Sudden Impact (3 page)

I looked him straight in the eyes, but he turned back to his wife. “Now go on home. We don't need you here, and you're upsetting my wife.”

I saw a doctor walking our way. He had a clipboard.

“Can you tell me how Kurt Richards is doing?” I asked him. I wanted to hear the news straight from the doctor, not just from Kurt's dad.

He looked at his clipboard then up at me. “Who are you?”

“His friend,” I said. Why didn't I have a right to know something?

But already two hands had grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me roughly aside. Kurt's father pointed a finger toward the elevator, and I backed away.

“Any news?” he asked the doctor.

“He's stable for now,” the doctor said.

“Good,” said his father. “Then everything is going to be okay.” He said it like it was all over and life was going to shift back to normal.

Somehow I knew better. I had a feeling that Kurt's father was trying to convince himself and his wife that there was no further danger. And that wasn't what I had seen in the doctor's eyes.

Still, I couldn't stand another confrontation. I slipped onto the elevator and left.

Six days went by, and no one would tell me a thing. Kurt's parents hung up when I called. I tried getting up to the third floor in the hospital again, but each time I tried someone told me that since I wasn't family I wasn't allowed.

Nobody at school knew anything. The story going around was that Kurt was getting better and he just had to stay in the hospital for “a while.” It was one of the hardest weeks
of my life. I flunked every test that came my way and couldn't read three lines in a book without forgetting what I had just read.

Then I was at my locker after fifth period and who shows up but Jason, chewing bubble gum. “So, are you going to be there for the unveiling of the new improved Kurt Richards today?” he asked. Then he blew a pink bubble in my face.

“What are you talking about?”

Jason sucked the gum back in and it caught on his cheek. He tried to untangle it from the puny growth of hair on his top lip. “We're invited to visit the fallen hero,” he said sarcastically, “the living legend of the soccer field who didn't even last one game into the season.”

I could have slapped the smirk off his face. “Who invited you?”

“His mom.”

It figures, I thought. Leave it to her to invite a dork like Jason and not me. But it sounded like good news to me anyway. It meant Kurt was improving. I heaved a sigh of relief.

“What time?” I asked.

“Three-thirty.”

“What room?”

Jason took out a slip of paper and read the number. “Three fifty-seven.” Then he popped his gum into the slip of paper, wadded it up and batted it with the palm of his hand across the hallway. “Should be good for a laugh,” he said.

I slammed the locker in his face and walked away. I should have been mad at the jerk, but all I could think about was going to see Kurt. I would be there, invited or not. My heart jumped up in my throat.

I got to the waiting room at three-thirty and, this time, no one stopped me. When I walked off the elevator I heard the snickering first; then I saw Wicket, Jason, Dorfman and Leach—all guys from the team. None of them were really good friends of Kurt's. Kurt was a loner like me. That was why we had always understood each other so well.

“Hi Tina,” Wicket said, trying to be polite.

“Thought you weren't invited,” Jason teased. He knew there was tension between Kurt's
folks and me. I said nothing. Jason was hugging his motorcycle helmet like he'd been doing all week at school. He had just got his license and his parents had bought him a spanking new Kawasaki. Carrying around the helmet was his way of gloating over his new toy in front everyone—Kurt included, I suppose.

The door to room 357 opened and Kurt's father walked out. “Thanks for coming, guys.” I hid behind Wicket. “Come on in. Kurt's anxious to see you.”

I slinked in last and stood near the back of the room, avoiding Kurt's father. Mrs. Richards wasn't around, thank God.

Then I saw him, propped up in bed. I almost didn't recognize him. His face looked sort of yellow and his eyes were sunken in. He had a tube going up his nose and another going into his arm. Everything was secured with white tape and the tubes were hooked up to dripping bottles. Kurt tried to smile but had a hard time faking that he was happy to see everybody.

Nobody said anything and then Jason pointed to another clear plastic sack that
was suspended from a hanger at the bottom of the bed. It was connected to a tube that came from under the covers on the bed.

“How's it going, dude?” Dorfman asked.

Kurt coughed and cleared his throat. “No homework. No responsibilities. It's like a vacation,” he said. There was little energy in his voice.

Kurt hadn't seen me yet. I was still hiding. If Mr. Richards was going to throw me out, I wanted to be able to hang around as long as I could before he did.

“Did we win?” Kurt asked. Everybody knew what he meant.

“Nah,” Jason answered. “We lost by one goal. If you'd made your shot it would have been a tie.” Good old Jason wanted to rub it in, even now.

“Easy, dude,” Dorfman said, putting an elbow in Jason's ribs, then turning to Kurt he asked, “When you getting out?”

Kurt shrugged. His father interjected, “We don't know for sure when he can leave. His liver has been badly damaged. He's still bleeding inside.”

“Gross,” Leach responded.

“Tough break,” Jason said. “Hard to stay in shape when you're in a hospital bed.” He flexed his muscles like he was trying to make the most of it. Dorfman smacked him on the side of the head.

“How's school?” Kurt asked, sounding like he was half interested, half asleep. Maybe it was the drugs. He might have been on painkillers.

Nobody knew what to say. They shuffled their feet and stared down at the floor. The room grew quiet
—
too quiet. The silence was broken by the sound of liquid dripping down a tube and emptying into a plastic bag. Jason nodded toward it to draw every-one's attention. Kurt didn't notice. I think he was fading off to sleep.

We all looked at the tube coming out from under the sheet. It was clear and the fluid inside it was a sickly yellow with streaks of red.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” Leach said and looked around the room for a good place to puke. All he found was a trashcan.
He threw himself over it and heaved out his lunch.

Wicket and Dorfman looked like they were about to do the same. They held their noses and ran for the door. Leach followed, his head hung over in embarrassment. Only Jason and I stood there. Jason had a stupid grin on his face like he thought it was all happening for his personal entertainment. I shoved him toward the door and he took the hint.

I'm not sure if Kurt knew what had freaked out the guys. And I don't know if he knew that I wasn't supposed to be there, but he noticed me for the first time. So did his dad. Mr. Richards was about to speak, but I fired a look at him that would fry meat. He stayed quiet.

I walked to Kurt's side and he held up his hand. I grabbed onto it and gave a squeeze. He squeezed back, but he didn't seem to have much strength. I leaned over and put my cheek next to his. I closed my eyes and realized he was crying when I felt his tears run down my cheek. “Thanks for coming, Tina,” he said in a whisper. “Stay with me.”

When I opened my eyes, I saw Mr. Richards carry the trashcan full of vomit out of the room. He closed the door quietly behind him.

After that, nobody tried to stop me from visiting Kurt. I still didn't feel comfortable when Kurt's mother was there. I guess she was trying to be nice to me, but she really got on my nerves.

“You're such a loyal friend,” she'd say in a haughty voice. But the way she said it sounded like an insult. I wanted to say something to her, but I just kept my mouth shut.

“Kurt's improving nicely,” Mr. Richards would say. But that wasn't quite the way I saw it.

When they were out of the room, I'd say to Kurt, “Squeeze my hand. Hard.” This was my little test to try and figure out if he really was getting better.

He'd squeeze, but there wasn't much to it. He was still pretty weak. And he seemed depressed.

“I know what you must be feeling,” I said to him ten days after he had first arrived in the hospital. I'd said it to him before, but today things were different.

“No you don't,” he snapped back. “You don't know what it's like at all.”

I felt a little hurt.

“This whole situation stinks. It shouldn't have happened to me.” He was really angry.

“No, it shouldn't have,” I said. “You'll get better.”

“I think it's the hospital. The longer I stay here, the more I think I'll never get out. They just keep me here so they can keep the
hospital in business. If I just had a chance to get outside, to go home, I'd get better. I know it.”

The door opened and two doctors came in. They were very calm and quiet. They checked the chart on the bed and then one of the monitors beside the bed I recognized Dr. Bennington, the young doctor who had been in Emergency when Kurt had arrived. He'd been a regular, but the other guy was new. Something was up.

While they were in the room, Kurt seemed angrier. The doctors always made him mad. When the door closed behind them, he whispered to me, “They don't know what they're doing. If they did, they'd have me fixed up by now.”

“I'll be right back,” I said. I decided to talk to Bennington myself. Maybe Kurt's parents knew the whole truth. But I knew Kurt didn't, and I sure as heck didn't have all the facts.

I don't usually sneak up on people and snoop, but Bennington and his buddy were standing at the nursing station desk with
their backs to me. No one else was around. Bennington was pointing at Kurt's chart, which was in his hand.

I crept up silent as a cat and ducked behind the nurse's station.

“I estimate that the liver is only working at about twenty-five percent,” Bennington said. “He's going to have to stay in treatment for a long while, maybe indefinitely.”

The other doctor disagreed. “I don't think that's going to do it. In fact, I think that his confinement here is dragging him down. Look at these other indications. I don't think we're doing enough. Besides, he needs continual transfusions and he's got B-negative blood. Our supplies are running low. Have you been able to use blood from his family?”

“No luck there. I already tested them. We're going to have to put a call out for more blood. But aside from that, what else can we do?” Bennington asked.

“Only one thing to do,” the other doctor said. “I don't think we have much choice.”

I felt a cold wave of panic come over me.
I didn't really understand what they were saying, but it sounded scary.

“But look at the blood type,” Bennington said. “You realize how hard it will be to find a matching donor?”

“Without a transplant, he could die. In fact, I'd say the odds are good that he will die without one. Even if he stays hooked up to everything we can muster and even if we can keep him stocked in fresh blood, he's in very bad shape.”

That's when the day nurse rounded the corner and bumped into me. She started to curse, and I straightened myself and said I was sorry. Bennington immediately recognized me and realized I had overheard their discussion.

“What are you doing?” the nurse asked me. “You're not allowed back here. Now get.”

I ignored her.

“What do you need to save Kurt?” I asked Dr. Bennington point blank. I wasn't sure I fully understood what they were talking about. Something about a transplant, but I didn't understand the rest.

Bennington took off his glasses. “You don't miss much, do you?”

“No,” I said. “Is Kurt gonna die?”

“Not if we can help it. We'll do everything we can. Today I'll put out a call to hospitals all over the East for a possible donor.”

“What about me?” I asked, not knowing what I was saying.

Bennington shook his head. “Each of us only has one liver. And you can't live without it. Sorry. The donor has to be dead. The blood type has to be a match and we need permission to harvest the organ.”

I felt like everything was collapsing around me.

“But we do need blood,” the other doctor said. I think he had seen my despair. “What's your blood type?”

I shrugged.

He pulled a notepad out of his pocket, scratched down something and handed it to me. “Two flights down. They only take a little blood. It doesn't hurt.”

I took the paper and headed to the elevator. My head was dizzy. I prayed that I had
the right blood type. I'd give as many pints as I could if it helped keep Kurt alive. I turned around, realizing Kurt would wonder why I had not come back.

“Don't worry,” Bennington said. “I'll tell your boyfriend you'll be back later.”

I decided not to explain that I wasn't Kurt's girlfriend. I just cared for him, that's all. And I wanted him to get better.

I lay there with my eyes closed and prayed that it would come out right, that I would have the right match—B negative, whatever that meant.

After I sat for twenty minutes in a waiting room looking at magazines a nurse returned with a form. “Take this back to Dr. Bennington,” she said. The envelope was sealed.

In the elevator, I ripped the envelope open. I couldn't wait. I didn't understand
most of it but there it was— “Blood type: O positive.” I wouldn't be able to donate my blood to help Kurt. When I found Bennington and handed him the ripped-open envelope, he could tell by the look on my face that I wasn't going to be a blood donor.