stopped, replaced by
gasps
moans
a chorus of nos
a wail in my ear
that turned out to be Mom.
Players froze on the field.
Coaches and refs ran
to assess the wreckage.
At least one somebody
called 911.
Mom jumped up, but Dad
held her back.
No. Wait. We’d just be
in the way. He’ll be okay.
She grabbed my hand,
kept repeating Dad’s
words: He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.
We believed it because
in that moment, we had to.
Sirens.
Paramedics.
Gurneys.
Through it all,
Will and one defensive
dude lay very still.
I watched warm clouds
of breath hang
in the cold November air,
thinking how weird
it was for a crowd that big
to be almost silent.
I Don’t Know
What happened
to the other guy,
but what happened
to Will turned our lives
Okay, look.
I get it that this isn’t all about me.
I’ve heard that at least
a thousand times in the seventeen
months since Will’s “incident.”
That’s what they call it,
because it wasn’t exactly
an accident, even if
it wasn’t exactly on purpose.
Will was knocked out,
and he stayed that way for hours.
At the hospital, we didn’t hear
much for a long time
while the doctors tried
to figure out what was wrong.
Mom was a basket case.
I don’t think she sat once
the whole time. Mostly
she wandered the hallways.
Anytime Dad tried to make
her chill, she’d shoot an evil glare.
Even without words,
her message to Dad was clear:
This is all your fault.
That wasn’t fair.
But when you’re scared,
blame comes easily.
We waited. And waited.
Guess that’s why
they call them waiting rooms.
That one was painted pale
orange, like an unripe peach.
But it didn’t smell like peaches.
It smelled like floor cleaner
mixed with B.O. mixed
with a faint stink of cigarettes,
like someone sweated smoke.
My mouth filled with
a taste like vinegar.
It was the flavor of fear.
The TV droned.
Dad stared at the screen.
Don’t think he watched.
Mom paced the tile.
I played games on her phone
until I dozed off.
Heavy-Duty Whispering
Woke me up.
At first, I only caught pieces.
. . . coma
. . . swelling
. . . brain injury
. . . nerve damage
. . . paralysis
Luckily, that last one
came after the word “no.”
All those sentence
fragments added up to this:
Will wasn’t dead.
His arms still worked.
And so did his legs.
But his brain had volleyed
between the sides of his skull
so hard, it was swollen.
He was in a coma—that means
knocked out—but on purpose.
The doctor explained:
With a brain injury, some regions
don’t get enough blood flow.
By keeping him asleep, those
areas require less blood circulation.
As the organ heals and the swelling
goes down, there will be less damage.
He Gave Will Drugs
To keep him deep asleep
for a couple of days.
Some brain injuries are easy
to spot. Others, not so much.
When it was safe for him to wake
up, we found out about both kinds.
The first was a thing called
cranial nerve damage.
Your cranium is your skull.
Under it is your brain.
On the bottom of your brain
are twelve pairs of nerves.
Some are connected to organs,
like your heart and lungs.
Others send info that helps you see,
hear, smell, taste, and feel pain.
Still others control muscles
that let you stick out your tongue,
turn your head from side to side,
and make your face show emotion.
Imagine
If you couldn’t
smilefrown
pout
sneer
lift your eyebrows
scrunch your nose
jut your jaw
Kinda like your face
was frozen
except
for the obvious tic
that twitched one
cheek regularly.
Well, that’s what can
happen when your
facial nerve is wrecked.
I’d say to ask Will,
but that isn’t a great idea.
Because the second kind
of brain injury—the one
you can’t always see—
lights his anger on fire.
I Mean, I Get It
Will’s afraid to do all the things
he used to love. No more
football
skateboarding
snowboarding
mountain biking
because another blow
to his head could cause
worse damage.
That makes sense.
But he doesn’t even watch
sports on TV anymore.
We used to do that together.
Mom wasn’t much into
them, but Dad passed out popcorn
and soda like we were sitting
in the stands, watching in real time.
Baseball.
Football.
Basketball.
Soccer.
And skiing/boarding, of course.
The Winter Olympics
were, like, sacred.
Even Dad would plop down
in his chair and cheer.
TV snow isn’t cold.
I miss stuff like that so much.
And other simple things,
like playing video games
together. Or board games.
Or trading comic books.
Will gave me my first
Lego Boost robot kit.
It was the coolest thing
ever. Not just the kit,
but how he helped me build it.
Probably what I miss
most of all, though,
is having a big brother
to talk to. Some things
you can’t tell just anyone.
Like how mad you
are
at your mom for walking
away when things got hard.
Like how when she left
she slit a hole in your heart,
and it bled a lot of love.
Like how you spend
way too much time hoping
something—anything—will
bring your mom home.
Will Would Understand
If he’d kept that door open,
but he slammed it shut,
and it wasn’t the only one.
In ninth grade, he fell in love
with this girl named Skye,
and man, were they close.
When Will was in the hospital,
she visited almost every day.
And when he came home,
she was there for him.
Until one day when his depression
kicked into high gear.
I was in the kitchen,
but couldn’t miss hearing.
Look at me! Will yelled. Look
at my face! I’m a freak!
She mumbled something
in a low, low voice.
How could you—how could
anyone—love someone like me?
No! Go away. Leave me alone.
Her voice rose then.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
You’re going to get better.
I want to be here for you.
Eavesdropping Is Bad
But I couldn’t help it.
I sneaked into the hall,
where I could hear better.
Skye was crying. I love you,
Will. What kind of a person
would I be if I stopped caring
about you because of this?
A smart person. Skye.
You are beautiful. Perfect.
You deserve better than me.
She tried to reason with him,
but he stopped listening.
Stopped talking.
Finally, he left her sitting
on the couch, went into
his bedroom.
Closed the door.
If he noticed me standing
there, he acted like he didn’t.
I wasn’t sure how
to make Skye feel better,
but thought I should try.
I liked her a lot.
Her eyes were dripping
into the palms of her hands.
When I reached out and nudged
her shoulder, she jumped
hard enough to spill brass-blond
hair from her loose ponytail.
Oh. It’s you, she snapped.
You shouldn’t sneak up on people.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She wilted. It’s okay. I’m fine.
“I get that you’re upset. But I bet
he’ll change his mind. Mom
says he needs time to adjust.”
Like, how much time?
It’s been almost two months.
All I want is to help him.
“He’s stubborn, you know.
But he’ll come around.”
We agreed he probably would,
and I walked Skye to the door.
She hasn’t been here
in the fifteen months since.
And Will still hasn’t come around.
I Wish I’d Fixed That
I tried. I did. But I only
made everything worse.
Not just between Skye and Will.
Between him and me, too.
A few days after their argument,
he was sulking around,
griping about not being able
to go anywhere. He still
hadn’t been cleared to drive.
His doctor was working
to find the right combo
of medications to fight
his depression
his anxiety
his pain
his muscle spasms
his aggression
all because of his messed-up
brain. Regulating it
wasn’t going to be easy.
I hated to see him wrestle
with that, so I said,
“Maybe you should call Skye.
She always makes you feel better.”
His Anti-Aggression Pill Wasn’t Working
What do you know about Skye
and me? She and I are none
of your business, anyway.
His fingers folded into fists
and I really thought he might
come after me.
“Hey, Will? I’m just trying
to make you feel happier.
I don’t know how to—”
Don’t you get it? You can’t
make me happy. And neither
can Skye, or anyone else.
“Not even if I do your homework?”
Joking with Will always made
him smile. Except not anymore.
You’re just a dumb kid!
How could you do my homework?
Dumb. That stung, because
I always thought my big
brother respected how hard
I worked to get straight A’s.
It was the first time
I saw he didn’t care.
I Don’t Joke With Will
Very much anymore.
Sometimes a funny slips out.
Sometimes he even laughs.
But mostly he acts like I’m invisible.
Even when we’re together,
which isn’t so very often.
He drives me to and from
school, and sometimes
to Little League practice.
But he only goes to games
once in a while, and when he does
he pretty much keeps his face
glued to his phone. He used
to cheer for me. Of course,
once upon a time, so did Mom.
I remember waiting to bat
and seeing them together
in the stands. They looked
so much alike, with sun-
toasted skin and black hair,
hers cut almost as short as his.
And if I got a hit or caught
a fly ball, they’d jump to their feet
and yell some combination of:
Way to go, Trace!
Woo-hoo! Woo-hoo!
That’s how to do it!
But Now Nothing’s the Same
I keep thinking if I
stay cool
wait patiently
cause no problems
Will’s brain will
unscramble itself.
I keep thinking if I
take up the slack
make things easier
don’t push too hard
my brother will want
to hang out with me again.
I keep thinking if I
keep his secrets
don’t tell Dad
don’t bother Mom
he’ll trust me enough
to tell me why he hardly
ever leaves his room
when he’s home, and where
he goes when he ducks
out the door the minute
Dad’s back is turned.
I miss the original Will.
I bet his old friends miss him, too.
Will Has New Friends
I mean, I guess that’s what
/>
you could say they are.
Not sure they actually
enjoy each other’s company.
Not like the guys Will
used to hang out with.
They used to joke and talk
about girls and watch
games on TV.
These dudes look tough.
Not football kind of tough.
Rough kind of tough.
Mom would probably call
them a bad crowd.
But Mom’s never around.
Yeah, she was gone a lot
before Will’s incident.
But after, her music gigs
lasted longer and longer.
One day she went off with
her band and never came
back, at least not to stay.
I think it’s half because
she can’t forgive Dad and
half because she can’t forgive
herself. She can barely look at Will.
And Dad? Most of the time
he’s working, or chilling
after his casino shifts.
Usually we see him
at breakfast. Sometimes
before we go to bed at night.
Which mostly leaves Will
and me on our own.
Which mostly leaves
me on my own.
Not sure where Will goes
when he leaves with his new
buddies. I have no clue
what they might do.
But I’m almost positive
they don’t watch sports.
They might talk about girls,
but I bet what they say
isn’t very nice. I just hope
Will stays out of trouble.
Seems to me
he’s looking to find it,
and there’s plenty around
on the streets of Las Vegas,
especially right now.
It’s Spring Break
People always come to Vegas
to party, but April is crazy.
Not only are people out
of school, but the weather
is hot, not blistering.
I’ve heard about kids
even younger than Will
bumming beer and cigarettes
from tourists. Will’s new crowd
seems like those kind of people.
I worry about what he does
when he’s with them.
As for me, I’d rather get attention
by doing regular stuff well,
like acing report cards and
building my Little League
batting average. I’m a pretty
good hitter, a decent pitcher,
What About Will Page 2