every minute of every hour. A young man with an arm full of pink balloons and white carnations entered the doors below. Perhaps his wife had just given birth? I smiled at the thought.

  The shifting of covers and sheets disturbed the usual sounds of Rowdy’s hospital room, and I clutched at my chest before spinning around. Rowdy was moving. His legs were inching from side to side and his hands were working his way up to his face. His eyes, half open, were slowly fluttering as he struggled to adjust to the amber daylight that spilled through the window.

  “Rowdy.” I rushed to his side. “It’s Gia. I’m here. You’re in the hospital.”

  Happy tears filled my eyes as I patiently waited for him to come to. He began to tug at his cannula nearly ripping it out.

  “No, don’t do that,” I said as I guided his hand back down onto the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

  I couldn’t get to the nurses’ station fast enough.

  “Rowdy’s awake!” I yelled like some crazy person. I was probably overly excited, but I didn’t care. “Come! Hurry!”

  I ran back to his room and t
ook my place right next to him. He’d already pulled out his cannula, but it came as no surprise. He always did things his way.

  He smacked his dry mouth, a sure sign that he was parched.

  “Water,” he whispered in a hoarse voice.

  “I know,” I said. “We’ll get you water as soon as you can have it. The nurse is coming.”

  Rowdy’s crystal blue eyes attempted to focus on mine as I held his hands, once again, in mine.

  “I’m not leaving your side, okay?” I promised him.

  CHAPTER 17