Oh my God. What did she mean Michael wasn’t doing well? Was he so terribly sick that he wasn’t able to call or text me himself? He must be and I started to panic and freak out, especially because she wrote that he’d contact me “if he can.”
Should I write the mother back and ask her what she meant by that or ask for more specifics on how badly he was doing? No. I couldn’t do that. I didn’t even know her. I was sure Mrs. Cooper wouldn’t appreciate some little friend of her son’s bombarding her with text messages, as he lay ill in the hospital. Answering my questions was not her priority.
I got off my bed and paced. What should I do? I looked outside and saw that snow was everywhere. Even though the plow had come by, the road still looked covered by it. Maybe I could pay a taxi to drive me to the dock and I could take a ferry over to the hospital. At this point the taxi would have to be a monster truck with four-wheel drive. So much for that idea.
Another plan popped into my head, but I knew it would never happen. Never. I had avoided her like she was worse than the plague, so I couldn’t imagine that she would give me a lift to the dock, especially since I was grounded from everything in life but school. I figured even the desire to visit a seriously ill friend would not help grant me an early acquittal.
But I also realized that I had no other choice. I would break down and ask my mom for a ride, even though I was certain that hell had a better chance of experiencing our latest snowstorm than of her ever saying, “Yes.”
• • •
“Are you joking?” she asked as she sat on the sofa and stared up at me.
I shook my head and looked down. My mom’s response wasn’t as bad as I had thought. I expected at least a couple of expletives.
“You’re punished. And even if you weren’t, the roads are not drivable.”
“Yes they are, Mom. Look outside. The big plow just went by again. And you have four-wheel drive on the Jeep.”
My mom shook her head before I even finished. “No, Willow. Not happening.”
I got on the floor next to her and folded my hands. “Please, Mom. I’ll shovel the driveway myself so you can pull out. Please. I promise I won’t ask to go anywhere but the hospital today. Just today, Mom. Please?”
I looked at my mother pleadingly. I didn’t know what else to do. How could she deny me visiting my friend who was so sick? How could I convince her to let me see him especially since I wasn’t sure whether or not Michael was going to be okay? What if he was really bad off and sicker than I could imagine?
My mom didn’t answer me, only stared straight ahead at the television. I started to cry. I was overcome with sadness for a very sick boy whom I wasn’t able to talk to, for a very sick boy who wrote me a lovely poem and when he asked my opinion, I only told him it was “nice.”
“Stop crying, Willow, and stand up,” my mom demanded.
I couldn’t do either. I was frozen in place and sobbing, overcome with feelings of helplessness.
“Willow Ann Flynn! Stop crying this moment!” she yelled.
Slowly I got up from the floor, wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and turned to my mother. I was more sad than mad when I asked her, “How can you deny me seeing Michael when he might very well die today?” I couldn’t believe I said it out loud. I guess deep down that is what I feared. What if Michael did die today?
“You don’t know for a fact that he is that sick, Willow.”
“Yeah, and I’ll never be able to find out unless I go,” I quietly answered as I wiped my nose.
My mother thought about it, actually contemplated it for a second and I could tell she was about to say, “No.”
I stopped her in her tracks when I managed, “I was never able to say good-bye to Daddy.” I lowered my head and began to cry again, slow desperate sobs this time. I couldn’t compose myself or catch my breath. My body heaved with sorrow. I hung onto a chair for support. I felt powerless with no other options. I didn’t want to miss the chance to tell Michael how much I cared about him, especially before it was too late.
I tried to control myself, but couldn’t until I heard my mother start to speak. All those poor sinners in hell must have been completely stunned as snow began to fall upon them when my mother looked at me and said, “Go and grab two shovels.”
CHAPTER
FORTY
James insisted he was old enough to stay home while my mom braved the storm in an attempt to drive me to the dock. I knew he just wanted to stay home and have the TV all to himself.
It took my mom and me almost an hour to shovel the snow from around her Jeep, just so she could back out into the road. The snowplow had pushed a ton of snow onto our driveway, blocking the end of it. When we finally finished, we hopped inside the warm, defrosted car and headed out.
Our road wasn’t too snowy or slippery, but the further out we drove, the snowier and slicker it became. Even though my mom was driving slowly and cautiously, all of a sudden, we spun around and the front end of the Jeep ended slightly perched on top of a snow bank. My mom was visibly shaken by it. My heart was beating a little faster, too.
“I can’t do this anymore, Willow. I’m a nervous wreck,” she said as her white knuckles clung tightly to the steering wheel. My mother always hated driving in this kind of weather.
My mom put the car in reverse and tried to back out. Her rear tires spun and we didn’t move an inch. She tried two more times, but we got nowhere.
She threw it into park. “That’s it. We’re stuck. We’re gonna have to try to push it out.”
No other cars were anywhere in sight. We’d have no choice but to try ourselves. We both climbed out and tried to push, but nothing.
My mom had a thought. “Willow, you push while I get inside and give it some gas.”
We tried this a couple of times, but the tires just spun on top of the icy pavement.
I turned to her. “What are we gonna do?”
She shook her head. “Let me call Brian.”
“Why?” I snapped. “What’s he gonna do?”
“He can try to get us out of here. We have no other choice, Willow. We can’t stay here all day.”
I turned away toward the window and rolled my eyes as my mom called her fiancé. While my mother was grateful that her hero was coming to help his damsel in distress, all I could think about was Michael and the fact that I might not be able to reach him at all and fearful of what might happen if I didn’t.
• • •
Brian finally found us. He pulled up in an unfamiliar, huge pickup truck. He walked over to my mom’s side of the Jeep as she lowered her window.
“What were you two thinking? It’s treacherous out here. No one should be out on the roads, especially you, Laura. I told you. You need four new tires on this thing,” Brian scolded us like we were two of his misbehaving students.
“I know, you’re right, but,” my mom looked over at me, “can you please get Willow over to the dock? I’ll wait here with the Jeep until you get back.”
Brian looked annoyed, but relented. “Fine, get in,” he said to me.
My mother grabbed my hand. “Call me when you get there. Are you sure the ferry is running today?”
“I’m sure,” I said. “I already called.”
She squeezed my hand and held onto it for a moment. “Be careful, Willow.”
I smiled. “I will. I promise.”
I climbed out of the car and said, “Thanks, Mom,” before shutting the door. I walked over toward Brian and the big truck and as much as I didn’t want to be alone with him, quickly realized that desperate times called for desperate measures. I just hoped ours would be the brief and the silent kind.
• • •
Brian drove as carefully as he could. “My neighbor was nice enough to let me borrow the truck to get you and your mom.”
I didn’t respond, just stared out the window in awe of the whiteness that surrounded us. Snow covered everything from the tops of trees to rooftops, even fully burying some small car
s while on its journey from the clouds above.
I still didn’t like Brian nor trust him and he, obviously, couldn’t take a hint. He continued. “You know, Willow, I thought about what you said the other night, at your house. I realize that I’m not your father and would never try to be, but hopefully someday, I’ll be more than just your mother’s husband to you. I’ve told you this before, I love your mother dearly and care a great deal for you and your brother.”
He got my attention, briefly, and I glanced over at him.
Brian turned and smiled at me, a genuine and thoughtful smile. “How can I not? You two are a huge part of your mother, probably the best part of her.”
I studied Brian as he looked forward, scrutinizing the road in front of us, driving cautiously and on a mission to get me to a place I needed to be.
We finally reached the parking lot that led to the dock and even though only one of the lanes was plowed, Brian was able to maneuver down it. Luckily the ferry was already there and a handful of people were starting to board. Perfect timing.
Brian stopped the truck right near the entrance so I could safely climb out. I opened up the heavy metal door and was met with a blast of icy wind.
I turned to run for the ferry, but thought better of it and stopped. I decided to swallow my pride and break my silence. “Thank you,” I said to Brian as I looked him in directly in the eyes and meant it. “Thank you very much.”
• • •
The ferry ride took a little longer than normal. The inside of the cabin seemed to be colder than normal, too. Maybe it just seemed colder because I was really nervous about going to the hospital and seeing Michael. I had never visited anyone in a hospital before and didn’t know what to expect.
I hailed a cab, even though the hospital wasn’t too far from the pier. I was in a hurry and didn’t want to waste time walking.
It was no surprise that the city streets were fully plowed, creating mountain-sized snow banks on either side of them. Before I knew it, we pulled up to the entrance of Maine Medical Center. I paid the driver and got out. I walked inside the big and impressive hospital. I went up to the front desk and asked for the room number of Michael Cooper.
“Are you family?” the receptionist asked.
I shook my head. “No, just a friend.”
She studied me for a minute before answering. “I’m not sure you’d be allowed to see him. I can send you up to his floor and there you’ll have to ask the nurse in charge.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
She gave me a piece of paper with the number ten written on it. I followed the signs for the elevator and waited along with other visitors. All of a sudden I was overcome with heat and thought I might pass out. I leaned on the wall next to me for support. About a minute later, our elevator dinged and opened. Carefully, I followed the others on.
When I got to the tenth floor, I stepped off the elevator and was immediately hit with another blast of heat. Once again, I felt overwhelmed and shaky. As I walked, I held onto the railing along the wall until I found an area labeled “nurses station.”
I cleared my throat to get the attention of a burly nurse. “Excuse me.”
She looked up. “Can I help you?”
I explained to her that I was a friend of Michael’s and wanted to see him. She told me he was very ill with pneumonia and that she’d need to ask permission from his mother first. She told me to wait near her desk while she went and checked. I took off my coat and tried to cool off.
I couldn’t believe I got this close to Michael and might not be able to see him after all. What if his mother said no or what if he was too sick to have any visitors? His mother had never even met me before. She might think I was a stalker or a creeper for just showing up without being invited.
I heard many different sounds as I waited, mostly machines making beeping and whirring noises. I quickly became nauseated by the scent of disinfectant. I didn’t think I could ever be a nurse, I concluded. I felt uneasy just standing in the hallway outside of the patients’ rooms.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blonde, attractive, nicely dressed woman walking toward me. Where was the nurse and who was this woman?
“Hello, Willow,” she said as she extended her hand. “I’m Mrs. Cooper. It is very nice to meet you.”
I took her hand and shook. Her hand was cold and clammy. Immediately I saw traces of Michael in his mother’s face. She was an older and more feminine version of her son.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I smiled.
“I understand you want to see Michael.”
I nodded.
“Initially I said no when the nurse asked me, but Michael overheard us talking and he insisted you be allowed in to see him.”
She smiled as she said this, but it wasn’t genuine and she seemed cautious, as though my seeing her son was the last thing she wanted.
“I must warn you, he is very, very sick.” She turned away from me, put her hand to her neck and got choked up. “Probably the sickest he’s ever been.”
I shook my head and slowly backed up. “I don’t need to go in, then. I’ll leave.”
She reached forward and grabbed my arm. “No! Michael insisted!” She tried to compose herself. “I insist you visit with him. Please.”
I tilted my head and must have had a look of complete and utter confusion on my face.
Mrs. Cooper softened. “Please, Willow. Come with me and see my son. Even though we’ve never met until today, I’ve known about you for quite some time.” She smiled and, this time, it was sincere. “Nothing would make Michael happier.”
“Okay,” I said softly as I followed Mrs. Cooper down the corridor to the room where her son lay, as sick as he’d ever been, wanting so desperately to see me, and I him.
• • •
Mrs. Cooper and I finally reached Michael’s room, #1010. A sign outside the door read: M. COOPER. Michael’s mother entered the hospital room while I lingered back inside the doorway. I was afraid to walk in and see him. His mother sensed my hesitancy and motioned me toward her. I braced myself and took a couple of steps forward.
Michael rested in bed. His eyes were closed and his head was slightly turned toward the big picture window. There was no sunlight anymore, just gray clouds and the dismal sky beyond.
I was wary of all the machines and the tubes and wires that were sticking out everywhere. They seemed to be either going into poor Michael or coming out of him somewhere.
An oxygen tube stuck out of Michael’s nose and as he lay there, I saw his chest heave unnaturally as he struggled to breathe. I was so upset seeing him like this, I wanted to turn and run. I didn’t have the chance. Michael’s mother called softly to her oldest son. “Michael, honey? Are you awake?”
Michael opened his eyes and slowly turned his head toward his mother’s voice. He saw me immediately and, when he did, his whole face lit up. His mother noticed.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” she said before she turned and walked out.
We both watched as his mother left. I turned to study Michael and wondered. How could he have gone from looking so healthy only a few days before to looking so sickly? I had never seen anyone ill with pneumonia before, especially someone with cystic fibrosis.
Even so, Michael suddenly had a small burst of energy and slid over. He patted the only free space on his hospital bed. Though I was filled with trepidation, I walked over to him and sat down beside him.
“Can you hand me that please?” he asked as he motioned to a Styrofoam cup filled with water on the nightstand next to me.
I gave him the cup. He took a long sip from it and handed it back. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” I said and put it back on the table. I noticed another table across the room with a tray of food on it. I pointed to it. “Are you hungry, too?”
Michael looked at his untouched hospital food and joked. “I’ll give you every last penny in my savings account if you eat every bite on that tray … without
gagging.”
“Is it that bad?” I asked, unaware of the terrible reputation of hospital food.
Michael grinned and nodded. “That bad.”
Despite the fact that he was so ill, Michael still had that mischievousness in his eyes. And he still looked handsome, even as he lay there, so weak and vulnerable.
Michael winked at me as he took my hand and held it. He raised his arm toward the ceiling, while my hand remained safely in his.
“Look,” he said. “Just like two pieces of a puzzle, our hands fit perfectly together.”
I smiled in agreement, yet was alarmed by the grayish blue color of his fingernails. Michael abruptly let go of my hand, turned away and had a severe coughing fit. Exhausted, he laid his head back on his pillow and closed his eyes.
Michael looked so sick and defeated. He was so pale and frail and I couldn’t bear to see him like that anymore. I wanted to get up and flee from the room and never come back. It was painful watching him suffer before my very eyes. I couldn’t risk loving this boy who might die and leave me all alone. I turned away as tears welled up inside of me. I held them back as best I could. I did not want Michael to see me crying, to see the fear deep inside of me.
Michael turned his head toward me and slowly opened his eyes. He took my hand again and rubbed it. “What’s wrong?”
I had to ask it. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I needed to know. “Are you going to die?” I stammered as a single tear escaped and rolled down my face.
Michael brushed it away with his thumb and looked into my moist, blue eyes before answering. He was thoughtful and said, “We are all dying, aren’t we, Willow, from the very moment we are born?”
I burst into tears and laid my head on his shoulder. Michael was right. When I really thought about it, I realized that from the minute we entered this world, we embark on our own journeys down the path of life, a path that inevitably merges with the path of death.
In the Middle of Nowhere Page 21
