Almost as if she knew she would be facing unhappiness when she woke. Mama stubbornly clung to sleep as I shook her. I shook her again and called her and shook her until finally her eyelids fluttered, closed, and then snapped open.
"What?" she practically screamed at me.
"Daddy's been shot," I said.
She stared up at me a moment and then she sat up so quickly and firmly. I stepped back.
"What?"
"Mike Tooey is outside waiting to take us to the hospital in the company car," I said. "Daddy stopped a robbery."
"Oh Jesus," she muttered. "oh Jesus. Jesus."
She rose and began to get dressed. I hurried back to my room to do the same. Less than ten minutes later. I was ready, but Mama was still brushing her hair.
"I look a mess." she moaned at her own image in the mirror.
"I don't think that matters at the moment. Mama." I said dryly. She paused and looked at me as if I had gone crazy.
"It always matters. child. You think I want your father looking at a hag when I get there. The better I look, the better he's going to feel," she predicted, finished her hair and then joined me at the door. "I shoulda bought that wig the other day," she muttered as we hurried out. "You got a wig, you just throw it on and don't worry. I should have bought it."
Mr. Tooey either really didn't know very much or was too frightened to give us the details. However, we were told everything almost as soon as we arrived at the ER. Daddy had taken two bullets: the first had lodged in his shoulder, but the second had hit him in the abdomen and nicked his spine as it passed through. He had lost a lot of blood and was in critical condition.
"Is he going to live?" Mama demanded from the doctor.
"We'll see." was the doctor's best reply no matter how much Mama pressured him.
Different places have different kinds of silences, I thought as we waited in the lounge anxiously. Hospitals weren't really quiet places. Staff workers, interns, nurses, all spoke rather loudly to each other. There was much activity going on, too: people being pushed along in wheelchairs or on stretchers, doctors talking to relatives or to the patients themselves, technicians rolling machines from one room to another, nurses and doctors shouting orders across hallways.
The silences I did see and hear were the silences in the eyes of the worried wives, mothers, husbands, brothers, sisters and friends who lingered in corridors, quietly comforting each other, holding each other, standing in the shadows and gazing absently at the floors or walls or looking out the windows at nothing, just waiting in a world where all time seemed to have stopped, where everything said or done seemed so far off reverberating into the darkness.
There were many elective mutes here, many people who didn't want to speak, to hear the sounds of their own voices for fear it would make them crumble or turn to tears and cries of pain.
"Will my daddy die?"
"Will Bobby get better?"
"When will the doctor tell us anything?"
"When will my mammy come home?"
It was so much better not to hear these and similar questions, not to have to answer, not to have to look into the face of reality and recognize what tomorrow could be like. It was better to wait quietly, to hold your breath and not think about anything, anything at all.
Mama couldn't do that. She talked incessantly, commenting to everyone who would listen, complaining about the waiting, the world today, the criminals out there, her poor husband's miserable fate, moaning and groaning, drawing all the sympathy she could to herself until finally, exhausted, she sputtered like some boat running out of fuel on some lake, her words growing farther and farther apart, half spoken, and soon altogether stopped.
She stared along with the others and waited and looked at me and took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Time tormented us. Minutes took longer. Hours stretched. We were stuck in forever, until eventually, almost like an afterthought brought back from some dark corner of the hospital, the doctor made his way toward us, his face glum, a doctor's face full of ifs and maybes.
Daddy was still alive. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours were critical. If he lived, it would be a long recuperation with a lot of therapy. He would most likely regain his ability to walk, too, but it was all somewhere way out there like a promise at the end of a rainbow.
It was best we went home and returned the next day. There wasn't much left to do, but wait.
"He's a strong man. Mrs. Goodman," the doctor told her. "A lesser man would be gone by now," he said. I could see he meant it sincerely.
Mama nodded. For once, she seemed
speechless. She threaded her arm through mine and we left to get a cab to take us home. All the way she rested her head against my shoulder. As soon as we arrived, she went right to sleep.
I sat in the living room for a while, looking at Daddy's empty chair and humming some music to myself. Finally, I went to bed and fell asleep, too exhausted to entertain a single dream.
I was up and out of bed the moment my eyes snapped open in the morning. Mama was still asleep. I went right to the phone and called the hospital. When they heard I was immediate family, they forwarded my call to the nurse on dim, who told me Daddy was stable, but there was nothing more to say until the doctor came to evaluate.
I rushed about the apartment, putting up some coffee first because I knew Mama wouldn't budge without some. Then I called to her and woke her. She mumbled and cursed and cried, but finally rose. I showered and dressed and had her coffee poured and waiting when she emerged from her room, practically sleepwalking to the table. I told her I had called the hospital and what the nurse had said.
"We've got to get there as quickly as we can. Mama. We've got to talk to the doctor."
"Why rush? All they do is make you wait and wait until they're good and ready," she said.
"We don't want to miss him." I insisted. "If you're not ready, I'll leave without you," I threatened.
She looked up at me with surprise and then shook her head and complained all the rest of the time and all the way to the hospital, moaned about how I had hurried her so much she couldn't fix herself properly to face the world. I was to be blamed for her mediocre appearance. I worked hard at closing her out of my mind and soon her words bounced off my ears like raindrops off the top of an umbrella.
I was right about being there as soon as we could. The doctor was on his way to another hospital after seeing Daddy and we wouldn't have gotten any direct information if we hadn't been there.
"He's improved far faster and better than I had anticipated," he told us. "I believe he's out of danger, but he's going to begin a long recuperation. Prepare yourselves for that," he warned, his eyes on Mama as if he could sense how difficult it was going to be for her, maybe even more difficult than it would be for Daddy.
He told us we could see Daddy later in the day when he was conscious. I had the hardest time keeping Mama at the hospital to wait for the opportunity. She wanted to go home and dress herself all over again. We ate some lunch in the hospital cafeteria and then went back to the ICU waiting room and waited for the nurse to come out to get us.
"You can stay ten minutes," she said. "He's conscious now."
"Well, Hallelujah!" Mama muttered.
We followed the nurse in to Daddy's bedside. Even on his back with all the tubes and monitoring devices attached to him, he still looked big and powerful to me.
He smiled when he saw us.
"Now look what you've gone and done," Mama told him immediately. "I bet you didn't have to stick your big neck out. Cameron Goodman. I bet you just couldn't wait to be a hero. huh?"
"Hi Daddy," I said. I kissed him.
Mama looked around, held her face of chastisement, but kissed him. too.
"Now, what are we supposed to do?" she asked him.
"Mama." I whispered. "Don't cause him any worry now,"
"You'll be fine," Daddy said. "Money comes in anyway. Insurance. Don't worry." he said.
"G
reat," Mama said. "And you have a long recuperation. You'll be hanging around the house playing that music all day and night now. I'm telling you right now, Cameron. I'm no good as a nurse," she warned.
Daddy smiled at me.
"Well. I'm not. I won't be carrying bedpans and breaking my nails changing bandages and such."
"There's home nursing care when we need it," Daddy told her, his voice just above a whisper. "Stop your worrying. Lena. You'll be fine. all be fine."
"Right. Getting in the way of a bullet. I do declare. Cameron. I never wanted you to do this job. You shoulda... shoulda drove a taxi or something."
Daddy widened his smile. but I could see he was fading again fast. "Don't worry," he whispered and fell asleep.
"You'll have to leave." the nurse said quickly.
"Leave? We haven't been here five minutes!" Mama cried.
"Please," the nurse insisted,
I took Mama's arm and practically walked her out forcibly. She muttered to herself until we were in the hall.
"You see his face when he looked up at me? I knew I wasn't looking my best." she cried. "We rushed here for five minutes. I'm going home," she said. "I'll be back tomorrow or when I can see him for a sensible visit. I'm so tired from all this. Ice. It's as if the bullets hit me. too."
Mama was more comfortable feeling sorry for herself and getting me to sympathize. I took her home, checked on Daddy with a phone call later and then made dinner for Mama and myself. She wanted me to return to school the next day. but I wouldn't do it. I went to the hospital and saw Daddy without her in the morning. He had improved some more and was stronger and more alert.
"Don't let this stop you from following your plans, Ice. Please," he begged me. "I was so proud of you at the concert."
"I don't know, Daddy. We've got so much more to think about now."
"There's nothing more. I'll be fine and so will your mama," he insisted. "Promise me," he insisted. "Promise."
"Okay, Daddy." I said. "I promise."
"Good." He closed his eyes with some relief. "Good," he said and fell asleep.
The news about Daddy spread fast through the school. When I returned the next day, everyone, especially my teachers, asked about him. Balwin was very attentive, feeling even worse about the
misunderstanding that had occurred between us.
"You're still going to work on the audition, aren't you?" he asked. "I don't know," I said. "Our lives are changed now. Daddy's going to require a long period of recuperation and I'm not sure about costs and money. I don't know." I told him. He looked sicker about it than I was.
"Well, you should practice and keep up anyway," he said. "Just in case it works out"
"I don't know whereI'll find the time." I said.
Now, as soon as school ended every day. I rushed over to the hospital to be with Daddy. Mama didn't visit as much and hated being in a hospital. I started to complain about it. but Daddy stopped me and said he was better off being around her only when she was happy. I understood and ignored her selfishness as best I could.
When Daddy was moved to a room. I found I could be a real help, assisting the nurse's aides, getting him things he needed or wanted or just amusing him. Every once in a while, he would look at me and make me repeat my promise to go forward with my plans. Finally, one day it dawned on him that I was spending so much time in the hospital. I couldn't be practicing my music.
"You've got your homework and end of the year exams. I know," he said. "Why are you spending so much time here. Ice? That boy still wants to help you. right?"
"Daddy--"
"You promised int. child. You telling me you're not keeping up the promise? You're my hope. Ice. I don't want to get out of this bed if you don't try. Well?"
"All right. Daddy." I said. All right. I'll go back to practicing."
That satisfied him. It was left as an
understanding between us, however, that I wouldn't discuss it with Mama. We both knew it would just create more tension in an already tense household.
She made her appearances when she thought she looked pretty enough. She paraded in as if she had just come off a model's runway. We could smell her perfume ten minutes before she arrived. When Daddy told her so, she shook her head angrily and said. "Well. I've got to do something to keep these putrid hospital odors out of my nose. don't I? You walk out of here smelling like a nurse if you don't," she insisted.
Daddy and I looked at each other and laughed.
"Go on, make fun of me, if you like, but I know I'm right," she insisted.
When Daddy was well enough to begin some therapy. I decided to meet with Balwin and go over my music. I still had my audition date for the Senetsky school scheduled. He and I practiced after school. It was very difficult for me to start again. It was as if we had never worked on the songs before. but Balwin was patient and kept giving me encouragement,
"Sometimes I think this is more important to you than it is to me." I told him.
He laughed.
"You just don't know yet how important it is to you," he assured me. "But you will. Someday, you will and then you'll be happy you did this. Ice,"
I smiled at him and then, almost as if it was a reflex action. I gave him a kiss. His eyes brightened like candles just lit.
"Tomorrow." he said. "I'd like to visit your father with you. I'll take you there after school," he said.
I thought that was very nice of him and when we arrived. Daddy was very happy to see him. They talked about music as if they had been old friends. Daddy was impressed with Balwin's knowledge of jazz. At the end, he thanked him for helping me.
"Your father's a great guy," Balwin told me. "I found it easier talking with him than I do with my own father," he added.
I felt sorry for him. At least I had someone who wanted the same things for me that I wanted for myself, someone encouraging me, standing beside me. Balwin was far lonelier than I had imagined. even lonelier than I was.
The next day Mama found out that Balwin had accompanied me to the hospital. She cross-examined Daddy about it and when I returned home, she started on me.
"What have you been doing with that fat boy?" she demanded.
"He's not a fat boy anymore. Mama. He's still trimming down nicely and--"
"Oh. I don't care about none of that. What's going on. Ice?"
Reluctantly. I revealed that our practicing for the audition had continued and she went off on me like she never had before, screaming at the top of her voice, tossing things around the kitchen, straining her neck and her eyes to the point of bursting blood vessels.
"First, where we ever going to find the money for such nonsense, and second, how am I supposed to handle your father with you gone. huh? You can forget all that talk about going to some fancy school and stop wasting everyone's time. Ice. I'm going to need you right here,"
I didn't argue with her, but that didn't stop her. She threatened to complain to Daddy about it. She even promised to tell him to stay in the hospital if I was going to leave for some school. Terrified of what damage she would do. I finally promised her I would stop practicing and cancel the audition. She was satisfied and calmed down, but slowly, muttering to herself almost until she fell asleep.
I told Balwin the next day. He tried to argue with me, but I wouldn't listen.
"We've only got one more week. Ice. Don't give up now." he pleaded.
I shook my head.
"It was silly of me to do this. Balwin, and wrong of me to waste your time too. I'm sorry. It's all so impossible, don't you see?'
"No." he said.
"Well it is," I told him and left.
I went home and put my music sheets away, took care of the chores in the house and made dinner. but Mama didn't come home for dinner. I ate alone. I thought she might have gone to the hospital and went as soon as I had cleaned up, but she wasn't there. I tried not telling Daddy about her, but he could read my face as if my thoughts were behind a glass wall.
"The woman's just
frustrated," he said. "'Don't fret about her. She'll be all right once I'm out of here." he promised. "How's your work going with Balwin? It's getting close to that time. right?"
I called on all my powers to hide the truth, but there was something so strong between Daddy and myself that he could feel the vibrations in my body. His eyes grew small with suspicion.
"Ice?"
"It's foolish to waste time on something like this. Daddy. Where are we going to get the money and you'll need me for a while, Maybe--"
"Ice," he nearly shouted. He was in a wheelchair and we were in the corner of the recreation room in the therapy area. Some people looked our way for a moment. Daddy reached out and seized my hand.
"You don't know what this has come to mean to me," he began. "I put all my dreams in you. All my disappointments are piled up and waiting to be crushed. You're the hope. honey. I watched you grow into this, take on the music like some magnificent, beautiful gown and go strutting across the stage. You've brought me the only joy I've had these years. And you're just starting. I know it. Ice. I know it in here," he said holding his hand over his heart, "Don't give up on me now,
"Don't be me," he declared firmly. "You go right home from here and you go into my third dresser drawer. You lift the clothes in the right corner and you take out that trumpet mouthpiece. understand?
"You hold it tightly in your hand and you think of me selling my trumpet and spending my whole life wondering 'what if?' And you take that mouthpiece with you to the audition. Do it for me and forget all the rest.
"Will you? Will you?"
"Yes, Daddy," I promised.
He reached out and touched the tear zigzagging down my cheek. And he smiled.
"You're melting. Ice," he said laughing. "and it's just fine.
"Just fine."
Epilogue
Balwin drove me. We had asked and been given permission for him to be my accompanist. Mama knew nothing about it. She thought I was going to school as usual and then going to visit Daddy.
I think my heart pounded all the way to New York City. When we arrived at the little theater. I was so terrified. I couldn't move my legs. I looked at Balwin and he laughed.
Shooting Stars 02 Ice Page 12