thirty five.
http://a2.ec-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/66/0ff1f61c52f156299d5c2de4c51b79cf/l.jpg
look at that, guys. that's where Timmy and Damian and Justin were first created. isn't it beautiful?
(i'll post it in the sidebar for those who don't have the ability to copy and paste)
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I fall asleep at the worst of times.
Three days later, I find myself being shaken awake by a fully dressed Teddy. "Wake up," he whispers, and silences my questions with a finger. "Find some pants and a sweatshirt."
"Are we sneaking out?" I finally ask upon climbing into the passenger seat of my brother's car. My fingers are clumsy as I try to buckle myself in, almost immediately reaching for the cigarettes tucked in the back pocket of my jeans. My smoking's gotten really bad lately; it seems like there's nothing else for me besides suck cancer into my lungs and think too much about death. Ever since Timmy, I haven't had something to keep myself preoccupied with.
"That'll be awful for him to kiss. You probably taste like straight up tar at this point. And no, we're not sneaking out, but mom went back to sleep. I've got chauffeur duty, remember?"
As much as he denies it, Teddy is far too sneaky in pulling out of the driveway. Something tells me he's done this before.
"Where are we going?" The only light in the car comes from the dashboard, and it's as bright as the sun to my sleepy eyes.
He shakes his head. "Go back to sleep. I'll wake you when we get there."
Ignoring his advice, I stare out the window. From the car, I can make out at least half a dozen constellations, just groups of stars we were so desperate to categorize. Humans are always putting things in groups because it gives them comfort to know everything has a place. If everything has somewhere to be put back to, then everything belongs, right?
"You think too much. Even when you can't even talk straight, you're always thinking. What about? Don't you run out of things eventually?"
No, actually. There's an infinite number of things to think about. And even if you ran out, there's all the things from before to be pondered from a different perspective.
"Most people would just answer, "things." You think I really care enough for such an explicit answer?"
One day you might. One day you might stop being such a dick.
"One day you'll stop smoking those cancer sticks."
I take a long drag to spite the voice. I make sure to show him how much I enjoy it.
Teddy rolls down the window and sighs. It's cold outside, but the smoke is blocking his view. If I wasn't half conscious, I might feel bad about stinking up his car. But mom and dad won't give him trouble for the smell of cigarettes like they used to for weed.
"You're dead silent, did you fall asleep?" He taps my shoulder gently. "Do you need me to take that before you burn yourself?"
I shake my head.
"I think you'd have figured out where we were headed by now."
"Why in the middle of the night?" My voice comes out scratchy and rough.
"Don't get your hopes up, but Timmy's had a spike in brain activity. Mrs. McKinnon thought you ought to know."
I feel my mind do the exact action Teddy warned me against. "Hurry the fuck up."
"Damian." He sighs. "That doesn't mean he's awake. It just means there's a good chance he will soon. Calm down, okay?"
I ignore him completely. "He's going to wake up and I won't be there. He'll never forgive me. This is my only chance for forgiveness, don't you understand? I need to be there. You need to drive faster. I'll lose him."
Teddy stares at the road ahead, refusing to go a mile above the speed limit. I hate him more than the time he threw my backpack in the trash in front of his friends to impress them. Even though I had to throw out all of my papers from the first half of freshman year due to the ink bleeding everywhere, I'm still angrier about this.
Hurry the fuck up you little fucking fucker. Stop exercising supremacy. Step on the fucking gas. Stop driving the fucking car like an old lady. Speed. I know you would any other time.
Just when I'm inches away from leaning over and strangling him and driving myself to the hospital, he increases the pace by a sizable amount.
I swear to God you people will be the fucking death of me not just literally but figuratively too I hate you all so much.
"Don't drop ash all over the car, okay? Cigarette burns aren't sexy."
I glare daggers at my older brother. "Ever since you got comfortable with me, things got weird."
"You got angry all of a sudden," he points out, "why?"
"Like, as of tonight?"
"As of late. You never used to be angry."
"I have a lot to be angry about. Maybe I'm just deciding to let it out all of a sudden."
"I don't believe it." To my surprise, Teddy pulls off to the side of the road. "Answer me. I'm tired of you skirting around the truth like you're the only one who doesn't have to be honest."
Nobody's ever put me on the spot like that. Dr. Lemann, I could just ignore him. He wasn't my only method of transportation to where I needed to be. I think he liked to think he was, but nothing about him was helping me in the slightest. None of his questions did anything but make everything so much worse. When someone is in recovery, you don't bring up what they're trying to recover from. I know Justin is dead. I don't need to hear it from somebody who didn't even know him. I know Timmy is in a coma. I don't need to listen to people gossip about it behind my back. I know I'm a fuck-up, there's no need to point. I know all of this stuff. I'm not stupid. I'm not ignorant. I'm not naïve or sheltered or laughable or...
I stop, and turn to face him. My eyes are shimmering with tears. "You want to know why I'm so angry? You want to know? It's because no matter how hard I fucking try to get better, no matter how far I've gotten or how hard I've worked, someone seems to think it's okay to take the few good things in life I find away from me. Someone seems to keep fucking up. And I'm allowed to feel that way about myself. I'm allowed to wish I was never born. It's okay for me to be angry. It's okay for me to break. It's okay for me to relapse. You know what's not okay? Holding your brother back from the one thing that might go right for him in his fucking pathetic sob story of a life is not okay." I don't know where the flood of emotion came from, but once I started, it felt too good to stop. I'd continue to say more if there was anything left for me to say.
Teddy looks at me in shock. It was his intention to push me to the edge, however I didn't think he had any idea what was held behind the wall. My eyes lock into his surprised ones and they don't break until his gaze drops into his lap with the turn of a key in the ignition.
That's what I thought.
"Maybe you should try to get that out more often," he says, ending the silence along with the engine of the car. "It's not healthy to keep so much inside you like that. You'll break something."
We drive. I don't respond until we reach our destination.
"Already have," I mumble, and slam the car door shut. Stomping into the hospital, I don't even bother greeting the night nurse. I just storm my way up the stairs, enjoying the feeling of power with each step I take, while still hurrying as fast as I can without causing suspicion.
"Wouldn't want anyone to know you're here to see the boy who overdosed on drugs, now do you. Don't want to be caught hanging around "that" crowd."
There's a swarm of medical professionals around the general vicinity of the ICU. Off to the side sits a tear stained Mrs. McKinnon, tightly gripping the arm of her husband, almost as though her hands are the only thing keeping them still together. His expression is stern and businesslike. Cold. All of Timmy's enthusiasm must have been inherited from his mother.
I make my way through the crowd of bodies, gently touching Mrs. McKinnon on her upper arm to alert her of my presence. She smiles after looking up at my flushed face.
"You made it." Her voice is breathy and relieved.
Mine is not as relaxed. While I am hopeful, I am still in doubt of modern medicine. It doesn't mean I want Timmy to regain consciousness any less than she, but cautious about it. I still haven't been fully reassured. Teddy's warning sticks more with each minute it is given to sink in.
"Teddy woke me up. I had to be here."
Mrs. McKinnon pats the chair beside her own. "Sit. They won't let anybody inside at the moment, but it should just be a little while now. They won't let him wake up without us."
I take the seat.
"I hope it's not too late for you boys if you have school tomorrow. Where's your brother? It could be awhile for him to be waiting in the car. He's a lovely boy, very polite and funny. Not to say you're not a comedian, but his sense of humour is less refined. Oh what am I saying, I'm just rambling now aren't I. You just let me go off and ramble, Damian; I'll never stop if you don't tell me." She finds comfort in the words. They distract her from the anxious noise coming from within the room.
"It's okay. He's probably getting coffee or something. It's harder for him not to get sleep. He's not the one who's here to visit."
"I feel so awful, Damian. Waking you boys up. I'm sure you wouldn't have missed much if I called you at a reasonable hour in the morning. Something tells me this will be going on for awhile."
A blue scrubbed nurse exits the room, scrawling something onto a clipboard hurriedly. He then raises his head to speak to us with a smile.
"Damian! What are you doing here, kid? It's three in the morning," Cody greets me. "You must really love this boy."
"More than healthy, probably," I return.
"It'll all pay off," he finishes to me and then to the McKinnons, "you can go in there now if you'd like. It should clear up pretty soon until something big happens. They're basically done with all the mechanical work. You too, Damian. I'm sure they wouldn't mind."
Before I can turn for conformation, Mrs. McKinnon cuts in. "Of course. You're always welcome."
"Well that's settled then." Cody clips the pen to his shirt and exits the mini waiting area. Very fluid. Very professional. Only when he turns and gives me a wink do I realize it's all an act.
Aren't you the sneaky little nurse.
I follow Timmy's parents into the room. The few doctors within it's confines shuffle out in a matter of seconds, leaving the three of us alone with a suddenly very sick looking boy. I don't remember him looking so sick when the mask was still over his mouth. Before, he appeared to be sleeping. Now, he looks inches away from joining Justin. I drop my vision to the floor.
"He looks like hell," Mr. McKinnon bluntly states. It triggers an animal like gasp in his wife, and I wonder what possessed him to make such an observation. "But the doctors say he'll be awake soon?"
"Yes."
I lean against the wall and try my hardest to blend in. It's almost like I'm intruding on their moment. I don't belong here; this isn't my son. I'm just his friend. I can't even call myself his boyfriend, because a boyfriend would never have let him drift away to the point where something like this could happen. Neither would a good friend. I must not be either since here he is, breathing only with the help of a machine.
"Did they say how long?"
"No dear. They just said soon."
"I need to get to the office tomorrow. We have a meeting. A big one."
She just barely sighs, and I don't think he caught it. He wouldn't have. He's too busy caught up in thinking about what he's going to say next to listen to her and to then formulate an appropriate response.
Your son is in a coma.
There's a sudden burst of beeping, and as quickly as it was emptied, the room is filled with doctors. Mr. And Mrs. McKinnon find themselves flattened to the wall beside me, confused. I shake my head at the both of them.
"Whoever can get an answer gets five dollars, boys," Mrs. McKinnon jokes, but it falls flat. When Timmy wakes up, will she still become Ms. McKinnon? Would this be enough to keep them together?
"You're making this into a game?" Mr. McKinnon sounds almost hurt. It's the first time this evening I've seen his emotion match the situation.
At least she's trying. All you can think of is your goddamn work. Tell him off. Grow a backbone and tell him that he's wrong.
But she doesn't. Instead, Mrs. McKinnon submits to her husband's accusation.
If this were a story, we'd all win the award for the most pathetic group of characters.
A grey haired nurse taps me on the shoulder. "Are you the family?" I nod, and she wraps five fingers around my bicep. I'm leaning in to hear her as she speaks.
"Come with me."
She leads us out into the main hallway. The sparkling clean floors grin sadistically up at us, reflecting the patient being wheeled down the corridor and around the corner. No floor should be so clean that such things are visible.
"What's this about?" Mr. McKinnon questions, his voice shaking with anger. He doesn't like to be on the outside looking in, and the whole situation is pulsing with power he cannot grasp.
The nurse smiles at him. "Your son," she stops and adds on, "and brother...well there's been a drop in bran activity once again." She checks to make sure the hallway is clear of people before continuing. "Lower than before. I'm sorry. You're welcome to wait out here while the doctors get him stabilized."
It's not my question to ask, but I speak irregardless. "You mean, he's not going to wake up?"
"Not today, I'm afraid. I'm sorry. I can only imagine how excited you were to see him."
I don't have any words. I can feel myself curling deeper and deeper into myself, winding tighter and tighter until I've got nothing left to do but snap.
And that's exactly what I do.
Like before, it starts with running. I've got a vague idea where I'm headed, more a direction than a set of coordinates. But it's not long until I find what I'm looking for. I stop when I'm safely locked within the room at the end of the hall. I have to check the door three times before I allow myself to relax.
Sliding against the cool tile of the hospital bathroom, I unleash my disappointment onto my wrist.
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