“What’s his name?” she asked, her voice weighed down by boredom.
“Lester Bray. He just came in.”
She nodded. “He’s next in line for a CT scan. You’ll have to wait out here.” She gestured to a roomful of chairs. “I’ll let you know when he’s out.”
Alex went over to the waiting area, which featured a stone waterfall, of all things. He sat next to it and tried looking at a magazine about celebrities, but he couldn’t get past his own thoughts. He put the magazine down and stared into the bubbling pool of water and the dozens of coins that lay below. Each coin, he figured, was tossed in the hope of a favorable medical outcome. Later, a janitor would come along and scoop out the change for cigarette money. That’s how the universe balanced itself out. Even so, Alex found himself reaching into his pocket for a quarter. He clutched it between both palms and said a little prayer. “Please, God, make Lester well again.” Then he plopped it into the water. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
When he had first sat down, he thought of how silly it was to have a waterfall in a hospital. He imagined some flimsy spiritual advisor at the hospital groundbreaking pleading his case to the architect. But somehow the continuous rippling and gurgling had a positive effect. When the monotone receptionist finally called his name, Alex sprang to his feet with a renewed sense of hope.
“He’s been transferred to Neurology, Room 316.” She pointed to a set of elevators.
WHATEVER HOPE he had garnered by the waterfall was dashed when he entered Room 316. A nurse with rhinoceros hips hovered over Lester’s unconscious body. She was attaching electrodes to his chest while checking an amber screen. Someone had already hooked up oxygen to his nose and poked a line into his left arm, leading up to a bag of clear fluid. There was an empty bag with a thicker hose hanging from the bed-frame. The business end of that hose was probably connected to Lester’s penis. Thankfully, the old man’s body was under sheets.
The nurse rotated away from the machine. “You here to see Mr. Bray?”
“Yeah,” Alex said, “how is he?”
“He’s in a coma, I’m sorry to report.”
Lester’s eyes were closed and his face sagged, especially on the right side. A bloodstained bandage stretched across his right temple. Dried blood freckled the upper portion of his right ear. His bed was positioned at a slight incline, which would have been ideal for viewing the TV mounted on the opposite wall. But, like the off-television, there didn’t seem to be much going on in Lester’s head. Aside from breathing, there was nothing. Not even a vacant stare.
Alex was near tears again. To fend them off, he needed some form of action. “Anything I can do?” he asked.
“You can sit and talk to him,” she said. “Hold his hand if you want. You never know if something’s getting in.”
Alex dragged a chair next to the bed. The nurse went around and patted Alex’s back, which seemed to intensify his sadness, like she was prodding it out of him. He tried to keep his feelings inside, but he wasn’t strong enough.
She continued patting while he went on crying. After a little while, she said, “Wish I could stay longer, but I’ve got other patients. You stay here as long as you like. Press the call button if you need anything.” Before leaving the room, she adjusted Lester’s sheet even though it didn’t need adjusting.
LESTER’S RIGHT hand was directly in front of Alex. He touched it and said, “Hey Lester, you’re scaring me. You’ve gotta get well again. We’ve got more driving to do, more places to see.”
To the knobby hand, he added, “I was thinking maybe I could be your permanent chauffeur. That’s what I was thinking. I wouldn’t ask for anything—no money or anything. I’d just drive you around wherever you want to go.”
He went on to recount some of the finer moments of their trip so far. “Breakfast at the Fort Lauderdale pier, Ernie’s Catfish Shack and chess at the Hilton—those are my top three. Well, except for Selma, of course.”
He talked about drawing and driving and his newly discovered joy of running. “I hated running before this trip,” he said. “I don’t know what happened. It just feels different now. The shoes help.” When he ran out of things to say, he went over to the nurses’ station and found a separated copy of the Reading Eagle. He read out loud, cherry-picking articles from every section, minus the obituaries. “Yankees took a doubleheader against the Devil Rays,” he said and read the story with all its mind-numbing numerical detail. “This one looks interesting. A New Jersey woman paddled a canoe from Miami to Maine.” He read about the woman’s adventures, which actually seemed tame compared to his own travels.
“Here’s one you’ll love. For two and a half hours, Dick Cheney served as acting president while Bush was under sedation for a medical procedure. Feel free to insert your own joke.” He glanced over at Lester’s droopy face. No joke there.
Alex kept reading and watching for movement. He was looking for a slight twitch, which could occur at any moment. That’s what he was waiting for. Just a flinch. Then everything else would gradually return.
AS DARKNESS spread across the world outside the hospital window, it occurred to Alex that he should call his mother. She was probably worried and definitely pissed. But after what he’d been through, he could handle whatever she threw at him.
He picked up the phone next to Lester’s bed and got an outside line. The recorded voice informed him that the hospital charged three dollars a minute for long distance calls. Worth it? Probably not, but he dialed his mother’s cell anyway.
“Hello?” she said.
“Hey, mom, it’s me.”
“Alex! My God! Where are you?”
“I’m in a hospital with Lester. He’s in a coma.” He felt himself turning to tears again, but he wasn’t going to cry in front of his mother, not even over the phone.
“I’m very sorry to hear that, Alex.”
“Sure you are,” he said.
“I am, really, but I suspected something like this might happen.”
“It’s only a coma. He’ll come out of it. He’ll be fine.”
“I’ll say a prayer for him,” she said. “Meanwhile, I’m coming down there. Last time I checked, you were sixteen years old. That means I’m still in charge.”
“You don’t even know where I am,” he said but suspected that he’d already blown it.
“I’ve got the number, Alex. Wherever you are, I’m on my way.”
“You can come,” Alex said, now focusing acutely on Lester’s hand. “But I’m not leaving without him…not until he’s well again.” This would have been the perfect time for the hand to flinch, for Lester’s eyes to open, for his mouth to say the words, “Where am I, kid?” It would have been the perfect thing.
“I’ll be there soon,” his mother said. “I love you.”
That certainly wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He hung up the phone. And he started crying again.
In a little while, the same wide-hipped nurse showed up carrying a tray with covered food and two drinks. She set it down on a rolling table and wheeled it close. Alex glanced at Lester’s face and said, “He won’t be able to eat that.”
She nodded. “It’s for you. I got it from the kitchen before they closed.” She lifted the plastic cover. “I won’t vouch for the quality.”
“Thanks,” he said. Hunger hadn’t crossed his mind until the smell of food was brought before him. He guessed the meat was turkey. There was a scoop of mashed potatoes next to a pile of green beans, all cut the same length.
She pointed and said, “That chair you’re sitting in folds out to make a bed. It’s not comfortable, but it’s better than sleeping on the floor.” She stepped back and maneuvered herself toward a cabinet. She pulled out a pillow, a sheet and a blue blanket and placed each of these on Lester’s bed, taking care not to impinge the old man’s feet.
“Thanks again,” Alex said. “You really don’t mind if I sleep here?”
“We do what we can for out-of-towners. Normally that m
eans extended visiting hours.” She smiled down on him. “We’re pushing it a little further for you.”
He was grateful and terrified at the same time. He didn’t mind being a charity case. In fact, his whole life seemed to be about accepting others’ charities. But why was she being so nice? Was it because of his youth, or was she doing it out of the hopelessness of Lester’s condition?
He didn’t dare ask.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Of all the places he had slept over the past ten days, this was by far the worst. The opened chair was like sleeping on railroad timbers, and the blanket wasn’t thick enough to fend off the air-conditioned chill. But he could tolerate these inconveniences. What horrified him was the uneven quality of Lester’s breathing. It seemed to catch, stop altogether, sputter and then somehow gasp back into rhythm. Over the course of the night, Alex had pressed the red button three times, and on each occasion some unimpressed nurse came in and told him not to worry.
By four o’clock, he was done pretending sleep would come. He got up, reconfigured the sinister chair and jogged down to the Cadillac to retrieve his drawing materials. He wanted to attempt a picture of Lester. This had become his sleep-deprived mission. But when he returned, he couldn’t bear to focus on the face before him. It wasn’t the bandage or the tube crossing under the old man’s nose that bothered him. It was the whole face. It was the feeling that if he drew that face, as opposed to the one he knew, he’d be violating their friendship.
But Lester’s hand was a different story. It hadn’t changed since the day they met—same arthritic bulges, same wrinkles and splotches. You could say there was something grotesque about it, hardly even hand-like at all. In fact, it looked more like a gnarly tree, way past its prime but still holding to life. “That’s it!” Alex said out loud. That’s what he would draw. He turned the chair to capture Lester’s hand from the best angle, and he opened his sketchbook.
From boney wrist and the valleys between metacarpals, the drawing started as the unmistakable form of Lester’s right hand. But where fingers terminated, branches began. And these gave rise to new branches. New hands. His mind was soaring. He got out a piece of charcoal and shaded the areas obscured from the sun by veins, by knots.
He stepped back to evaluate his work. From a distance, he had sketched an ancient maple in the stillness of winter. But up close, it was all interconnected hands, reaching out in every direction. As he finished shading the last portion, the sun had risen to the level of the hospital room window. As a final step, to lock the drawing in time, he pulled out his can of fixative spray.
He gave one last satisfied appraisal, and then he looked over at Lester’s face. It was the same lifeless face with the blood-stained bandage and the oxygen tube. But if Alex didn’t know any better—and he wasn’t exactly sure—he would’ve sworn the old man’s mouth was ever-so-slightly grinning.
A BREAKFAST tray arrived, which made him sad all over again, because it had Lester’s name on it next to the word diabetic. Lester should have been the one eating it. Instead, his nutrients came by way of a bag, one drip-drop at a time.
As Alex ate the last of the scrambled eggs, he heard a light knock on the open door. He looked up. There stood Rebecca dressed in blue jeans and a blouse the color of coffee with cream. He didn’t know whether he ought to be aroused or angry. Next to Rebecca stood his mother.
Rebecca was first to speak. “Hi Alex,” she said. Her eyes were red and wet. “It’s such an awful thing.” She went right over to Lester.
“Glad you’re okay,” his mother said. She tried to reach for Alex’s arm. “Looks like you’ve been taking care of yourself.”
“You can’t make me ditch him this time,” Alex said. “You can’t bribe me.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” She pulled a tissue out of her purse, even though her eyes were as dry as little moons.
There were so many ways he could hurt her without even raising a finger. And, given what she had done with his father’s letters and her deal to get rid of Lester, it was irresistible. He looked straight at her and said, “Lester’s coma is your fault.”
She jolted back a step. “That’s ridiculous, Alex, and you know it!”
“I know a lot. Being away from you has brightened my horizons.”
Rebecca spoke up. “Don’t you mean broadened your horizons?”
“Yeah, that too.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve had your little enlightenment,” his mother said. “Isn’t it convenient for you to blame the one person who’s cared for you all these years?” She thrust her tissue in front of him. “But I know why you do it. You do it because you know I’ll always stand by you.”
“Okay you two,” Rebecca said. “Let’s get a little perspective here. This is about Mr. Bray, bless his soul. I pray to God he gets well again. And I confess I’ve got a hand in all of this.” She shook her head. “If there’s blame to go around, I deserve some of it.”
“No you don’t,” Alex said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He pointed to his mother. “There’s no need to protect her.”
“All I’m saying is that it was my idea to put y’all together. I was so excited about the prospects. I thought you’d make such a good match.”
“Perhaps your eagerness did get a little ahead of you,” his mother said.
“No, Rebecca,” Alex said. “Don’t listen to her. What you did was the best thing. It was the best thing ever.”
And that’s when it started. Of all the times and places to cry, this was the worst. He snatched the dry tissue out of his mother’s hand and retreated to the window.
A LITTLE MAN with a white lab coat entered the room and announced he was Lester’s neurologist. The man couldn’t have been taller than five feet in heels, and he couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds after a Chinese buffet. He looked up at Rebecca and spoke to her as if she was Lester’s closest kin. In a way, she was, because she had been designated as the old man’s health care proxy. The doctor asked if he could speak openly in front of Alex and his mother.
Rebecca looked at each and said, “That would be fine.”
The doctor began speaking, “Mr. Bray had a subarachnoid hemorrhage with substantial bleeding. It’s basically a ruptured aneurism. To reduce the pressure, we performed a craniotomy. And there was quite a lot of blood.” Alex caught the doctor’s eyes glancing at the contour of Rebecca’s fine breasts. At least the man had good taste. “And I’m afraid there’s been damage,” he continued. “We won’t know the extent until we do another scan, and that won’t be necessary if he stays in a coma.”
Alex found nothing positive in these words. He tuned out the rest of the monologue and squinted at the doctor’s name badge. Last name started with B, which ruled out Dr. Sprague. At least Alex hadn’t stolen the little man’s parking spot.
THE DAY consisted of sitting at Lester’s bedside, talking and reading out loud and staring at the same withered hand, hoping for signs of life. Even though Alex wasn’t opposed to the hospital food, his mother and Rebecca brought him a roast beef sandwich for lunch and a twelve-inch pepperoni pizza for dinner. It was during dinner that Rebecca announced she was leaving. “You’ve got my number if anything changes,” she told his mother. Then she reached for Alex’s hand. “I’ll be thinking of you and praying for Mr. Bray.”
“Thanks,” Alex said. He wanted to give her a hug. But he knew that would start him crying all over again.
His mother had made motel reservations, and she insisted that he stay with her. The last thing he wanted was to sleep in the same room with her, and he didn’t want to abandon Lester, even for one night. But the prospect of an actual mattress and no medical interruptions won him over. He got into her car and kept his eyes closed all the way through Frackville. He could have slept for days. That’s how he felt.
But after just a few hours, he startled himself awake. He looked at the motel clock—3:48. His mind returned to Lester’s words before they were pulled over by the tr
ooper. All my family members died alone. That’s what he had said. It was the family curse, and it would happen to him. Lester was alone right now.
Alex sat up and looked around the motel room. His mother was motionless in the other queen bed, her head and body oriented to the far wall. Her keys lay on the nightstand between the two beds. Just looking at them wrong could make them jingle.
He put on the same shirt from the previous day, and then he knelt down in front of the nightstand, inching the keys forward, keeping their chiseled ends separated from each other. When they got to the edge, he pinched and pulled them up. The hum of the air-conditioner was his greatest ally. He glanced once again at the back of his mother’s head before closing the door. Maybe she was right about what she had said. In her own way, maybe she really had always stood by him. Even when that meant hurting another person.
The Lexus had a tight feel, gripping the road like super glue compared to the Cadillac’s silly putty. But Alex missed the old Caddy. It was gratifying to see that it was still there in Dr. Sprague’s spot. Next spot over was reserved for a Dr. Michael Fallon—no B. Lester’s miniature neurologist was spared again.
Alex didn’t bother with the elevator. He ran up the stairs to Lester’s floor and almost ran past Room 316. The door was closed. That was odd.
“Can I help you?” It was a man’s voice.
Alex was winded. He turned and recognized the man as one of the attendants from the previous night. “Yeah, I’m here to see Lester. This is his room.”
“Not anymore,” the attendant said. “I’m really sorry, but Mr. Bray expired about an hour ago. He’s been taken to the morgue.”
The words expired and morgue smashed against the insides of Alex’s head. He couldn’t imagine words like that being spoken to him. “There’s no way,” he said.
“I’m really sorry for your loss.”
Cadillac Chronicles Page 19
