“Sometimes my mom calls me Crazy-Daniel.”
I laughed. “Well, in that case….”
I stopped talking. Because one moment he was skipping along, laughing and talking, and the next he bent over, his arms across his stomach, and he let out a groan.
“Hey kid, you okay?” I asked.
Oh, crap. He was fading, just like Sarah, just like I had. I saw the floor right fucking through him, and he looked up at me, terrified.
“Ray?” he asked.
“Come on, kid. We gotta get going.” I picked him up, and half walked, half ran to the PICU with Daniel in my arms. He wasn’t heavy, and with just about every step I took he was getting lighter.
When we got to the PICU, I spied his parents. They were holding each other, and sobbing. Crap, crap crap, I thought. No. So I ran with Daniel in my arms, and burst into his room, and there was the kid.
He didn’t look like himself. Wasted away. His skin was almost grey. The doctors and nurses were surrounding him like a mob, the tiny little kid surrounded.
Sometimes, like with Speedy, there’s no time to make a choice. There’s no time to think, to react, to do anything.
But sometimes there is. Sometimes you look at a situation, and think about what could happen. I had ... maybe one second. I thought about everything I’d learned. I thought about what imagination and hope could accomplish. I thought about that little boy in Afghanistan with a bullet hole through his forehead, and the other little boy on this hospital bed—dying. And just like that, I made my choice.
I muttered, “Oh, God, Carrie, I’m so sorry.”
And then I did what I had to do.
You tell the truth (Carrie)
If I could tell you that I was in any way sane when I got back to the hospital I would. But I can’t. The court-martial was over. Ray was exonerated. But it was too late. When I got back to the hospital, they pulled me into a conference room. And all I could hear were the doctors saying the words crisis and asystole and brain death.
I screamed and fell apart, and somehow Dylan and Julia dragged me away from the intensive care unit, and down to the hotel, where I collapsed in a sobbing mess.
I lay there, crying all night off and on. For the first time since I was twelve years old, my big sister Julia slept in the bed with me, because I couldn’t take being alone. When the sun shone through the windows, I was numb.
How could I make a choice to end Ray’s life?
That’s what they wanted from me. Nothing less than to tear my own soul out. Early this afternoon, the doctors would test Ray again. Twenty-four hours, they said, before they can declare brain death. But it was a done deal. Whatever happened to Ray while I was at the court-martial, he no longer had any brain activity at all. The machines kept his heart pumping.
I closed my eyes. What would Ray do, if our positions were reversed?
Well, there was no doubt there. He’d do the right thing for me, and damn the cost to himself.
Very quietly, Julia said, “Are you awake?”
“I haven’t slept,” I responded.
“Oh, Carrie.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I said. “I think ... somehow I kept hoping. For a miracle. For something to make it all different.”
I turned and rested my head on my big sister’s shoulder, and said, “I wish ... I wish I could go back and change it. Change everything.”
She ran her fingers through my hair. “If I could take this pain from you, I would.”
I nodded. “I know. I’ll never forget it. But … what will I tell our daughter? Or son?”
Julia whispered, “You tell the truth. That he was the love of your life. That he was a hero. That in the end, he did the right thing, even though it cost him everything.”
I sniffed and put my arms around her.
“I think I want to go to the chapel this morning. And do some praying. Before I go see Ray.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I think that’s a good idea.”
So we slid out of the bed, I changed my clothes, and slowly, we walked the up to the hospital. It was another weird, beautiful day—the sky blue, the temperature just right—so much a lie when compared to how I felt inside. We walked past the old row houses, the traffic light for a Monday morning. Julia held my hand for the whole walk.
We walked up the steps to the side entrance of the main hospital building. An old, dirty baseball lay on the ground near the steps. And then we were inside, and I felt like I was walking into a tomb.
I wish (Ray)
It took me hours to get back to the room where my body was.
I was weak, incredibly weak. My body shook, shuddering with the pain. And the pain was alive; every part of me felt like I’d plugged myself into a light socket. I knew I didn’t have much time left. But I couldn’t just stop. I couldn’t let it go. Because I needed to see Carrie, if I could. I needed to tell her that I loved her, and that she ... that she needed to go on without me.
The kid was going to make it. I’d given him everything I had and then some. And when I crawled away from the pediatric ICU, his parents had fallen apart, collapsed with the knowledge that some kind of miracle had intervened and saved his life.
In the meantime, I had my own problems. I finally got back to my room, and collapsed in a heap next to the bed, not noticing the doctors frantically doing something to my body. There was a lot of noise and shouting and I don’t know what all. But it was hard to care right then. I just wanted to hold on until I could see Carrie again.
About an hour after that, I heard her. Screaming, frantically. I tried to get to her. I don’t know exactly what happened. I guess maybe the docs told her the condition I was in. But by the time I got my head out of the door, all I saw was Dylan and Julia hustling her away.
I rested my head against the doorframe, and thought how grateful I was she’d still have them to depend on.
I spent the night, staring up at the sky through four floors of hospital and the roof. That was pretty cool really. That I could look straight up and see the stars twinkling. Then the moon rose, and I gasped, because I hadn’t seen it like that, so full and amazing, since I left Afghanistan.
Growing up on Long Island like I did, you don’t appreciate the sky, because it’s mostly featureless. I had no idea there were so many stars in the sky until the Army sent me halfway across the world, to a place where there weren’t any artificial lights for miles and miles and miles. A place where the sky was so crowded with stars you couldn’t see a spot without them, a place where falling stars were commonplace at night, because there were no lights to wash them out and make them invisible.
I drifted. It wasn’t exactly sleep. I don’t know what it was. I just wasn’t paying much attention, until a nurse came through, and not noticing my head in the doorway, stepped right on my face. I didn’t feel anything, but it freaked me out anyway. I was feeling slightly better. So very slowly, I climbed up on to the bed, which wasn’t really any more comfortable, because there was a body there. But better than nothing, I guess.
And I waited. Because I knew she would come.
But it wasn’t Carrie who came first. It was Dylan Paris.
Not long after sunrise, he strolled in the room, all alive and shit. But he didn’t look good. He slumped down into the chair next to me. And he didn’t say anything for a long time. He just watched me. Studying me.
After about ten minutes, he said, “I don’t know if you can hear me, Ray, but ... I’ve got a couple things to say.” He looked down at the floor and ran his hands through his hair, which had gotten pretty long since he became a college boy.
“I just need you to know ... I’ve ... never in my life looked up to anyone like I look up to you. You’ve been ... the best friend I’ve ever had. More than that really. And I just need you to know ... well…”
He sighed, and looked away, then back at me, and his eyes were red. He struggled to find words, his jaw working in frustration.
“Damn it, Ray. They said y
ou’re …” his face tightened, as he struggled to say the words.
“Brain dead,” he finally burst out. “And ... that this is it. I just need you to know that we’ll take care of Carrie for you. I promise you that. If Alex and I have to quit school and move to Washington, we’ll do it. No matter what it takes.”
I tried to say something. To reach out to him. To let him know that it was okay. But I just didn’t have the energy. There was nothing left.
He stood up, abruptly, and said, “Ah, shit!” He savagely wiped his sleeve across his face, and his voice broke as he said, “I love you, Weed. Christ, I wish it hadn’t ended like this.”
And then he staggered out.
I stared up at the ceiling. That went well, I guess. Jesus Christ.
A while later my parents came by. It was a fucking mess, and I was tired. And then the doctors came, and ran a bunch of tests, and muttered amongst themselves, and wrote on notebooks, and I don’t know what all. But I heard one of them loud and clear say, “Brain death is confirmed.”
Well, shit.
It wasn’t long after that a nurse led Carrie into the room.
She had dark circles under her eyes, and somehow looked both younger and older than she’d ever been. Like a little girl who had lost everything in the world. I wanted to touch her, and tell her I was sorry. I wanted to make everything all right for her. But I couldn’t. That was a choice I guess I’d made too.
She slid over to the bed, and then I almost gasped, because she climbed right up on it, resting her head on my body’s shoulder. And she closed her eyes, and tears started pouring out of them.
“I promised myself I wouldn’t fall apart in here with you,” she said.
I took a deep breath. You don’t have to promise that, babe.
She wiped her face, then said, “I don’t know how to say goodbye, Ray. I don’t know how to go on from here. But ... there’s some things I need to tell you.”
She opened her eyes, and I looked closely at them. They were bloodshot, but they were her eyes, so swimmingly beautiful it almost hurt.
“So, you weren’t there, but the court-martial ended yesterday. And you were acquitted.” She sniffed. “Which is good because… we’re going to have a baby, Ray. I was going to tell you Saturday. I wasn’t for sure yet, and wanted to go with you and get a test ... but you know what happened. So we’re going to have a little boy, or a little girl. Our baby is going to grow up without you and I don’t know how to deal with that.”
I shuddered and closed my eyes. Oh, Jesus that made me want to cry. Not for me. But for her. For the life that was in her. I’d have done almost anything, almost, to be able to be there for that child and for her. I was going to be a father. It was an amazing thought. A terrifying thought. And ... it broke my heart. Because I wasn’t going to be there for that kid, or for Carrie.
She sobbed. “I want to tell you a story. When I was younger, in high school and college, I used to fantasize that one day I’d meet someone who would be perfect for me. A soul mate. Someone who treated me like I mattered to them more than anything else. Someone who was a hero, who told the truth, and did the right thing, and who I could live with forever. Someone I loved.”
She sniffed and said, “But it was just that. It was a fantasy. I know life is a struggle. I know ... we don’t always get what we want. And in some ways I had everything I could ask for. A career I love. The best sisters in the world. And then I met you ... and everything was ... perfect. I thought I had my happy ending.”
She closed her eyes, and put her arms around what was left of me, and said, “It’s not fair. It’s not fair that I just found you and I have to lose you. It’s not fair at all. But I’m going to make a couple of promises, Ray. Promises to you, and promises to me.”
She started to shake, hard, her whole body shuddering, and she said, “I promise I’ll be a good mother to our child. I’ll be there for her, and tell her the right things. I’ll listen to her problems and sing her songs at night and I’ll teach her to be strong. I’ll tell her about you. I’ll tell her that her father did the right thing, always. That when it really counted, you told the truth, and you inspired other people to do the right thing too.”
She sobbed and said, “And I promise I won’t be like ... I won’t make her miserable either. I’ll teach her to love you and remember you but not to let it overshadow her life. Because I know you wouldn’t do that. You’d want her to be strong.”
She stared up at the ceiling for a minute. “Sarah says she refuses to go back to San Francisco. She’s got this crazy idea in her head that she promised you she’d take care of me, and so she’s staying here when she gets out of the hospital, and Mom is too.” She shook her head. “I almost believe her. About the promise. Because I can almost feel you here. Not in your body, but somehow ... all around.”
Oh, God. I don’t see how Sarah could remember that. But I was glad all the same.
She turned, away from the ceiling, and her eyes searched my face again. “The doctors say you aren’t in there any more. I wish you were. I wish ... ”
She closed her eyes, and a gentle, tiny smile formed on her face, and she said again, “I wish.”
Me too, babe. Me too.
Tears were still pouring out of her blue-green eyes. She said, “Do you remember when we went skydiving? I was so scared. Right before we stepped out of that plane, I thought I was going to die if I took another step. But you smiled at me, and said I could do it. And because you believed in me, I did too. And it was amazing. I touched the sky, and you at the same time. I’ll never forget that. I’ll never forget flying, with our hands touching. And when she’s old enough, I’ll take our little girl, or boy or whatever. I’ll teach them to touch the sky too. I promise.”
I’m not the best person in the world at expressing my emotions. But seriously that was too much. I was crying too, and without thinking I reached out and touched her arm and said, “God, I love you, Carrie.”
She froze, her eyes huge.
There was no way she could hear me.
I didn’t care. I leaned forward, putting my lips to her ears, and I said, “Do what you have to do, babe. I know. I know this is hard; it’s harder for you. But I love you. I’ll always love you. I’ll be thinking about you wherever I am. But you’ve got to make me one more promise. You need to go on with your life. Don’t you dare give up. Don’t fall apart. I want you to be happy, to live a decent, real, happy life. I want you to make it matter, okay? Please? And you tell that little boy or little girl that I love them and I’ll always be watching from wherever I am.”
I know she couldn’t hear me. But she nodded, just once, all the same. And so I leaned close, and I kissed her on the lips, one last time, one last kiss, and I could feel her, right there. I could feel her. Her eyes were closed, and maybe, just maybe, she felt me too.
Then, with a quiet sob, she slipped away.
I closed my eyes. I could feel the sun washing over me, right through the building. I shuddered a little.
I heard the doctors talking, then a click, and another click, and for the first time since I’d come in this room the respirator stopped its sound. Then there was a low tone, a long electronic beep, and then someone switched that off too. Then they were gone, and Carrie was back with me. She was holding my hand, tears pouring from her eyes, as she leaned forward and kissed me goodbye.
The thing I’d been waiting for (Ray)
Stephanie Hicks came to the funeral.
My funeral.
I’m not sure I expected that. I’m not sure what I expected. But when Carrie saw her, and they met each other’s eyes, they both burst into tears. And then they were hugging each other and weeping. And I don’t care what anyone thinks, I’m grateful Carrie forgave her and treated her like what she was: just another victim of the war. I’m hoping the two of them will be friends. I think they both need it, and there’s not going to be anyone else under the sun who will understand them the way they’ll understand each other.
My mom and Carrie made some peace with each other. I think Carrie understands Mom was crazy with fear and grief. After my funeral, they sat together for hours, talking and crying. I won’t lie; it was awful to watch it. And I doubt they’ll ever get along well. But they’re tied to each other now, by me, and by the baby growing in Carrie’s body.
My son or daughter. Who I’ll never meet, or hold in my arms. Sometimes I watch Carrie, and even though I know she’s going to be a great mom, it makes me want to break down that I can’t be there for her, with her. That I can’t take some of the load off her shoulders, that I can’t whisper in her ear that it’s all going to be okay.
I’ve been fading away, trying to preserve my strength, because I wanted to have time to see what happened with Carrie. But I don’t think I’m going to have time. I can feel it, every minute. The pressure to close my eyes, and ... move on. To what, I don’t know. But the warmth I feel, every minute of every day, emanating from the sky ... somehow I don’t think it’s going to be so bad.
Being a ghost has its advantages. Once my body died, I was freed a little bit. The pain stopped, and I found myself able to get around a little better. I got to watch as Daniel recovered. Miraculous, his doctors said. When he first woke up, they were predicting brain damage, mobility problems for years. But he seemed to be recovering far better than anyone had anticipated. And I guess if I had to try to balance things out and decide if it was worth it, I’d have to say yes. Because he was smiling and joking with his dad when he left the hospital. And talking about Spiderman.
It was almost four weeks before Sarah got out of the hospital. They closed up her wounds on the fourth day, but a bad staph infection forced them to reopen the leg. They finally got it under control. I was hanging out in her room about a week later when the EMT she molested, Eddie Vasquez, walked in. Sarah’s eyes went wide when he introduced himself. I still don’t know if she remembers anything. But I had the feeling those two were going to see each other again.
The Last Hour Page 41