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 yo
ur 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.
Graduate from high school. Graduate from college.
Meet a girl I really like.
Live in my own apartment where somebody’s not watching me all the time. Live here with Joe. Make a list of what I need in a service dog, find the right dog for me, and hire a trainer.
Find a job. Get another job.
Get my driver’s license.
Go to the beach and swim in the ocean at least one more time. Do it ten more times.
Perform random acts of kindness.
Find my parents and laugh in their faces. Find my dad.
Don’t break any more bones.
Fix my temperature problem. Check the thermostat frequently.
Feel pain. Understand pain.
Make tears.
Stay alive and die of old age. Live well.
Ask Luna out. Go see Luna.
See Do something spectacular.
Find enlightenment.
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.
Chapter 42
It’s very early morning, and I can barely get out of bed. My temperature’s a little over a hundred and three, but it’s been a lot higher. I only know I have to get up. Luna’s calling me this morning.
I sit at my desk and stare at my laptop. Then I look out my window, and the sun’s getting ready to rise. It’s still nighttime in Houston.
I hear a bing and answer. Luna’s wearing a hat and a hospital gown. She has oxygen tubing in her nose, and she’s holding a little stuffed elephant I sent her.
“Today’s my big day,” she says. “I’m scared. It’s like my last chance, you know?”
“It’s another chance,” I say.
“A priest is going to bless the bone marrow when it’s time.”
“I’ll be thinking of you every single minute,” I say, choking on the words. “I’m sorry I can’t be there.”
“How are you?” she asks.
“Fine,” I force myself to say. I don’t want her to worry about me.
“I’ll always remember our road trip. It was spectacular.”
“I’m happy for the times I spent with you.” I smile, and then I sing. “Happy transplant to you. Happy transplant to you. Happy transplant, dear Luna. Happy transplant to you.”
“Thank you,” she says with a giggle.
“You’ll do great.”
I wave my hand, and she waves back. We look at each other for a few seconds, and then the screen goes blank.
I close my eyes and rest my head on my desk. I need a few more minutes before I ask Joe to take me to the hospital for a checkup. I’m not sure I’ll be coming back, but this isn’t the first time I’ve felt that way.
Surviving is what I do best.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Catherine Adkins, Debra Garfinkle, Verla Kay, and Steven Chudney.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by S. A. Harazin
Cover design by Jordan Kost
Cover image © Shutterstock.com
978-1-5040-0221-9
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