“HANDS OFF MY SON!”
As people backed off, he pulled me out of the crowd and gave me a quick, strong hug. Then we ran to Nana, who was about to sit down.
My mom, my dad, and I reached her at the exact same time. We all hugged each other for a long moment and asked Nana if she was okay.
She smiled, and said, “Yes, of course! The family is together again.”
Then she fell to the ground and collapsed.
38
It felt like time stopped. I wasn’t sure if she was breathing or not. But somehow I knew exactly what to do.
I pressed down on her chest, and then I tilted her head back and blew into her mouth.
It didn’t taste like wet socks.
Now, I’d like to tell you that this is where I saved Nana’s life by giving her CPR for ten minutes, and by keeping her breathing until the ambulance got there. But the truth is, after about two seconds I felt a huge hand on my shoulder.
“Let me,” Larry the Beard said.
I stood up as Larry bent down and pressed down on Nana’s chest hard and quick, a bunch of times. Then he gave her two quick mouth-to-mouth breaths. Then he repeated the process, and repeated it again. Finally her chest gave a big heave.
Larry looked up.
“She’s breathing,” he said.
My mother started crying. My dad held her. A doctor who had been in the audience took care of Nana while someone called 911.
As we waited for the ambulance, Larry came over to me.
“You did good,” he said.
“Thanks. So did you.”
“Yeah, well, that’s show biz.” He stroked his big beard. “Did you take a course in CPR?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
Larry nodded back.
“That’s one activity that might be worth getting off the couch for,” he said.
PART 3
AFTER
39
Hospitals kind of freak me out.
The walls are really white. The floors are really shiny. The whole place has that gross overly clean smell. And everyone is whispering.
My goal in life is to hang out in hospitals as little as possible.
Luckily, Nana’s nurse, who was named Jagadesh, was a really friendly person.
Plus, he recognized me.
“You’re Jack Strong,” he said, as we waited for the doctor to bring us some news.
“Yes,” I answered, a little out of breath. Walking up the stairs from the underground parking lot to the lobby was the most non-yoga exercise I’d had in almost two weeks.
“I admire what you’re doing,” said Jagadesh. “Standing up for your rights. Very cool.”
I tried to smile, but I was too worried. Nana didn’t look good at all when they took her out of the ambulance and into the emergency room. She tried to wave at me but her mouth was covered by an oxygen mask and she had tubes running to her arms.
When I saw her go through the hospital doors I’d started to cry a little bit, but I didn’t want my parents to see me so I made myself stop. My mom was already very scared, and if she saw me crying that definitely would have made it worse.
In the waiting room, my parents sat down. My dad looked at me and pointed to a couch.
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’d rather stand.”
We all laughed at that and felt a little bit better.
And then we waited.
* * *
There was a television in the waiting room, and it was tuned to Brody’s show. It was just ending, since it had taken us about fifteen minutes to get to the hospital and fifteen more to fill out the paperwork.
Brody and Shaina were talking at the desk on the stage, in our front yard. Watching them almost didn’t feel real.
“This has been a memorable night, for so many reasons,” Brody said.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Shaina agreed.
“I sure hope that wonderful woman is okay,” Brody added.
My dad got up and turned off the TV.
When he got back to the couch, he hugged my mom for a long time.
About an hour later the doctor came out. She looked young enough to be my sister, but my parents looked at her like she had the fate of the world in her hands. Which, in a way, she did.
“I’m Dr. Worsfold,” she said, shaking my parents’ hands. “You must be Mrs. Kellerman’s daughter.”
My mom stepped forward and nodded.
“Your mother went into cardiac arrest,” said the doctor. “We’re still working to restore a normal heart rate. We should know more in the next hour or so.”
My mom managed to nod. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“She’s a real fighter,” said Dr. Worsfold.
My mom nodded again and started to cry. My dad hugged her, then turned to the doctor.
“Tell me about it,” he said.
40
After another hour or so, Dr. Worsfold came back to tell us that Nana had stabilized, but that she needed emergency angioplasty.
“It’s a common procedure,” the doctor explained, “but at Rose’s age, of course, any surgery is a risk.”
My parents looked at each other.
“I think she’ll be just fine, but unfortunately there are no guarantees,” the doctor added, answering the unasked question.
“Of course,” said my mom. “Well, let’s get to it then. The sooner the better.”
With my parents’ permission, Jagadesh arranged it so I could be the last one to talk to Nana before she went into the operating room.
A bunch of doctors and nurses and technicians were hurrying in and out of Nana’s room, checking instruments, writing in charts, and examining every inch of her body. She saw me come in and rolled her eyes.
“I haven’t had this many people fawn over me since before I was married,” she said. Then she patted the bed. “Come sit.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. “Good luck” sounded kind of dumb and “I hope everything goes okay” sounded negative.
So I just said, “I love you, Nana.”
She hugged me as hard as she could, which wasn’t very hard. “I love you, too, Moochie-Pooch.” Then she pushed me back so she could look at me. “This has been quite a couple of weeks, hasn’t it?”
“Yup.”
She hoisted herself up on her pillows. “I meant every word I said. I’m so proud of you. But now it’s time to get back to living.”
“I know,” I said, looking at the shiny white floor.
“Life is short, Jack,” said Nana. “Too short to be doing things you don’t want to do. But way too short to not be doing anything at all.”
I nodded, and she lay back down on the bed, tired from the effort of talking. The doctors told us it was time to go. As she was getting wheeled away, Nana looked up at me.
“Meet me back here in three hours for Law & Order.”
41
Have you ever eaten hospital cafeteria food? It turns out it’s pretty good. Especially the chocolate pudding.
During Nana’s surgery, we all went to get something to eat. My dad and I both ate pudding. My mom had a sandwich, but she was staring at it more than eating it. No one said anything for a while.
Finally I looked up.
“Mom? Dad? I’ve decided to end my strike.”
“That’s wonderful news, honey!” my mom exclaimed.
My dad kept working on his pudding. He’d barely said a word since we got to the hospital, and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Starting tomorrow,” I went on. “There’s the first baseball summer league tryout, and I want to go. And I want to go to orchestra rehearsal, too. I want to concentrate on baseball and cello. Those are the things I love and those are the things I want to do. And I know how lucky I am that I get to do them.”
I waited, thinking my dad would say something, but he didn’t.
“And there are a lot of other things I might want to do that I don’t even know about yet. Like work in a kitchen
supply store, for example.”
My dad still didn’t look up, but I think I saw him smile just a little bit at the reference to his childhood.
“And Junior EMTs,” said my mother.
“And Junior EMTs,” I agreed.
“But I shouldn’t have to do all that stuff I don’t want to do,” I went on. “Life’s too short for that, just like Nana says.” I stopped, trying not to cry. “And how can you argue with a woman whose heart is working overtime?”
Mom smiled. I had one last thing to say.
“Plus, I think we can all agree that this is going to look pretty awesome on my college application.”
My dad finally looked up.
“Now you’re talking my language,” he said.
I laughed, because I wasn’t sure what else to do. Then I waited. My dad put down his spoon, picked up his tray, and threw out his garbage. Then he refilled his coffee cup and got back on line for some more food. I think he was stalling. Finally, he came back over and sat down.
“The day I left for college, it was raining,” he said. “The drive should have taken three hours, but it took five. My mom drove the whole way, with my dad doing the navigating. I sat in the back.” He took a sip of coffee. “I think we said maybe ten words to each other the whole way up.”
“How come?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It was the biggest day of my life, but it was almost too big. Nobody could think of anything to say.”
I sat, waiting, knowing he wasn’t done.
“Finally we got there, my mom makes my bed, my dad puts a few posters on the wall. Then, it was time for them to get going. None of us wanted a long drawn-out thing, though. So I hugged my mom, and we said our I-love-yous and goodbyes. Then I hugged my dad, but not too hard, because he’d already lost a lot of weight by then. He was still quiet, but I couldn’t let him go without saying something. So I said, ‘I’ll make you proud, dad, I promise.’”
My father looked up at the hospital ceiling—maybe through the ceiling, actually, up to the sky and beyond, maybe to his own father.
“Dad just looked at me,” he said. “Then he shook his head once and said, ‘You already have, son. You already have.’”
My dad stopped for a second. My mom took his hand and squeezed it.
Then he turned and looked straight at me.
“I don’t want to say I’m wrong and you’re right,” he said. “That might be the case, but I’m not ready to say that just yet.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “But you know how I always talk about how finding your ‘thing’ is so important?” I nodded. Did I ever! That’s how this whole craziness started.
“Well, maybe you’ve already found it,” my dad said. “Because sticking up for what you believe in is the greatest thing of all.”
My heart felt huge in my chest, and I wasn’t sure I could talk. But I managed to say two words. “Thanks, Dad.”
He let out a big, exhausted sigh. “So now, back to the matter at hand. I tried to make it back to the TV show to say this on the air, but your nana beat me to it. You shouldn’t have to do things you have absolutely no interest in. I can’t argue with that.” He looked at my mom, then back at me. “But the things you are interested in, I want you to pursue with all your heart.” He held out his hand. “Fair enough?”
We shook. “Fair enough.”
My dad hugged me, and I hugged him back. Then he pointed at his tray, and I noticed he’d just bought two more chocolate puddings.
“You can’t have enough pudding,” he said, giving me one.
I dug in. It was the best pudding I’d ever eaten.
A few minutes later the door to the cafeteria opened, and we saw Dr. Worsfold coming toward us with a serious expression on her face. My parents stood up. I felt a nervous jolt.
“Mrs. Strong,” the doctor said.
My mom took my father’s hand. “Yes?”
Dr. Worsfold smiled, and the world relaxed.
“Your mother is asking for a tongue sandwich.”
42
Nana was going to be sleeping most of the night, so my parents decided it was time to take me home so I could get some sleep.
When we stepped into the hospital lobby, I saw about five cameras, ten reporters, and twenty people. I wondered who they were waiting for, and then realized they were waiting for me.
I saw Lucy Fleck and her mother. I saw Leo, Cathy, and Baxter Billows.
Cathy came running up and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “You’re awesome,” she whispered.
I’ll take “awesome” over “kind of funny” any day.
I saw Larry, the huge bearded guy who’d helped Nana when she collapsed. He waved.
The reporters ran toward me. Shaina Townsend reached me first.
“How’s your grandmother?”
I gave a thumbs-up. “She’s going to be okay,” I said, and everyone cheered.
“And what about you, Jack?” asked Shaina. “Are you going to be okay? What about the strike? What’s your plan?”
I looked straight into the cameras. “I’ve decided to end the strike. My family and I worked it all out. I can’t wait to get back to school and my friends and doing the things I love.”
The crowd started chanting something, but I couldn’t tell what they were saying at first. Then I could.
They were chanting, “Jack! Jack! Jack!”
I gave another thumbs-up and started walking toward the car, but Shaina stopped me.
“Someone wants to say something to you,” Shaina said. I saw Mrs. Fleck emerge from the crowd. Lucy was next to her, and she had some flowers in her hand.
Mrs. Fleck nodded at her daughter, and Lucy gave them to me.
“These are for your grandmother,” Lucy said.
I leaned into them and inhaled. They smelled amazing. “Thank you, Mrs. Fleck. Thank you, Lucy.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said to me.
Mrs. Fleck handed me a gift. I opened it—it was a CD of music by Pablo Casals, the amazing cellist who had almost certainly never dropped his bow.
“I look forward to hearing you play again,” Mrs. Fleck said.
I shook her hand. “Me, too,” I said. “Me, too.”
I hugged Lucy. Then I shook hands with Larry, high-fived Leo, accepted another kiss on the cheek from Cathy and a punch on the arm from Baxter, and waved to everyone else. Then I got in my parents’ car and drove back to our house.
And back to real life.
EPILOGUE
So that’s my story.
I still go to Horace Henchell Middle School, and Horace is still dead. The hallways are still a grimy yellow, the classrooms are still way too hot, and the cheeseburgers are still way too cold. And Alex Mutchnik is still in my class.
But it’s okay. I don’t mind Horace so much, or his school. In fact, I like it a lot more now. It’s fun, and it’s hard but not that hard, and it’s just a normal part of my normal life.
I still play the cello, which I’m really good at; and I still play baseball, which I’m not that good at. But no more tennis or karate or swimming or tutors. I have some free time now, which I mostly spend hanging out with friends, reading, playing video games, and wrestling with my dog.
Nana and I do yoga together every day.
My dad is good with all the changes and everything, but he still talks about China, and how important it is. He asks me about once a week if I would consider giving Chinese another try. I told him that maybe I’d consider taking it in high school.
We’ll just have to wait and see on that one.
* * *
When Nana came home from the hospital, she looked tired but healthy. She was pretty grumpy, though, because Dr. Worsfold told her that tongue sandwiches were off-limits: way too salty for her strict new diet.
The first night she was home, she was having trouble falling asleep, so she asked me to play the cello for her. I played for thirty-five minutes straight, concentrating on nothing but the music. It felt so good.
&
nbsp; When I finally stopped to ask Nana if she wanted me to play more, she was snoring so loudly I thought the walls might cave in.
* * *
On Monday, my first day back at school, which also happened to be the start of the last week of the school year, Cathy Billows, who’s still so pretty that it makes my eyebrows hurt, came running up to me.
“Jack’s back! Yay!!! Hey, everyone, Jack’s here!” Exclamation points were flying all over the place.
All day, I was treated like a king. At lunch, Mrs. Bondetto, the head cafeteria lady, gave me an extra chocolate chip cookie AND an extra chocolate milk. In English class, Mrs. Bender gave me a big hug, with her tiny but unmistakable mustache brushing my cheek. Mr. Lahiff, the gym teacher, let me skip the annoying pommel horse. And at recess, all the kids wanted me on their basketball team, but I decided to just hang out on the sideline with Leo and Lucy.
Then, at the end of the day, Cathy pulled me aside.
“The End-of-Year Dance is coming up on Friday!”
“Cool.”
“So, do you think you would want to go with me?”
This was it. The moment I’d been waiting for from the first moment I realized girls existed, about halfway through third grade. Cathy Billows was inviting me to a dance.
I shook my head.
“I can’t,” I said. “I forgot all about the dance, so I made other plans for Friday night.”
Cathy’s face went a little dark, the way it did when I told her I couldn’t go to her party two weeks earlier. But this time, she snapped right out of it and gave me a bright smile.
“What kind of plans?”
“You wouldn’t be interested, I don’t think.”
“Try me!”
So I told her.
* * *
The next day, Tuesday, was the Little League All-Star game. Even though I wasn’t exactly an all-star, the coaches decided to let me play. Maybe they thought Brody Newhouse would come and cover it, but he didn’t. In any case, I was batting against Kevin Kessler, the strikeout king. It was the bottom of the sixth (and last) inning, with us losing by one, one out and a man on third.
Jack Strong Takes a Stand Page 10