by Felice Arena
‘You know,’ he says, as he sits down. ‘I wasn’t exactly honest with you back there. I gave you the impression that I’m over us losing that final. The truth is, I’ve never really gotten over it. My wife, Doris, thinks that’s a bit crazy.’
‘Really?’ I say. I try to sound surprised, but it is kind of crazy. That final was thirty-five years ago.
‘I don’t have any regrets in my life, except that,’ he says. ‘And if I could go back and change the outcome of that game, I’d do it in a flash.’
I nod politely, and wonder if George is going to talk all the way to Yardbridge. He’s on a roll. Oh well, if I’m going to be stuck talking to an old guy, it might as well be about basketball. ‘What went wrong?’ I ask.
‘I made the fatal mistake of subbing one of my players at a crucial point in the game,’ George says. ‘And without going into details, it was the worst decision of my life – and everyone knew it.’
‘You can’t blame yourself,’ I say, feeling sorry for him. ‘If a player makes a mistake, he’s got to cop it on the chin. I don’t ever blame Coach Anderson for a loss.’
‘That’s kind of you to say, kid, but I was the one calling the shots, and boy did I call a bad one. And it still stings when I think about it. Pennsbury, as you know, isn’t known for winning, but we deserved to win that day.’
‘Well, we’re gonna give it all we’ve got this year,’ I say, looking out the window. We’re going unusually fast for a bus, I think. We’re really flying down the hill.
‘I’m not sure how you’re going to do it without Scott there,’ George says. ‘But if you and your teammates pull this off, then maybe I can let go of the past and die a happy man.’
‘You’re dying?’ I say, startled.
‘No!’ George grins for the first time. Not for a long time, I hope. But when you’re seventy-one you start to think about that kind ofthing … Gus, is it just me, or are we going a little too fast?’
Just as he says this, the bus takes a sharp turn and everything seems to happen at once. The bus driver swears. My mobile phone shoots out of my hand as I grab the back of the seat in front. It skids along the aisle of the bus. George is nearly thrown to the ground and the brakes screech loudly. It’s a horrible sound, making the hair on my neck stick up. The bus driver is panicking, shouting.
Next thing I know, I’m slamming up against the window. I think we’re flipping over … and over. And over.
I try to scream. But I can‘t, because I’m in total shock.
Then … nothing.
CHAPTER
07
I open my eyes. Slowly. Everything is blurry. It takes a minute or so for everything to come into focus. I’m in a hospital room. I’ve got tubes attached to my arm, tubes that lead to one of those drip-stand things.
I’m alive. Well, I think I am. I move my arms and legs. Nothing seems broken, but they feel super weak and really painful. Nobody’s around. I wonder where my folks are? Maybe they’re talking to a doctor out in the corridor. I should call for a nurse – but I really need to see what’s happened to me. I’ll have to go to the bathroom to look in the mirror.
I struggle to get out of bed. My lower back feels as if it’s been shot with a crossbow. I wobble a bit when I land on my feet. I’m covered in cuts and big purple bruises, which I can see because I’m wearing one of those hospital smocks – the short ones, the ones that open up at the back and show off your butt. I breathe in deeply before I take my first step. I shuffle slowly to the bathroom, rolling the drip stand alongside me.
The pain in my body is excruciating. I must’ve been totally banged up in that bus accident. I touch my face. It’s covered in bandage strips, but even taking that into account it feels weird and wrong. I turn to see my reflection in the mirror…
‘Arrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!’ I can hear someone scream, but it doesn’t sound like my voice. I’m pretty sure it is me, though. I rub my eyes and look again.
I stand there, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
What the?!
I see it, but I don’t believe it. This has to be a dream. No, a nightmare. Maybe I’m so pumped up on painkillers that I’m seeing things.
I step towards the mirror and take a closer look. Staring back at me isn’t my reflection. It’s the old guy. It’s George. His face is stitched up and covered with white bandage strips. But it’s definitely him, which is freakin’ impossible. Okay, I gotta get a grip. There has to be some explanation.
Relax. Calm down, I tell myself. I close my eyes. When I open them again, the person staring back at me from this mirror will be me … please, please, make it be me.
Right, here goes.
‘No, no, no.’ My knees buckle and I drop onto the toilet-seat lid. I look at my hands – they’re covered in wrinkles and spots. I’m shaking. Obviously I’m in shock. My head is spinning.
Suddenly I see the bathroom door handle turn.
‘George? Are you in there? Oh my God, George? Are you all right?’
I panic. I jump up and push back on the door, slamming it shut. Click goes the lock.
‘George! It’s me – Doris,’ cries an elderly sounding voice. ‘Are you okay? George, darling, say something.’
‘Yes, I’m okay,’ I say, shocked by the sound of my deep gravelly voice.
‘Then let me come in! I can’t believe you’re awake. For goodness sake, George, let me see you.’
‘No,’ I snap. My mouth is dry with panic. I’m panting. Should I let her in? Maybe she can help me. Maybe she can explain how this craziness has happened. What am I gonna do? ‘I … I’m just finishing up in here,’ I stutter. ‘I’ll be out soon.’
‘Okay okay. Oh, this is a miracle! You just stay there. I’m going to get the doctor!’
How can I be George on the outside, when I still feel like Gus on the inside?
‘George! George, are you in there?’
‘Yes,’ I croak nervously.
‘George, I’m here with Doctor Sing. Could you please open the door? There’s no need to be afraid.’
I open the door.
An old woman and a man in a white coat are staring back at me. But only for a split second. The old woman, who I guess is George’s wife, Doris, lunges for me and throws her arms around me. I freeze with one arm holding the drip stand and the other glued to my side.
‘This way, George,’ says the doctor.
Two nurses enter the hospital room and help me back to my bed. Dr Sing takes my pulse and then flashes a torch into my eyes.
‘Now, George,’ he says, taking a clipboard from one of the nurses. ‘I’m just going to ask you a few simple questions. Is that okay?’
I nod. Doris has moved to the other side of the bed and holds my hand. It makes me think of my mother. I wish Mum were here now.
‘What’s your full name?’
‘Gus James Delfino.’
The startled expression on Doris’s face makes me stop for a moment. Then I desperately blurt out:
‘I’m Gus! Gus Delfino! I’m fourteen and I don’t know how I got inside George’s body. You’ve got to believe me. I don’t know how this happened. One minute I’m on the bus sitting beside him, next I’m here as him. Are these tubes in my arms making me hallucinate or something? I want to go back to me – back to my own body. Please, doctor! Please! Please! Please! Change me back!’
Okay. Now I’m really freaking out. I’m hysterical. And I can see it’s really freaking out Doris and the doctor, too.
Doctor Sing calls for a nurse, and before I know it I’m being injected with something.
‘It’s okay, George,’ Doctor Sing says. ‘This should calm you down a bit.’
‘Oh, George,’ Doris sighs, clasping my hand. ‘It’s okay, darling, you’re going to be okay.’
My eyelids begin to drop and I feel sleepy.
‘He’s obviously going through some post-traumatic stress. We’ll have to monitor him closely and perhaps we’ll arrange for another brain scan �
�’ Doctor Sing’s voice fades off into the background.
Great, they don’t believe me. They think I have some kind of brain damage. My head sinks back onto the pillow and I fall into a deep sleep.
When I wake up I see Doris still sitting by the bed. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asks me softly, as she presses the nurse-call button. She looks worried.
If I say that I’m Gus, she’ll probably freak out again, I think. And why wouldn’t she? She can only see her husband here in this hospital bed, not me inside. She won’t believe me. Who would? I wouldn‘t. I just have to go along with this. Just for now. Until I work out how to get out of this mess.
Doctor Sing enters the room with the nurse. ‘So, Mr Cavendish, how are you feeling after that nap?’ he asks me.
‘Fine,’ I reply.
‘Well, I’d like to ask you a couple of questions,’ he says. ‘What’s your full name?’
I look over and see the nurse who jabbed me with the needle. There’s no way I want to be ‘calmed down’ again.
‘My name is George. George Cavendish,’ I say, catching Doris smiling a little.
‘And how old are you?’
‘I dunno – freakin’ ancient,’ I blurt out. Doris and the Doctor chuckle nervously. Then I remember, George said he was seventy-one, so that’s what I tell them.
‘Okay …’ says Dr Sing, scribbling something down in a notebook. ‘Thank you. That’s all for now, Mr Cavendish. We’ll have to keep you in for a few days. You were very lucky to have come out of this alive. The bus you were travelling on turned over four times and you received a severe blow to the head. You’ve been in a coma for just under forty hours … so all we want from you now is to rest and let us look after you.’
I sigh heavily, then something terrible dawns on me. My heart begins to race again. And I breathe in short, panicky breaths. ‘What happened to me?’ I call out. ‘I mean, the boy. What happened to the boy?’
‘He’s alive,’ says Dr Sing. ‘Stable, but in a coma. His wounds are largely superficial. We can only hope he’ll come through the way you have this morning. But you shouldn’t concern yourself with that. You’ve survived a horrific crash. Sadly, the bus driver didn’t.’
‘Where’s the boy now?’ I ask, shuffling to get out of bed. ‘I want to see him.’
‘George, darling, what’s going on?’ asks Doris, looking concerned.
‘He’s here on this ward … but, please, Mr Cavendish, the boy is in good hands,’ Dr Sing says.
‘No!’ I snap loudly. ‘I won’t be able to rest until I see him.’
‘George? Tell me what’s going on,’ says Doris. ‘You’re worrying me. George?’
Suddenly I realise how much I’m upsetting her. I’ve got to tell her something – something normal. ‘Mrs Cavendish, I mean, Doris,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry. It would break my heart if this boy doesn’t survive.’
Which is kind of true – it would do more than break my heart. It would totally crush me. I’d be dead. But not dead. Man, this is so messed up.
‘All right, George, I understand,’ Doris says softly. She turns to the doctor. ‘Is it possible?’ she asks.
The doctor nods and finally I’m in a wheelchair being wheeled down a long white hospital corridor. Doris is walking quickly to keep up.
‘Right, we’re here,’ announces the nurse. ‘This is Gus Delfino’s room.’
CHAPTER
08
The room is dark. The nurse pulls back the curtains and lets the morning light stream in. I ask her if I can approach me – I mean the boy in the bed – on my own. The nurse says she’ll wait by the door.
‘Shall I stay with you?’ Doris asks.
‘I think I need to be alone, if you don’t mind,’ I say.
I can tell that she does mind. Her expression is confused and sad at the same time. ‘Okay,’ she sighs.
As Doris steps back, I take in a deep breath. There’s silence in the room, except for a machine beeping rhythmically in the background.
Talk about out-of-this-world freakiness! I roll up to the bedside and just stare. I’m staring at me. If I’m ‘inside’ George’s body, is he ‘inside’ mine?
What the hell am I talking about? Does that even make sense? My chest feels tight. Super tight. My jaw is clenched.
I take in another deep breath and force myself to calm down. I look at the boy’s face, my face, like I’ve never looked at it before. Huh? I have a slightly crooked nose. Who knew? A few things are different, though – they’ve shaved part of my head, and there’s a long, stitched cut across my cheek and up over my ear. I shudder. It looks bad.
‘Hello?’ I whisper, leaning in so that Doris and the nurse can’t hear me. ‘Hello, are you there?’
Beep, Beep, Beep, echoes the machine.
‘Please wake up, then we can somehow work out how to fix this. Hello? Gus? George? It’s me. I mean, you.’
I place George’s bony, spotted hand gently on my smooth cheek, and I begin to cry. I’m blubbering like a baby. And I can’t stop. Doris rushes to me, and behind her someone else has entered the room. I turn and my heart almost stops. It’s my mother!
‘Mum!’ I cry, jumping out of my wheelchair.
My mother steps back, frightened. Who is this old man, this stranger, calling me Mum? clearly registers across her face.
Doris and the nurse looked equally shocked.
‘Mum! It’s me! Gus!’ I shuffle towards her, my arms open wide.
I’m still crying. I’m so happy to see her. I want to hug her so much. But she pulls away. The nurse steps in between us, and tries to lead me back to the wheelchair.
‘George? Oh, George? What are you doing?’ gasps Doris.
‘What’s going on here?’ snaps my mother. ‘Why are you saying this? What kind of sick person are you?’
She’s now totally flipping out. She looks completely frazzled. She’s probably not slept in days, not since the accident. She’s probably been by my side, worrying every single waking second, wondering if her son will come out of this tragedy alive and well. Now I’m having second thoughts about freaking her out even more. Seriously, how can I explain to her that I’m her son, when all she sees is a man old enough to be her dad?
‘I think we should take you back to your room, Mr Cavendish,’ says the nurse, now forcefully sitting me back down.
I don’t resist. I don’t want to upset my mum. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say to her as I’m wheeled out into the corridor. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you. I spoke to Gus before we got on the bus. I’m still confused after the accident.’
‘Wait!’ my mother calls out to me.
The nurse stops pushing.
‘You spoke to Gus?’ she says. ‘How was he? What did he say?’
‘Um, he was okay. I found him to be…’ I want to make her feel better, to say he was awesome. Good value. Unreal. Sweet as. All of the above. But she’s expecting an old man’s response. ‘I found him to be a polite young man. Well spoken. Well mannered. You should be proud.’
‘I am,’ my mum whimpers, struggling to hold back her tears.
‘I’m sorry for freaking … I mean, upsetting you back in there. I don’t know what came over me. Please forgive me. I know your son will get through this, he’s too tough not to.’
I see a hint of a smile from Mum. Also from Doris, who still looks concerned, but not as much as she did before.
My mum invites me back to sit with her, but the nurse insists I should return to my room.
‘Well, perhaps later?’ I say.
My mother nods.
As I’m helped back into my bed, Doris says she’s going to tell the family that I’ve come to. And that soon I’ll be able to see my daughter and my grandchildren. The nurse makes sure I’m straight-jacket tucked in.
When they leave I begin to cry. Again. Everything seems hopeless. I cry myself to sleep.
‘Hello.’
‘Oh, hello,’ my mother says, startled to see me standing in the doorway.
‘Yes, of course,’ my mum replies warmly, offering her chair to me and grabbing another one for herself. ‘No wheelchair?’
‘Nah,’ I shrug, sitting down beside the unconscious me-body. ‘Really don’t need it. Thanks.’
‘You got some rest?’ my mother asks politely.
‘Not much. Just a couple of hours.’
‘And your wife?’
Woah. I’m not even going to say how weird that sounds.
‘She’s gone to the canteen, to wait for my daughter and grandchildren to arrive,’ I answer.
Okay. I am gonna say it. That’s unbelievably weird!
‘Oh, they’ll be so happy to see you,’ my mother sighs, glancing back to my body in bed.
‘My husband, Jim, is in the canteen, too, getting some coffee,’ she adds.
‘Dad’s here?’ I say excitedly.
‘Sorry?’
‘I mean, the boy’s father is here?’
My mother nods.
‘And Clara? Is she with him?’ I blurt out.
‘Excuse me? How do you know about Clara?’
Clara is my two-year-old sister.
‘Um, Gus told me about her when we were in the bus. He was bragging about her.’
‘Oh, that’s nice,’ Mum says. ‘Well, yes, she’s with Jim… Here they are now.’
I turn to see my dad at the door. Clara toddles over to Mum.
I’m so happy to see them both – but this time I stop myself from jumping up and getting emotional.
‘Mr Cavendish, this is my husband, Jim,’ says my mother.
‘Mr Cavendish,’ says my father, shaking my hand firmly. ‘Nice to meet you. Jenny told me that you visited earlier. How are you feeling?’
I’m feeling awful. I’m feeling cheesed off. I’m feeling that if I tell anyone what’s really going on I’ll be locked away in some padded cell for good. ‘Not bad for an old dude,’ I say instead. ‘How are you two holding up?’
My dad glances at my mum. ‘We’re doing … um, yeah, we’re okay.’