My mother comes in with two paper coffee cups—I can smell hot chocolate in one of them. Even though it’s May, it’s arctic cold in the hospital thanks to the AC, so we’ve been drinking a lot of warm beverages mostly so we can hold them in our frozen hands. Plus, the caffeine helps.
She gives me the drink and sits on the edge of the empty chair next to me. “The doctor says they’re not exactly sure when he’ll be awake, honey. And he won’t be able to talk for while, after having that tube in his throat.” She tucks some strands of hair behind my ear. “Why don’t we go and you can call George later and check in.”
“I need to be here when he wakes up, Mom.”
“You need sleep, and some food that doesn’t come from a vending machine. Jamie would want you to take care of yourself.
“How do you know that?”
“I know how he feels about you. I can see it,” she says.
I thought I could too, once. “What happened? Did you find anything out from anybody?”
She sighs. “They ran tests to see if he had alcohol in his system, but they’re not saying one way or the other. It’s a police investigation at the moment, since Jamie has a record.”
It’s the sadness in her eyes—sadness for me—that starts the tears I’ve been holding back since the moment Holly and I jumped in her car after Robert told us what happened.
At first, I hoped that Jamie had been sober when he’d had his accident because then he wouldn’t get in trouble for driving drunk. But the more I think about it, I realize that if he wasn’t drunk, Jamie’s in more trouble than any of us realize, because what could have caused him to go off the road and down the embankment like that? No other cars were involved. The ice and snow have been gone for weeks. It wasn’t raining.
If he wasn’t drunk, he did it on purpose.
The sun is almost above the horizon now, sending orange rays through the window, onto the floor.
“If I hadn’t been pushing him so hard, none of this would have happened.”
My mom puts her arm around me. “Rose, please. You’ve known from the beginning that Jamie is a complicated, hard-to-understand boy. That’s part of why you like him, I think. But he’s essentially been on his own for years, in a very difficult situation. That has nothing to do with you. I’m sure you’re the bright spot in his life.”
“You know more about him than I do.”
She smiles. “Believe me when I tell you that I, too, had an extremely tough time getting him to talk. So at this point, you’re probably the world’s expert on Jamie. Whatever this is, you didn’t make it happen—he did. If he didn’t like what you were trying to do by bringing him to Boston, then he shouldn’t have come. He’s old enough to say no if he doesn’t want to do something. He’s also old enough to know that real relationships take communication.”
“But how would he know that?” I ask. “You just said yourself how hard his life has been.”
“One thing I do know about Jamie is that he’s smart about people. He sees what goes on around him. And at a certain point in life, you start to leave your past and your upbringing behind, and you become the person you decide to be. I guarantee you, one day he’s going to tell you that this was not your fault.” She stands up and stretches, rolling her shoulders, stiff from spending the night in the hospital. “Come on, let’s go home. You’ve got school tomorrow—”
I look at her in disbelief. “I can’t go to school while Jamie is in here.”
“Rose, you have to write your final paper for Mr. Camber’s class, you have to get back to your songwriting workshop—” I start to protest but she shakes her head definitively. “No. No more putting things on hold for Jamie. This has gone on too long and it’s going to change, starting now.”
I feel like she’s speaking a foreign language. “What do you mean?”
She takes in Jamie in his hospital bed and softens her tone. “I’m just saying that if you want Jamie to take control of his future, you have to do it, too. Be a good example for him. We all have to keep moving forward with our lives.”
As soon as she says this, I know she’s made her decision—we’re going to LA.
And I know that Jamie’s accident swayed her, made her decide that she really did need to get us out of here—get me out of here. In her mind, it was just luck of the draw that I wasn’t in that car with him.
I look up at her, sick to my stomach from too much hot chocolate and too many vending-machine crackers. “We’re going to LA, aren’t we.”
She’s surprised that I gleaned this from her little speech, and I can tell she didn’t intend to bring it up here, to make me discuss leaving Union when my boyfriend is under sedation in the ICU.
“Let’s talk about it in the car,” she says. “Jamie needs his rest.”
“I don’t want to go.” I look at Jamie and will him to open his eyes so that I can stay here with him, so that I can ask him what he thinks I should do. But he doesn’t.
I’m on my own.
I give in to my mother’s wishes and stand up to go. When I turn toward the door, I see Tracy, Holly, Robert, Steph and Angelo in the hallway. George is blocking the door, explaining that there can only be two visitors in the room with Jamie at time, even if Angelo is Jamie’s “brother from another mother.”
I’m going to be leaving these friends behind, all except Holly. I’ve known Tracy almost my whole life, and Robert since the sixth grade. Steph and Angelo were my bandmates—they might as well be family. All of them might as well be family.
This is what I know about life: It is loss, and change, and starting over, again and again and again, even when you don’t think you can. It is casting off, shedding your skin, leaving people you love behind, both the living and the dead.
I turn back to Jamie, lean over and kiss him on the least injured spot I can find on his cheek.
The machine keeps breathing for him.
SUMMER
“Never Let Me Go,” Ceremonials, Florence + The Machine
_______________________
Chapter 19
“Aw, check it out, man, here comes your pretty little shorty. Look sharp.”
I’ve gotten used to Coleman greeting me like this with his booming voice that makes everyone stop what they’re doing and look in my direction.
I wave as I walk into the physical therapy room and get a chorus of “Hi, Rose” in return. I feel like I know all these people, even though Jamie has only been at this rehab facility for a week. Mary Margaret is in the corner with her husband Saul who had a stroke—today he’s working on picking up a fork. Sarah is going back and forth on the parallel bars, practicing her walking. Glen is in his wheelchair in the fake kitchen, trying to learn how to open cabinet doors without hitting himself in the legs.
They’re like family to Jamie already. Especially his physical therapist, Coleman.
The first time I visited, when Coleman introduced me to the room as “Jamie’s shorty,” Jamie actually laughed—out loud. Coleman makes Jamie laugh in a way that no one else in the world can. I don’t know how he made it into Jamie’s exclusive inner circle so fast, and if I didn’t like him so much I’d be kind of jealous. But he’s doing everything he can for Jamie and Jamie is getting better, and that’s all that matters.
There’s light in Jamie’s eyes, or maybe it’s just that whatever darkness was there is now gone. The first time I noticed it, I was so confused—I couldn’t understand how nearly dying could be a positive for Jamie. But the accident changed a lot of things in his life that needed changing. His father has been showing up every day and taking care of Jamie for a change, and Jamie has been forced to focus on taking care of himself in order to get his body back in working order.
He looks good—he looks happy, even now, when he’s sweating and in pain and working harder than I’ve ever seen him work at anything. Happiness looks great on Jamie—it makes him even more handsome, if that’s possible—but I have to admit that it hurts, realizing I’ve never seen him lik
e this before. It makes me wonder what he’s been getting out of being with me all this time, whether I’ve been giving or just taking.
“All right now, Jamie, come on, you can do better than that. Up high. Higher. You’re not going to wuss out with your girl standing right there, are you?”
Coleman gives me a wink over Jamie’s head. He’s a giant who played college football for LSU, and when he helps Jamie in and out of his wheelchair, it’s like he’s picking up a bag of groceries.
Jamie lifts his arm over his head with a weight in his hand. It’s probably only one pound, but the way he’s struggling, it might as well be 50. He’s soaked through his gray T-shirt, which is now sticking to the back of his wheelchair. He’s still got a big cast on his leg but he’s got a soft cast on his arm now, and Coleman has been making him work out his upper body almost every day, sometimes twice a day.
Jamie will be here for another two weeks and then, finally, he can go home. But that won’t make much difference for us—I’ll be gone by then.
Mom and I are leaving for LA tomorrow morning.
I’ve got one more shot to convince him he should move out there when he’s better—this is my last visit to the rehab center, and my last chance to see him for who knows how long.
“Man, if you can’t get that arm any higher, I’m going to make you start your reps all over again and you’ll miss dinner, and I know how you love that rubbery lasagna—you do not want to miss that. Up high now. Come on, come on. Don’t let your girl down. She’s right there.”
Coleman uses me as motivation for Jamie whenever I’m around. At first it embarrassed me, because it sounded like Coleman was using me to taunt Jamie, but once I really started paying attention, I realized that Coleman knows exactly what he’s doing, and what’s going to motivate his patients. He pulled me aside after that first day and explained that in Jamie’s case, it’s helpful for him to know that the people who love him are watching and rooting for him. He told me to come around as much as I could, so I have, even though Jamie has never actually said that he likes it when I’m watching his sessions.
“What do you think, Rose? Jamie’s looking pretty hot right about now, huh?” Coleman gives Jamie’s good shoulder a punch even though Jamie is still pushing to get that weight above his head. Coleman’s gaze shifts to me, letting me know that he’s expecting an answer to his question.
“He looks awesome,” I say. Jamie’s hand reaches Coleman’s and Coleman lets out a whoop that turns heads. Even the older folks with hearing aids look to see what all the fuss is about. When they realize that some kind of milestone has been reached, everybody applauds. I feel like a total cheeseball for getting tears in my eyes.
“Told you, man. Just keep on keeping on. Nice work, nice work. Right, Rose? That was pretty good. We’ll have this guy back in shape in no time.” Coleman holds his hand up and they high-five. “Rest tonight. You think today was hard, I’ve got some serious torture planned for tomorrow.”
Coleman gives me another wink and starts putting away all the weights and bands they used during their session.
I grab a clean towel from a stack on a nearby table and hand it to him. “I wasn’t just saying that. You look awesome.”
Jamie gives me a smile. “Coleman’s paying you.”
“I don’t think Coleman has to pay anybody to do anything, ever. People just fall in line for him.”
“You noticed that, huh?” He wipes the sweat off his face and looks down at his shirt.
“Want me to take you back to your room so you can change?”
“Thanks.”
I step behind him and take the handles of his chair. I’ve done this a lot over the last few weeks, both in the hospital and here at rehab, but it still feels uncomfortable to me—it’s a big responsibility. I wheel Jamie carefully through the halls. Everybody we pass says hi to him, and he says hi back.
When we get to his room, I park his chair sideways next to his bed, lock the wheels and help him out of the chair the way Coleman showed me. When he’s steady, he lifts his good arm, and I slowly peel his shirt up and over his arm and head, and then pull it down over his other arm so he doesn’t have to lift it. It’s still hard to look at the gashes and scabs on his body, which are slowly turning to bright purple scars.
I check to make sure nothing looks infected, even though the nurses already do this a few times a day. I take the towel from his hands and gently wipe the sweat off his chest and back and neck. We’re both quiet as we do this—it’s kind of a ritual for us now. I put the wet shirt in the laundry bag that his dad brought, which he’ll come collect later today, and I get him a clean shirt from the dresser across the room. When I’ve helped him put it on, I sit next to him on the bed and realize that he’s leaning to one side a little. He’s exhausted.
“Do you want to lie down?”
He nods. I help him, getting his big cast settled in the right position, and I sit again, taking his good hand.
Our last moment before acknowledging what’s about to happen is quiet and calm.
“I’m lucky,” is how he starts this goodbye, his voice rough. I nod, and though I told myself I wouldn’t, tears start falling. He reaches out to wipe them from my cheeks. The gesture is so familiar at this point that I almost laugh—Jamie is always wiping away my tears.
“Already?” he jokes.
“We leave tomorrow,” I say, though of course he knows this. “Who’s going to help you take off your sweaty shirts?”
“You came up with a good system. You should train someone before you go.”
I know I’m supposed to laugh at that too but I can’t. “I’m not going to be here to help you,” I say, stating the obvious again.
He studies my face like he’s memorizing it. “You’ve always helped me, Rose. But you can’t do this for me.”
“The physical therapy?”
“The PT, the not-drinking…”
I was wondering if we’d talk about his drinking today. This is the first time it’s come up since my birthday, even though tests showed that Jamie’s blood-alcohol level was off the charts the night he got into the accident. I didn’t want to talk about it after I found out—all I wanted was for him to wake up from surgery, and then start eating normally again, and then get out of bed, and then start doing physical therapy, and then walk out of the hospital and get back to his life. Or start a new one with me.
It seemed impossible to ask more of him on top of all of that.
“Are you…do you want to stop drinking?” I ask, trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible.
He nods. “Coleman’s gonna take me to a meeting.”
I have so many questions but I don’t know what’s appropriate to ask anymore. Even though I’ve seen him every day since the accident, Jamie and I have been in limbo. Although I’m touching him all the time when I’m helping him, we haven’t even kissed. And we haven’t talked about what happened in his hotel room either, though it plays on a pretty constant loop in my head.
I wouldn’t change a thing about that night. Not a thing.
“Ask,” he says, seeing the questions in my eyes.
I don’t want to—I don’t want to know the truth. But I think that means I already do. “Were you ever drunk with me in the car?”
He nods.
“So you lied to me.”
He nods again, keeping his eyes on mine. “A bunch of times.”
More tears fall. I can’t stop them, even though I know they make him feel worse. But maybe that’s okay—maybe it’s good for him to see what all this does to someone who loves him.
To me.
“I’m sorry for everything, Rose.” He runs his hand through his hair and swallows hard. “I know you want only good for me.”
“Please,” I hear myself whisper, “please don’t be sorry about what happened in your hotel room. I couldn’t take it if I thought you regretted that.”
He pulls me toward him. It takes a second for me to settle next to him in a way
that doesn’t hurt him, with my head on his chest. His good arm wraps around me, holding me tight. “I regret everything after that, but not that.”
I listen to his heart beating steadily as I work up the courage to make my case one last time.
“It’s not good for you here, Jamie. Come to LA. I’ll come get you when you’re ready, and then you can start over with me out there. Please.”
In the long silence that follows my plea, I know what I’m asking makes no sense. There’s a difference between running away from what you have to do, and starting over somewhere new. You can only start over somewhere new when you’ve dealt with whatever is making you want to run away.
I’m finally moving past my life-shattering bomb. Jamie is just starting to deal with his.
“I have to get better here. On my own. And you have to go, Rock Star.” I might be imagining it, but it feels like he’s no longer holding me so tightly.
The toughest thing about all of this is accepting that love is not enough, which goes against everything I learned growing up, every fairy tale. The reality is that two people can love each other to pieces but all sorts of other things have to be right for it to work out. And with us, all sorts of other things have been wrong all along.
I thought the fact that I loved him could give him a future. But he was right when he accused me of trying to change him into something that I thought he could be, which had nothing to do with who he actually is. And he was so busy trying to save me and everyone else that he forgot to look out for himself.
Rookie relationship mistakes. But then again, we’re rookies. So I’ll cut us some slack.
“Rose,” he says.
The tone of his voice makes me wipe the last of my tears off my cheeks and sit up. He’s still holding my hand in his, rubbing his thumb across my palm in that familiar way when he says, “I love you. I always will.”
The truth is, I’ve been waiting for three years to hear those words—more if you count all the time I spent in middle school watching Jamie on the ice and imagining that someday I’d know what it was like to be his girlfriend. But instead of making this moment into a huge love scene with a symphony orchestra playing and millions of rose petals cascading down from the heavens, I just smile and say, “I know,” because I do. And he laughs, which is better than symphony orchestras and rose petals.
No More Confessions Page 16
