Authors: Renee Lewin
“Okay!” he exclaims, his eyes on me. “No, Manny’s not. He’s not. I’ll, I’ll tell them the truth, all right? I promise you.”
“Thank you. I, I’m sorry, but I had to make you see. Raul, you can still be a good person.” He sits still as I put strands of his hair back into place with my fingers, moving them away from his face, behind his ear. “Let me take you home.”
Raul pumps the five dollars’ worth of gas into the truck for me and on the ride home he slips off all the heavy silver rings from his fingers and for some reason drops them one by one into my purse. I ask him if he knows what I should expect in court and he tells me the proceedings as he remembered them from when his father was arrested. He asks if Manny has a court appointed lawyer or has hired one. I don’t know. I park by his house and step out of the truck to say goodbye. He hesitates, but I give him an assuring smile, so he hugs me.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into my ear. I bury my wet eyes against the warm cotton of his jacket at his neck. I look up at him. He leans down slowly and then kisses me on the cheek but grazing the cut on my mouth. “This is a good ending for us, huh?” he smiles. I nod and we study each other as if it were the last time. We’d see each other again since we lived in the same neighborhood, but it would never be the same. After this there would just be polite waves and acknowledging nods when our paths crossed.
“Bye,” I slip out of his embrace. He watches me get into the truck, presses his lips to his fingers and then waves the hand out at me. I drive away with dry eyes this time. Once home, I sleep for a few hours in Manny’s bed.
******
It was five o’clock in the morning when Emanuel held the cold hard plastic handset of the payphone to his warm ear and dialed. Everything in this place was cold and hard.
The floors, the walls, the concrete slab that was his bed, the criminals and the police, all cold and unforgiving.
“Hello?” a sleepy voice answered.
“Hey Laney.
It’s Manny.”
“Oh
my gosh
. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.
I’ve got fifteen minutes to talk.”
“Why did it take you so long to call me? Did you hire a lawyer?”
“I asked for a court appointed attorney.”
“No, Manny!
We need to hire a good lawyer for you to get you out of this mess.”
“Look, I don’t know how long I’ll be locked up. I can’t leave you alone with a bunch of lawyer fees.”
“Are you kidding me?!” she yelled.
“Elaine, I’m not going to argue with you over this. How’s Dad?”
“They locked him up in Palo Verde Mental Hospital without any concern for how such a stressful situation will further aggravate his illness or taking into account that he has a perfectly good home with family to take care of him. Now tell me why you are going to be so stupid as to allow any old underpaid defense attorney to put your
life
in his hands?”
Emanuel sighed. “Joey is in a coma, Elaine. A
coma
! Until he wakes up no one will know how bad the brain damage will be.”
“Joey will give a statement as soon as he wakes up. He’ll tell them you didn’t mean it.”
“How do you know that? He could be pissed off when he wakes up and suggest a lengthy punishment for me to serve.” Elaine was silent. “I threw the first punch. I hit him first. He kept telling me to stop but I was so mad I wouldn’t even let him explain! I know how Joey is. I knew he wouldn’t take that from me and not fight back after how his stepdad used to push him around. And now look what’s happened to him. They’re charging me with aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. I’m just going to plead guilty.”
“Don’t! They only gave you that charge because Raul lied. I talked to him last night. He’s gonna tell the truth and the charges will be dropped.”
“Don’t be naïve. All the charges won’t be dropped, Elaine. Joey’s still hurt and I deserve what I get. I don’t want to drag everyone through this any longer by pleading not guilty and having a public trial.”
“If you plead guilty to
anything
I will never forgive you,” she cried. “You have to fight this!”
“You’re so stubborn Laney!” he shouted. “You can’t let anything go! You have to be in control of everything! So stubborn,” he breathed, sounding exhausted. “II have to go.”
“But you still have nine minutes left.”
“I have to go.”
With that he hung up.
The guard escorted Emanuel back to his cell where he lay down on the cold hard bed, staring up at the watermarked ceiling, and waiting to be brought in front of the judge.
******
Joey’s hospital bed was like a clearing in a field of flowers. I fingered open the tiny card on one of the vases, carefully moving aside wide-eyed daisies to get to it.
Get well soon,
Papi
. Your dinner’s getting cold.
:
XOXO,
Denise
I had no idea that she and Joey knew each other as well as her card suggested. I walk along the small table at the window, reading all the cards that came with flowers and those that came alone. I recognize all the names. All the cards are filled with prayers and wishes for Joey’s improvement,
lipsticked
lip prints and doodled hearts. Some of the cards make some unkind remarks about Manny. One chick who signed her card with the name “Miss Used” wrote that she hoped my brother rotted in jail. She is so lucky she didn’t sign her real name.
The crisp white bed sheets come up to Joey’s chest and his blue hospital gown is ruffled and askew, exposing his collar bone. The wrinkles in his clothing falsely suggest that he’s moved a muscle these last eighteen hours. I step closer and place both hands out onto the plastic bed rails, still keeping my distance. It’s hard to believe it’s all real. Joey is known for being lively. He has effervescence,
an energy
, whether he was angry or happy you could feel it radiating from him, and right into you.
I always tried to ignore the magnetism I felt towards him but it was almost impossible. I remember watching him walk into the classroom. I’d forget what I was thinking about or writing about before he’d walked in. I hated him for that. His clear blue eyes seemed to look into me. Now, seeing the pallid skin of his face, one would never guess that
El Fuego
is his nickname. Even his lively deep red curls are gone. They shaved his head during his cranial surgery. The softest looking curls I’ve ever seen were replaced with cold vulnerable scalp.
I inch closer to him and lean against the railing. While I am desperately chasing after the strings in my life that are blowing away in the chaos, and female acquaintances rush to buy flowers and write tear-stained, lipstick-smeared cards, and doctors run around to put him back together again, Joey Kinsley calmly sleeps. To some extent I envy his serenity, though his peace is just a pause before the consequences yet to be seen. I glance down at his arm. He has goose bumps. I wonder if he’s aware of the cold. Is he thinking, “Why do they have to keep it so
freakin
’ cold in here?” Or maybe the goose bumps are just the body’s natural reaction to the cold; no cognitions behind it.
But maybe there was. Maybe he could hear everything going on around him. Isn’t that what people say when they come out of a coma? “Joey?” I say softly. “Joey…I’m so sorry this happened to you. And Manny is sorry, too, but he’s in a lot of trouble. Everyone thinks he hurt you like this on purpose. You and I know it was just a horrible accident. Please, get better as soon as you can. The police would listen to you. Manny would listen to you.” I wish there was some sort of sign he could give to let me know he can hear me, like a twitch, but nothing happens.
I take a deep breath. If he can hear me then he can feel the cold air in this room. I want to warm him by pulling the covers up to his neck but his limp, heavy arms are resting on top of the sheets. I reach my hand over to lift his arm up. I hesitate, glancing at Joey’s face, expecting him to protest. I shake my head of that silly notion and move my hand to grasp his tan forearm.
“What are you doing in here?”
I jump back. It’s Joey’s mother. Her hair is pulled back in a bun, sharpening her features and putting nothing between me and her blue-eyed glare.
“Uh, Miss Kinsley, I was, I’m just checking on Joey.”
“You think I don’t know who you are?” She walks closer to me as I back away from Joey. “You’re the
splittin
’ image of him. You’re the sister of an attempted murderer.”
“No, Miss Kinsley. You don’t understand. Manny didn’t mean for it to be like this. They were such good friends.” I try to explain but the flames behind her eyes abide.
“Get out of here! If I find you in here again, the cops will be called and an arrest will be made. Do you understand that Miss Roberts?”
I need to know how Joey is doing. I need to be right here, in this hospital room, when he wakes up. I need to save my brother. “But I love Joey! Miss Kinsley, I love him.” She gives me a confused look but I continue. “We’ve been going out for a couple months now. He didn’t know how to, to tell you.”
She goes quickly to Joey’s side. “What do you mean he didn’t know how to tell me?” She cradled his hand in hers and tenderly gazed down at her son. Her features soften now as her thoughts shift to her sweet boy. “He can always talk to me. He tells me everything.
My baby.”
She kisses him on the forehead.
“I guess he thought you wouldn’t approve.”
“Oh, nonsense!” she objects, still looking down at her son. “I would have loved to hear it.” Miss Kinsley wipes a tear from her cheek.
“Joey finally having a girlfriend.”
I look down at the tile floor, feeling guilty for lying and puzzled by what she’d said. How did she not know that he’d dated half the girls in town?
“He saved my life, you know. Did he ever tell you that? He was only fourteen years old.
Always so strong.”
I’m speechless. Telling Dr. Rice I was Joey’s girlfriend was one thing. Telling the same lie to Miss Kinsley had given her a false sense of trust in me. I’m a manipulative criminal. I’m playing on her emotions, on her love for her son. And there’s no way out of it. It had already been said. My stomach does a flip. “Um, no, he never told me that. Listen, Miss Kinsley I really have to go now, my father”
“Before you go, Elaine, I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything,” I say without hesitation. I’ll fulfill her demands to compensate for the moment she learns I don’t really love her son. Miss Kinsley reaches into her bag and pulls out a leather-bound book. I almost think it’s my journal.
“I can’t be here all the time because I have to work and sometimes I just can’t bear to sit and watch him like this with nothing I can do about it except worry myself sick. But, when I do come here, I usually read from his journal. It’s like he’s talking to me again. You know? He hadn’t written anything for such a while, I almost forgot about it completely. I need you to just read it to him. Maybe it will help him heal faster, or something, to hear those words that helped
heal
him before.”