The Butterfly Tattoo

by M. D. Thomas

  “Don’t get back on the ladder, Sissy,” her mother said, the Pall Mall dangling from the corner of her mouth. “Your brother and your cousins are waiting on you out there.”

  Sarah closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she pushed away from the ladder toward the dock. Her head went under and she flailed until she rose up enough in the water to tilt her head and get her chin clear. She started to swim, her movements awkward but adequate enough to propel her forward.

  “Relax, Sarah!” Adam called out from the side of the dock closest to her. “You can do it!”

  Encouraged, Sarah struggled a little less, and soon her movements smoothed out enough that she moved a bit faster toward the dock.

  “That’s it!” Adam said. “Keep it up!”

  I’m going to make it. I’m finally going to make it…

  She was probably three-quarters of the way there when something slick brushed against her leg.

  Fish…

  She knew the pond was full of them. Her father fished for them almost every evening during the summer, catching largemouth bass and catfish, some of the latter upwards of ten pounds. The bass never bothered her, their flesh covered by pretty green and silver scales, but the catfish with their gray skin and soft, pallid bellies revolted her.

  Just move faster…. almost there…

  The touch came again—this time curling briefly around the bottom of her thigh—and Sarah’s mind filled with the image of a catfish wrapping around her leg.

  The vision was so powerful that she suddenly wanted nothing more than to be out of the pond. And not just on the dock, because that meant she’d have to go back in the water. She wanted out for good.

  Sarah spun in the water, her breath coming faster, her heart racing more than it already had been as she struggled back toward the pier.

  Where is it? Oh god please don’t let it touch me again…

  Just the thought of another brush of that slick, gray skin was enough to send her over the edge into panic. She churned her arms and legs harder, forgot the bit of pattern she’d used to make it out, and she went under.

  Her mouth filled with warm water and she coughed it out, struggled back to the surface, no longer moving toward the pier but just fighting for air.

  “Kick your damn legs, Sarah!” Her mother yelled, but Sarah barely heard as she imagined the catfish whiskers

  thick as a pencil lead

  brushing against her skin, and used her hands to beat at the water around her legs even though it made her sink—she had to scare the fish away, had to stop it from touching her again. She held her breath and flailed blindly at the huge, disgusting fish she saw in her mind but not in the brown water, and she sank until she touched the bottom.

  Her feet went into the pudding-soft muck up to her ankles, and her fear of the catfish was replaced by utter revulsion at the feel of the mud around her feet. She pushed off the bottom—as well as she could when it was so soft—and clawed toward the surface, her lungs starting to burn, until she got her mouth clear of the water. She sucked at the air as her arms churned through the water.

  “Sarah!”

  The voice came from behind her, and when Sarah turned in the water she saw Adam swimming toward her. He moved through the water fast, his hands and arms dipping in and out of the water with ease. “Hold on!”

  She tried to answer but got another mouthful of water instead, her muscles starting to fatigue as she struggled to get her head farther out of the water. She sputtered and spit until her mouth was empty, and when Adam made it to her a moment later she grabbed onto him with both arms. He sank immediately, but freed one of his arms and used it and his legs to get his head out of the water again while Sarah clung to his other arm.

  “Relax… let me pull you,” he said between gulps of air.

  But she couldn’t. All she could think about was the fish and the muck and she wanted to be as far from them as possible—she pulled her brother closer.

  “Adam! Let go of her!” Her mother’s distant scream was accompanied by the pounding of feet down the pier, followed by splashes.

  Whether he heard their mother or just sensed what was happening, Adam tried to move away from Sarah, but she just pulled him closer, her body strong with panic.

  Gotta get out…

  She dragged herself farther onto him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and he went under, sputtering but still kicking, his arms pinned uselessly between their bodies.

  Gotta get…

  Adam broke the surface again but only enough to get his nose clear of the water. His eyes were wide and wild as Sarah pushed him down again, as she tried to climb his body like a ladder to get as far out of the pond as she could.

  Gotta…

  Her mother’s screams still seemed far away as Adam tried to make it up one last time. But Sarah pushed against his shoulders and he didn’t even break the surface of the water…

  “Sarah?”

  I’d go back into the pond right this minute if it meant Lee would wake up. I’d drown Adam all over again, do whatever it takes to get Lee—

  “Sarah? Are you okay?”

  Sarah blinked, realized Jon was kneeling next to her chair, his hand on her arm, his face tight with concern. “What?”

  “Are you okay?” Jon asked, emphasizing each word.

  Sarah stared at him, but in her mind she saw Adam’s terrified expression as he sank into the water for the final time, his eyes locked on hers. She pushed the image away as she spoke. “I just drifted off. Why are you here?”

  Jon’s lips pursed and he stood, his hand sliding off her arm with reluctance. “I left work early because we’re supposed to meet Dr. Takeda at four. Remember?”

  “Oh.”

  Jon tilted his head. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  Anger filled her yet again, the feeling too hot and poisonous to hold inside. “Of course I’m not okay, Jon. Do you see our son there behind you? He’s been in a coma for more than two weeks and hasn’t shown any signs of improvement. None. So yes, of course I’m okay. I’m great. How are you?”

  Jon’s face went blank as usual. She almost wished he’d scream back at her, but no, he was too much like his father. He opened his mouth to answer—another quiet apology no doubt—but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  A moment later Dr. Takeda stuck his head into the room. “Okay if I come in?”

  “Of course,” Jon said, no doubt relieved.

  “You’re fine where you’re at, Mrs. Young. Why don’t you have a seat as well, Mr. Young?”

  Jon nodded and took the chair next to Sarah. Dr. Takeda dragged a chair from the other side of Lee’s bed and sat. “I apologize for asking to meet on such short notice, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that if a time slot opens you take advantage of it.” Dr. Takeda paused as if waiting for a response, but when neither Sarah nor Jon said a word he continued. “I’m not able to put myself in your shoes, and I can’t even imagine how hard this is for you. There’s been precious little good news since Lee was injured. But I have a small bit of good news for Lee today. He’s no longer in any immediate danger from his injuries.”

  “What does that mean?” Sarah asked.

  “It means that he can finally leave the hospital,” Dr. Takeda said. Sarah opened her mouth to respond, but Dr. Takeda raised his hands in a shushing motion. “I know, it seems ridiculous. He’s clearly still in a coma, and you can’t take care of him at home. Nobody expects you to do that. But hospital policy is that once a patient is not in imminent danger, they shouldn’t be in the hospital. This is not in the interest of the hospital, but in the interest of the patient. Lee doesn’t need the level of care we provide here. What he needs is rehabilitation and basic care, so what’s best for him at this point is to be transferred to a long-term care facility.”

  “Are you sure?” Jon asked.

  Dr. Takeda nodded right away. “Yes. It’s what’s best for him.”

  “What abo
ut the ventilator?” Jon asked. “The feeding tube?”

  “The ventilator has only been aiding his breathing and is probably no longer necessary. After another round of tests, we’ll know for sure, and if everything checks out we’ll be able to take out the endotracheal tube and let Lee breathe on his own. As for the feeding tube, the care facility is equipped to handle that.”

  “Where?” Sarah asked, trying not to latch onto the bit of hope that arose when Dr. Takeda said Lee could stop using the ventilator.

  “There’s a wonderful facility near here named Rainbow Pines. I know the physician in charge of the neuro patients—Dr. Kamarti—and he’s excellent. He and the staff there can provide the kind of environment that will give Lee the best chance of recovering.”

  “You’re sure of that?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes,” Dr. Takeda said with a nod. “Absolutely.”

  There was a silence then, as heavy as Sarah had ever felt in her life.

  Jon broke it.

  “Okay,” Jon said, and Sarah thought he was making an effort to sound upbeat. “So what do we need to do to get him transferred? And after that, what do we need to do to make sure he has the absolute best chance of recovering?”

  Sarah listened to the two of them talk but found she couldn’t invest in the conversation. It was too unreal. Her Lee had been fine, had been running and sliding and hitting and catching and then he was trapped in a hospital bed and he was gone and she only had Jon, and Jon had turned onto the parkway and then everything had changed and life was no longer what it was supposed to be. Nothing was what it was supposed to be.

  Why did he have to turn? Why? Why did he have to turn and ruin everything?

  Seven

  JON

  Lee looked smaller than he had before the accident.

  That was what struck Jon more than anything else when he looked at his son lying on the bed. In the three weeks since the accident, Lee had lost some weight—the staff at Rainbow Pines assured them that was due to muscle atrophy, not because there weren’t enough calories and nutrients pumped through the feeding tube that went into his stomach—but Jon didn’t think that was what made him look smaller.

  Maybe it’s the shape of his skull…

  That was possible. The bandage that had wrapped around Lee’s head was gone, leaving a flat swath of skin directly over the tough, membranous dura where the bone had been removed. That out of place plane reframed his face, redefined how he looked compared to the rest of his body. The removed bone—still secure in a pouch in Lee’s abdomen—wouldn’t be replaced until the surgeons thought his brain was ready.

  “The Nats had a good game last night,” Jon said. Lee’s doctor, the therapists, the nurses, and Sarah all said talking to Lee was crucial, but Jon hadn't noticed any reaction from his son. Lee’s occasional muscle twitches—usually his arms—never even coincided with when Jon was talking. “They were down by one run in the bottom of the ninth when Edelstein hit a two-run homer over the left field wall.”

  Nothing.

  Lee had been off the coma meds and ventilator since before leaving the hospital, but his eyes were still closed. That was apparently one of the major differences between being in a coma and being in what they called a vegetative state—the latter’s eyes would often open, although they still didn’t respond to stimuli, still couldn’t follow any commands.

  If he’s not even a vegetable, then what is he?

  Dr. Kamarti—a middle-aged man with a too big nose and too small eyes—assured them there was an excellent chance Lee would wake up, although he cautioned that Lee would likely have some brain damage and would need years of therapy to recover. If pressed, Dr. Kamarti admitted a full recovery might not be possible.

  Calm…

  Jon took a deep breath and forced his eyes away from his son. Rainbow Pines was nice enough, but not even the dozens of get well cards that covered the walls—sent by teammates, coaches, classmates, teachers, some of them handmade kaleidoscopes of colored construction paper, others straight from the store shelf—could disguise where they were. There was more furniture, more artwork, more normal color schemes, but throw in an adjustable bed, monitoring equipment, and an IV stand and a room at a long-term care facility didn’t look much different than one in a hospital. That, and the inescapable antiseptic smell.

  The room looked lived in. Sarah’s spare clothes occupied a small shelf in the corner, while an end table by Lee’s bed was covered with drinks and bags of snacks. A chunky chair in the corner and the table next to it were littered with Sarah’s knitting stuff—it had only been an occasional hobby before the accident, but now she spent most of her waking hours sitting there, rambling to Lee, the needles click-clacking away as she churned out an endless stream of clothing that she gave to the staff, who all loved the gifts as much as they loved her.

  At the rate Lee is progressing every person in the building will have enough clothes for next winter…

  The thought filled Jon with guilt—there’d been a never ending supply of guilt since the accident—so he stood up and walked to the head of the bed where he leaned over and kissed his son on the forehead. Lee’s skin was cool and dry. Like a mummy, he thought, the comparison rising unbidden from the depths of his mind. Except he doesn’t even get the peace of moving on to an afterlife…

  “I’ll be back in the morning, Lee. I’ll be sure to watch the game tonight so we can talk about what happens.”

  Sarah would turn on the television when the game started. It was one of the few things that was easy for them to talk about, thinking that surely the sound of the game must reach into Lee’s brain, that he must hear Bob Carpenter calling the action even if he wasn’t conscious of it.

  If baseball can’t bring him back, Jon wondered, what can?

  Lee had been in star-eyed love with baseball ever since he’d started T-ball at age four. They signed him up because he loved to play catch. He started barehanded, the two of them tossing a ball back and forth underhanded while Sarah watched—cringing—and reminded Jon not to throw too hard. Lee would toss the ball for hours, and when Jon couldn’t take any more, Lee would toss it up and down by himself. Soon Lee was throwing too hard for bare hands. He’d been reluctant to try a glove, but once he learned what he could do with one he was inseparable from the thing. He wore the brown Spalding everywhere and would’ve slept and showered with the glove if Sarah allowed it. Once he was on a team, Lee had never looked back. By the time he was eight he’d outpaced his peers and joined a traveling team.

  It was after that first season of T-ball that Lee became interested in the Nationals. Or the Nats, as he always called them, even asking once why they were named after such an annoying bug. Jon’s father—who was only months away from the stroke that would kill him—had taken Lee to a baseball game one summer afternoon and that had been that. Lee had gotten his Nats hat and he became as inseparable from the hat as he was from the glove. Worse, since he insisted on sleeping with it on. Eventually Sarah had bought two more hats so that one was always clean enough to wear to bed. Only after he’d discovered Arky Vaughan had Lee sported another team’s logo, occasionally shedding his red and white Nats cap for the Pirates 1930’s era blue cap with red P.

  It was the Pirates cap he’d been wearing the night of the accident, the cap that had miraculously ended up in the middle of the seat when Lee had been thrown from their car. That cap had been collecting dust on a hook next to Lee’s bed ever since his first day in Rainbow Pines. On really good days—which came less and less often as the days since the accident stretched into one week, then two, then three—Jon could imagine Lee setting the cap back on his head and striding out of the room. On the bad days, Jon stared at the cap and could only envision the past, couldn’t imagine a future where his son ever played baseball again.

  Jon closed the door softly behind him and walked down the hall to where Sarah sat on a couch in the small visitor waiting area. There was free coffee and a couple of vending machines, as well as a te
levision and a bunch of magazines to choose from, but as usual Sarah only sat on the couch, her eyes ahead, staring at the hallway wall. She stood when she saw him and asked the same thing she always asked. “Anything?”

  Jon shook his head. “No. I told him about last night’s game.”

  Sarah’s face fell. He didn’t understand how she could get her hopes up every time she was away from Lee only to have them dashed.

  She started to walk past him, but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. “Sarah, we need to talk.”

  Sarah pulled away from him but at least she stopped. “About what?”

  Calm…

  “You need to come home.” Sarah—who’d quit her job as a reading specialist at the neighborhood elementary school two days after the accident—hadn’t spent a night at home since Lee went to the hospital, only going there to shower and get new clothes before she left again. First to the hospital, then to Rainbow Pines. She wasn’t sleeping or eating enough either. She’d always been thin, but since the accident her face had become almost gaunt. He’d tried to tell her the way she was leading her life wasn’t healthy, but she listened to him no more than she did to her work acquaintances who were too scared to come around much anymore.

  Sarah shook her head. “No, Jon. I can’t. I belong here with him. Lee is my responsibility. Everything else—the house, the bills—those are your responsibilities. You do whatever you have to do to take care of them. But leave me out of it.”

  “It’s not that. I can manage that stuff. But I think it would be better for you—for us—if you spent a little more time at home.” What he couldn’t bring himself to say was that he just wanted to talk to her. Just talk. Like a husband and wife. Like people that loved each other. “We—”

  Sarah started shaking her head before he was even done speaking. “I can’t. Lee needs me here.”

  Jon had a sudden urge to tell her that just for once he’d like to talk about something—anything—other than Lee. But he knew how that would play out. “I know. Listen, Sarah. I’m sorry. I know I’ve said it before and I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m sorry.”