Love in the Time of Cynicism

by Jani Berghuis

  “Hello?” I cry into the phone, my voice shot and raw and scared like I’ve never heard it. “Tell me what to do to save him.”

  “Stay calm, firstly,” the dispatched replies. “You won’t be any help to your boyfriend if you can’t be calm for him. Can you get him to cold running water?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I can.”

  Rhett’s body is still limp in my weak and agonized arms as I push the door open with my hips, the phone wedged between my shoulder and head while the dispatched says soothing things to me. I haul the love of my life up my set of stairs, his legs banging awkwardly and painfully against each one. I won’t be careful because I can apologize once he’s awake again.

  “You need to try to wake him up and force him to eject the pills, preferably in that order.” Trembling everywhere as I enter Amanda’s polka dotted bathroom, I put the phone on speaker and turn on the shower. I maneuver him in front of me in the jet stream of cold water that splashes both of us. “Be careful not to stop him from breathing, now.”

  Icy water splatters over Rhett’s quickly chilling skin and I feel him suck in a breath. Shallow relief floods my body as I speak into his ear, “Don’t you dare die on me now. Not now. Not after everything.”

  He can’t speak or move because he’s shaking so hard, his body revolting against being awake with the power of the pills in his stomach. His eyes are unreadable and near lifeless, too far from the breathtaking amber I’ve come to know. One word slips out. “Don’t.”

  “Shut up,” I sob recklessly. Following the dispatcher’s close instructions as I shiver through the pounding shower water, I lean his body forward and shove two fingers down his throat. It’s a battle to stop myself from vomiting as his body convulses against mine. Bile washes down the drain and Rhett loses consciousness again.

  “Good job,” the dispatcher commends. “The ambulance should be there any second. Is he still unconscious?”

  “Yeah...” My voice trails off as I shut off the water and look at him, my Rhett, with more emotions in my heart than I thought possible. When I glance up, the whole family is outside the bathroom, Amanda and Trent and my mom, all with puzzled, horrified expressions splayed over their features. “Do you think he’s going to make it?”

  The dispatched swallows audibly and I feel my chest go concave at the thought, playing over and over, of losing him more than I already have.

  Michael vaults up the stairs and shouts back to someone, “They’re in here!”

  Two large men in blue uniforms push my family out of the way and remove Rhett from my lap. They carry him swiftly and safely out of the house as I manage to stand, unable to process anything as I follow, detached and broken, behind.

  The lights and sirens of the ambulance have drawn a small crowd of my neighbors. I shove my way through the crowd and grab one of the EMTs by the shoulder.

  His somber eyes meet mine as I plea, “Can I come?”

  “Are you the girl who called nine-one-one?” I nod once and he says, “It’s against procedure, but…”

  The EMT puts an orange shock blanket over my shoulders and has me sit on a row of padded seats on one side of the ambulance. Three EMTs crowd in around Rhett on an emergency yellow stretcher, one with a finger on his jugular to check pulse, the other two stabilizing. Before they shut the door, my eyes clap on Sky’s, then my mother’s. Their eyes are pleading with mine but I shake my head. Some things are more important than explaining this.

  Chapter Twenty Two – The Waiting Room Blues

  Susie and Joel and Tannis show up around four in the morning. They wouldn’t let me past the waiting room because Rhett had to have his stomach pumped when we arrived and then he was put in intensive care. Only immediately family allowed.

  Susie’s face is a mess of tear tracks and tired lines as she sits down on the hard green plastic chair next to me and hugs me tightly. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” I’m numb and exhausted and have been waiting for news for hours.

  She smiles sadly as if surprised I’d even ask. “You saved his life, darlin’. I’ll never forget that.”

  “Me neither,” I reply softly. I can hardly see straight as Tannis runs up and joins our hug. She’s crying quietly and I run my hands over her hair because I know that’s what I’m supposed to do. Joel stands away from us, looking through a window out to the main lobby. I can’t look at him because I know what the last thing he said to his son was, know what those angry words did to Rhett.

  Abruptly, Joel speaks. “Cordelia, do you want a ride home? It’s late and-”

  “Are you serious?” I demand.

  “I don’t want you to feel like you have to wait here just because-”

  “Just because?” I stand angrily and face him head on. “Your son could’ve died tonight, would’ve, in fact, if he hadn’t been sappy enough to end up in my back yard, and you want me to leave?”

  “They won’t let you in before he’s out of the ICU,” he argues and I realize he doesn’t want to take me home, he wants to leave. He’s been here before, I’m sure, in a hospital after a fight with a son who didn’t want to hang on. “And I don’t want you to be sitting here today and tomorrow.”

  I shake my head and argue softly, “I will wait here forever if I have to because I honestly don’t want to be anywhere without him.”

  He nods though I can see the argument forming on his lips. Something like stupid teenage girl who doesn’t know what love is or you don’t want to be a part of Rhett because this is what it’s like and a thousand things I’m sure I’ve thought of already.

  I settle back onto my hard plastic chair and watch nurses rush hastily back and forth. The speckled and squared white tile floor under my still-bare feet (nobody had bothered to say anything about my horrendously inappropriate appearance, probably due to the stricken look plastered across my face) is achingly clean but a man in a blue uniform still wipes it with a mop every hour or so. I’ve seen him twice and he hasn’t spared me a glance.

  The hospital waiting room has been quiet save the few emergencies: a nine year old boy who received a waling broken arm from falling off a bunk bed and a girl of about twelve or thirteen whose parents keep calling her ‘crazy legs’ with a snapped ankle and a burned hand (there must be a story there). The boy makes it out before the sun comes up with a neon orange cast from hand to shoulder and the girl is released around six with a white boot and a winning smile.

  It’s six eleven when a doctor finally approaches Joel and Susie, who haven’t spoken to one another since they arrived. Tannis has been curled in a ball sniffling and I haven’t been able to figure out why they brought her in the first place or how they left the boys at home. I crowd close as the doctor speaks to them in hushed tones. “The scans are looking good thus far and we think he’ll be up and walking by tomorrow. Whoever took care of him before he got to the hospital did everything right, so there was no brain damage or any extensive internal organ damage. We don’t need to put him up on psychiatric since we can pinpoint why he attempted-”

  “And why was that?” Joel interrupts angrily. It’s a mask though, because I can see the hurt in his eyes, the regret mixing with fear.

  The doctor clears his throat and replies, “He’d stopped taking his antidepressants two weeks ago.”

  “Rhett would never be that irresponsible,” Joel argues. “How do you know?”

  “We took blood tests. There were no traces, and Prozac’s a longer-lasting medicine which tends to take twelve to fourteen days to be flushed out of the system entirely.” He purses his lips as if debating whether or not to say this last point, but he gets it out, “It’s quite common in sufferers of depression and especially those who have contemplated suicide to stop taking their prescribed medicines when life gets better.”

  Susie rumples her eyebrows and asks, “What exactly does that mean?”

  The doctor elaborates, “Say your son was in a relationship which just got significantly more serious-” Joel cuts a blaming glance i
n my direction as if this could be my fault “-or he’s found an idealistic path for his future to bring him happiness. Those are the sorts of things that trick the mind into thinking it doesn’t need antidepressants anymore. What he didn’t realize, of course, is that Prozac was helping him feel those emotional highs. When a bump in the road hit – a fight with someone close or not getting into the college which would ensure his future – the lack of Prozac in his system suddenly hit hard and he was overwhelmed enough to think life wasn’t worth living anymore.”

  A steady silence fills the space between them as I listen in.

  “Can we see him?” Tannis asks quietly as she holds her mother’s hand.

  The doctor nods and adjusts his tie. I can’t imagine how he’s awake when exhaustion heavily clouds my eyes at every turn. “I think that would be okay.”

  He leads the three of them through a hallway and to an elevator. They get in, the doors shut, and I’m alone again, clutching my phone and waiting to be allowed to see Rhett. I won’t leave until I can talk to him again. Even though I know he’s going to live and he’s okay (that’s what everyone keeps saying – okay – but what does that mean when I’ve watched my boyfriend try to kill himself?), I miss him. Everything we are is going to change from this point and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  Eventually, I manage to slump into a fitful sleep decorated with the nightmares of last night. Images swirl, dark and haunted, through my mind as I see Sky’s eyes, Michael’s anger turned to fear. The lights of the ambulance and the color of the stretcher. The sting of freezing water and his dying eyes.

  A worried nurse shakes me awake. She’s got skin like coffee grounds and hair slicked back into a tight bun. Her chocolate eyes are kind and sympathetic. “Are you alright? I saw you come in here with your…boyfriend?” I nod in confirmation. “Well, I heard you crying and I’ve been hoping you’re doing alright, so I brought you these.”

  She holds out a banana and a carton of whole milk. I can’t even begin to fathom the idea of eating right now, but I take them because that’s what I should do. I’m grateful to this nurse for reasons I can hardly explain; nobody has thought about me, a girl with no bra and no shoes and no happiness to speak of, the entire time I’ve been here. My eyes trail back to the clock over the nurse’s head. Hours have passed. It’s near eleven and I should be in Anthropology with Dr. Sullivan, getting back the latest notes on my letter to The New Yorker. But instead I’m here.

  The nurse sits next to me and begins to speak quietly, her deep alto voice full of a familiar sorrow as she fingers a ring around her neck. “My husband killed himself a few months after we were married. I didn’t understand why because he’d seemed so happy until the day it happened.”

  “I know the feeling,” I laugh hollowly.

  “When I found him, he was already dying in my arms. That’s why I became a nurse, so I could fix people like him. If I had done what you did, he’d still be alive. I don’t know why I’m telling you this but…you’re very brave. Thank you for having the courage not to give up.”

  I nod slowly. The numbness is ebbing away at her words, replaced with an empty sadness mingling with impossible hope. “There’s no point in giving up until it’s over.”

  “I wish everyone who came in here thought like that,” she says. “So many parents and siblings and friends arrive and they’re deader than the person they came with. They forget there’s always hope.” I fold my head into my hands and she smiles once more. “You’re not like that, though. I can tell.

  “I’m scared,” I admit faintly.

  “Of what?” The nurse puts a comforting arm around my shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” I go on, unsure of why I’d tell her this other than pure tiredness and the need for connection. “I guess I’m scared of not being with him anymore. That everything is going to be too different for us to get back what we had. That we’ll fall apart. I love him too much to let that happen.”

  “Things fall apart,” she says, “but I’ve got a good feeling you two won’t.”

  I’m not quite crying because there aren’t any tears left as I ask, “How do you know?”

  “Because you saved him.” She squeezes me and then lets go. “And that’s not something either of you is going to forget any time soon.” My phone rings in my hand and the nurse stands up. “You eat. It’s good for you, I promise.”

  I smile tightly and answer the phone as she walks away.

  “Del?”

  “Sky.”

  My best friend sighs on the other line. “What happened? Where are you?”

  In answer, I say, “I’m at the hospital.”

  Her swallow is audible. “Is he…?”

  “He’s in the ICU. Doctor said he’d be out soon. Once I see him, I’ll go.”

  “You want me to come over there?” She’s at school, faraway shouts echoing from her and Brian’s quiet, unintelligible voice next to her. “Because I can be there in a few minutes.”

  “I’m fine, Sky,” I lie quickly.

  She sighs again since, as my best friend, she knows when I’m bullshitting her. “Your mom has tried to call me, like, four times.”

  “Tell her I’m okay and I’ll be home tonight. Probably.”

  “I told her you’d stay at my house, actually,” she replies and I breathe out in relief. I had no intention of going home until I have to. Nice to know she’s still covering my ass. “Good luck, kid.”

  “Thanks.”

  She pauses, for once not sure how to go on. “I’ll try to control the rumors at school, for your sake.”

  “It’s bad?”

  “The worst. Teenagers are brutal.” She clicks her tongue as a bell rings. “I’ll bring you some clothes and stuff after school. Hang in there; got to go.”

  She hangs up.

  I eat the slightly overripe banana from the nurse, drink whole milk, which I have hated since early childhood, and wait.

  At three fifteen, Sky brings me a change of clothes and thirty dollars. She hugs me tightly and joins me for late lunch in the hospital’s aggressively clean cafeteria. We eat surprisingly good fried rice and drink unsurprisingly flat soda while sitting in silence. She doesn’t know what to say and I don’t know how to respond.

  She leaves and I people-watch for another few hours. Old people with routine exams and surgeries smile at me when they walk past. Doctors rush past, not caring about my omnipresence with their lifesaving to do. Under the glaring fluorescents, I see a few kids from pediatrics and the upstairs psych ward.

  While I’m in the main waiting room, I can’t help but ruminate on how people are. Very early on, I realize the most common expression worn at the hospital is a smile, contrary to my original belief that everyone here would be glaring and crying and sighing heavily. Sure, there’s a fair share of those, too, but mostly the patients are smiling or at the very least pleasant. I become the recipient of a few hello-how-are-you interactions from well-meaning nurses and elderly individuals.

  At some point, a girl with bright blue hair and more tattoos than I can count nods her head at me like we’ve known one another for years. I reciprocate because she’s probably noting our shared interest in hair dye and piercings. She walks off grinning when I complement her choice of ripped fishnet leggings under what I’ve decided is standard issue psychiatric ward garb.

  Around six, a little boy plops himself right next to me and begins to ask me questions.

  “You’ve been here, like forever; is something wrong with you?”

  He’s got wide, inquisitive eyes as I answer, “I’m here for my boyfriend, actually. He was in an, um, accident and he almost died.”

  The boy nods seriously. “I was in an accident a few weeks ago. My mom was really upset; I hope you’re okay.”

  “I am,” I lie softly.

  “Of course you’re not,” he argues. Then, unexpectedly, the boy hugs me tightly, the rough material of his hospital clothes scratching my arms. I’ve never felt anything like th
e arms of a child who almost definitely has it worse than me wishing me well. “But you will be.”

  Turns out his name is Nick and he’s been in and out of the hospital since he was born. Some heart condition he can’t pronounce combined with epilepsy. The accident he had was a severe, long-lasting seizure where he fell down hard at school. He was alone because his aid had gone to the bathroom and nobody found him until he’d passed out from a head wound (Nick proudly shows off the shaved patch on the back of his head like a trophy). The doctors have him staying at the hospital now because they’re worried about possible heart and brain complications.

  Despite all of this, Nick’s the happiest kid I’ve ever seen and by far the most compassionate. He acts like my having to stay here until I can see Rhett is the worst injustice in the world and decides it’s in my best interest to hear his favorite collection of jokes.

  “Knock-knock.” Nick’s already grinning at this point.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Interrupting cow.”

  I smile a bit. “Interrupting cow wh-?”

  “MOO!” He cracks up, bright eyes shining, and I can’t help but laugh at his exuberance. He goes on with a brilliant smile, “Man, the guy who invented knock-knock jokes should get a no bell prize!”

  It occurs to me, then, that maybe the people with the most to cry over smile the brightest.

  Chapter Twenty Three – Love of my Life

  It’s nine o’clock the next morning when a doctor taps me out of a heavy sleep induced by nearly thirty six hours without shut-eye.

  The doctor’s got thick brown stubble and sleep eyes, the look of a man who’s been here overtime too many nights in a row. “Are you Cordelia?”

  I bolt upright and reply, “Yeah, I am. Why?”

  “Rhett Tressler’s been asking for you the past four hours, insisted you would be in the hospital and refused to take any medication until I brought you to him. It’s been a long night and even though it’s utterly against the code of conduct, will you please come with me?”