The other day, it was because I needed her help on a photography assignment. I’d already finished it, but I didn’t tell her that.
And today—don’t laugh—I got her to stay because of a bee sting. Although I really did get stung on my forearm this afternoon, it didn’t hurt that much. I just said it did to get her sympathy. And it worked. She applied a paste of baking soda and water, then kept me well supplied with ice packs so it didn’t swell. I probably didn’t have to use the bee sting excuse, because we’ve got people coming over to watch a movie tonight, so she’d be here late anyway.
“How’s the swelling, babe?” Ivy comes out of the kitchen holding a bowl of popcorn and another ice pack.
“Better, I think.”
“Oh good.”
The front door bangs open and footsteps pound through the entryway to where we’re gathered in the family room. Tate and James are holding two cases of beer and several bags of chips.
“What’s that fucking awesome smell?” James asks.
Cassidy comes out of the kitchen holding a heaping plate of brownies. “Is this what you’re smelling?”
“Fuck, yeah.” He grabs one and stuffs it in his mouth, then he grabs another. “Do you think someone’s started a Fuck Yeah Brownies Tumblr yet? Or maybe just Fuck Yeah Chocolate. Because if not, you totally should. These are that good.”
She laughs. “Thanks.”
The doorbell rings. It’s one of those sing-song chimes that you hear at old people’s houses. No one uses it much, but when they do, it strikes me as funny because a bunch of college guys live here now.
“Come in,” Rick yells, and a moment later Kelly and Reese step into the room.
I remove the ice pack from my arm. It’s easier being a wimp in front of my girlfriend than my buddies.
Reese grabs a beer. “So we’re watching
Terminator
? Which one?”
I grab a handful of popcorn. “The second one. It’s still playing on PSU Net and Ivy has never seen it.”
Reese holds his hand out to Kelly. “Come with me if you want to live,” he says, quoting a line from the movie.
“Wait, wait,” she says laughing. She lies on the floor and dons a panicked expression as she looks up at him. “Okay, say it again.”
He repeats the line and reaches down.
Warily, she takes his hand, and he pulls her to her feet. Everyone claps.
“Shut up, asshole,” Tate says in a monotone voice.
Everyone turns to look at him.
“What?” he says, eyes wide. “It’s a line from the movie. Don’t you remember?”
“Are you sure?” Rick glares at him.
“Yes, it’s when Arnold—” Tate throws up his hands. “No one ever believes me around here. Just wait. You’ll see.”
Ivy and I are cuddled up on the recliner together. James, Cassidy, and Tate are on the couch. Rick is in the other chair, while Kelly and Reese are in the giant beanbag with a blanket.
As the opening credits roll, Ivy shifts slightly. “I’m not really an Arnold fan. Not since he cheated on his wife.”
“Yeah, that sucked, but aren’t you supposed to separate the art from the artist?”
“Some things you just don’t screw up. If we were talking about my next-door neighbor, I’d say the same thing.”
“He’s an actor. All celebrities have fucked-up lives.” Trust me.
“I don’t care. It still makes me mad.”
I read once that some men are hard-wired to be cheaters. That it’s in our DNA. I know that’s probably a bunch of crap dreamed up by guys who cheat to help them justify their behavior, but what if it’s not? What if it
is
a legitimate Darwinian tendency, passed down from father to son?
She takes a drink of her beer. “Does this mean I’m slipping on the movie slash likeability scale?”
“Good thing you have other redeeming qualities that make up for it.”
She pokes me in the ribs.
“Ouch. Remember my bee sting.”
“You got stung in the arm.”
“Yeah, I know, but you might jostle it.”
The movie starts and we all settle in. When we get to the part where the kid is being chased by the semi truck, there’s a knock at the door. Pounding, actually.
“I’ll get it.”
I untangle myself from Ivy’s legs, walk to the front of the house, and open the door.
On the covered porch is a young woman, her face streaming with blood.
* * *
Ivy
The girl’s name is Leesa. Cassidy and I are standing on either side of her, holding her up. We tried to get her to sit, but she refused. Jon and James are hovering over her boyfriend, Mark, who’s lying out on the lawn. A wrecked blue car is in the ditch. Kelly is on the phone with the 9-1-1 operator.
“It happened so fast,” Leesa sobs. “We got out and then he just collapsed.”
“An ambulance is on its way,” Kelly says, phone to her ear.
“Is there someone we can call?” I ask Leesa. “Your parents?”
“I’m visiting from out of town. They’re in Seattle.” She’s shaking so hard, I can hear her teeth rattling.
I run inside, grab a blanket from the couch, then run back out to the front porch and wrap it around Leesa’s shoulders.
“Someone get me a towel,” Jon yells in our direction.
I spin on my heel and dash back into the house.
Please let there be clean towels in the downstairs bathroom.
I open the first two drawers. Nothing. The bottom drawer has a few folded washcloths. Good enough. Ignoring the dull ache forming at the base of my skull, I grab them and sprint out to the front lawn. The guy lies there, motionless. I think Jon is talking to me, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. Like a robot, I hand him the towels and back away.
Cassidy is telling Leesa that her boyfriend is going to be okay, but I’m not so sure about that. It looks pretty bad to me. There’s blood everywhere, and a chunk of metal is sticking out of his chest. When you hit a tree going that fast, people die.
Hold on. I blink a few times and look around.
They didn’t hit a tree. They ran off the road into a ditch in front of Jon’s house. There’s blood, but not a lot.
About a dozen people have gathered out on the road. The siren is loud now.
“Over here,” Rick yells at the ambulance as it turns down the street.
Soon two EMTs are working on Mark, and Jon is explaining what happened to a third guy. He gestures with his hands and the man nods like he understands everything. I watch everything like it’s unfolding on a movie screen, as if it’s happening elsewhere, in another place and time.
After the ambulance takes Mark and Leesa to the hospital and the crowd disperses, everyone else turns to go back into the house. Jon and I are sitting on the porch steps, our arms around each other.
I hear the door open behind us, then someone puts a blanket around our shoulders.
“Thanks, bro,” Jon says, taking the bottle of water that James hands him.
Without a word, James turns and goes back inside.
Jon opens the bottle and hands it to me. I take a drink. Then another one. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. I hand it back to him, pulling the blanket tighter around our shoulders.
Neither of us is saying anything. We’re just staring out at the wrecked car and the now-empty front lawn. I think we’re both still in shock.
“Do you think Mark is going to be okay?” I ask.
“I hope so,” he says, hugging me a little tighter. “How about you? Doing okay?”
I’m touched by his concern. With everything that just happened, he’s thinking about me. “I’m okay.” I don’t need to tell him about my headache. It’s a little better now, anyway. I think the water helped. “How about you?”
“I’m good.”
As I look at the wrecked car, uneasiness stirs inside me. “Her phone is in there. She needs her phone.”
She’ll want to call someone, hear a familiar voice, but she can’t. She can’t move. She’s scared and nothing she does seems to help. She’s a doll and strangers are moving her arms and legs.
“I’m sure the police will make sure she gets it,” Jon says. “A tow truck should be here soon.”
I blink, unsure of what just happened. Was that a memory from my accident?
“No,” I tell him. “They won’t. She needs her things. She’ll be lost without them.”
Jon doesn’t argue with me, just nods his head and retrieves Leesa’s purse from the car.
The double doors at College View Memorial Hospital whoosh open and we step into the emergency room waiting area. Even though it’s a Sunday night, the place is busy. Patients who are waiting to be seen, along with their friends and families, take up almost all the empty seats. People in blue scrubs are everywhere, manning the check-in desks, walking down the halls, carrying clipboards, pushing patients in wheelchairs. Announcements blare over the intercom. We scan the waiting area for Leesa but don’t see her.
We head to the only open check-in desk, and a young man in scrubs looks up. He can’t be much older than Jon. He’s got short black hair, stylish glasses, and a nice smile. After Jon explains why we’re here, the man promises to get the purse to Leesa.
“How’s he doing? The boyfriend?” Jon asks.
“I’m afraid I can’t give out that kind of information,” the man says. “I’m sorry.”
“I understand.”
We stop in the hallway, where Jon takes a drink from the water fountain. I lean against the wall and close my eyes. My exhaustion has finally caught up to me. It feels like I just ran a marathon. My headache is still there, but it doesn’t seem to be getting any worse. I just feel numb and spent.
“Hey,” a deep voice says. “Did you two come to see how your patient is doing?”
I open my eyes to see one of the EMTs coming out of the nearby men’s restroom. He’s got red hair, a short goatee, and an earring in each ear.
“We brought Leesa’s purse from the car and wanted to make sure she had it,” Jon says. “How’s she doing? How’s Mark?”
“Leesa’s fine. Her parents are on their way. And Mark—” The man pauses to put his hands on Jon’s shoulders. “—is probably alive because of you and your friend. You kept that boy breathing, his heart pumping, until we got there. He’s not out of the woods yet, but the docs are hopeful.”
Jon slowly nods his head.
“How did you learn CPR, anyway? Honestly, that kind of calm under those circumstances is a quality not many people have.”
“I got certified at a vocational school I went to a few years ago. I—I thought about doing what you do one day. I’m just glad I remembered it.”
Vocational school? Was that when he was serving time in juvenile detention? I didn’t know he thought about becoming an EMT. But now that I think about it, when he was trying to talk me down off the roof, didn’t I accuse him of being a fireman wannabe?
“And what are you doing now?” the man asks.
“I’m a chem major at PSU.”
“Ah, chemistry. Nice. Must have a good head on your shoulders. Going into medicine, I hope.”
“I…uh…uh—”
The man claps him on the back. “Well, I hope you do, because you definitely have what it takes.” He glances around to make sure no one’s listening, then leans in close. “I’ll tell you one thing. You’ll never regret it. Saving lives is one of the best fucking jobs on the planet.”
chapter nineteen
When midnight mists are creeping, and all the land is sleeping,
Around me tread the mighty dead, and slowly pass away.
~ Lewis Carroll
Ivy
The light streaming in Jon’s bedroom window becomes a thousand tiny daggers when it reaches my eyes. I fling an arm over my face, but it doesn’t help. The knives are still there, along with a thousand soldiers and their drums, too, banging, banging, banging inside my head. It seriously feels as though something’s trying to push my eyes out from the inside. I roll over and bury my face in the pillow, but that only makes it worse. No matter what position I’m in, nothing brings any relief.
Even though I don’t remember the specifics of my own accident, what happened yesterday has triggered something.
Maybe if I sit up, the change in gravity will lessen the pain. With my eyes pinched shut, I push myself up and let my legs dangle off the edge of the bed. Almost immediately, a wave of nausea grips my insides. I throw off the covers, rush to the bathroom, and make it there just in time.
Jon left before I woke. Monday is his busiest day of the week with station work, class and tutoring. But he’s going to wonder why I’m not in class, so I’ll have to think up some excuse. If he knows about the headache, he’ll just bring up going to the doctor again.
I will myself to stand, somehow managing to brush my teeth and pull on my sweats. I don’t dare glance in the mirror because I know I look like hell. I grab my phone from where it’s been charging on his desk and send Cassidy a text. Thank God, she answers right away. She doesn’t have class for another hour, so she can come pick me up. A few minutes later, I’m in her car and we’re heading back to the dorm.
With finals coming up, I really can’t afford to miss anything, but I don’t want to get sick in front of anyone. Hopefully, I’ll feel better tomorrow.