The Five Stages of Andrew Brawley

by Shaun David Hutchinson

  “I’ll take care of it,” I say, my smile coming more easily.

  “Good boy. See if you can get her to eat, too.” Nurse Merchant returns to her charting, and I walk to Lexi’s room. I’m not family, so technically I shouldn’t be here, but the rules are more flexible in Pediatrics. Anything that makes the kids happy is welcome, and that includes me.

  The blinds in Lexi’s room are wide open. The blinds are always open, even at night. The view’s not so great; there are some power lines, a nondescript grayish office building, and a run-down Chick’n Shak. Not more than two miles away is the ocean, but you can’t see it from Lexi’s room. The limited view isn’t even worth the effort to keep the shades open, but Lexi refuses to close them and has vowed everlasting torment upon anyone who tries.

  Lexi isn’t the kind of girl you expect to have cancer. She isn’t plucky or strange. She doesn’t have indie cred or a brilliant ray of sunshine that beams out of her ass no matter how bad things get. She’s bookish and eager and the kind of girl who likes getting extra English homework over long holiday weekends.

  “What’s up, A-Dog?” Lexi asks. She doesn’t even look up from the textbook she’s devouring with her bloodshot brown eyes. She’s skinnier than a spaghetti noodle, and a bowl of oatmeal sits untouched on the tray by her bed. I want to grab the spoon and force-feed her, but that’s not the way to work Lexi.

  “A-Dog?” I ask from the doorway.

  “No good?”

  “I like Drewfus better.”

  Lexi glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Because you’re the genius who knows everything.” I step into the room and rub Lexi’s bald head before she has the chance to stop me.

  “How come people are always trying to rub my head? I’m not Buddha, bitch.”

  I wriggle my eyebrows suggestively. “Bald girls are hot.”

  “Please.” Lexi leans back against the pillow but doesn’t close her book. I bet she’s thinking that she can sneak-read a line while I’m talking.

  “No joke.” I pull up a chair and rest my feet on the edge of her bed. Lexi’s room is small but warm. The walls are faded yellow, and there’s a Sesame Street mural in the corner. It’s odd having a giant Elmo looming over me. Sometimes I feel like he’s going to pull away from that wall and tickle me.

  “Trevor said he thought you looked great sans hair,” I tell Lexi. “Of course, that was before I told him that when your hair grows back, you’ll probably end up with some wicked sideburns.”

  Lexi sits up, knocking over her book. “You did not!”

  “Huge muttonchops.”

  “You’re evil.”

  I nod. “Superhero, supervillain—it’s a pretty fine line.” I try to twist my grin into an evil sneer, but I think I just look deformed.

  “You write anything new?” Lexi asks, pointing at my sketchpad.

  Lexi knows all about Patient F. That’s how we met. I was in the cafeteria working on some sketches when Nurse Merchant noticed me. She has a brother who draws, so she sat down and asked me about my work. I didn’t want to tell her about Patient F—I was embarrassed, you know?—but she has a way of getting people to do things they don’t want to do. Maybe that’s her superpower. After I showed her Patient F, Nurse Merchant told me about a girl up in Peds who might enjoy my stories. I think, in her own misguided way, Nurse Merchant was trying to play hospital matchmaker, unaware that Lexi and I were clearly not a match.

  But I went to Peds anyway. Lexi still had some of her hair then. The chemo and radiation were eating away at her body, and she barely knew I existed, but I told her all about Patient F—all that I’d written to that point, anyway. We’ve been friends ever since.

  “Not really,” I say. “I’m working on the beginning again.”

  Lexi rolls her eyes. Without eyebrows, she reminds me of a Muppet. “You’ve got to learn to move forward, Drew. That’s your problem, you know?”

  I’m not sure what to say, so I keep my mouth shut.

  “Did you hear about that boy who got lit on fire?” Lexi asks.

  My stomach clenches, and I forget to breathe for a second. I hope that Lexi didn’t notice, that my emotions didn’t betray me, and I nod, wondering how Lexi heard about it. Peds is so insulated from the rest of the hospital. The nurses here are a different breed. Nurse Merchant would never fraternize with Steven and Emma and Jo, with their childish, gossipy ways.

  “It’s all over the news,” Lexi says. “He was at a Fourth of July party, and some kids doused him with alcohol and set him on fire.”

  “Yeah, I heard about it.” I came here to escape Rusty, but I soak up every detail, unable to stop myself. Even when the anger threatens to cripple me.

  “They have some suspects but no witnesses.” Lexi tilts her head to catch my eyes, but I look away, stare out her window, imagining I can actually see the ocean. Maybe that’s what Lexi does, why she keeps the blinds open.

  A voice in the hallway catches my attention. Death is hovering around Nurse Merchant’s station, chatting all friendly. At least that means she’s not with Rusty. I keep my back to the door so she doesn’t see me.

  “It’s all anyone talked about at breakfast,” I say, distracted by Death. “Kid got burned—buttered toast, please.”

  “Oh,” Lexi says. I think she’s finally caught on that I don’t want to discuss Rusty. “Did you and Trevor really talk about me?”

  I’m listening for Death’s next move. Her heels click-clack across the floor, and it sounds like she’s coming my way. If she catches me, I’ll be buttered toast. Every muscle in my body clenches and my heartbeat trebles. I expect that, any second, I’ll feel her cold, bony hand on my shoulder as she hauls me off to her lair.

  But Death detours into Trevor’s room. She spends too much time in there these days, but it doesn’t surprise me. One day soon, I imagine she’ll claim Trevor as her own. For now, though, he belongs to us.

  “Drew?”

  “Yeah?”

  Lexi frowns at me for not listening. “Did you and Trevor really talk about me?”

  “Trevor and I talk about a lot of things, Lexi,” I tell her. “Maybe you were one of them. Maybe you weren’t. Either way, we definitely didn’t talk about how skinny you’re getting.” It’s the kind of answer that I know will drive her nuts. “Anyway, I have to run.” I don’t want to be around when Death leaves Trevor’s room.

  Lexi slides her book back into her lap and eyes the oatmeal. “Fine. I have a lot of work to do anyway. I’ve got to finish the decorations for Trevor’s party.”

  “You work too much,” I tell her.

  “It’s all I have.” She looks down at her book. “You and Trevor and work.”

  I want to tell her that she could have so much more if she focused on the now and less on the future, but I can’t risk staying. My chair scrapes across the floor when I put it back. “See you tomorrow.”

  Today is a very special day.

  I stand on the roof of the parking garage and stare at the world beyond the hospital. It’s early, and mist clings to every car and building and random stranger wandering down the lonesome two-lane streets. Sometimes whole days pass where I don’t see the outside world at all. I lose myself in the rhythm of the hospital and the people who walk its halls, lost in their own routines, oblivious to the futile nature of their jobs. Sometimes I forget that I wasn’t born in the bowels of Roanoke General, that I came from out there. That there is a whole universe beyond these walls, churning along without me.

  I think I could stay on this roof forever, surrounded by the smell of concrete and hot summer air. In Florida, summer arrives before the dawn. By the time the sun comes up, the world is sweat soaked, and people hide in air-conditioned bubbles. I don’t mind it. It’s better than the cold.

  I can’t stay up here forever, though. The world out there isn’t real. Not anymore. Not for me. For me, there is only this hospital, these people, and one very special day.


  I run down the stairs, taking them two at a time, relishing the permanence of concrete under my feet as I leap down and land hard, the shock reverberating up my legs, reminding me that I’m still here and that I have things to accomplish.

  Visiting hours aren’t for a while yet, so I stop by the cafeteria to see if Arnold needs help, but I’m glad it’s my day off when I see Arnold’s foul, summer-storm mood. I watch from the gates as he rumbles up and down the line, throwing trays of food around as though they’re the cause of his troubles. I’ve seen him annoyed before, but I’ve never seen him truly angry. I hope I never see it again.

  “You don’t want to be here.” Aimee’s so thin, she barely displaces air, which is why I didn’t hear her come up behind me.

  “Who pissed in his cornflakes?” I’m afraid to take my eyes off of Arnold. He’s a one-man hate machine.

  “No one.” Aimee has a hook nose that’s accentuated by her sunken cheeks. When she frowns at me, I feel like she could be terrifying if she just put some effort into it. “Today is his son’s birthday.”

  “Oh.” I want to press her for more information, but Aimee slips under the gate and hurries into the caf, a brave, lone warrior. I could join her, help her negotiate Arnold’s rage, but I know I wouldn’t be doing it to help Aimee, that I’d only be doing it to find out why Arnold is so angry, and there are more important things to do today.

  • • •

  I spend the rest of the morning staying out of the way. Death isn’t the only person searching for me, and a shiftless boy is bound to arouse suspicion, so I walk with purpose. I’m grateful when nine o’clock rolls around, so that I can gather my helium-filled tools of war and invade Peds.

  With my hard-earned cafeteria wages, I bought a few gifts from the shop. Chocolate, mostly. There weren’t a lot of options. I suppose there aren’t many things that sick people need. Stuffed animals and chocolate. I’m not sure Trevor will appreciate a teddy bear, no matter how cute its button nose.

  Nurse Merchant is doing her rounds when I stroll in with my balloons and bags. Tight lines crease her forehead. I’m not sure what to make of that. Is she angry? Annoyed? Have I done something wrong? Is something wrong with Trevor?

  “Today’s a very special day,” I say to explain the balloons. “This is the day Trevor was supposed to die.”

  “Oh, Drew.” Nurse Merchant puts her hand to her mouth and stands in the hall, so fragile that a soft breath could shatter her.

  When Trevor was diagnosed with aggressive stage 4 leukemia, his doctor gave him six months to live. Today is that six-month mark. Lexi and I have been planning his very special day for a week. I’ve been sneaking her bits of colored paper, and she’s been making decorations between bouts of marathon studying for classes that won’t even start for another two months.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Nurse Merchant has regained control, but her expression remains grim.

  “Is Trevor okay?” I ask. It’s the only question that matters.

  Nurse Merchant crosses the room to stand beside me. She’s shorter than I am, but I still feel small. “Trevor’s alive.”

  Not okay. Not fine. Alive.

  “Can I see him? I’ve got these balloons and stuff.” I hold up the gift bag. Its handle cuts into my fingers.

  “Maybe you should visit with Lexi first,” Nurse Merchant says. “Trevor had another rough night.”

  “But—”

  She puts her hand on my shoulder, and it stops me midsentence. “I think he’s awake, but he’s not quite ready for visitors.”

  “Lexi first,” I say, as if it were my decision. I glance at Trevor’s room forlornly. Lexi came to the hospital before Trevor, but I have the sinking feeling that he’ll be the first to leave.

  Lexi is sitting in her bed with books spread across her lap. She looks healthier than she did yesterday—but barely. The sun streaming through the open blinds is an invasion of light that sears my eyes.

  “Drew?” Lexi’s smiling this morning. Her smile is her secret weapon. She pulls it out so rarely that just when I’m convinced it never existed, she flashes it and completely disarms me. Moments like this, it’s easy to see why Trevor is so taken with her.

  I toss the bag of goodies onto the chair and let the balloons bob around at the foot of Lexi’s bed. “It’s a very special day, right?”

  Lexi’s eyes fly open. “Oh!”

  “You forgot?”

  “I didn’t forget,” Lexi says defensively. “I’m just not quite finished.” Lexi shoves her books to the floor and points at the wardrobe in the corner. “There’s a plastic bag in there. Get it for me.”

  There are more clothes in Lexi’s wardrobe than she could ever possibly wear. Sometimes the nurses encourage her to dress in regular clothes and walk around the hospital, ostensibly for exercise. But I believe it’s so that she can pretend for a little while that she’s a normal girl. Her mother feeds the effort by turning up with armloads of the kinds of clothes that “cheap hookers wear”—Lexi’s words, not mine.

  The bag she asked me to fetch is at the bottom of the wardrobe, on top of a knit sweater that’s far too warm to wear now.

  “How could you forget?” I ask, tossing her the bag. I don’t mean to sound accusatory, but anger clings to my words like sticky tar.

  Lexi doesn’t look me in the eyes when she says, “I lost track of time.” She pauses. “The days all just run together, Drew.”

  “Were you doing schoolwork?” I glance at the books on the floor, and I know that it’s killing her to leave them lying there. Every textbook is a sacred tome to her. Might as well set fire to a Bible. “School doesn’t start for weeks.”

  “But I want to be ready.”

  “You’d rather be ready for something you may not even get to attend than something that’s here now?”

  Lexi stops cutting the banner. “This isn’t my life, Drew. My life is out there.”

  “Your life isn’t out there until you’re out there.”

  Nurse Merchant wanders in and instantly gauges the room. She looks at me and at Lexi and says, “I’m not letting either of you near Trevor with this kind of negative energy.” She busies herself taking Lexi’s blood pressure and temperature before she moves on.

  “Need some help?”

  Lexi nods at me, and I take up a pile of the colored paper. Most of the decorations are done. It’s just a matter of cutting them out. We work side by side and seem to have struck an unspoken truce.

  By the time we’re finished, Lexi is lecturing me about feminism in The Canterbury Tales. I do my best to nod along and pretend I care, even though I’m not really paying attention because I’m too anxious to visit Trevor. When Nurse Merchant finally tells us that we’re allowed to go to Trevor’s room, my gratitude is boundless.

  • • •

  Trevor Guerrero looks defeated. There’s a picture beside his bed of a boy with bushy blond hair and a confident smile. He’s cradling a football and looks like he’s ready to tackle the world. I can’t comprehend that the boy in the picture and the broken boy in the bed are the same person—until he smiles. Then I know.

  “Droopy Drew.” Trevor sounds like he gargled broken glass. “Balloons?”

  Lexi wheels her IV stand into the room and starts hanging our decorations—signs that say GLAD YOU’RE NOT DEAD! and CANCER, SCHMANCER. She keeps glancing over her shoulder at Trevor but doesn’t say anything to him yet.

  I tie the balloons to Trevor’s bed rail and hand him the bag. “Balloons and chocolates,” I say.

  Trevor struggles to sit up, but he can’t and surrenders. Bones outline his pale, damp face, and beads of sweat roll down his smooth head. “Just ’cause you brought me candy doesn’t mean I’m putting out.” Every word is agony for him. I can see it in the way he flinches and curls in on himself.

  “Not even one little smoochy?” Lexi makes kissing noises as she draws the blinds open with a flourish.

  “Trevor isn’t my type,” I say. I toss him the c
hocolates. “No nuts.”

  Lexi laughs—a pained sound, like a tortured cat. Everything about her is amped up right now, and I think it has to do with her proximity to Trevor. Her crush isn’t of the subtle variety.

  Trevor’s quick on the uptake. He grabs his crotch and says, “I got your nuts right here, dude.” Then he laughs too, but laughing is difficult for Trevor. It’s a marathon. I watch the rise and fall of his chest to make sure that he doesn’t lag too far behind his breathing.

  He coughs and looks ashamed. “I had asthma when I was little,” he says. “Grew out of it, you know?”

  “Just breathe,” Lexi says. She’s parked near the window, but I can see that every fiber of every muscle is poised to spring to Trevor’s side if necessary.

  “Whenever I marched onto the football field, I wondered if that would be the day that God stole my breath again.” Trevor digs into the gift bag and pulls out a CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR NEW BABY mug to go along with the chocolates. “Thanks, Droopy.”

  “Today’s a very special day!” Lexi exclaims out of the blue. I know she’s trying to bring some levity to the situation, but she’s doing a really terrible job. “Drewfus tells me you think I’m going to grow a pair of nice hairy sideburns.”

  Trevor’s chalky skin turns strawberry red. I imagine that, before he got sick, he was the kind of guy who never blushed. The girls threw themselves at him, and he kissed them all and made them cry.

  “Droopy said that,” Trevor says. “Not me.”

  “I plead the sixth.” I hold up my hands.

  “The fifth,” Lexi says in her most teacherlike voice.

  I chuckle. “Six is higher, and I need all the protection I can get. You’re scary.”

  “You want to talk scary? You should see the wig my mom bought me.” Lexi tosses out that little grenade and then sits back to watch the shrapnel fly.

  Trevor gapes at Lexi, disbelieving, and then he cracks up laughing. This time, the laughter rolls through his scrawny frame until it twists him into a knot and he starts coughing. The coughing seizes him, shaking his body like a matchstick house on a foundation of sand.