Authors: S. A. Harazin
Chapter 38
The next morning I go outside to crank the car and recharge my cell phone. The car has been smashed into a metal pancake by an oak tree. We won’t be driving anywhere. I look up. The sky’s cloudy, but there’s not much wind or rain.
I didn’t sleep at all. It’s my fault Luna’s here when she could’ve been safe in the hospital getting treatment.
Around four a.m. I gave Luna Nana’s medicine because she said she was dying from pain. She was mad at me for waiting, and she said you should never wait too long to give pain medicine because it’s harder to make the pain go away. I was relieved when she finally fell asleep.
I go inside and check my phone. It doesn’t have a signal. Neither does Luna’s. I don’t think any amount of charging would help.
Nana taught me to always think about what I do before I do it. That mostly applied to chopping vegetables or touching something that could be hot. Now I’m thinking I better start walking and forget I’m lame and that the heat can do me in quickly. I may be able to get to where I have enough of a signal to send a text message. If not, I’ll have to find a landline or a pay phone.
I wake Luna. She opens her eyes.
“I’m going down the road to send a text,” I say. “The car has a tree on it.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Sorry. You’ll slow me down.” That’s something I’ve never said in my whole life. I place her cell phone in her hand. “Sooner or later there should be a signal. Go ahead and call for help if you finally get one.” I pull the blanket over her shoulders.
Luna pushes it off. “We stay together,” she says.
I pack my backpack, and I make a backup plan just in case I don’t find a cell signal. I’m thinking it’s about thirty miles to town because it took around a half hour to get here. How long would it take me to walk thirty miles to town? It takes an hour for me to walk a mile, but that’s when I’m being careful.
Thirty hours to walk to town would be too late. If I were the hero in a video game, I’d set out to find help. I could take a knife in case I meet a bear, but then I doubt he’d run away if I showed it to him.
A walk to the main highway where we could catch a ride or a find a house would take me two hours. That alone could be fatal, but I have to take a chance. I can’t let my condition stop me this time.
I go into the bedroom, get the pictures, and stick them in my backpack. Then I pull out a pencil and paper, and I write.
Dear Dad,
Nana is buried at the Garden Cemetery in Waterly.
I believe you did the best you could. I think you had to have been brave and strong. I hope I will be one day. I haven’t forgotten you. I never will.
Thank you for taking me to Nana.
David
I go back to the living room.
“David,” Luna says, “write your name on the wall.”
I write my name next to her name.
If things had been different, I probably wouldn’t have ever left Nana’s house or done anything. I would’ve been too scared. I’m still scared, but I’m getting over the fear because I don’t have a choice. “Ready?” I ask Luna.
“Yes.”
Luna and I step out the front door and make our way through the storm debris.
Chapter 39
A blind person uses their other senses to get by. So does a deaf person.
I figure I’m the same. I don’t feel pain, but my eyes and ears can feel the world. Sometimes I can taste it. All that stuff travels to my brain and to my heart. I feel pain that way.
I need to find help before the rain quits and the sun gets hot. We start walking, and it isn’t long before the rain stops and the sun comes out. We keep going. It’s a quiet day without any wind or animal noises. Downed trees line the road.
For some reason, I think about nursery rhymes so I don’t think about how long the road ahead is, and after a few minutes I can’t get “Humpty Dumpty” out of my head. I hate it when a tune won’t go away.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the King’s horses
And all the King’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.
I know what Humpty’s problem was. The king was an idiot. He asked the wrong people to put Humpty together again.
Then the wind blows hard, and we hold on to each other to keep standing. The rain starts pouring. Luna says she’s freezing. I say I’d probably be freezing if I could feel. We keep going, and soon the road is muddy and we’re drenched. This is good for me. The rain will keep my body temperature from going up, but it could get the best of Luna.
Hail hits me. I lean down and pick up a piece. It’s big enough to knock Humpty off his wall.
After about a quarter of a mile and a thousand Humptys, I check my cell and have one bar. I tell Luna and make a quick decision. I text the radio station figuring everybody’s calling 911. I can’t afford to be placed on hold.
Send help.
I give the address. The DJ will remember us if he’s around. I bet he hasn’t gone anywhere.
Then I text Joe.
Walking to find help. Tree on car.
No! Go back!
Straight ahead in the distance a lightning bolt stabs the ground, and then I hear thunder. “Joe says to go back. He’ll send help.”
We turn around. I can make it one step at a time. I’m not cold or hot or in pain, but Luna is moaning. To me, the hail is only one big raindrop or a concussion waiting to happen. We take more steps and more steps, and pretty soon it’s just us and the wind and the rain.
The sky gets darker and darker until it’s a black hole. Then there’s a roaring in the distance like a freight train. I turn around and see a funnel cloud far away.
“Oh my god,” Luna says.
Then it touches the ground. It’s hypnotizing. I don’t move for a minute.
Wow. I’ve never seen this kind of destruction in my life. I don’t ever want to see it again.
“We are seeing something horribly spectacular,” Luna says, gasping.
I still have one bar on my cell phone. I text Joe and the radio station again.
Tornado on the ground.
Maybe the radio station can alert people.
“Run!” Luna cries.
The tornado is tearing up the road. We run for our lives.
But I can’t run so fast. “Go!” I yell to Luna. “I’ll catch up with you!”
She looks at me.
“I stay with you.”She touches my face.
We make it to the house, wind whipping us
forward, debris flying through the air. We get down on
all fours and crawl into the crawl space. I can’t move
my arm. I turn my head. It’s spurting blood. When I
look at my arm, I see bone. “Are you okay?” I ask Luna, and she says yes. Then I tell her I need a tourniquet. She’s crying as she pulls off her T-shirt and ties it around
my forearm.
“I lied,” she said. “I never took a first aid course.” She rests her head on my chest, and the lights in my head go out.
Chapter 40
I blink my eyes several times. I’m hallucinating or else there really is a wicked witch on a broom in the sky.
I’m sorry, Luna. I’m sorry I can’t get you home in time.
I’ll pretend I’m somewhere else. After all, it’s my hallucination. I can do whatever I want to do. There’s a carnival. The lights are brighter than anything in the sky. I’m going to ride the roller coaster. I stuff my hands into my jeans pockets. I pass food counters, bumper cars, and a merry-go-round. The ground’s littered with dropped hot dogs, spilled drinks, and cigarette butts. I hold in the smell of popcorn and cotton candy.
I get on the roller coaster, and it comes to life. It begins rolling and clanking and speeding up. It slings me from side to side as it rounds the curves.
Hang on, hang on
, I scream inside. The car ascends the steep incline. My heart thuds in my ears.
This is great. I’m not going to waste a second of this ride.
The car stops at the top. I see stars like fireworks exploding. If I could be here in a billion years and look up, I’d see nothing but black. The universe is speeding up; life is moving faster. One day there’ll be a flicker and the universe will be gone. Everything goes to nothing. That’s all there is. The car plunges. Taking a deep breath, I stretch my arms high into the air and feel the beautiful horror of the fall. I can feel.
Then in a flicker, the ride skids to a stop.
I cry raindrops. My heart’s beating harder and harder inside my throat.
I get off. The roller coaster starts again and people pass, laughing and talking. The Ferris wheel moves gracefully toward the sky, and music from the merry-go-round plays on. I turn and watch the roller coaster ascend without me.
Nana was wrong, I think. When you die, you don’t buy the farm. You go to a carnival and ride a roller coaster.
I can hear my heart slowing. Then I can hear it not beating. My brain’s as alive as ever, at least for three to seven minutes after my heart quits.
“We’re losing him,” somebody says.
Emergency, emergency
, my brain screams. Where’s the adrenaline that’s supposed to kick in?
I’m drifting down a river with Spencer and Cassandra singing “Somethin
’
Stupid.” Rachel, Tyler, and I are playing hide-and-seek and laughing. Grandpa’s reading
Goodnight Moon
. Nana is teaching me to swim. After I finish playing a song on the piano, Nana, Grandpa, and Joe applaud. Dressed in a Spider-Man costume Nana handmade, I win the contest for cutest, and Nana and Grandpa cry. Spencer and I are celebrating jumping off the bridge. I’m teaching a dog how to swim, but he’s drowning. I’m dancing with Luna, and it’s beautiful the way we move together. Spencer and Cassandra stop singing.
I hear a snap, and I think it’s the sound of my heart breaking.
“Yes! We’ve got him back,” somebody says. “He has
a pulse.”
Flat in a hospital bed, I hear voices and find out I’m hypothermic and have broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a compound fracture of my left arm.
Luna, where are you?
I have a tube in my mouth that goes to the breathing machine. The tube’s like an umbilical cord to a mother, the breathing machine. The nurse says to stop fighting the machine. I have to cooperate. She’s giving me drugs to sedate and paralyze me. That way the breathing machine can help me live.
Luna?
The door to my hospital room opens, and I hear footsteps coming toward my bed. The breathing machine pushes air into me, and the heart monitor instantly beeps faster than ever.
I’m unable to open my eyes, but I can hear the rattle of the curtain as it’s pulled from around my bed. The person’s standing next to my bed now, and I can feel eyes glaring down at me. To anybody who didn’t know, I would appear unconscious.
Somebody touches my skin. “You’re so cold,” my mother says, pulling the covers over my shoulders.
I stare back with clouds in my eyes. I can’t talk. I can’t move. There are noises.
Beep.
Click.
I love to hear noise. It means I’m alive.
“Can you hear me?”
I can’t move or anything.
I hear her sigh. “I have made mistakes. I have regretted much of my life. Just know, your dad and I tried. We believed your grandparents were the only ones who could give you the best life possible.
I have always felt guilty and ashamed,” she says. “I’m sorry.” She kisses my forehead and goes. I don’t think I’ll ever see her again.
I think suffering has been a good teacher.
Chapter 41
I’m back from the dead. I don’t know when it happened.
“Can you hear me, David? It’s Joe. You’re going to make it, and you’re safe now.”
It can’t be Joe. He wouldn’t ever cry.
“
Luna
,” I mouth around the tube.
“She made it.” He’s holding my hand. “I’ve made sure she’s getting the best of care.”
I trust him. I know he will, and Luna will live.
I remember remembering. Parts of my life didn’t pass before my eyes because I was dying. It was because I was fighting to live.
My breathing tube’s out. I don’t remember when it was removed. I look around for the nurse call light, but it’s hooked on the wall behind the bed. Usually the call lights are on the bed. I sit up, try to get out of bed, and accidentally pull out the IV.
My arm’s bleeding. I press on my skin with the sheet. My head swims. I lie back down. I don’t want to pass out and go back to la-la land.
I have to go find Luna.
I’m better now. I climb over the bed rail safely, but hit the floor hard. It’s all right. I didn’t even break the cast on my arm. All I have to do is crawl a few feet. I become aware of the alarm of an emergency buzzer. Nurses rush into the room.
Then three nurses lift me and throw me into the bed. I could’ve done it by myself. I’m probably not wearing underwear.
“I have to go,” I say.
“You’re confused. You pulled out your IV.”
“I’m not confused.”
Somebody puts a tourniquet on my arm and sticks an IV into the vein. “See if he has anything ordered to relax him, and get the restraints.”
“You don’t need to tie me down. I’m relaxed. You don’t understand. I have to see Luna.”
“You’re all right, sweetie.”
“I am not a sweetie.”
“Check his oh-two sat. He’s probably hypoxic.”
“I am not hypoxic. I’m breathing fine. See?” I breathe. “Look at my face. Is it blue or pale? I’m getting plenty of oxygen.”
Then I’m given something to relax me.
I have an IV in one arm and a cast on the other.
The nurse hangs another bag of IV fluid and then looks at the TV. The news is on. There have already been stories about stolen food stamps, security at the airport, a murder, and a traffic accident.
Now an update on the tornadoes that swept through Flake after a category three hurricane struck the coast.
The day started hot and cloudy with thunderstorms in the forecast. Most of the residents of this small community were going about the business of the cleanup.
Then WKRY received a text message from David Hart, a survivor. It read, “Tornado on the ground.”
Some thought it was the end of the world when alarms went off, but residents had a few minutes to seek shelter.
By the end of the day, one unidentified person was confirmed dead. Five others were injured, and two remain in critical condition, but it could have been worse if David Hart had not sent the message. Our best wishes go out to him for a quick recovery.
“Hey,” I say to the nurse. It sounds like my throat is full of gravel. “Can you tell me about Luna Smith? Was she admitted here?”
She turns around. “So you’re awake. I heard that she was transported to another hospital.”
“Was she in critical condition?”
“I’m sorry, honey. I don’t know any details. You were brought here by helicopter without any identification. We were not sure who you were until the police found your backpack.”
Oh no. “How long have I been here?”
“Seven days. We’ve kept you sedated.”
“Then I can be discharged soon. I feel fine.”
She laughs. “You’re still under the influence of medication,” she says.
“Can you change the channel to music?” I ask.
In my dreams, I feel pain. Earlier I dreamed I was running toward the house, the tornado behind me, and I was falling. I want to dream some more and reset what happened.
“Hello,” I hear.
I turn my head and see a young Tyler dressed for battle. I blink a bunch of times. It’s all right. I’ve done this part of the game and lost.
“I heard about you on the news. You’re a hero.”
I blink again. “Okay,” I say like I’m drunk. It’s the drugs affecting my brain.
Tyler smiles. “You looked like a baby Darth Vader.”
“I’m glad to see you even if you’re a hallucination,” I tell Tyler.
“Me too,” he says and grins. He melts into the hospital curtains.
The next morning, my brain’s a little fuzzy, but you wouldn’t believe how glad I am to be alive. I turn my head and blink. A vampire’s sticking a needle into my hand because the IV is in my forearm. I’ve had so much blood drawn in my lifetime that I could fill the Gulf of Mexico, and I’ve had so many x-rays I probably glow in the dark.
Joe’s looking up at the ceiling. He never could stand the sight of blood. He’s dressed like he’s living on some sort of tropical island. His shirt looks like a morning sunrise.
I try to smile at the girl drawing the blood. I try to smile at most girls. She grabs an end of the rubber tourniquet, pulls on it, and pops it free of my arm. She places a bandage where the needle was and covers it with a pink elastic thing to hold it in place. She picks up her tray of tubes and needles. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
I kind of smile. I hope not.
“Will you untie me now?” I ask, alert and ready to get out of here.
“I’ll ask,” she says and leaves.
“What would you do, David?” Joe says. “Climb out of bed again? Keep getting into trouble?”
“I don’t have anything to do with acts of God,” I say. I have a watermelon-sized lump in my throat. I’d go see Luna. She’s surviving. I know she is. I feel her. “I want to see Luna.”
“You cannot. She’s at MD Anderson Cancer Center. It’s the best,” he says. “And she’s doing okay, but if you settle down and cooperate, I’ll call and get an update.”
“I will,” I say.
He unties my wrist. My arm in the cast isn’t tied down.
All of this feels like a movie where you’re scared the bad ending’s coming, but you keep hoping for a miracle. Kind of like the first time I watched
The Wizard of Oz
and I was scared of the witch and those flying monkeys. The thing is, all Dorothy ever had to do was click her heels, and she’d be home. The answer was right in front of her if she had looked down.
“What about the update?” I ask.
Joe leaves the room and returns a few minutes later.
He says Luna will be in the hospital a while. She’s scheduled for a bone marrow transplant.
“What?”
“She’s going to have a bone marrow transplant. Luna and your story of survival went viral. You did good.”
I didn’t actually do anything except call a radio station and then send the text messages. “When can I see her?”
“You’re in no condition to go anywhere, and she can’t see anybody for a while,” he says. He tells me she’s in a special unit where visitors aren’t allowed. Her immune system is weak. Her parents are with her. The transplant will be in three weeks. She’s getting chemo, and then on the day of the transplant, she’ll have full-body radiation. He explains that the day of the transplant is called Day 0. The next hundred days after the transplant will be a marathon for Luna and her parents.
I think Day 0 should be called the first day of the rest of your life.
Joe says I have my own marathon to run and not let anything get in my way.
“My mother came to see me.”
His eyebrows rise.
“She said she was sorry.”
Joe sighs. “Sorry, buddy. You were heavily drugged then, and you were confused.”
I think about this. I’m good with it. I have a new family now. I take a deep breath. “What about my grandparents? Didn’t they know?”
Joe shakes his head. “Your grandfather and dad had an argument. I think it was when you were a baby, and Carlee refused to let them see you. I don’t know the details, but your dad didn’t return home until the day he brought you to live with them.”
I figure I should forgive my mother and my father. I figure I don’t want to be mad forever at the way they are.
The next day, Spencer and Cameron show up. They’ve driven for hours to see me. I have a family. A good family.
I think I’ll still feel bad for what might have been.
I’m going to keep looking for my dad. I have questions only my dad can answer. I’ll find him one day. Finding my dad is all that’s left to do for Nana. I loved her, and she loved me, so it matters.
I talk to Joe about where I’ll go when I get out of the hospital. “Just listen,” I say to him. “Let me believe I have a choice.”
He nods. “Talk,” he says.
“I could get my own place. I could go to Nana’s house. I could go to the cabin. You know about it?”
“Yes,” he says. He went to check on the car and had it towed to be sold as scrap metal. The house lost the roof and the porch, but it can be rebuilt. If we’d been inside, we probably wouldn’t have survived.
“What do you want to do?” Joe says.
“I want to go home.”
I want to start over. My dad could find me there. People lose track of people when they move around too much.
Joe goes to get the car to pull to the front of the hospital, and then the nurse pushes a wheelchair into my room. “Ready to go?” she asks.
“Yes.” I get my backpack and put it into the wheelchair. I have been in the hospital way too long. I have to get back to living. It’s addicting. “I’m walking,” I tell the nurse. I don’t ever be want to be wheeled out of the hospital unless my heart’s quit beating.
In the car, I ask Joe where we’re going.
“Home,” he says. “But don’t get too excited. I’ll be living there. You’ll need me.”
“I know,” I say. “I understand. I’ll always need somebody. You’ve seen Scruffy, right? He’s a service dog. If I had a service dog, I can be more independent, and you can have your freedom too.” I take a deep breath. “Unless you want to go to college with me.”
Joe nods and smiles. We’ve come a long way, Joe and me.
“It will take months for a service dog to be trained,” I say.
“We’ll find an expert. You should list what exactly you want the dog to be able to do.”
“I will.” I look out the window and think about Luna. “What day is it?” I ask.
“Minus five,” he says, knowing why I’ve asked.
This means there are five days until the transplant.
We arrive at a small airport and board a private plane. After I’m seated, I decide I hate small planes. It’s like if you make the wrong move, you’ll fall out the side.
I open the door to the house, and I feel like I’m six years old again, and my dad’s bringing me here for the summer, but I ended up starting my life over.
This time, Veronica’s waiting for me. She’s recovered, but she needs to follow a diet and exercise plan. “I’ll be staying a while,” she says. I say she can start swimming with me.
When I think about it, each day I open my eyes, I’m starting over. I get another chance. And I wake up smarter.
A few minutes later, I head upstairs. I left Joe downstairs. He’s already looking at shelter dogs. He says we should find a homeless dog to train as a service dog.
I drop my bag onto the bed, sit on the floor and play my video game. It’s kind of hard with one arm in a cast, but it’s not impossible.
It’s crazy, but I’m happy to see Davy, Tyler, and the girl character. I finally give her a name. Rachel. I imagine my brain like one giant house with separate rooms for people I have loved.
Spencer shows up for dinner. He’ll be leaving for college soon, but he’ll be back for fall break.
It’s good to be home.
I go through the stuff Joe got out of my crushed car. I find my bucket list and update it.
It’s evening, and Joe and I are sitting at the kitchen table. He’s showing me pictures on his laptop of his trip to Belize. He’s standing on the beach between an elderly couple. He tells me they’re Grace’s parents, the girl he was going to marry. “It was their fiftieth wedding anniversary.” He says he visits them every year. Grace died the same year I came to live with my grandparents.
“I’m sorry you didn’t find your father,” Joe says. “We’ll keep trying.”
I nod. “Thank you,” I say. I’ll always remember my dad and my mom. A part of me will always yearn to know them.