Blink Once (10 page)

“Mrs. Spencer?” A tall, dark-haired doctor I’d seen once or twice came into the room. “I’m Dr. Yung. You have some concerns about your son’s condition?”

“He’s got this fever; I can see it on the monitor. It’s at one hundred and one right now, and he’s been like this for three days. When I was talking to him just now, his eyes rolled back in his head. He looked like he was having a seizure.”

The doctor nodded. “That’s not uncommon in his state—he might twitch, jerk uncontrollably. Rolling his eyes is just another one of those ticks that he’s not in full control of yet.”

“I’ve never seen him do that before; are you sure he’s okay? He’s never run a fever for this long.”

“His body has been through a lot of trauma, and he’s trying to heal. If you add a virus on top of that, you can see how his immune system is not what it was before the accident. It’s harder for him to evacuate mucus from his lungs and to fight a fever. Unfortunately, what would be a cold for someone else is more like a lung infection for him, pneumonia. It is serious, but I can assure you, he’s not in any discomfort, and we’re keeping a close eye on him.”

Mom sat down in the chair next to the bed. “I just don’t know how much more of this I can take.” She started crying. “I just don’t know what to do.”

The doctor pulled up the other chair and sat next to her. “Some of this you have to leave to us and know that we are taking the very best care of your son. If you’re talking about his options for the future, those are decisions that you and West’s father will have to make, and I understand it can be difficult.”

Mom grabbed a tissue and wiped her nose. “We’ve been doing a lot of research, and I think we’ve made a decision, but the odds are so hard to face. I hope we’re doing the right thing.”

The doctor reached over and held Mom’s hand. “Remember, he is very young, so the potential risks that you have been reading about are much lower for him. Once he kicks this virus, you can schedule the procedure at any time. He’s stable and ready for the next step.”

Mom nodded silently.

The doctor stood up. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you, Mrs. Spencer. Remember that we all want what’s best for West, we really do.”

Mom nodded again, taking another tissue. She blew her nose once he was out the door. She took my hand and held it for a few minutes quietly.

“West, honey, I need to talk to you.” She stood up and leaned over me. “The procedure that Dr. Louis says you need is risky; there’s a ten percent chance you won’t make it. That means out of one hundred patients who have this,
ten will die. Ten. I don’t know if I can face those odds. But I also feel like you deserve the chance to have a normal life again. Tell me what you want to do.” She stared into my eyes. I blinked once for yes, without a moment of hesitation.

Mom kept looking at me. Maybe she needed to be sure, so I blinked again. A smile crossed her face and she pushed my bangs back. “Do you remember Henry’s birthday party at the pool—you all were six or seven. You took one look at that high dive and went right over to the ladder. You climbed without looking back and stood way out on the board. You looked at me for a second, then jumped off. I was so afraid, the other moms too. But you weren’t. You never were.” She kissed my forehead. “I know what you want to do; I know how strong you are,” she whispered.

She sat back down and held my hand again. I was glad she had finally told me everything. And I could tell her how I felt. I squeezed her hand back and we sat like that, in silence, just listening to the whooshing sounds of the respirator, until I fell asleep.

I woke up hearing music. Loud, hip-hop. My favorite CD from last fall, a band called Water Gun. The room was bright, sunny, and sitting next to me, an iPod speaker system blasting. The speakers were covered in stickers from a burger joint, the kind they usually give to little kids. I had seen those speakers before … Mike. That was Mike’s system. I looked around the room. Mike’s back was to me, but it was him, there was no mistaking his crazy curly red hair in knots, almost like dreadlocks. He was jamming out at the foot of my bed. He spun around on one foot. “Dude, do you remember when they did this song at the Music Box, and that girl totally jumped up on stage. I think she got kicked out.” He was trying to do some moves like the guys do in the video, but failing so badly it made me want to
close my eyes again. Mike was awesome on the bike, but as a dancer, his moves were laughable. “She was hot, though. I wouldn’t have kicked her out.”

Nurse Norris poked her head into the room. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to turn that down.”

“Wha, I can’t hear you,” Mike joked, cupping his hand to his ear.

She walked in and turned the volume down herself. “I told you last time you were here. Music is okay, but it’s not a dance party. This is a hospital.” She gave him a stern look and turned to walk out.

“Really, did one of the other patients complain? I mean, I’m just wondering.” This attitude was exactly why Mike had been getting detention on a regular basis since ninth grade.

Norris let out a sigh. “Even if the patients didn’t complain, their families and other visitors might. You can play music, just keep it down. Clear?”

“Crystal,” Mike said, trying to pop-lock but instead looking like a total idiot. I was surprised he didn’t fall down.

Norris scowled and left the room. I know she had a smile on her face the second she turned the corner; how could she not laugh at Mike’s so-called dancing?

“Man, the nurses here suck. They aren’t even hot.” Mike plopped into the chair next to the bed and leaned in to turn up the volume one or two clicks. “Whatever.”

Mike always told you exactly how he felt; sometimes that was great, sometimes it sucked. The first day I met him, I was at the bike park. I’d seen him there before, but we went to different schools, so we didn’t talk. Then, right before ninth grade started, he walked over to me. “You got hella tall, man,” he said, looking me up and down.

“Uh, yeah, I guess I did,” I said back. I didn’t know if it was okay to say that I’d noticed his crazy red hair and incredible skills on the track, so I just kept my mouth shut.

“Yeah, you were, like, a shrimp before. What happened?”

“I dunno. My dad is tall,” I offered. Mike stood there staring at me; he wanted more of an explanation. He wasn’t put together badly; he had broad shoulders and weighed at least ten pounds more than me, but he was also about half a foot shorter, sort of a stocky build.

“Actually, it kind of hurt,” I confessed. “I woke up during the night all winter. My bones, like, hurt.”

“Seriously?” He was loving it. “Hurt how?”

“It’s hard to explain, but my muscles would hurt in the morning. And at night I would get these pains, like cramps in my legs and stuff. That happened for months. It really sucked.”

“But now you’re supertall. Are you going to keep growing?” he asked.

I shrugged. “No idea. My dad is six-two, so maybe.”

“Damn.” Mike scraped some mud off his bike shoe.

He told me that there had been some girls from my school looking for me at the track, the day before. “Not ugly,” he pointed out. I had no idea who they could be, but I knew what was probably going on. Eighth grade was a big one for me: I grew half a foot, got my braces off, and started wearing contacts more—mostly because my glasses got in the way with my helmet. I looked different, and it seemed like the girls at school had noticed and decided I was cute, or something. A group of them started acting weird around me, giggling all the time, saying stupid stuff to me.

The next day at the track, Mike was there again and pointed out the girls sitting on a bench. They were from my English class and obviously there to see me; they waved enthusiastically the second I looked their way. “Hook me up,” Mike said, parking his bike next to mine. “The blonde is awesome.” So we walked with the girls to Mel’s Pizza and grabbed some slices, Mike doing his best to make conversation with the blond girl while I was stuck talking to the other one. She wasn’t ugly, but she had on too much makeup and lip stuff and was wearing high heels, which seemed weird to me. She could barely walk. All she wanted to talk about were other girls from our school: who was cool, who wasn’t. “Do you know Candace? She’s so pretty. Oh, do you know Ariel? She’s okay. Do you know Amy?
I hate her.” It went on like this the whole time. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. But Mike had a great time and was into the blond girl. I got the impression he didn’t get to hang out with girls very much; he acted like a spaz the entire time. The girl seemed a little into it; she laughed at some of his jokes, but in the end, she didn’t give him her number. As we biked back, Mike flipped up his visor at a stop sign and turned to me. “My man, I can’t thank you enough. From here on out, I’m your wingman whenever you need one.” He reached out to shake my hand and gripped hard.

It turned out that we were both starting at Marshall High that fall, and Mike made sure my transition to ninth grade was smooth. He knew a lot of the upperclassmen, so instead of getting harassed and hazed like some of the other ninth-grade scrubs, we were in with the populars from day one: had a cool lunch table to sit at, knew which teachers to avoid, where to hang out, whose classes you could skip, everything. Mike thought I brought girls around, that he was my wingman, but really, he was the one who took me from nerd to popular overnight. I owed him everything—including Allie. But I’d never told him.

I glanced over at him sitting next to the hospital bed and felt a wave of emotion. When I got out of here, I was going to tell him how much I appreciated his friendship, even if he thought that was cheesy. I wanted him to know.
He took a swig from his soda and nodded his head to the music. “This is riding-around-in-Malcolm’s-car music, right? Remember when we all went on that beer run that night, when it was snowing? I could feel the bass line through my sneakers.” He took another drink and sat staring out the window for a moment. “You did that hilarious impression of Mr. Perkins. ‘Stu-DENTS, now, stu-DENTS!’ Damn, I thought I was going to pee my pants.” He laughed at the memory. My impression of our principal always made Mike laugh. But his face didn’t look too happy right now. “I miss that stuff. Just the stupid stuff, ya know? That was a fun night,” he added quietly. He looked a little uncomfortable with the silence that fell over the room when the song ended. He pushed a button on the iPod and started another song by a different band. “Anyways, ancient history, right?” He stood and walked around the bed, his restless energy making me nervous. “You have to fill me in on when the hot nurses are working because every time I’m here it’s Ugly and Uglier.”

I didn’t remember Mike ever being here before; it must have been before I woke up. And I didn’t like him calling Norris ugly. She wasn’t a sexy porno nurse, but she was an awesome lady. I liked her.

“Maybe some hot lady patients, huh? Have you been checking them out? I know you have.” I instantly thought of Olivia and felt my face turn red. I hoped Mike didn’t
notice. How long had it been since I hung out with Olivia anyhow? I knew I’d been sick and a day or two had gone by. Maybe more? I hadn’t really seen her since the dream where she climbed into bed with me. I didn’t want to think about that, especially not with Mike here. Made me feel like I was cheating on Allie. I had to remind myself that we weren’t really together anymore, so it wouldn’t be cheating. Even if it did happen, which it didn’t, because it was just a dream. But we did hold hands that night, in the TV room. Something had happened there. Something she said. I tried to clear my foggy head and pay attention to Mike, but he was talking so fast and all over the place, he was making my head spin. Had he always been this hyper?

“Did I already tell you about Erin, the new girl? I think I did, but I’m gonna tell you again. Her face is just okay, so don’t be surprised when you see her. She’s no Allie, ya know? But the body. Ohmigod, the body. It’s like
Sports Illustrated
. Of course Perry the Perv is all over her. Already asked her out like ten times. She wore this skirt …” He motioned to mid-thigh to show me how short it was, then shook his head and closed his eyes, as if to wash away the image before he could go on talking. “Anyway, I’m just waiting for the right time to swoop down and ask the lady out. Maybe we can double date, me and Erin and you and Allie, when you get out of here. Think about it, okay?”

Allie obviously hadn’t told him that she dumped me.
I couldn’t deal with getting into it all, so I blinked once for yes, and Mike quickly moved his eyes from mine. It felt like he didn’t want to spend too long looking at my face, like I grossed him out or something. “Cool, okay.” He nodded in time to the music. He stared out the window again and looked lost in thought; it was as if he had forgotten I was there. Something gave me the impression he didn’t like it here—and that he wouldn’t be back anytime soon.

Norris came into the room and picked up my chart at the foot of the bed. “As much as West loves having you here, I’m afraid visiting hours are almost up,” she told Mike.

“Not a problem; we were pretty much done,” he said. He unplugged the speaker and grabbed it by the handle on top. He stood up and saluted me like a soldier in the army. “West, my brother, be well. See you soon.” He did an elaborate bow to Nurse Norris, with a hand flourish at the end. “Lady Nurse, I bid you adieu,” he told her, turned on his heel, and walked out.

Norris moved to the side of the bed to take my pulse. “That boy is crazy.” She smiled. “But I can tell his heart is in the right place. You, on the other hand, are doing so much better today. A week of fever and finally you are on the mend. Pneumonia is no fun, huh?”

Could it have been a week? I must have really been out
of it. Felt like just a day or two. I wondered what was up with Olivia; where had she been? Then I had a horrible feeling. What if something had happened to her? If she was sick too? She was really thin; if she got pneumonia, it could kill her. Or what if her mom transferred her to another hospital? I suddenly remembered the dream: a little girl in sandals, dripping blood, looking for something in that drawer. The dream was trying to tell me something: Olivia was sick, or gone. The thought of not seeing her made my chest hurt, like someone had just put a giant brick on top of my body.