Stop, Don't Stop

by Jonah Black

  “That’s right,” she said gently.

  “A back two-and-a-half somersault,” I said.

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  “With . . . a one-and-a-half twist.”

  Dr. Sheldon smiled. She bent over me and touched the side of my cheek with her hand. She looked very young for a doctor. She had on a black turtleneck and a white coat, and a stethoscope was swinging from her neck like a big necklace. She strokes my hair and says, I love you, Jonah Black. I love you more than I have ever loved a patient. I look into her eyes and I realize it’s Posie, after all. What’s she doing, pretending she’s a doctor?

  Posie crawls into the bed with me and she reaches over and touches the automatic bed adjustment button with her strong tan fingers, and the head of the bed slowly tilts back. I can feel her lips on my throat, and she says, I’ve cured you, Jonah. Thank heavens you’re cured at last.

  “I’m cured,” I said, and opened my eyes. Dr. Sheldon was still standing over me, but she was wearing a different outfit now. It must have been hours later.

  “I’m glad you’re up again,” she said. “Do you remember where you are?”

  “Some hospital,” I said. I looked around. “Where’s Posie?”

  “Posie?” Dr. Sheldon said, and smiled. “I’m not sure which one she is.”

  “Which one?” I said, confused.

  “You have a lot of fans, Jonah. There have been quite a few young ladies here to see you.”

  I realized as she said this that I was lying there with my bare butt sticking out of my hospital gown, and there was a wet spot on the pillow where I’d been drooling. I’m sure I looked fantastic. I hope Posie didn’t see me that way.

  Then I started wondering who else would come to see me? Luna Hayes? Or maybe Watches Boys Dive, that Indian girl who I keep seeing in the bleachers during diving practice?

  “Who . . .” I said, but my voice sounded like mush.

  “You hit your head on the diving board. During the swim meet,” the doctor said. “Do you remember?”

  “Yeah,” I said. I remembered how in the middle of the dive I’d lost my concentration because I was thinking about Sophie and Posie and what I was going to do about them. I was trying to choose between them, between the girl of my dreams and my real-life friend. And the choice seemed so obvious. It was Posie I should be with. I’m completely in love with Posie, I realized. Then I whacked my head on the board.

  “You’ve experienced a major ligamental strain of the cervical area. You’re going to have a stiff neck. I want you to wear a clamshell collar for now,” Dr. Sheldon said.

  “A clamshell collar?” I said.

  “Yes. And I’m giving you Flexeril for muscle spasms, ibuprofen as an anti-inflammatory, and Lorcet for pain,” she said.

  “Will I be able to dive again?” I said.

  “Not for a while, Jonah. I want you to rest your neck,” the doctor said.

  “But I’m going to miss the season!” I said.

  “Let’s see how well you recover. You didn’t do any major damage. But don’t be surprised if you experience some nausea, blurry vision, photophobia, or dizziness. You’ll probably also feel a little spacey for the next week or so. Do you feel spacey, Jonah?” she asked me.

  I look out the window, and Posie sails across the bright blue sky on her surfboard. She waves to me.

  “A little,” I said.

  “You’re a very lucky boy, Jonah,” the doctor said.

  “Yes,” I said, closing my eyes.

  “Jonah?” I opened my eyes, and a nurse was standing there. It must have been later again. I had no idea how much time had passed.

  “Huh?” I said sleepily.

  “You have some visitors. Do you feel up to seeing people?” she asked me.

  “Yes,” I said. “Definitely. Who is it?”

  “It’s your big sister and your mother,” the nurse said.

  “Little,” I said.

  The nurse frowned worriedly. “Little what?”

  “Little sister. She only looks older. She skipped a . . . skipped a . . .” I suddenly felt so exhausted I couldn’t go on explaining what I was trying to explain.

  “She skipped a grade? Your little sister skipped a grade?” the nurse said.

  I nodded, desperately wishing I could go back to sleep. Remembering how I’d been forced to repeat my junior year, while my little sister was now a senior, made me feel extremely tired.

  “I’ll tell them not to stay too long,” the nurse said kindly. Then she showed my mother and my sister, Honey, into the room. My mother had tears running down her cheeks and she threw herself at me and crushed me with a giant hug. I felt like she was going to snap me in two.

  “My baby!”

  “Hey, Flounder Nuts,” said my sister. “They’ve got you in one of those collars.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Jonah,” said my mother. “The doctor told us you might be a little out of it. Are you out of it, sweetie?”

  “A little,” I admitted.

  “Ma,” said Honey. “Look at him. He’s high as a kite.”

  “I am not,” I said. Actually though, the walls were kind of breathing in and out. Is that normal? I can’t seem to remember what is normal anymore and what is not.

  “I flew back as soon as I heard you’d been injured,” my mother said dramatically.

  “Flew back?” I said.

  “Yes, don’t you remember, darling? I’m in the middle of the media tour for my book. Hello Penis! Hello Vagina! Remember my book, Jonah? It tells young people all about their bodies. It’s called Hello Penis! Hello Vagina! Do you remember my book, Hello Pe—”

  “I remember it, Mom.” Although I honestly wished I didn’t.

  “Oh, good,” said Mom. “I’m so glad!”

  “Mom was in Pittsburgh,” Honey said.

  “You didn’t have to interrupt your tour, Mom. I’m all right.” I said, but then I remembered how disappointed I’d been that she wasn’t in the audience at the diving meet.

  “Bup, bup, bup,” Mom said, holding her hand out to indicate that I shouldn’t say anything more. “The minute I heard you were hurt I took the next plane back. My baby! I’ve been so worried about you!” She looked at her watch.

  “Mom’s flying back to Pittsburgh this afternoon,” Honey told me.

  “You are?” I said, feeling kind of hurt. I mean, Mom stopped her tour for one day to make sure I was still alive, and now she was taking off again? Typical. Never mind the fact that her book and her radio show are like, a complete joke, because she’s pretending to be this doctor with degrees in psychology and teen sexuality and whatever, but she barely even finished college! She told me herself her grades were never very good, which is one of the reasons she’s so proud of me and Honey. We’re good students. At least, I used to be.

  I wish I had a normal mother. I wish I had a normal sister. I wish my father acted like he had the slightest interest what time zone me and my sister live in. I wish a lot of things, actually. I guess I’m just feeling a little sorry for myself. Forget it.

  “Well,” Mom said. “Now that I know you’re all right. You are all right, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. I’m great.” I tried to sound bitter and ironic, but Mom didn’t pick up on it.

  “Good,” she said. She bent down and crushed me again with a giant hug.

  “Ow!”

  “Mom, don’t squeeze him like that,” Honey hissed. “Jesus.”

  “I’m glad you’re all right,” Mom said, heading toward the door. “I’m very glad. You’ve got my cell phone number, right? Okay, ‘bye!” She blew me a kiss and then practically ran out the door.

  Honey watched her leave, then looked at me.

  “You’re really okay?” she said. I was kind of touched that Honey seemed to really care how I was doing. Expressing tenderness for her only sibling is not exactly Honey’s strong suit.

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “I’m pretty out of it, though.”

 
“That was some dive you did. You should have seen everybody screaming when you fell into the water. It was pretty goddamned dramatic,” she said. She sounded really impressed.

  Impressing Honey wasn’t quite what I’d intended.

  “God, I can’t believe I did that,” I muttered.

  Honey got out a cigarette, stuck it in her mouth, and lit it. Next to her was a big sign that said: DANGER: OXYGEN.

  “Believe it,” she said.

  Honey walked to the door and paused. “I’m glad you’re all right, you bastard. You do that again and I’ll kill you myself,” she said. Then she left.

  I lay there in the hospital bed with my neck in the clamshell collar and closed my eyes. From outside I could hear the sound of the surf crashing against the public beach in town. Pompano Beach, Florida. What a strange place to grow up. With the surfers out on the water, and the tourists on the Mile, and the millionaires on their yachts cruising up the Intercoastal Waterway, and Don Shula High School, and the softly blowing palm trees, and the tan girls in bikinis everywhere. Posie always wears a bikini. She’s a surfing queen.

  I opened my eyes and sat up and looked out the hospital window. I couldn’t see the ocean and I couldn’t see Posie anymore.

  Oct. 20, 10:30 A.M.

  Good news! The doctor says I can go home soon, like maybe tomorrow. They still have me on all these drugs, though, and they make me really spacey. In a way I’m glad I was asleep when all those girls visited me, because if I’d been awake I would have definitely made a fool of myself.

  But I do feel like talking to someone. Like Thorne or Posie. I could even call Sophie up in Maine. I still have her number. But what would be the point? I’d say who I was and Sophie would say, “Jonah? Jonah Who? Do I know you?”

  And then I’d have to explain how I went to Masthead Academy with her, I’m the guy that got kicked out. And now I’m back here in Pompano Beach, repeating eleventh grade because Masthead wouldn’t give me my credits, and all my friends are seniors now. And I’d say, “I guess I was wondering if you knew the reason I got thrown out was because of you?”

  And she’d say, “Who is this really?”

  And I’d say, “Forget it; I’m not anybody you would remember.”

  And then she’d hang up.

  (Still Oct. 20, 4:45 P.M.)

  I nodded off this afternoon, and when I woke up a girl was sitting down in a chair next to my bed, watching me. It was Cecily LaChoy from German class. She was reading YM and chewing gum. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, why would Cecily come and see me? I hardly know her. I met her one time at the party at Luna Hayes’s house a couple of weeks ago, but that’s it. I mean, the odds of Cecily LaChoy visiting me in the hospital are about the same as getting a phone call from Madonna.

  The nurse came in and asked, “Has he woken up yet?” and Cecily said no.

  I lay there with my eyes closed, not sure if I was supposed to be awake or not. “He looks cute asleep, doesn’t he?” said the nurse.

  “He does,” said Cecily. “Like a little boy.”

  “He’s going to be all right,” the nurse said. “He didn’t bruise his brain. That’s the main risk in a case like this.”

  “You can do that?” Cecily said. “Bruise your brain?”

  “Some people. But not Jonah here. He just got a little smack and lost consciousness for a while. It could have been much worse. We’re sending him home tomorrow.”

  Cecily got up and said, “Don’t tell him I was here,” and then I heard the sound of her leaving and the nurse shuffling around the room, and then the door closed. The room was full of this lavender smell that must have been from Cecily’s shampoo. Cecily is definitely pretty in her own way. I never really thought much about her before.

  When I opened my eyes there was a long-stemmed red rose next to the bed. Next to it was a card that read: For Jonah. With love, A Friend.

  I picked up the rose and smelled it. Falling on my head might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

  Oct. 21

  Thorne was here this morning. Dr. Sheldon said I could take off the clamshell collar. So the first thing Thorne did when he came here is ask if he could borrow it. He thinks it’s a chick magnet.

  “It’s unbelievable,” he said. “All the girls at school think you’re like this little wounded bird. They all want to take care of you, man. I’ve never seen anything like it. I want to know where they sell those collars. I could make a fortune on those.”

  I thought about telling him about Cecily coming to the hospital and leaving me the rose, but I decided not to.

  Thorne had gotten sunburned since I last saw him. He was sitting in the chair next to my bed, wearing a yellow T-shirt and a pair of black shorts. He had an earring in his left ear, and I suddenly recognized this earring. It was one of Posie’s, a golden seashell.

  “Hey, Thorne, where’d you get the sunburn? Were you out surfing?” I asked. I could imagine Posie teaching him how to surf.

  Thorne’s eyes were kind of shifting from side to side like he was nervous or something. “Nah. I got this on the boat,” he said.

  “Which boat?” I remembered him telling me something about his father’s new boat but I couldn’t remember what he’d said.

  “My pop’s sailboat. I’m working for him on weekends. It’s awesome. A sloop. It’s the best, man. Tourists line up around the block in Lauderdale just to take a sunset cruise,” he said. “We’re raking it in.”

  “That sounds great,” I said.

  “It’s hardly like working, I’m telling you. It’s like lying around on a sailboat twanging thong bikinis,” Thorne said.

  I laughed. “Wow, I’d love to come with you sometime. You think I could?”

  Thorne shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Have to check it out with the old man. He’s pretty stingy. Doesn’t want anyone on board unless they’re a paying customer.”

  “Well maybe I could like, help out some weekend? I wouldn’t mind working if I could go out on the boat,” I offered.

  Thorne looked out the window. “I’ll ask him about it, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Thorne kept looking out the window, and we didn’t talk for a while.

  “So how’s school?” I asked.

  “Creepy,” Thorne said. “Mr. Bond has been acting all zippy this week. I think he’s finally getting some.”

  “Oh, man. There are some things I don’t want to know,” I said. Mr. Bond is the senior class homeroom teacher. That’s the only good thing about being held back. My homeroom teacher, Miss von Esse, has a much prettier face.

  Thorne looked at his watch. “Hey, Jonah, can you hang on a second?”

  This made me laugh. I was in a hospital bed; where did he think I was going? I nodded.

  Thorne got out his cell phone and punched in a number. “Hey, Kendra. It’s me. What’s up? Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.”

  He sat there listening to this Kendra person for a second. I didn’t know who Kendra was.

  “I agree,” he said. “So let’s sell those suckers. Yeah. Sell all of ’em. Put it into treasuries. Fine. Okay. Later.”

  He hung up and grinned at me.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “She’s your personal broker?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Thorne said. “It doesn’t get more personal than Kendra.”

  Thorne laughed, and I laughed, and while we were laughing, I was like, I have absolutely no idea what we’re laughing about. Thorne is always saying these smooth-sounding things, things that sound like they mean something, but the more you think about it, the less you really get it.

  Thorne made another call. “Hi, Sally, it’s me. How many you got for this week? Whoa! Excellent! Wait, let me write this down.” He pulled a PalmPilot out of his pocket and started scribbling away with his little pen. “Okay, that’s fourteen ‘women looking for men,’ twenty-eight ‘men looking for women’—wow! Nine ‘women alternative,’ ten ‘men alternative,’ and two ‘double dat
ing.’ Fantastic. How’s the copy? Everything legal? Okay, let’s put ’em on the Web. Yeah. No, I’m here seeing my friend Jonah. He’s in the hospital. Oh, nothing serious. I’ll see you later. ‘Bye.”

  Thorne put away his cell phone and his PalmPilot. “All-time high number of personals in the Wood Love Connection Rendezvous. They just phone in the ads and put it on a credit card, I stick ’em up on the Web, and the next thing you know, everybody’s making out. The wonders of technology, Jonah my man!” he shouted.

  “How much do you make off of each of those ads?” I asked. It’s funny; I have no idea what sort of money Thorne makes from all his scams. He always acts like he’s this kid millionaire.

  “Enough,” he said. “Anyway. Are you okay with me and the Hoffster going out? I wanted to make sure you’re all right with it, so it doesn’t get, you know, weird.”

  “I don’t care if you and Posie go out,” I said. It was a huge lie, but I didn’t know how to tell him that I think the fact that he and Posie are going out completely sucks.

  “I don’t believe you,” Thorne said. “I think you’re totally pissed off.”

  “Shut up,” I said.

  “I know you like her,” Thorne said. “The only reason you haven’t jumped her yourself is because you’re still all into that chick up north. Sophie O’Brien. Did you call her yet?”

  I hate it when your friends know you better than you know yourself sometimes.

  “No,” I said.

  “Are you going to?” he said.

  “I don’t know.”

  Thorne shook his head. “I don’t know about you, man. Here you’ve got all the chicks in the high school throwing themselves at you and it’s like it doesn’t make any difference to you. I mean, you could have sex with almost anybody now. You could like, send around a sign-up sheet.”

  “I don’t want to have sex with anybody. I want it to mean something,” I said quietly.

  “I know, I know. You want to be in love. It’s incredible. It’s like you’re something out of that Charles Dick,” Thorne said.

  I thought about this for a second.

  “You mean Dickens? Charles Dickens?” I asked him.