“I believe that is technically true.”
She broke into a grin. “But who cares. ’Cos that was awesome.” She put up her hand for a high five.
“I’d better let Mr. Chernov know. He’ll need to hire someone new.”
“He could hire a mop and it would be a step up from Dmitry,” she said.
Which was both funny and true.
* * *
—
I arrived at work early the next morning, since I was scheduled for a double shift. The weather had turned nasty again, snowing a lot in the night, one last reminder of winter, even though technically it was spring. I didn’t have a chance to shovel our walk or Sal’s before I left.
I changed into my uniform. When I came out to the front, Mr. Chernov was sitting at one of the tables. “Mr. Chernov, hello. You must have gotten my text.”
“I did. You fired Dmitry.”
“Yes.” The doors opened and Mitzi stepped inside, bringing a gust of cold air with her.
“Oh, hi, Mr. Chernov—” she began.
He held up a hand to stop her, his gaze fixed on me. “Why, exactly, did you fire him?”
I felt a surge of confidence, and I ran with it. “There were a number of reasons. He was the laziest person I’ve ever met.”
“Really.”
“Really. He barely did any work while he was here. Plus, he didn’t take instructions. He showed up late and left early. He was disrespectful to me and the other employees.”
“Go on.”
“Honestly, sir, he was a total jerk.”
“A jerk, huh.” He drummed his fingers on the table.
“I know you value hard work—”
“And family.”
“Of course. His family must let him get away with murder. They clearly haven’t raised him with core values and ethics. He’s one of the most entitled people I’ve ever met.”
“Really.”
I nodded.
Mr. Chernov had a vein in his forehead that throbbed when he got angry. It was pulsating right now, big-time. “What is my last name?”
“Chernov.”
“What is Dmitry’s last name?”
I thought for a moment; his badge just said Dmitry. “I’m not sure I’ve ever asked—”
“Chernov, you moron! His last name is Chernov! I’m his dad!”
Oh, crap.
“That total jerk is my son. So, since I’m the only one who can actually fire people, who do you think I’m going to keep, and who do you think I’m going to let go, effective immediately?”
I glanced at Mitzi, who stood frozen in the doorway. “Well, I’d like to think that you’re motivated more by good business sense than by nepotism, so I’m going to say your son?”
“BAH!!!” he said, imitating a game show buzzer. “Wrong answer. You’re fired. Give me your badge and get the hell out of my store.”
I felt numb. “But, sir—I’m a Submarine Sandwich Creation PhD—”
“A made-up title that means diddly-squat! What kind of idiot takes on more work for not one cent more on his hourly wage?”
My ears were ringing. Mr. Chernov stood with his hand out, tapping his foot impatiently. My fingers fumbled at the clasp on my badge. I couldn’t get them to work properly.
Mitzi approached. She took the badge off for me. She placed it into my hand, giving it a squeeze. “I wish I could quit in solidarity, Wilbur,” she whispered. “But I need the money.”
I handed my badge to Mr. Chernov. “Can I have my pay for the past two weeks—”
“Nope. No can do. The money you’re owed will just about cover your uniform.”
“But—I don’t want the uniform. Why would I want the uniform?”
“You clearly didn’t read the fine print in your contract. Uniform belongs to you.”
“But I’m owed a few hundred dollars—”
“Uniform’s worth about that much.”
“Mr. Chernov. There is no way—”
“So hire a lawyer and sue me! Now get the hell out of here! GO!”
My stores of confidence were used up. I was too shocked to keep fighting.
I went to the back and grabbed my stuff. Then I walked out of Foot Long for the very last time.
The Charlie Brown Christmas theme music was playing through the speakers, like it had been cued up just for me.
* * *
—
When I got home, Templeton greeted me by dragging his butt across the floor. I groaned. “Oh, Templeton. I love you. But why right now? Why?”
Mum was at her laptop in the kitchen. She wore a pink wig and tons of makeup and a barely-there neon orange top with a black leather miniskirt; she was just home from an overnight on a low-budget horror flick. “How’d the shoot go?” I asked.
“Fine, I guess. I mean, as fine as it can be, playing Hooker #4 in yet another piece of misogynist crap.”
I couldn’t resist. “Did you feel like you prostituted yourself?”
“Ha-ha. Hilarious.” She pulled off the wig and looked up from her laptop. “Ah, well. They went long, so at least I’ll be paid overtime—” She stopped, giving me a puzzled look. “Why are you home? And in your uniform? I thought you were working until six today?”
I took a deep breath. “I got fired.” I told her the entire story. My eyes got a little watery, to tell the truth. She stood up and put her arms around me.
“Oh, Wil. Your boss sounds like a jerk.”
“I was good at my job, Mum. I really was.”
“I don’t doubt it for a second.”
Then the worst part of all of this hit me. “Mr. Chernov owes me a lot of money. He says he isn’t going to pay it.”
“What?”
“I still owe Mr. P five hundred dollars, and we’re supposed to go to Paris in less than two weeks.”
“He will pay you. We’ll make sure of that. But it might not be before you leave.” She thought for a moment. “We’ll figure this out, pickle. Mup’s out driving Uber, but when she gets back…Just—let me get some sleep in the meantime, clear my head.” She looked so tired.
She headed upstairs for a nap. I didn’t feel like being alone, so I knocked three times on the wall.
Sal didn’t knock back. This didn’t surprise me; as far as he knew, I was still at work.
I texted him.
Can I come over?
No response.
Je peux venir chez vous?
Still no response. I figured he was probably out and about, enjoying his Sunday.
Then I remembered all the fresh snow, and the fact that I still hadn’t shoveled his walk.
I went to the front door and looked outside. There were no footprints to or from his front door.
I got a bad feeling.
I tucked Templeton under my arm, grabbed Sal’s spare key, and went next door. I knocked.
There was no answer.
He’d had pinochle the night before; I’d seen a cab drop him back at home at around ten p.m.
He had to be in the house.
I knocked again and rang the bell. “Sal?”
I let myself in. “Sal?”
No answer. I walked toward the kitchen. “If this is another intervention—”
Sal was lying on the linoleum floor.
I put Templeton down. We both rushed to him. I dropped to my knees and put a finger on his neck to check for a pulse.
There wasn’t one.
* * *
—
The next ten minutes were the longest of my life.
I opened Sal’s mouth and felt around to check if his airway was clear.
Then I fumbled for my phone and hit Emergency Call.
I started to perform CPR, or what I remembered of CPR from a babysitt
ing course I’d taken when I was eleven.
“This is 911, do you need police, fire, or ambulance—”
“Ambulance. My friend—I think he’s had a heart attack. He’s not breathing.”
“All right, sir, what’s the address?”
I told her. “I’m doing CPR but I’m not sure I’m doing it right.”
“Stay on the line, okay. I’ll walk you through it. Ambulance is on its way.”
She was really calm and really clear. I followed her instructions. I tilted his head back and covered his mouth with mine. Two breaths followed by thirty compressions. Two breaths, thirty compressions. I don’t know how many times I repeated this. It felt like hundreds.
It also felt like ages before the paramedics came through the front door, but I was told later it was only six minutes.
They used a defibrillator on Sal. I stood back, hearing the thwack as it sent electrical currents to his heart. Templeton whimpered, and peed a little. I wanted to whimper and pee a little, too. I picked him up. It all felt like a terrible dream. Then Mum was beside me. The three of us held on to each other as the paramedics lifted Sal onto a stretcher and wheeled him to the ambulance. “Can I come with you?” I asked.
“Sorry, not enough room. We’re taking him to Toronto General. You can follow us there.”
Then the back doors closed, and the ambulance drove away.
“They didn’t put on the siren,” I said.
Which seemed like a really bad sign.
Sunk into a pit of darkness
Feeling dazed and comatose
Working at attempting normal
Impossible to even get close
From “Living Nightmare” by Wilbur Nuñez-Knopf
Mum and I stood on the sidewalk, both of us barefoot. We stood there until we could no longer feel our feet. Then Mum said, “I’ll call Mup. She’ll drive us to the hospital.”
Mup picked us up ten minutes later. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” I noticed she was driving a little faster than she should. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she said again, as if repeating it enough times would make it true.
We waited at the hospital for a long time.
Eventually, a doctor came out to see us. “You’re Sal Goldstein’s family?”
“Yes,” I said, which didn’t feel like a lie.
“No,” said Mup. “But we’re like family.”
“Does he have any family members we should contact?”
Mum shook her head. “Not that we know of. His wife predeceased him. We’re his next-door neighbors.”
“Are you the ones who found him?”
“Our son did.”
The doctor turned her gaze on me. “Your timing was impeccable, young man. If you’d been five minutes later…” She let us figure out the rest of that sentence ourselves. “You saved his life.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“He’s not out of the woods yet. He’s in the ICU.”
“Can we see him?” asked Mum.
“He’s heavily sedated. I suggest you come back tomorrow.”
I didn’t want to leave, but the Mumps convinced me that it would be better for all of us if we got some rest. On the way home, I texted Alex to tell him what had happened.
By the time we pulled up outside our house, Alex was waiting for us. “Wil. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe it,” he said. We hugged. We cried. The Mumps ordered pizza from our favorite pizza joint, but nobody ate much.
Early the next morning, Alex stopped by to take Templeton out for a walk. The Mumps gave him a note to give to the office, explaining why I’d be missing school; then the three of us headed back to the hospital.
Sal was still in the ICU.
He looked like a tiny little bird. Tubes ran out of his nose and his arms. His eyes stayed closed. I don’t think he had any idea that we were there. I squeezed his hand. “I love you, Sal. Please get well.” Then I started blubbering again and the nurse suggested it was time for us to go.
When I got home, I broke one of Alex and Fab’s rules and called Charlie. “Wilbur, this is so sad. It is like a bad dream,” she said through tears. “I am so sorry. I wish I was there. For Sal but also for you.”
We talked for a long time. She asked me to keep her posted, and I promised I would.
Fab and Alex came over later. “He’s going to get better,” said Fab, and even though none of us knew if that was true or not, we tried hard to believe it. “And when he gets better, there is no reason why he shouldn’t look his best.”
We let ourselves into Sal’s house with my spare key. The three of us filled a leather bag with things we thought he might like to have. “We must bring one of his old-timey sweaters,” said Fab. “The one with the elbow patches.”
“And his fuzzy pink slippers, he loves those slippers,” said Alex.
“And his gray fedora, just in case,” I said. I also picked one of his favorite books, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon, and added my own favorite, my worn copy of Charlotte’s Web. We added the photo of him and Irma in Paris, clean underwear, a toothbrush, and his shaving kit.
All three of us went to the hospital the next day. We were greeted with good news: Sal had been moved to a regular ward. He was in a semiprivate room with a man who moaned a lot.
Sal already had company; Ruth Gimbel sat in the chair beside his bed, knitting. I’d only ever seen her in her swimsuit and bathing cap; her hair towered above her head in a sculpted beehive. She wore a floral print dress with big white orthopedic running shoes. “Wilbur, hello,” she whispered. Sal was sleeping. He still looked really frail, but there was a little more color in his face.
“Hi, Ruth.” I introduced her to Fabrizio and Alex.
At the sound of our voices, Sal’s eyes fluttered open. He broke into a smile. “Hey. It’s the Three Musketeers.”
We showed him the bag we’d brought. He seemed particularly happy to see the photo of Irma, and we placed it on his bedside table. After a few minutes a nurse came in and told us there were too many of us in the room. “Maximum two visitors at a time,” he admonished.
“I need to go to school this afternoon anyway,” said Alex. “I have a math test.” Alex and Fab said their goodbyes. Ruth stayed planted in the one and only chair.
Sal turned to me. “I hear you saved my life.”
“I just did what anyone would do.”
“That is patently untrue. Most people would freeze, or panic. You didn’t. For a kid who thinks he doesn’t have a lot of courage, this puts that lie to rest.”
I took his hand. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me too!” He managed a weak laugh, and then he started to cough.
Ruth leapt up and tried to get him to have some water from a sippy cup. “Now, Sal, don’t overexert yourself—”
“Ruth, why don’t you go get yourself something to eat in the cafeteria,” Sal said.
“I’m good, I brought some knishes—”
“Ruth. Give Wilbur and me a bit of time alone, please.”
Reluctantly, Ruth left, her big white orthopedic shoes squeaking with every step.
“That woman,” said Sal. “Her heart is in the right place but she’s making me crazy. The twins came by, too. Leah and Alice. Brought me enough cinnamon buns to feed a small army.”
“You’re a hot commodity.”
He started to laugh.
And I started to cry.
Sal put his gnarled hand on top of mine. “Why the waterworks? I’m here thanks to you.”
“You could have died. In fact I think you were dead when I came into the house—”
“Well then, this is the best possible outcome, isn’t it?”
“Of course. It’s just—” I couldn’t finish my thought.
“It
’s just that it made you realize I will die.”
I nodded, still sniffling.
“Wilbur. I have had a rich, long, full life. I’m not afraid of my death. And if I’m not afraid of it, you shouldn’t be, either.”
“But I’ll miss you so much.”
“Good. It will be nice to be missed by someone when the time comes.” He managed another weak smile. I could tell he was getting tired.
“I should let you rest.”
“I suppose so.” He smiled again. “Have you started packing for your trip yet? You leave in a week and a half, right?”
“Well, no.”
There was a pause. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not going. Not now.”
Sal closed his eyes, and for a moment I thought he’d fallen back to sleep. When he opened them again, he looked angry. “No. No, no, no. No way do you get to use me as your excuse not to go. I won’t hear of it. Of course you’re going.”
“But—”
He gripped my hand with an alarming amount of strength, given the circumstances. “These past couple of months with you and your friends have been some of the finest of my life, Wilbur. Certainly the finest since Irma passed away. I refuse to see all of our hard work go to waste. So if you don’t want to do it for you, do it for me. And write me a real letter. It’s a dying art.” He let go of my hand. “It will give me something to look forward to.”
What could I say? I wasn’t about to tell him that I’d lost my job and I didn’t have enough money for the trip. I just nodded and headed for the door. Sal’s voice made me turn back.
“We’re born, we live a little while, we die.”
It took me a moment.
He’d quoted Charlotte from Charlotte’s Web, just before she died.
Which made me start crying all over again.
* * *
—
I went to school for the rest of the day in a fog. Tyler shouted something at me in the corridor, but it barely registered.
When I got home, Mum was in the kitchen in an old pair of overalls, staining an old chair she’d found in the back alley to sell on Etsy. She’d visited Sal that afternoon. “I think that woman Ruth has moved in!”
Tremendous Things Page 13