Cracked

by Walton, K. M.

  I take a wild chance. “My pop call?”

  “Nope, doesn’t look like it.”

  I don’t know why I thought either one of them would call. I feel stupid that I had Kell wheel me down here. I can’t believe I thought they would’ve called. My face feels red, and I’m embarrassed. I bob my head quickly in an attempt to nod. Like I knew they wouldn’t call. Ellie must realize I’m uncomfortable, because she smiles and tells me that I have a visitor who’s been waiting in my room for five minutes.

  A visitor? In my room? I didn’t even know we were allowed to have visitors in here.

  I take a wild chance, again. “My pop?”

  “No, not your grandfather. It’s your friend, Frank.”

  The old guy from the cemetery. Who leaves me bags of food with notes.

  And a poem.

  Victor

  “NANA? HI, IT’S VICTOR,” I SAY INTO THE PHONE AT the nurses’ desk. They actually have a private desk in the corner just behind their counter. It’s not in a room or anything, but it faces the wall, so it’s almost private.

  “Oh, Victor. I’ve been a ball of worry waiting to hear your voice.”

  My nana is always a ball of worry. “I’m okay, Nana.”

  Wait, am I okay? I think I am. This is a big shock to me—like, colossal. I think I really am okay. I feel different.

  “Are they feeding you well in there? Do you have clean clothes? Are you sleeping all right?”

  “Nana, really, I’m okay. We eat pretty well, and we all have to wear sweatsuits, and they’re clean, I promise.”

  “Ohhhh, Victor,” she says softly, “when I found you. . . .” She’s quietly crying into the phone. This makes me really upset. I’m not a big fan of people crying, but it really stinks when your nana is crying over something you did.

  “Nana, I’m sorry. I am sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight then. I’m sorry I didn’t think of how you would feel. I . . . I . . .”

  I exhale into the phone. “I was in a lot of pain, Nana. And Jazzer died. And Mom and Dad left me behind because they are selfish people.”

  She huffs into my ear. I guess she is really mad at me.

  I don’t know what else to say to her. I wish I could tell her how appreciative I am that she saved me. And how her voice in my head sounds more like home to me than any sound I’ve heard in my life.

  “Your parents! Ha! I know your mother is my daughter, but she has done you wrong, Victor. I’ve never had the courage or the opportunity to tell you how I feel about how you’ve been raised. It all makes me so upset.” My grandmother is fired up, all the whimpering gone from her voice. She is speaking with a fierceness I’ve never heard before. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been a ball of worry over you up here, so far away from me, never getting to see you. . . .”

  This makes me feel relief. And pride. I stare at the wall and let it sink in. The ward carries on behind me—people talk, other phones ring—but in this corner, I am beaming.

  She has more to say. “I’ll tell you what I’ve done, Victor. I’ve done quite a bit since your—oh, I hate to even say it—since your suicide attempt. What you’ve been through, the pain you must’ve been in. It’s just so . . . well, you’ve got me now, sweetheart. I’m having my things sent up here. I’m taking the spare bedroom across the hall from you. I’m moving in. Oh, yes I am. I called your mother and told her you need me. I told her she should be ashamed of herself for not coming home to be with her boy. I told her you were a good boy, and she should be ashamed for not noticing what a good boy you are. That’s what I told her. Oh, she tried arguing with me, even hung up on me once, but I just called her right back. Got your father on the phone then, gave him the business too. Yes I did. So you listen here, Victor. I will be here when you get home. I will be here.”

  I’m crying. I’m crying because she fought for me. She stood up for me.

  My nana said she’ll be there. For me.

  Bull

  FRANK IS SITTING IN THE CHAIR OVER BY THE WINDOW, and he gets up when we come in. Kell kisses my cheek and whispers in my ear, “I’ll miss you.” Then she leaves us alone.

  It takes me a second to clear my head from Kell, her kiss, and her private message.

  “So, you’ve been eating my snacks, have you?” He grins.

  “Yes, sir,” I say. I’ve never called anyone “sir” in my entire life. Seriously. But he looks like he deserves to be called sir—like he could be on the poster for “Grandfather of the Year.” Today he’s got his gray hair combed and is wearing a button-up brown V-neck sweater.

  We stare at each other. I have no idea what to say to the guy. I want to ask him why he’s here and why he keeps leaving me food and why he put that damn poem in the bag. But I’m nervous and I don’t want to sound like a dumbass. Luckily, he starts talking.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve taken up such an interest in you, especially since we’ve never actually met,” he says with a smile.

  Whoa, he’s a mind reader. Wild. I nod.

  He keeps going. “I’ve noticed you at the graveyard for a long time. Never wanted to disrupt you there, though. I could see that the time you spent there was special to you. I could tell you needed that time.”

  Frank’s good, because he never looked like he noticed me there, ever. He always looked like he was oblivious.

  “Yes, sir.” Is that all I can say to this guy? He’s going to think I’m slow or something. In an effort to say anything, I blurt out, “How’d you get those brown bags in here?” Not, Nice to meet you, thanks for visiting me. I go right for the inquisition. Smooth.

  “I knew you’d wonder about that. My son is the president of the hospital here. It pays to have connections at the top,” he says with a wink.

  “Oh, that’s cool,” I tell him. His son must be a really smart guy. I ask him how he knew I was in the hospital in the first place. Frank tells me he found out by accident. He was driving a different way to work because of a closed road, and the detour took him down my street. He saw the police cars and the ambulance. He saw my bike leaned up against the bush, and he recognized it from the graveyard. He said he got a bad feeling in his stomach, so he parked and started talking to the other people standing around watching. He got the whole story, even my name and where they were taking me.

  “Wow,” I say.

  “Everything happens for a reason. I’m a big believer in destiny. I mean, what are the chances of detouring everyone to your street? And that I’d pass by and recognize your bike?”

  This is all real nice and everything, but I’m starting to get weirded out. He’s too nice. I’m not used to nice. I really don’t know why he cares about me and my bike and my life. What’s up with this guy? What’s his deal?

  “Sir, I’m not trying to be rude or anything, but why are you doing all this? The brown bags, the visit, that poem?”

  Frank nods his head at me for a few seconds without saying anything. I must’ve stumped him.

  “Well, you have asked a mighty big question there, young man. I have given that a great deal of thought lately. For a while, I didn’t have an answer.”

  Whoa, he’s already thought about it. Second time he’s read my mind. Freaky shit.

  “Why did I care about a young man I had never even met? Well, my wife died about five years back—love of my life, that woman. I live alone now. When you live alone, you have a lot of quiet time to get your thoughts straightened out, to clear your head. When Gloria was alive, I always used my time bumping around on that mower to think through a conversation or a squabble we’d had. Gave me time to work it all out in my head. I knew that’s what you were doing there too. A man knows these things about another man. That’s why I never intruded. I always liked seeing you there, doing your thinking and your reading.”

  This is unbelievable. I don’t want to interrupt him.

  “And the poem? Well, now, that’s mighty personal. My uncle gave me that poem after I had my son. I tucked it away and never thou
ght anything of it. I wasn’t a poem kind of guy. And let’s just say I wasn’t the best father in the world. I was tough on Michael, real tough. Never laid a hand on him, but I used my words. Nothing that boy did was ever good enough for me.

  “Got lots of regrets about my parenting.” Frank presses his lips together, then turns and looks out the window. I’m not saying a word. He takes a big breath and says, “But regrets don’t get you anywhere, no matter how much time you spend thinking them through on a mower. Best thing to do with a regret is to share it with the person, tell him how you feel, how you wished things could’ve been different. Won’t do much for the other person, but it takes a breeze of guilt out of your hurricane. Just a breeze, though.”

  Incredible. Is this guy for real? I mean, he shows up out of the blue, and it’s like he knows exactly what to say to me. Out of nervousness, I shift my weight in my wheelchair. A pain shoots down my bad leg. I cringe.

  Frank is at my side before I can even exhale. “Are you all right?”

  I nod, let out a long breath, and slowly get myself back into a comfortable position.

  Frank waits. “You okay now?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  He sits back down. “I know you’re still wondering why I gave you that poem. I apologize for my long-winded answer. I haven’t spoken this out loud to anyone yet. You are the first person to hear my ‘mower thoughts.’” He laughs.

  I smile at him. He has the best voice. It reminds me of the grandfathers I used to see on television. Kind, patient, gentle.

  Everything Pop isn’t.

  “Being the quiet type, I notice things. Now, I hope you don’t think I’m prying in your private life or anything, but I noticed your bruises. I could see them across the cemetery. A young man doesn’t get those kinds of bruises by accident. Not over and over again. And when your neighbors said it was just your mom and your grandfather living with you . . .” Frank’s voice trailed off.

  My smile disappears. I am not going to discuss my pop with this guy. I don’t even know him. But I don’t know how to make him stop talking.

  “I’ve offended you. I’m sorry. I was just trying to help. This was a mistake. I’m sorry. I’ll go.” Frank stands up.

  I don’t want him to leave. I’m not sure why, but I don’t.

  “It’s all right. I like the poem,” I admit.

  “I do too. I do too.”

  “My favorite part is the last line: ‘Some wait for no one, they fill themselves up.’ It makes me feel . . .” I don’t know how it makes me feel. Feelings are new to me. I’ve always shoved them down and ignored them. I’ve never acknowledged them, let alone named them.

  “Hope?” he asks.

  I take a second and think about it, and yeah, that is the perfect word to describe how it makes me feel. I tell him this.

  Victor walks in. His eyes are red and his face is blotchy. He’s definitely been crying. I can tell he doesn’t know what to do because he just stands there, staring.

  Frank walks right up to him and introduces himself, and they shake hands. Victor sits on his bed with his back to us, but he doesn’t pull the curtain closed. Normally, I’d bitch at Victor to close the curtain, but I can’t take my eyes off of Frank. I study him. He moves slowly but with precision, and he smiles a lot. Not like a creepy clown or anything, a real-deal smile. And know it sounds crazy, but I swear to God his eyes twinkle.

  Today has been a wild day. I just want to crawl into bed and relax. I get myself up on one leg. Frank says, “Would you like help getting into bed? I know I’m old, but I’m still pretty strong.”

  I almost say no, but then I tell him sure. He helps me up and tucks me under the blankets. For real.

  Frank holds out his hand, and I grab it. We shake, and he says, “Rest up. And tonight, dream of hope.” Then he squeezes my shoulder.

  When he walks out, I wonder when I’ll see him again, because I want to.

  Victor

  I GUESS THAT WAS BULL’S GRANDFATHER. NOT WHAT I pictured in my head at all.

  “He’s not my grandfather,” Bull says from his bed.

  Weird.

  “Oh,” I say nonchalantly, trying to act as “whatever” as possible. This is the first thing Bull Mastrick has ever said to me that wasn’t evil.

  I’m sitting on my bed with my back to him, and I look at my watch. Ten minutes until my follow-up appointment with the psychiatrist. Everyone says the ticket out of here is to say the right stuff. Lacey gave me all the buzzwords yesterday. She said Kell told them to her in the one and only verbal interaction they’ve ever had. I’m definitely done with this place, even though that scares the hell out of me. I’m done.

  Agnes is at the door and tells me I have a phone call.

  “My mother?” I ask.

  “Nope, Patty Cullen,” she replies before turning to leave.

  I am in shock for a few reasons:

  1. This means everyone in school must know what I did, and

  2. Patty Cullen is calling me. In the crazy house. Me, Victor Konig, is being called by a girl. And not just any girl. A really pretty girl from school. That girl is on the phone. Right now.

  Agnes leans in our doorway again. “You having a hearing issue, Victor?”

  I do not want to annoy Agnes. I jump up and follow her down the hall. I don’t have any thoughts right now. My head is blank, like someone wiped me clean. I have no idea what I’m going to say to Patty Cullen. Then guilt pokes at me because I feel like I’m betraying Nikole. But that’s stupid. Nikole went back to her life, where she’s popular and her friends call her Queenie, and she’ll have another hot guy after her in, like, two seconds. Nikole told me to be happy. She told me to live because I’m worth it.

  Agnes huffs with a smile. Then she hands me the phone, pats me on the back, and tells me to just be myself. Great, Agnes has figured out I’m a loser without me even saying a word.

  “Hello?”

  “Victor?” Patty sounds as nervous as I am.

  “Yeah, hi. Is this really Patty?” I ask. I have to ask, even though I know it’s her. I don’t want to be tricked or fooled. Not now. Not today.

  “Uh-huh, it is. Are you okay? I’ve been thinking about you.”

  Now, she’s said this to me once before, the day after I passed out on my lunch tray. She said she was thinking about me; I remember that. So that means she’s thought about me, like, twice. That’s a lot, right?

  “Really? You’ve been thinking about me?” I guess I just need to be completely sure about everything.

  I hear her laugh, then she clears her throat. Patty breathes into the phone and then says, “Yeah, I have. Are you okay, Victor? Because I want you to know something.”

  This could be good. Or bad. Probably bad. She’s probably going to tell me the whole school laughed their asses off at my botched demise.

  “You still there?” she asks after a moment.

  “Sorry, yeah, still here.”

  “Well, how are you really doing, Victor?”

  That same feeling washes over me—the same feeling I got when I was on the phone with my nana. I really am okay.

  I tell her, “I’m okay.”

  “You are? Seriously? Because I was beyond worried. You are always in class, so when you weren’t there for the last day of school, I had this horrible feeling that something was wrong. I went to the guidance counselor, and she promised me she’d look into it. When word got out about you, and about Bull, at the end-of-the-year parties, I freaked out, Victor.”

  “So everyone at school knows what I did?”

  “Everyone was really upset about it. Honest.”

  I don’t say anything. The reality of having to go back to school in September crashes into me like a linebacker. I know I still have two-and-a-half months of summer vacation, but I don’t want to go back to school ever. No one has noticed me for years, and now I’ll be stared at and whispered about. I don’t want to see any of those people.

  “Hey? Listen, okay? I’m
here for you. I’ve sort of had a thing for you. My friends always talked me out of saying something. But it’s my life, you know? And I am making you a promise right now on this phone. I am here for you, okay?”

  Holy crap. Patricia Cullen just told me that she has a thing for me. I jam my elbow into my thigh to see if I’m dreaming. Nope, awake.

  “Victor, you’re very quiet. You there?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Are you freaking out?” Her voice cracks at the end. She sounds worried.

  This is too much for me. This will never work when I’m out there, with people. “No, I’m not—, ” I start. Then I have an immediate change of heart. Must be the courage juice. “Look, Patty, I’ve been through a lot, and I’ve grown up a lot in here, which is weird because it’s only been a few days. I met this girl, and . . .”

  “Oh, oh, I’m . . . wow, I’m sorry. I guess I never expected . . . oh, wow,” she stumbles.

  I am ruining this. “No! No! Let me finish, okay?”

  “Go ahead,” she whispers.

  “I met this girl in here and she told me to stay alive. She told me I’m worth it.”

  “And you’re going out with her?”

  Still ruining this.

  “No. What I’m trying to say is, she made me stop feeling invisible to the world. It’s almost like she filled in the white spaces with color or something. And she made me want to live.”

  “And you’re going out with her?”

  “No, I’m not going out with her. She’s already gone. She left this morning. But she made me want to live. I want to live. And I want you to be there for me. I want you to be there.”

  “I am here for you.”

  Not ruined. So not ruined.

  Bull

  SOME DOCTOR COMES IN AND WAKES ME UP FROM my nap. He asks if I know where Victor is; he says he’s late for his appointment. I guess he’s the psychiatrist. I tell him Victor’s on the phone. Then he wants to know how I’m doing. I zone in on his eyebrows as soon as my eyes are awake enough to focus. They are unbelievable. I tell his eyebrows I’m good, and I ask him when I can get out of here.