Like No Other Boy

by Larry Center

  Hudson took over even more delicately, his sympathetic eyes burrowing into mine. I could tell that this was their go-to man. The guy to which they turned to deliver “the news.” “We’re sorry. We’re more than sorry. But even if your son were to somehow return to us, you see, even if that were to happen, there’s a good chance that at this point, it would be unlikely he’d have the kind of neurological function that would give him a quality life.” He paused, letting his words soak in. “This is a very difficult situation for all families, of course, and it’s totally understandable for you to want to discuss this serious matter from every conceivable angle. Let me suggest that you two take some time today to talk. Here’s my card.”

  Slowly, with a somber look on his face, he passed one to me, one to Cheryl. “We’re here to answer any questions you may have.” Then he pulled out a large envelope. “In this packet, you’ll find all the necessary materials needed to make an informed decision, including an end-of-life consent form you’ll find that spells out in detail . . .”

  “No!” I exploded forward, shoving the papers toward Hudson. I roared: “No, goddammit! He’s coming back to life, he’s going to come out of this coma, do you understand me?”

  I was a drowning man, but I forced my way up and out of the office, barely able to see because of my tears, barely able to breathe. I dashed into Tommy’s room, a collage of emotional chaos. I worked with new dedication and resolve. A nurse was standing next to Tommy and I pushed her out of the way and then snapped on the mp3 player, placed the headphones over Tommy’s ears, and again played the sounds that had inspired my son so easily, lit him up like emotional neon. Please God, help me! Please!

  The nurse quickly exited the room. She saw the crisis written all over my face. I just stood there, alone.

  Cheryl edged into the room. I grabbed her hand again, squeezed it and she squeezed back before letting go. We didn’t speak a word. I was gasping for air, sucking it up as if it were coming in through a straw. We both just stood there, watching Tommy’s impassive face as the sounds continued playing through the headphones, chimps shrieks, chimps cries, chimp moans. He was barely breathing. Silence. It was always silence with him. I cranked up the volume of the mp3 player to its loudest possible setting. But Tommy still remained in his own world. Lost to us. Maybe even lost to himself this time.

  We drew closer together to the bed, heads nearly touching. Cheryl’s tears dropped onto Tommy’s pillow. Mine mingled with hers. She put a hand on my back and rested it there. I didn’t even think she realized she was doing it.

  “What should we do, Chris?” she said finally.

  Tommy’s smiles and laughter when he was with the chimps, that life inside of him, so strong . . . And now . . .

  You, Daddy. You . . .

  I couldn’t find my voice, the one thing I’d always relied on.

  “Do you think the doctors are right, that it’s time to let him go?” she said.

  I slowly turned to her. “I can’t let him go.” I spoke in a hiss. “I’ll never let him go. I don’t care what the doctors say.”

  Cheryl started rubbing her stomach and for some reason it took me back to when she was pregnant with Tommy. I blinked, feeling suddenly transported in time. She was such a proud mother. And I was a proud . . . Oh, God! I rubbed my forehead and looked around the room, looking for something to ground me. I couldn’t find a thing.

  “I don't know, Chris,” she said, her voice quivering. “Christ! I just don’t know!”

  An hour passed and Tommy continued to lay still. Another hour. Nothing. We stood next to each other, together and alone simultaneously. I felt like the floor of my world had just lost its foundation.

  I stepped out of the room and Cheryl followed me. We found a pale-faced Rachel sitting on a chair in the hallway, staring down at the floor, her hands knotted together. Wade had to leave for an important job, Cheryl had told me, though he hated to go. She said he was totally distraught.

  I had no idea how they’d let Rachel into this unit. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything. My body was numb. I was a bomb about to explode. When she spied us, she quickly rose to her feet and grabbed my arm.

  “How is he?” she asked, desperation in her eyes.

  I shook my head. Dots floated before me. Despair. A future without my son. I grew wobbly on my feet. It was more than I could take. “No movement. Nothing.”

  “Oh, Chris. I’m so sorry.” A hand went to her mouth and tears streamed down her face. She sobbed into her hands. “What are you going to do?” She looked at Cheryl, then me.

  “I don’t know . . . The doctors . . .” I said, but my voice trailed off.

  I couldn’t go on. I just stared into space, holding onto Cheryl’s shoulder for support as Cheryl held onto me. We were tumbleweeds, human beings blown around by the wind of parental pain. I lowered my head. “The doctors . . . they . . . want . . .”

  I couldn’t finish my words and we all just stood there. No one said a word. What good were words anyway? Grief spoke for us, circled the three of us, a real thing, choking my heart. Finally, Cheryl said, “Come on, Chris. We need to get back in the room.”

  “Yes,” Rachel said. “I’ll be here waiting if you need anything.”

  I nodded and gave Rachel one last sad look.

  When we returned to the room, the light from the window had slowly shifted, making slanted shadows appear. We both stepped close to the bed and stared down at our son. His face was still passive, a complete blank. I couldn’t take it. This wasn’t life. This wasn’t anything worth living for. Maybe the doctors were right. I just didn’t know.

  Chapter 21

  That night around 6 o’clock, Rachel brought us Greek take-out as we continued waiting for any signs of Tommy awakening; sadly, he didn’t stir, even with the chimp sounds playing over and over again. Rachel told me I had to eat, that I needed some sustenance, but food was not what I wanted or cared for. Wade, who had returned from his job, and Cheryl could barely eat, either. Rachel looked destroyed, was barely able to contain herself, and didn’t stay long. None of us had much to say.

  Then the next day, I went to see my dad at his house and told him what the doctors were advising. Sitting in his lounger with a beer next to him, my father grew silent, hearing the news, then wiped a tear from his eyes. His face turned pale.

  “Godddammit,” he said, fiddling with his hearing aid. “I had to let your mother go too.” He wiped a tear away and sat up in his chair. “I don’t know, Chris. It’s the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do. Come on. Let’s go outside.” We walked outside together, my father breathing hard as we walked, and stood next to his roses, clouds passing by overhead. The roses—his children, in a way—were as beautiful as ever, well taken care of. It was as if they were blossoming proudly for the world to see and enjoy. I sniffed one and inhaled the sweet fragrance; natural perfume. Nice and . . .

  Dad put a hand on my shoulder and the next thing I knew, I was just plain sobbing. I couldn’t help it. I leaned against him and he put his arm around me.

  “Oh, Dad. This is awful.”

  His gruff voice in my ear seemed to echo his words from my childhood when I had a nightmare and he came into my room and sat next to me; just like I sat next to Tom-Tom when he was having problems sleeping. And then I thought about combing Tommy’s hair, that look in his eyes; our special time together when he’d allow me into his space. The pain of it all hit me all at once.

  “You just have to do what you think is right, Chris,” my father said, pulling me out of my sad reverie. “There’s no easy answer for this. Go with your gut, son. God knows that’s the only way. Just listen to your heart. It’ll talk to you if you listen hard enough. But don’t you dare rule out the possibility that you deserve a miracle too. And that maybe this is your time.” He put a hand on my chest. “Listen to your heart.” And then we both came together in a tight, father-son embrace. I felt his tears and the roughness of his unshaven face against my cheek.
/>   “Sure, Dad. Sure.”

  I shivered inside and knew I’d remember this moment for the rest of my life, regardless what happened. And when he was gone . . .

  I returned to the hospital, shaken. Devastated. Cheryl and I continued checking on Tommy and still, all we saw was our little child in bed, slowly slipping away from us. It was probably the worst moment of my life. Agony tore through my heart and soul.

  That night, I thought about what the doctors had said. Should I take their advice? I’d lost my mother, my father was frail and aging, not long for this world, either, and soon, if Tommy passed, I would be alone—without a family.

  Perhaps it was all meant to be this way. Who really knew? Once again, I felt like screaming at the universe, angry as hell, yet baffled by it all, befuddled by that vast conspiracy that seemed to put us on this earth, then removed us without offering even a hint as to why.

  I fell asleep at nearly two in the morning, sobbing in my pillow; afraid; looking for answers and finding none. Rachel called me at three in the morning and asked if there had been any change. She said she couldn’t sleep. I hated with all my might giving her the only answer I had.

  I woke up around six in a fog. For a minute, I didn’t know where I was. Then a second later, everything hit me and all the pain and suffering I was enduring came slashing back. I was sleeping in a room down the hall from Tommy’s room. I scurried out of bed, put on my clothes, and immediately went into Tommy’s room and stared down at his face. He was as still as ever. Dammit! In a fit of desperation, I started playing the chimp sounds again. I refused to give up. Cheryl came into the room about 6:15 looking pale and hollow-eyed and we both stood next to his bed, our belief that we, as parents, even with all we’d done, had still somehow failed our son. But still, I wasn’t going to let this go down without a fight; the fight of my life.

  And then it happened:

  As the chimp sounds continued playing, Tommy’s eyes started to flutter. Or was the movement just my imagination? His eyes went motionless for a minute, until . . .

  Another movement of his eyelids. I was stunned.

  “Look!” I said to Cheryl, grabbing her arm. “Look!”

  “Is this real?” she asked, her voice quivering.

  I sucked in a breath. Again, he blinked several times and we both watched, incredulous. Then Tommy’s right hand which was laying straight by his side, started moving, and his fingers, slowly at first, and then with more direction, formed into a curl and then, he moved his arm up and down his side, moving . . . At first, I didn’t even realize what he was trying to do, but then it hit me: It was the sign for “chimp!”

  I slowly and carefully removed the headphones. I placed my mouth next to his ear. My heart was racing, my limbs shaky.

  “Tommy!” I shouted.

  Cheryl bent down next to him as well. “Tommy! Can you hear us?”

  We both took turns calling him, desperate now, begging, pleading that he move his arm again. I could hardly breathe. And then, as if a spirit had invaded him, his eyes still closed, Tommy raised his right hand in the air and placed it back down. Then he raised his left hand.

  “I can’t believe it!” Cheryl said. “My God!”

  “Tommy!” I said again. “Can you hear me, Tom-Tom? It’s Daddy. I’m right here. Can you hear me, son?”

  “Can you hear us, Tommy?” Cheryl said.

  When the EEG spiked, Tommy’s heart rate increased. Another monitoring machine emitted a long buzz.

  “Can you . . . ”

  Tommy’s eyes flew open.

  “Tommy!” Cheryl said. “We’re right here for you, darling. Oh, Tommy! Are you with us?”

  Tommy blinked again, and then turned his head my way. His sweet eyes landed on mine and then moved to Cheryl’s. Direct eye contact for both parents. Mommy! Daddy! Cheryl fell against me as Tommy reached out his hand, edged his little finger next to my hand, then signed even more boldly, his fingers curled up, moving against his side: “Chimp. Chimp.”

  “Yes, chimpies!” Cheryl said, tears falling onto Tommy’s face as she stared at his hand. “Yes, son. Chimpies! You like those chimps of yours, don’t you? Oh, Tommy! Once you get better, darling, Mommy will take you to see the chimps every day if you need it, every single—”

  I couldn’t believe I was hearing her say that.

  Two nurses burst into the room. Whitaker followed. He pushed buttons on machines, checked readouts, and gave orders in abstract medicalese. All I knew was that Tommy’s eyes remained open, and he moved his head left and right again, and when he looked at me he again held my gaze, then he looked at Cheryl and held her gaze as well. Again, he made the sign for chimp.

  “Let’s do this,” Whitaker said to the staff after scrutinizing one of the machines and twisting a few dials. “According to the readouts, it’s safe to extricate the tubes.” He turned to Cheryl and me. “Can you give us a few minutes? We’ll need to scrub down for this procedure.”

  When we stepped out of the room, we were both shaking. Delirious with joy. Cheryl wrapped her arms around my neck and squeezed me close to her. I felt her hot breath against my ears, her tears against my skin. I was overflowing with gratitude, elation, and relief was a hand that seemed to lift me up on the shoulders of unstoppable happiness. Cheryl’s body against mine felt warm and tender; we needed each other so much right then—more than we’d ever needed each other before.

  “He’s back, Cher, he’s back!” We hugged again, warmly, tightly.

  “Thank God!”

  I couldn’t wait to tell my father.

  I laughed out loud. Maybe if you screamed loud enough at the universe, perhaps someone actually heard what you were saying, and then did something about it.

  Rachel approached us and my heart beat hard at the sight of her. I couldn’t wait to give her the news.

  “What happened?” she asked, her eyes wide open as she watched Cheryl and I embrace. “What’s going on?”

  “He woke up!” I cried, turning to her. Overwhelmed, I could barely speak. “He’s . . . he’s back! He woke up from the coma!”

  “Oh, my God!” she said, jumping up and down. “Really? Really?”

  Cheryl and I both shouted, “Yes!”

  “And it was those chimp sounds that did the trick,” Cheryl said, wiping tears from her eyes as she gave Rachel a long, body enveloping hug, her face flushed with color. “The first thing he did, after fluttering his eyes, was make the sign for chimp.”

  “You’re kidding.” Rachel stepped back, surprised.

  “No. We’re not. Not at all.”

  Later, when the tubes had been taken out of his throat, Cheryl and I stood next to Tommy’s bedside, and he turned to us and whispered the one word he had signed, the one word that, for him, said it all: “Chimpies. Chimpies.”

  Standing there next to his bed, I closed my eyes and it was as if all the adrenaline that had kept me going through the dark days and nights finally drained away. I crashed. Unable to stop myself, my lights went out, and like a puppet that had lost all its strings, I crumpled to the floor.

  Chapter 22

  On a clear day at the Weller compound, the sky infinitely blue, Tommy was finally back with his friends once again. It had been six months since he’d emerged from his coma. The doctors had been amazed by his recovery, which apparently hadn’t been slowed down by his autism, though I was afraid it would. He’d had to re-learn how to walk at first, but he’d progressed quickly with physical therapy. He’d also suffered from amnesia for the first two weeks out of the coma but had recovered from that as well. His communication skills, of course, remained low, but the doctors said no other cognitive harm had been done. God, were we grateful.

  Obo, Mikey, SeeSaw, and Rose all welcomed Tommy with a kind of self-composed gentleness, touching him with careful hands, looking him up and down. They sensed what he’d been through. I was sure of it. Standing among the chimps, his gang, Tommy closed his eyes for a second and just breathed it all in. The fact that he
was really and truly back meant everything to him. He clapped his hands and jumped up and down. I had never been happier.

  Marcy stood next to me, supervising, a bright smile on her face. Rachel was in Africa. We talked every so often via Skype and I kept her up-dated on Tommy’s recovery. She’d be back in about eighteen months, she told me, a long time, but not forever. I missed her, of course, and she missed me and Tommy, she said, but her career called and she was where she needed to be—for now. We kept emailing each other at least twice a week. No way was I going to let our connection end just because she was on a different continent. I was hoping that we would only grow closer with time.

  A smile lit up Tommy’s face, a golden, heart-filled, real smile, the one I had yearned to see. When Tommy sat down in the middle of the chimps in the play yard, the chimps gathered around him, getting re-acquainted.

  “Chimpies! Miss me,” Tommy said. He laughed, a normal child’s laughter that sent my spine tingling with joy.

  Carefully, Tommy hugged Obo, who had joined the gang after a little reluctance.

  “Chimpies happy see me, Daddy,” Tommy said. “They know happy today. Beautiful.”

  I wiped back a happy tear. Words flowed out of him. Strings of words. It was “beautiful.”

  Cheryl texted me: “How’s he doing?”

  “Great! He’s really talking again! And the chimps love him to death! How’s your baby girl?”

  “Cute as could be!”

  Cheryl had given birth to Clarissa, a beautiful six-pound baby, and she and Wade had decided to stay in San Diego for Tommy’s sake after all. No more Acorn School. We were back to shared custody status too. Cheryl had dropped her lawsuit and had petitioned the court to return to our original agreement. The court had agreed. Gloria Beaman actually sent me a note of congratulations. I couldn’t believe it!

  And even more good news: Two weeks ago, I’d talked to Dr. Evans and he was preparing to start the research program again with Tommy and the chimps. Dr. Dunn would be back on board and Carly Yates would give us her approval and financing.