Behind the Falls

by Brenda Zalegowski

  It’s already dark by the time we get to the hospital. Dad questions whether we should use the stairs but I tell them I’m fine and we can use the elevator. It’s full when it finally stops at our floor but I grit my teeth and follow my parents inside. I keep my eyes closed and try to keep my breathing even.

  “Are you okay, Sweetie?” Mom says quietly and it’s only then that I realize that at some point I’d wrapped my fingers around her wrist. I loosen my grip but I don’t let go.

  “I’m fine. I’m okay,” I say more to myself than to her. “What floor is he on?”

  “We’re almost there, Noah. Just a few more floors,” Mom gently reassures me. Dad remains silent throughout this exchange.

  When the elevator finally stops at the floor Max is on it couldn’t be soon enough. I’m just inside the door so I tumble out immediately. I stand in the hallway and try to collect myself until Mom and Dad join me.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Dad finally speaks. I just nod because I don’t trust my voice. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I’m not going to try to figure it out either. That will just make things worse.

  When we get to Max’s room we pause in the hall and look in the window. Max is lying on his back in the bed and his eyes are closed (but not taped shut, thank God). Mark is sitting on the small couch under the window, papers spread out next to him and laptop balanced on his knees. He must feel us looking in because he soon looks up from his work then raises his index finger telling us to hold on a moment. He types for a bit then snaps the laptop shut and comes out into the hall. There’s some kind of rule about how many people are allowed in an ICU room at the same time.

  “Hi, thanks for coming,” Mark says as if he requested our presence or something. He hugs my mom then my dad then he turns to me. “How are you, Noah?” I shrug.

  “Fine, I’m okay,” I say. I feel shy around Mark considering what happened the last time I was here.

  “Have you been home at all?” Mom asks. She should know the answer. She talks to Lydia all of the time. Mark shakes his head and smiles ruefully.

  “Lydia brought me some clothes and toiletries and some things I needed for work,” he admits. “I’m going to go home tonight, though,” he assures us as Mom opens her mouth to protest. “Holden,” he clears his throat at the slip in name. He was Holden to Mark a lot longer than he’s been Max. “Max insisted that I go home tonight.”

  “He’s really okay?” I ask. I need the reassurance before I go into that room. Mark gives me a hug.

  “He’s really okay. He’s got a lung infection and he’s weak and tired but he’s going to be fine,” Mark assures me.

  “What about those heart complications you mentioned?” Mark releases me from the hug but takes me by the shoulders and looks me in the eye.

  “He’s developed an arrhythmia, an irregular heartbeat but it’s mild and not life threatening. Mostly it’s causing him to feel palpitations and it’s part of the reason he’s feeling so tired. The cardiologist says it could very likely resolve on its own but if it doesn’t they should be able to control it with medication. They seem pretty confident this will resolve on its own so no worries, okay?”

  I’m glad Mark doesn’t sugar coat anything but now I’m even more nervous. “He’s sleeping right now. He’s been in and out most of the day since they finished with all of the tests. You can go on in whenever you’re ready. He asked about you earlier. It seems he remembers you were here before he woke up,” Mark tells me. I nod then I take a deep breath and head for the door. Mom takes my hand.

  “No, I want to go in alone,” I tell her. She looks to my dad and they exchange a worried look. I know they’re afraid I’m going to panic again but I’m not. “I’m okay,” I tell them. Mark excuses himself and Mom and Dad finally take seats in the hall.

  I hesitate at the door and read the name plate several times. “Maxwell, Holden C.” I repeat his name silently to myself a few times then I take a deep breath and walk through the doorway.

  I take the same seat I sat in the last time. He doesn’t look any different than the last time I was here. The breathing tube has been removed and instead there’s a nasal cannula delivering oxygen. He’s still pale and I think he looks like he’s lost weight. Of course it’s been six days so he probably has. He’s so still that I have to swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. Were they lying to me when they said he was okay? He doesn’t LOOK okay. I’m starting to think this may have been a mistake. I should have waited until he was released, when he was actually really okay.

  My worries are interrupted as Max sighs in his sleep and rolls over on his side to face in my direction. He folds his arms in front of him and slides his hands under his pillow. There are still bandages on his hands but they don’t seem to be as thick as they were last weekend. He breathes a little more unevenly than he did when it was the vent doing his breathing. It’s strangely comforting.

  I slide the chair closer to the bed and place a tentative hand on his forearm. I rub my thumb back and forth lightly across his skin before folding my hands in my lap. As I watch, his eyes open slowly. It’s not until I see the vivid blueness of his eyes that I realize I thought I’d never see them again. Just the corners of his mouth turn up in a slight smile.

  “You’re here,” he says.

  “Hi,” I say, suddenly shy. Where are all of the words? What happened to all of those things I’ve been planning in my head, the things I wanted to say to him if I ever got the chance?

  “I’m really sorry,” he says, stealing my line. At first I’m confused. Why is he apologizing? Then I remember. I never actually accepted his multiple apologies.

  “I know,” I nod. “I’m sorry I didn’t accept it sooner. Can you forgive me? Can you forgive me for the way I treated you and the things I said to you and everything that’s happened the last few weeks?” I hold my breath as I wait for his answer. He smiles a real hundred watt smile at me this time.

  “I know, you said it like a thousand times,” he chuckles. When I just look at him in confusion he explains. “I heard you when you were here the last time.”

  “You heard? The nurse said maybe you could hear. What…what was it like?” I’m fascinated knowing that he could hear me. He thinks for a minute before responding.

  “It was really weird. Most of the time I don’t think I was really aware of anything. I know I was surprised when my dad told me what day it was when I actually woke up the first time. Sometimes I could feel. Like, I could feel when they stuck me with needles sometimes. Sometimes I knew my dad was here and not because I could hear him or anything. It’s like I could just feel his presence.” He stops to cough a few times. It doesn’t sound good. It sounds wet and deep in his lungs. After he coughs he has to wait a bit before he can speak again.

  “A few times I felt like I couldn’t breathe and yet I was breathing anyway. Then you were here. I know you said you were sorry like a dozen different ways. You kept telling me I had to wake up and I really tried but I just couldn’t. Then I must have started dreaming or something. Things got really weird and I thought you were yelling and I was afraid someone was hurting you or something but I couldn’t move or speak or even open my eyes.” He has to take a break to breathe deeply again. I know what he’s talking about. He was aware of what was going on when I had the panic attack but he thought he was dreaming. Of course I don’t correct him.

  “Then I did wake up and I still couldn’t open my eyes. It freaked me out, I guess. I started panicking and then my dad was here and he was telling me to calm down and I was okay. There was tape on my eyes, that’s why I couldn’t open them.

  “As soon as I opened my eyes I realized I was in a hospital bed. There were wires attached to me and a needle stuck in my arm. I couldn’t remember what happened. When I asked what happened Dad told me there had been an accident and my first thought was that he meant in the car. I was pleading with him, begging him to tell me everyone was okay. Of course he was confused. I think I freaked him o
ut a little. It wasn’t until I told him I couldn’t remember what happened that he explained it to me.” He coughs again and I wince. It just sounds so bad.

  “So you don’t even remember what happened?”

  “I did eventually. Yesterday, when I first woke up, everything was just a blur but today things are clearer but pieces are missing. It’s like when you have a dream and you wake up and only remember parts of it,” another pause while he breathes deeply through his nose to get the oxygen.

  “I don’t remember waking up that morning. I don’t remember what I had for breakfast. My memory starts when I parked at the nature center. I locked the car and put the keys in my pants pocket. I don’t remember the walk to the lake. I know there was snow on the ground. My hands were freezing in no time. I hate driving in gloves but I forgot to put them on when I left the car.

  “The falls weren’t frozen yet. I don’t remember sliding down to the ledge but I remember the rock on the falls side was really icy. I’m not sure how much time I spent there. I know I was behind the falls and I know I climbed that wall to get out but I don’t actually remember any of that. I remember looking at the lake and it seemed solid. There was a dusting of snow on top of the ice but there were no wets spots to indicate that the ice was thin.” The coughing this time is prolonged and brings a nurse.

  “Let’s see what we can do about that,” the nurse says. She helps Max to a seated position and thumps his back as he coughs. She holds a bed pan for him to spit into. I look away while this is happening. My stomach has been iffy for days. I really don’t need to see whatever Max coughs up out of his lungs.

  The nurse checks Max’s chart. “You’re to have a breathing treatment soon,” she tells him. “Would you like to move that up and do it now?” He shakes his head.

  “It can wait,” he wheezes. The nurse checks the oxygen flow and consults some of the many monitors that Max is still connected to then she adjusts the bed so he’s sitting. It has to be easier for him to breathe that way. She fluffs the pillows behind him and smiles then leaves.

  “I was halfway across the lake when I saw him,” he continues the story. “In his camouflaged vest and bright orange hat I knew he was a hunter. I was thinking I should give him Hell when I got to the other side of the lake. Then I heard a really loud snap or crack. I thought, ‘Is this idiot shooting in a nature preserve when I’m like right here as a witness?’ and immediately I realized how wrong that was because it was archery season. I realized what that sound meant just moments before the second loud crack and we made eye contact, me and the hunter. I could see something like terror in his eyes and it was exactly how I felt. I was so close to the shore but it felt like miles. I had time to take a really deep breath and then I was in icy water.”

  “Do you remember anything after that?” I ask as Max tries to catch his breath. “Do you remember being under the ice and getting out?”

  “Honestly, that part is the clearest memory I have of the entire day. There was enough water current, even though the lake was starting to freeze, that I drifted away from the hole quickly. I tried not to panic. I knew I had to save my strength and air so I could make my way back to that opening but it was SO cold. Almost immediately I could barely move. I remember grabbing at the few under water plants that still remained, trying to anchor myself but they broke away in my hands.

  “I was starting to shiver so hard I didn’t think I could continue to hold my breath. I tried to dig my fingers into the ice above me and I slowly dragged my way back to the opening. It couldn’t have been five feet away but it felt like a mile. I could see blood in the water. My fingers were so cold I could barely move them but I knew I had to get back to that spot. I was so cold I hurt.” He pauses to breathe more oxygen. He looks so tired.

  “You can tell me the rest later,” I say. “You should probably rest.” He shakes his head.

  “Not much more to tell. I finally couldn’t hold the air in my lungs anymore and it came rushing out in bubbles and immediately I felt the need to breathe in again and of course I was still too far away from that hole. I was moving slower and everything was getting dark around the edges and then my hand found the edge of the opening and I grabbed on with all the strength I could find. It wasn’t enough. I couldn’t pull myself out and then I was passing out and I could feel the cold water rush into me as I passed out and the involuntary breathing began.

  “The hunter, he had some rope. Apparently he tied one end to a tree and the other end to himself and the entire time I was struggling under the ice he was sliding across it on his stomach, spread out to distribute his weight. I don’t know how he did it. I don’t know that I would have the guts to do something so risky for a complete stranger.”

  “You would have,” I assure him. “You couldn’t have stood there and watched someone die like that.”

  “I don’t know. I hope so. I hope I would. So he actually pulled me up by my hair. My head’s still sort of sore,” Max says as he rubs the back of his head. “God, I can’t wait to get a shower and wash my hair,” he laughs which causes another round of coughing.

  “My mom and dad said he called 911 and did CPR until the rescue copter arrived,” I say. “Do you remember any of that?” He shakes his head.

  “After I passed out there’s nothing except those snatches I had while I was here. When I first woke up I didn’t remember any of it. When I woke up I knew I was in a hospital but I couldn’t figure out why.”

  He stops again to rest. He looks so tired and I know I should just let him go back to sleep but I’m selfish. Chalk it up to being an only child. I feel like I need to make up for lost time. I feel like I need to revel in the fact that he’s actually HERE and awake and alright. I realize now that I completely thought it was going to turn out the other way. Of course I did because that’s how my mind works. Mom was right. I always overthink things and imagine the worst case scenario.

  “You had a trip back to Illinois didn’t you? Did it help with the homesickness or just make it worse?” he asks.

  “It was good…well, good except the flying part. I have an extreme fear of flying,” I admit.

  “That’s why I was such a mess in chem class that day.” I can admit that much. Plenty of people are afraid to fly. I don’t admit that I need massive amounts of drugs to do it.

  “That’s what that was? I was imagining all sorts of ridiculous things.”

  “If I was twenty-one I would spend every possible minute getting drunk in an airport bar,” I laugh. “The trip was good though. I saw an old friend for a bit and had some really good talks with my cousin. She helped me with some things…” I trail off because I didn’t really come to any real conclusions after talking with Kimber other than the big one…the fact that I needed to talk to Max.

  “Max?” I hesitate and I’m not sure why but he doesn’t press me to continue until I’m ready. “I need you to know that this isn’t because of what happened. I mean, I realized a few things when I was there and I really wanted to talk to you as soon as I got home,” for some reason it’s important to me that he knows I didn’t just accept his apology and try to make things right just because I thought he was going to die.

  “I know that,” he says quietly. “We’re okay, Noah. I know I really owe you some kind of explanation and I will. I promise we’ll talk as much or as little as you want but not here and not now. As long as we’re still friends, we’re okay.” We’re both quiet for a little while. I rub my thumb against his forearm and I don’t even remember when I put my hand on him again. I discreetly move my hand back to my own lap and cross my fingers again.

  “Anything new and exciting going on at school? I’m going to have SO much work to make up,” he says. I shrug.

  “Nothing much happening, as usual. I’ve got chemistry covered so don’t worry about that. You’re smart. You’ll catch up quickly. You may not be able to day dream calculus class away but you’ll be fine.

  “Tabitha is speaking to me,” I smile. “She kinda terri
fies me, you know? We have a sort of tentative truce going or something. She’s been really worried about you. They all have.”

  “I’ll call her as soon as I’m in a room with a phone.”

  “Sherrie says hi,” I don’t even know why I brought her up and why I would say something like that. She didn’t even know I was coming here today. I’m sure she would have told me to say hi or get well soon or any number of niceties like that because she’s just genuinely nice but why would I even bring her up now?

  “That’s nice. She’s a nice girl. She’s good for you,” he says with that almost smile. It’s kind of like a Mona Lisa smile. It’s just the barest hint of a smile and I never saw it on his face before today. Maybe it’s just because he’s so tired. It’s almost a little sad, the smile.

  “I had to meet her mom the other day. God, that was terrible. I hate meeting parents. She said we make a cute couple because our hair matches but mine is so NOT that red. That shade of red doesn’t exist in nature. I want to call her Cherry Valance but she wouldn’t get it.” I’m babbling now. Why is Max the only person (other than possibly Kimber) that can get me babbling? He affects a fake, gasping voice.

  “Stay gold, Ponyboy, stay gold,” he manages to sound serious for just a moment before we both crack up in laughter that makes him cough yet again. Is he really going to be okay? Can a person die from a lung infection? Could it just get worse and worse until lung tissue dies and he needs a lung transplant? Could the infection spread to his heart which is already compromised? What if he has to go back on that horrible vent? Is he really going to be okay? Is he going to come home or are these the last walls he’ll ever see?

  A simple concern turned to worry which leads my mind into unlikely if not horrible possibilities and there it is in its most basic form…anxiety. I think I cycled from concern to totally going off the deep end in record time. Why does my brain function like that? How do I make it stop? Max hasn’t noticed a thing. I think only two point five seconds have gone by after all.