Lifeguard

by Deborah Blumenthal

  “You were calling, yelling out for help.”

  “But no one came. I thought I would die.” I remember that now. “How did you hear me?”

  “Sssshhh,” he says, withdrawing his hand from mine. He leans over me and lightly places his hands over the blanket. I study the leather cuff that he wears wrapped around his wrist and realize for the first time that there’s an animal tooth of some kind attached to it. But then I look closer. It’s not an animal tooth—it’s a figa. It made out of clear crystal—the exact duplicate of the one Antonio gave to me. I’m about to ask him about it when I feel a deep, comforting wave of warmth spreading over me, like stepping into a hot bath on a cold, winter day. He closes his eyes. Is he sleeping? Praying? He keeps his hands there and breathes harder as though it’s an effort that takes all of his strength. I watch his jaw. His muscles tense. His hands reach up to the top of my head. Slowly, he begins to massage my scalp. He leans closer, his warm breath on my forehead.

  And then a nurse comes in. She looks at him curiously.

  He pulls back casually and looks up at her, wide-eyed, but there’s a pulsing in his jaw.

  “She has to get some sleep,” she says. She shakes her head disapprovingly.

  “I’ll leave in a minute.”

  She stares at him, waiting.

  “A minute,” he insists, his jaw tense. He stares back, unflinching.

  She walks out and his face relaxes. He leans over me again, touching my leg now and leaving his hands there. Is it my imagination, or do I feel the blood pulsing through his fingers as a healing energy seems to flow between us like an invisible transfusion of strength?

  Only, that’s crazy, it can’t be.

  He bows his head, finally dropping his head into his hands. He looks exhausted from the effort.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m so sorry. It was my fault.”

  “What was? You saved me.”

  “I should have known,” he insists. He gets up and looks at me as though he’s done something wrong, something he has to be forgiven for. “You don’t understand, of course,” he says, “but it’s all right.” He heads for the door. “I’ll come tomorrow.”

  “Pilot, wait,” I call, as the nurse comes in again.

  “How did you know? I mean, I was underwater, so how could you hear me?” He turns back to me, studying me for a few seconds.

  “I hear your heart,” he whispers, as he disappears through the door.

  “What?” I say, almost to myself.

  I look at the nurse, who’s checking my IV. “Did he say what I think he did?”

  She studies me curiously and shrugs. “He didn’t say anything,” she says. “Not that I heard.”

  thirty

  There’s a yellow light behind my eyes, a warm light. I open them and see sunlight. It pours through the window and I squint. Was that what woke me? I lie back on the pillow. Something is different. But what? I’m stiff and uncomfortable. I shift and try to sit up.

  Then I know.

  The deep wrenching pain. It’s gone.

  The whole world feels flooded with sweetness and renewal. The impossibly blue sky that follows the darkest storm—a miracle like a green sprout that has burrowed its way through blocks of cement. Bad things wash away, the world turns and dark becomes light.

  Someone thrusts a balloon bouquet into my hand and I look up. The hand that reaches out is my mom’s. Next to her is my dad.

  “Omigod!” My eyes flood with tears.

  “Baby,” my dad says, stepping toward me. He leans over and kisses my forehead. My mom sits down and hugs me. Tears stream out of her eyes.

  “Don’t cry, Mom, please, I’m okay.”

  “I know you are,” she says, hunched over me, “but I was so scared.” She stares out the window. I know what she’s thinking, but she’s wrong. It wasn’t her fault, it had nothing to do with her. But I don’t say anything. It’s not the time to talk about what happened.

  I look at them together. Is there a chance? Are they closer now because of what happened? But my dad’s not putting an arm around my mom. They’re next to each other, but they’re not together.

  “When did you get here?”

  “Yesterday,” my mom says. “Ellie called us as soon as it happened.”

  No one says anything.

  It.

  No one’s exactly clear on it—not even me.

  How much do they know? How much do I know? They’re afraid to ask me anything, to upset me. They don’t want me to talk about it. Unease washes over me, though. What if they want to take me home with them? I tackle it head on.

  “I want to spend the rest of the summer here,” I look directly at my mom and then my dad. They can’t say no to me now. I have the advantage. My dad stares at his feet. He doesn’t know what to say.

  “We’ll do whatever’s best for you,” my mom says.

  The nurse comes in, as if on cue. She’s carrying my lunch tray. “Roast beef,” she says, brightly. “Get it while it’s hot.”

  It helps break the tension. My dad scratches the back of his head. “Do you serve parents?”

  “They’re not on the menu,” she says, deadpan. Then she smiles. “There’s a cafeteria downstairs.”

  I hear Aunt Ellie’s voice outside. She’s talking to someone else. “Four inches of rain,” she says. “Half the state lost power.”

  I remember the OR and how everything shut off. What if there hadn’t been a blackout, what would have happened to me? I’m also trying to figure out something else about the night, but Aunt Ellie comes over to my bed and puts a bouquet of daisies in a violet vase next to me and I forget.

  “A still life,” she says, with a half smile. “You can do a picture to brighten up the room. I brought your pencils.”

  The doctor comes in next with two medical students trailing him like baby chicks. His face lights up when he sees me now, the waxy mask of pity gone.

  “Quite a turnaround, Sirena,” he says, shaking his head. He lowers the blanket and gently lifts the tape on the bandage to show the students. We all stare at the foreign object that’s my leg. There’s a long, thin line where they stitched the gash, but the redness and infection are gone.

  “She’ll have full use of the leg,” he says. He’s bragging, as if he’s the one the credit goes to. I shoot him a dark look that I hope his students will see. One of them is too busy taking notes, writing everything down, even when I sneeze. I guess he’s preparing in case my leg and its fate will be the essay question on his final exam. When they all trail out, I try to swing my legs over the side of the bed, but it’s impossible.

  I surprise myself by finishing my entire lunch.

  My dad smirks. “She never had a problem eating. Nearly had to take out a second mortgage on the place to pay the bills.” My mom smiles. “That’s not exactly the way I remember it.”

  My parents work hard at keeping the conversation going as if a dead space would draw us back to focusing on it. They must have vowed to do whatever had to be done for me and put all their feelings about each other out of the way. Still, their act is convincing. I push back the table with the empty plate.

  “Aunt Ellie, is Pilot here today?”

  She shrugs. “I’ll ask.” She jumps to her feet and leaves the room, probably glad I’ve given her something to do other than sitting with our sad party.

  “Pilot?” my dad says.

  “The lifeguard…The one who pulled me out.”

  “Why would he be here?”

  “He’s an EMS tech.”

  My parents exchange a glance that I’m not supposed to see. Just then Aunt Ellie comes back in. “He’s at the beach, Sirena.”

  I look at all of them. “Then I have to go there—right now.”

  “What?” My dad looks at me in disbelief. He shakes his head, afraid to protest.

  “Sirena, you’re getting over a very serious accident,” my mom says, gently. “I don’t think they exactly want you going to
the beach.”

  I look at my mom and dad and then Aunt Ellie. “If it hadn’t been for him, you wouldn’t have a daughter anymore.”

  They exchange glances without another word.

  thirty-one

  Dear Sirena:

  What’s up with you? I’m getting totally crazed!! You always write back and now, nada. Are you okay? Please tell me you are. I had all these scary dreams last night of you going out into the ocean and getting stranded out there. The Jaws thing, you know? Okay, that’s stupid, but what else could I think? You’re not mad at me, are you? I can’t think of anything I did wrong. I’d call you if I could get to the damn phone, but you know how stupid they are about that here. Write soon and give me good news, okay? Jerko Geoff likes someone else, but it’s not who I thought it was. She’s a total rag. So what does that say about me?

  Love you,

  Marissa

  Dear Marissa:

  Oh God, BF, I’m so sorry I scared you. Actually I scared everyone here half to death, but I’m fine now, really. So much has happened that I don’t know where to begin. Yes, I did almost drown. God, maybe you’re psychic! But guess who got me out and saved my life?

  I know you already know.

  I’ll never say another bad word about him for the rest of my life.

  He’s so much more complicated than I ever realized, I now know. He has these powers. It’s…well…supernatural, or at least I think it is, if that’s possible. It sounds crazy, I know, but lately it’s turning out that everything in my world isn’t what it appears to be on the outside and things are happening that I can’t explain, and maybe I never will.

  I’ll write as soon as I know more, I swear. All is well here for now and that’s all that counts. I feel reborn. How is that possible?

  Love you so much,

  Sirena

  And ugh, so sorry about Geoff. Truthfully though, he never sounded like he was your type.

  No bikini now. A rumpled T-shirt over a denim skirt. Far from beachside runway couture, but it’s easy to slip on. I sneaked out of the hospital during the shift change in the only outfit that Aunt Ellie brought for me.

  No attempt to cover the bandaged leg. Only now I’m not obsessed with my body anymore. All I care about is having a whole one. I could care less how I look compared to other girls.

  Mark pushes the wheelchair and Aunt Ellie holds the crutches as our pathetic group slowly makes its way, first to the car and then the beach.

  “This is insane,” Mark says to Aunt Ellie, under his breath. She ignores him and I love her for that. I also love her for insisting that first, we drop my parents off at her house so they can take a break to shower and relax.

  “We’ll be fine,” Aunt Ellie insists.

  My iron-willed dad caves, to my surprise. My mom doesn’t raise any objection either, which tells me that they’re probably just totally burned out. I didn’t realize they were up all night trying to get reservations, and then were forced to book indirect flights with long layovers because of bad weather. They must be dead.

  I’m less than happy to go to the beach with an entourage. The cripple going to Lourdes, hoping to come away walking, cured, or in my case, less screwed up.

  Mark turns into the parking lot and drives as close as he can up to the sand. I’m glad he doesn’t have a dune buggy or he’d mow down the beachgoers to get on top of the lifeguard’s chair. He parks, pops the trunk, and then heaves out the wheel chair, struggling to unfold it. It must weigh a thousand pounds, but he doesn’t complain. He and Aunt Ellie help me get out of the truck and I hop over to the chair.

  I don’t know how I’m going to do it, I just know I have to, so I will. I’m grateful now that I went swimming and built up my arms. They push me as close as they can to the edge of the sand. Aunt Ellie hands me the crutches and I stand and tuck one under each arm.

  Deep breaths.

  Mind over matter.

  You can control things if you set your mind to it. It takes practice to use them, I know. I remember once in school when a friend of mine broke her leg after skiing. She came in wearing a cast and used crutches to hobble to class. During lunch everyone took turns trying them out. I didn’t realize how much it hurt under your arms to put all your weight on them.

  I take a tentative step forward. Another. Is the whole world staring? It doesn’t look that way. A few more steps and then, whomp, one of the crutches pitches forward and I topple over into the hot sand, landing hard on my hip.

  “Shit,” I mutter, scrambling to stand up. Mark runs over and helps me stand.

  “You don’t have to stand there watching me, for God’s sake. Can’t you just go for a drive or and come back later? I can get up by myself.”

  “Baby, this doesn’t make any sense,” he says, his voice insistent, imploring. “Do you want me to carry you?”

  “Go home, Mark. I can do it, just give me a chance.”

  He looks back at Ellie, who waits by the car and nods. Outward Bound taught her that you surprise yourself by testing your limits; at least that’s what she told me. Now it’s my chance to test myself, but it’s too complicated to start explaining to Mark. Anyway, I know he believes that you have to help women because he’s convinced they’re the weaker sex. Ha. He exhales, running a hand through his hair, then steps back, defeated. I tuck the hard red rubber-topped crutches under my arms and try again, trying to catch my breath.

  It’s hard enough walking across the sand on foot, but walking with crutches is like an Olympian test. I continue to slip and slide on the dry mounds of sand. I’m getting it, I say to myself. And then I trip again. “Shit,” I yell again. “Shit.” Tears flood my eyes. I hear him curse, but he doesn’t come to help me. I get back up to my feet.

  You’re not going to fall again. You can do it.

  I make my way, slowly, closing the gap between us, my armpits sore and wet with sweat from the pressure of the crutches, perspiration dripping down my face.

  I inch closer and closer to him. He’s sitting up in his chair, one arm slung over the back. I approach from behind, inching closer and closer. It feels like I weigh five hundred pounds.

  As if he senses me closing in, he turns slightly, takes off his sunglasses, and stares. The barest change of expression crosses his face.

  It’s enough.

  Me hobbling toward him on crutches is so out of the realm of what he expected. He can’t hide that, no matter how good he is at keeping his emotions checked. A hint of a smile crosses my face.

  I keep going.

  The space narrows from yards to feet. He waits, tensed, without taking his eyes off me. In a rush, I’m overcome with happiness that he doesn’t come running to help me.

  Then it hits me why. He knows better than anyone that I can do it.

  It’s because of him.

  When I’m just below the chair, he leaps down so fast I barely see it happen. I stop and the crutches fall away, dropping to the sand. Only now am I suddenly overcome with the drain of energy it took to get me here. Sweat pours down my face. The stinging droplets nearly blind me.

  I’m about to topple over into the sand when Pilot reaches out and catches me, drawing me up to him.

  “You’re crazy,” he whispers. “You shouldn’t be here. How could they discharge you?”

  “They didn’t. I left.”

  “Why didn’t you wait for me? I would have come later.”

  I lean my face against his golden shoulder, so warm he may be filled with molten honey. Without warning, tears stream out of my eyes. “Are you some kind of miracle worker? Please, I have to know. That’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

  “Obviously not,” he says, like a painful confession. His face darkens and he looks away. “You got slashed and were close to death.”

  Is he angry with me or himself? He reads my face.

  “I should have known,” he says, almost pleading.

  “Known what?”

  “That you were out there. I should have seen it before.�
��

  “How could you possibly have known?

  He stares out at the water and then back at me. “It’s my job to know, Sirena, to be there. It’s what I do.” He looks away, pained.

  “I waited until you walked the other way. You couldn’t possibly have seen me.”

  “You don’t understand.” He looks into my eyes and sighs. “I see things,” he whispers. “I have this…vision. Only this time I didn’t. I was blind.”

  “You saved me. That’s all that matters.”

  “I let it happen, I lost my focus. Only I don’t know how. And the stingray. It nearly killed you.”

  “Stingray?”

  He lifts his binoculars suddenly as if he suddenly remembers he’s on duty. “You should rest. And I’m working.”

  “I need to know what happened—please.”

  “Later.”

  I glance behind me. Aunt Ellie and Mark are standing by the car, probably watching my every move, trying to read my body language. I’m embarrassed to see them there, my audience.

  “I’m coming back, Pilot, when you finish work.”

  He lifts his head, ignoring that. “I’ll carry you back,” he says. “Your Aunt is waiting.”

  “I can walk on my own.”

  “God, you’re stubborn,” he says, lifting me up into his arms. “That’s part of it.”

  I start to protest and then stop. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “It makes you…difficult, that’s all.”

  I’ve never been carried by anyone before, at least not since I was an infant. I study Pilot’s face to see if it’s an effort to support me, but he strides along easily, unfazed by carrying one hundred and twenty five pounds over hot sand like a swami oblivious to burning coals under his feet.

  “I don’t want to go back,” I whisper.

  “It shouldn’t be much longer.”

  “After your shift, we’ll talk, you promised.” I reach for his arm.