I mumbled, “It’s okay, Mom” and “Everything’s going to be fine.” I waited, desperate to change the subject but needing her to calm down before I did it. Finally, she wiped the tears off her cheeks and gave a little laugh at how silly she was.
“Dr. Harry won’t tell me how long I have to be here,” I said, lowering my voice as though I might wake the men across the room. Or worse, make them jealous because I could think about leaving while they probably couldn’t even think.
“All of this is very new, Jake. I imagine they’re going to want to study you for at least a little while. We might even have to come back. It doesn’t matter, though, does it? As long as you’re getting better.”
“Mom, how much is this place costing? Can we afford this?” It was hardly what you’d call fancy, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be charging an arm and a leg. Especially if I was having daily tests.
“It’s research, sweetie. It’s not costing us anything.”
“Not even our insurance?”
“Insurance doesn’t cover things like this.”
“So, everyone who comes here is being researched?”
“I would think so, yes.”
I nodded toward the two elderly men across the way. “Do you think they’re in the study?”
My mom looked over at the comatose men. After giving me a mischievous look she scampered across the room. I hissed, “Mom. What are you doing?”
And then she began to talk to them. “Hello. I’m Cheryl Rogers-Margate, and I’m here with my son, Jake, who had leukemia. He’s had his first treatment and we’re very hopeful. We’re so impressed with Dr. Harry. I hope he’s doing wonderful things for you…” She glanced at a clipboard hung on a hook to the bottom of the bed. “A. Cummings and you… C. Ridley. It’s very nice to meet both of you, by the way.”
She paused as though she might get a response.
“Well, I hope you both have a pleasant day. I’ll come by and say hello another time.” She walked back to me and whispered, “They say it’s good to talk to people when they’re unconscious like that.”
I whispered back, “Is it good to mock them? Because that’s what you were doing.” I couldn’t believe it. My mother had managed to mortify me in front of the unconscious.
“Jake! I was not mocking anyone.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they appreciated your little chat,” I said, with definite snark. Then I had a truly unpleasant thought. “I hope that’s not what Property Five does to you.” It would suck to live but have my life fast-forwarded at the same time.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” my mom said. “They’re obviously here for another reason. It’s a research institute. I’m sure they’re researching all sorts of things.”
“Yeah, this place is hopping.”
“Jake—”
“Well, come on, it doesn’t seem like an institute. Dr. Harry said the place was his, like he’d paid for it all. Why would—”
“I don’t pretend to understand the things rich people do.” That was a line she’d used before to dig at my dad.
“Rich people put their names on things. They don’t run—”
“Jake—”
“It seems more like the kind of place a mad scien—”
She burst out laughing. “Oh my God! Next you’ll tell me you met Igor and the Bride of—”
“I’m just saying.”
“You need to work on your attitude. Don’t be such a naysayer.”
“I don’t know what a naysayer is,” I said, though I knew exactly what it was. It’s kind of obvious. Nay. Sayer. And I didn’t think my attitude was the problem. Her attitude on the other hand—
“Jake, you know perfectly well those men aren’t here for the same reason you are. When you do a scientific study, the participants have things in common. They’re here for another study, I’m sure.” She smiled at me stiffly. I wasn’t sure she believed what she’d just said. I mean, what study were they here for? The health benefits of being unconscious for an extended period?
Standing up, she asked, “Where is the restroom? I’ve had a lot of coffee this afternoon.” She watched my face for an answer. But I had no idea where the restroom was. I’d been in bed all day. That seemed to dawn on her. “You don’t know, do you? Of course, you don’t. They’ve been bringing you bedpans all day.”
“No. No, they haven’t.”
Her mood changed. “They haven’t? What do you mean they haven’t? Jake, when was the last time you peed?”
“I don’t know. Before we got here.”
“That’s not good. That’s really not good,” she said and hurried out of the ward.
THIRTEEN
The ward was dark but for the light coming from the machines monitoring my two ancient roomies. I sat up in bed to look out the window but could barely see anything besides dark, skulking trees and a faint light in the distance. A neighbor? A buoy out on the lake? I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, then stood. It seemed like a long time since I’d stood. It felt wobbly, unstable. Carefully, I walked out into the aisle between the beds.
The rest of The Godwin Institute was out there. I wanted to see what my mom had told me about. What was it really like? I was quickly at the door to the ward, through the wide arch. To my right was the reception desk, Miss Haggerty slumped over in her chair, snoring. To my left, a hallway slipped behind the stairs.
As quietly as possible, I turned that way. At the end of the hallway was the solarium, a good-sized room with windows on three sides and a windowed door on the far wall. The windows were wooden, original.
You didn’t see that in Chicago. Wooden windows. Windows in Chicago were always metal. Aluminum, I think. Better for insulation. These old wooden windows let in drafts and had hooks that loosely fit into eyes on each side.
There was a matching summer sofa and two rattan chairs. The cushions were done in a tropical pattern. Palm trees and parrots. A matching coffee table sat between them, with a card table in one corner. I imagined myself playing rummy with the old men in my ward. They remained comatose in my imagination, slumped across from me forever unable to play their cards.
On the far side of the solarium was another door leading to a hallway on the other side of the stairs. I was about to walk over and investigate, but something caught my attention.
Outside, the yard was bathed in moonlight and nearly as bright as day. A girl stood by a tree about twenty feet from me. She was around twelve, standing very still. Even the trees moved more in the wind. She looked sick. Emaciated. Almost skeletal. And at the same time, I could see she’d been a pretty girl. Blond hair. Button nose. Happy once. And while I was thinking that, she opened her eyes.
They were milky and opaque and terribly afraid.
FOURTEEN
“Psst.”
I struggled to open my eyes.
“Psst.”
And then I did open them. Goth sat next to my bed holding a cheap smartphone, its light casting an eerie glow on his face that made his eyes seem darker and his skin paler.
“Does that work?” I asked.
“No. There’s no reception here. It’s just a very expensive flashlight.”
“Bummer.”
I glanced over at the reception desk. Miss Haggerty was slumped over, snoring. That was weird. She’d been doing that in my, my what? My dream? Had that been a dream? It didn’t feel like—
Cigarette smoke. I smelled cigarette smoke. Miss Haggerty had smelled like smoke the night before. But I couldn’t be smelling—
“I smell cigarette smoke,” I said.
“Yeah, I just went out and had a cigarette. Sorry, I hope it’s not too disgusting.”
Using the remote, I sat the bed up all the while watching the spark in Goth’s eyes. “Lemme guess,” I said. “Lung cancer?”
“Lung cancer would be an improvement. Cystic fibrosis.”
“Oh. I thought they were researching cancer here.” Had anyone actually said that? I couldn’t remember.
“So, you had cancer?”
“Leukemia. I mean, I still—” Did I still have leukemia? I wasn’t even sure.
Goth started to say something and coughed instead. He put a fist in front of his mouth and coughed again, hard and heavy. His lips were bluish, even more so than his skin. He saw me staring and smiled when the coughing stopped. His teeth were really, really nice.
“Are your mom and dad here?” I asked. “My mom’s staying at a B&B.”
“No, they’re not here. I’ve got five brothers and sisters. All younger.”
“That’s a big family.”
“Two of my brothers have CF.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. There’s only a twenty-five percent chance of passing the disease. But my parents got three out of six.”
“I guess they shouldn’t go to Vegas with that kind of luck.”
That made him laugh. Which made me laugh. Then I realized it wasn’t all that funny. “Your parents are at home taking care of your younger brothers?”
“Basically.”
“You miss them?”
He looked me over, shrugged, and said, “They didn’t want me to come here. They wanted me to die at home. But I wasn’t into it.”
“I have brothers and sisters. Well, no full siblings. Just halflings and steplings.” He didn’t say anything. “I thought people with CF lived longer than they used to.”
“That’s the other thing. My parents aren’t big on doctors. I had to get a lawyer when I was fourteen so I could get treatment. That pissed them off. The lawyer represents my brothers now. That pisses them off more. They’d never say it, but they’re glad to see the last of me.”
“My mom is the opposite of your parents. I can barely give a urine sample without her standing over me.”
He chuckled, then coughed a few times. I couldn’t believe the things he’d done. The way he’d fought back against his own parents. It barely occurred to me to disagree with my mom no less get a lawyer. I mean, his parents definitely sounded awful but I did get the impression that Goth would stand up to anyone. He wasn’t really a Goliath, he was a David.
“What are you going to be when you grow up?” Goth asked.
I shrugged. “Up until two days ago, I wasn’t planning to grow up.”
“Yeah, it’s hard to plan on a PhD if the program is longer than the rest of your life. But, hey, now you can get a PhD. You could get two.”
That was an overwhelming thought. I could choose. I had time to make choices. Wow, that was different. I shrugged it off, saying, “Um, at the moment I’d settle for getting out of bed.”
Goth leaned in close, like there were people around he didn’t want to hear his next question. “So, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Are you gay?”
I didn’t know why he asked me that. Was he gay too? Or was he deciding if he should avoid me. “Um, I guess.”
“You guess? You mean you’re not sure?”
“I’ve been sick so long I didn’t think I’d get to be anything.”
“Well don’t worry, I’m gay too.”
“Oh. Cool.”
That felt weird and interesting and frightening all at once. Goth had kept talking and I hadn’t heard him so I said, “What?”
“I said, that’s another thing with my parents. They don’t like that I’m queer. Or that I want to stay alive. They don’t say it, but they think it’s God’s will to smite me.”
I think he was trying to be funny, but he seemed messed up about his parents. I wanted to say something that would make it a little bit better but all I could come up with was, “That sucks.”
“Big time.” He rolled his eyes and stood up.
“When do you start your treatment?” I asked.
“Not for a week or two. Dr. Harry said he’s waiting for some results, and if they’re as good as he hopes, he’ll start my treatment.”
The thing that popped into my head right away was that the results he was waiting for were mine. If my results are good, Goth would start his treatment.
FIFTEEN
Ping. Ping. Ping. I woke to the pinging sound of kamikaze flies throwing themselves against the screen that covered the open window next to my bed. There were half a dozen of them, and every so often one would fly away and then dive bomb the screen as though it might somehow fly through it. They seemed to be taking turns, hoping if they hit the same spot over and over, they’d break through. But that was stupid. Flies weren’t organized—that was my sleep-numbed mind talking.
Slowly, I became aware the bed was damp and cold. I’d wet myself. It was good I’d begun to pee again. It was not good I’d done it while I was fast asleep. The night before, my mom had gone out to talk to the nurse about my woeful lack of urinary output. A few minutes later, she’d come back and said, “Miss Haggerty called Doctor Harry. He said it’s nothing to worry about.” She tried to smile but didn’t do so well. Our old doctors would have freaked if I didn’t pee at exactly the right time in exactly the right amount.
I poked around until I found the buzzer down around my hip and rang it. Nurse Margie hurried through the arch into the ward. “I, um,” I tried to think of what the medical way of saying I pissed the bed was exactly. Finally I went with, “I soiled the bed.” I cringed when I said it. It sounded like I’d just rubbed dirt all over the bed, which was almost worse than what had really happened.
The whole time Nurse Margie was changing the sheets, I thought about the dream I’d had. It had seemed real, though I knew it couldn’t be. It was like the other dreams, but then it wasn’t. I hadn’t been floating up near the ceiling. I’d been walking around. It was freaky, though. That shouldn’t have been surprising. The whole institute was freaky and weird and vaguely disturbing. Having weird dreams was a pretty reasonable response, I guess.
Of course, it was a dream. The furniture in the solarium told me that. Palm trees and parrots? In the Midwest? No, I’d been dreaming. And that little girl. It was highly unlikely a twelve-year old girl was wandering around the backyard.
I’ve seen too many horror movies, I told myself. Yeah, that’s it. That had to be it. Everything here was normal and I was just, like, imagining things. I believed that for almost an entire minute. No, this place was weird and weird things were happening around me. For example, the two old men across from me who seemed to be—well, if they weren’t dying, they certainly weren’t living.
And what about Goth’s midnight visit? That wasn’t a dream. We’d really come out to each other, right? It was weird we were both gay. Had Dr. Harry figured that out somehow? Was he trying to save young gay men? Or was there some genetic component that made Property Five work better on us?
While we were changing my pajamas, Nurse Margie said, “When we’re done, I’ll draw blood for the day. Then you’re scheduled to go upstairs for an EEG and a PET scan.”
“How will I get there?”
She looked at me like I was mentally unstable. “You’re going to walk.”
Other than in my nightmare, I hadn’t taken a step in about thirty-six hours. Or was it forty-eight? Not that being dragged in from the car when we arrived really counted.
“So, it’ll be like a field trip?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far. It’s just upstairs. We took my son’s sixth grade class canoeing on Duck Lake. That was a field trip. One of the teachers got it in her head it would be a good idea to walk the kids up the Meehawnee Trail. Seven miles. With sixth graders. I mean, I know the kids are all overweight, but one seven-mile walk isn’t going to fix that, now is it? Plus half of them kept sneaking off to smoke. And I don’t mean cigarettes. Sixth graders! I was shocked. Of course, you know what kids are like. You practically are one.”
She pulled the blanket back up over me now that everything was clean and dry. Then she opened up my pajama top and began checking the dressing covering the spot where my Hickman had been.
“I am sorry,” I said.
“About what?
” she asked, pulling on the tape that held down the bandage. Never fun.
“Peeing the bed.”
She got all the tape off and lifted the gauze off the Hickman scar, looked at it, and said to herself, “Huh, no blood.” To me she said, “You couldn’t help peeing the bed. No one needs to be sorry about things they can’t help. That’s what I tell my son. He peed the bed until he was nearly twelve. Couldn’t help it. Hormonal, the doctor said. Though my ex-husband was sure it was all psychological.”
She smiled at me nervously, seeming to remember my problems weren’t hormonal or psychological and it was still possible I might not be growing out of them. She deftly put a new piece of gauze over the Hickman scar and, unfortunately, taped it down again.
“That’s the thing about kids today,” she said. “One minute they’re peeing the bed, and the next they’re off sneaking joints in the woods.” Then she walked out of the ward.
Wait a minute. In a weird way, I would be growing out of my problems. Maybe I already had. I wasn’t going to die of acute blah-blah-blah leukemia. I was going to live. Just thinking about it felt weird. I didn’t miss being on the verge of dying. Not exactly. But I didn’t really remember any other way to live.
And what did that mean exactly? To live? I was now faced with a question I hadn’t been able to ask myself for years. What was I going to do when I grew up? Did I want to go to college? Did I want to get a job? What was I good at? I was a good patient, but no one paid you for that. And what about living on my own? Did I want to? Did I want to find a boyfriend? Or did I want to find a lot of boyfriends? I’d come to terms with dying, and that had been hard. Now I had to come to terms with living. I hoped it wasn’t going to be as difficult. Though at that precise moment, I wasn’t sure. It was kind of like having to take a test in English class and realizing I hadn’t shown up for months, so I had no idea what the answers were supposed to be.
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