Ruin (6 page)

Until I spot that same guy standing in the hallway, staring straight at me once again.

The tears cease immediately.

Alexander

She looks at me, her eyes red and watery, and the first thing that crosses my mind is wrapping my arms around her.

However, common sense stops me.

It would be awkward if I just went into her room to hug her.

She’d probably think I’m crazy.

A harasser.

Even though I just want to make her feel better, I know it won’t work.

She doesn’t know me, and I really don’t know her, either. But I do want to get to know her, and I want to make everything better, even though I know I can’t.

“Hey,” she mutters.

I freeze and slam my lips shut. Is she talking to me? I think she is.

“Hey …” I answer with a shaky voice.

It’s silent again. The more time passes, the weirder it’s starting to feel.

Should I say something else?

“Don’t I know you?” Her brows draw together in the same cute way she always reacts when she’s confused or pondering something.

The weirdest part about that is that I
know
those details by heart.

“Uh …” Should I tell her?

Yeah, you’ve seen me hovering around you many times. I mostly follow you like a creepy stalker, and other times, I just sit close and watch everything you do. But we’ve never actually talked. I just like to stare at you.

Totally a chill thing to say.

Yup.

I tuck my hands in my pockets and smile stupidly. “Nah.”

And then I turn around and walk away.

Maybe I’ll have more courage next time.

***

Maybell

Friday

The dreaded day is here.

The day they’re gonna cut me.

I made my mom draw a huge arrow on my left leg so they don’t accidentally cut into the wrong leg. I know they know what they’re doing … but still. I can’t handle the pressure of not knowing for sure. Guess it’s the Asperger’s again. What isn’t, right?

“Put on this gown, please,” the nurse says as she hands me a dress that looks more like a sheet that you put on the table. “I’ll close the curtains for you.”

When I have my privacy, I undress slowly and put on the gown. The nurse helps me take off my pajama pants and then hands me two tablets of Tylenol, instructing me to take them with a minimal amount of water.

Because I can’t eat or drink until after the surgery.

Damn, I hate that part.

Last time I ate something, it was the middle of the night. Nothing was allowed after that, so I considered it a sort of ‘last meal.’ I laughed a little at my own joke, but my chuckle also woke up my neighbor, Mr. Chang, who tried to crawl out of bed, which didn’t go over so well. The nurses had to pick him up from the floor, and he’d soiled his bed again, so they had to clean that too.

Suffice to say, I didn’t sleep much last night.

Now that I’m wearing the paper hospital gown, I feel like something life changing is finally going down. Mom’s sitting next to me, and I grab her hand and squeeze. Sometimes, I just need to know she’s here so I don’t feel so alone in this anxiety.

The nurse gives me another pill. “This one’s to relax you.”

I take it with a bit more water and then set everything aside.

“See you later, Mom,” I say as the nurses enter to wheel my bed to the OR.

She kisses me on the cheek and caresses my cheek. “See you in a few hours, Little May.”

Little May.
Hmm … she hasn’t called me her Little May since forever.

And judging by her teary eyes, it means something.

My dad squeezes my hand and kisses my forehead. “Don’t accidentally kick ‘em in the face while you’re under,” he jokes, making me chuckle.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad,” I muse as they guide me out the door.

I lay down on the bed and blink away a few tears while we go through the hallway and enter the elevator. I look at the male nurse who’s pushing my bed, of whom I only just noticed looks strikingly handsome.

He smiles when he notices me looking. “Scared?”

“A little.” That’s a lie. It’s actually a lot, but I don’t want people to think I’m a big wuss … even though I am.

What if the anesthetic works too good and puts me into a coma? Granted, they told me it rarely happens … but it can. They don’t say never. Not in here.

His lips part. “You won’t feel a thing, I promise,” he assures me.

Pain. I’m also afraid I’ll feel pain.

I never used to be afraid of pain. Now, I am.

“And what if I do?”

“Then you put up your best squeal to let us know.” He winks.

“I’ll shatter the windows then,” I jest.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got double panes,” he quips.

We’re cracking jokes like it’s something we do every day of the week.

Situationally so unfit … yet it’s the only way I know how to cope with this.

We arrive at the pre-op room. “There you are,” he says. “The nurses will take care of you. I’ll see you when you wake up.”

“Thanks,” I say.

I only say it because it’s the polite thing to do.

Because everyone always expects you to.

But let’s face it … who in the world is thankful for needing surgery?

I look around and watch the nurses bring in more people on beds, all being prepped for surgery. One after the other gets hooked up with electrodes and prodded with syringes, and afterward, they ride them out of the room to their destination.

And now, it’s my turn.

A woman sits next to me and smiles while she introduces herself. I’ve already forgotten her name after one minute. I’m so bad at remembering things. I don’t mean to be antisocial … I was just born this way.

The woman puts an IV in my arm and the electrodes on my head and chest.

The final checkup begins.

I state my name and date of birth again as I have a hundred times since I’ve landed in the hospital. I accept the risks that are involved and agree to the surgery.

I tell her I’m fine with my mom and dad having sole authority over the decisions made for my wellbeing, should I fall into a coma. Should they have to pull the plug.

I sign a form.

It’s strange to realize that may have been my last signature.

Nobody knows—not me, her, the nurses, or any of the doctors.

But they assure me they will try their best.

Of course, they will. I don’t expect any less. Still, it’s not easy knowing any minute could be my last.

The nurses come and say it’s time. Now, it’s my turn to be ‘that one’ … The one who’s being wheeled into the OR on the same bed she woke up on.

They ride me into a cold, snow-white room that smells of detergent. Never in my life have I seen a cleaner room than this. There I see Dr. Hamford smiling as he sees my face again.

The nurses place me next to the operating table and takes down the metal railings. Then they help me shift from the bed to the table.

It’s then that I realize I’m still wearing the plastic boot.

“Doesn’t this need to come off?” I mutter.

Dr. Hamford chuckles. “We’ll do that when you’re under,” he says.

“Oh … right.” I didn’t realize, but of course, it would be much too painful anyway. It’s just sad that I didn’t get a last look at my leg before they cut it open. Before it’s changed forever.

I have a thing with changes. And forevers. I avoid them at all cost.

“Ready?” the doctor asks me.

Like I’d ever be ready for this.

I shake my head and say, “No.” But my voice breaks out into a bit of nervous laughter. “But it needs to be done.”

He nods and tells the nurse to start the drip.

“Count back from ten please,” he asks me.

“Ten … nine …”

I look up at the ceiling and fade out.

***

Four hours later

I fade in and out of consciousness, my eyes struggling to stay open.

I hear voices in the background, but they fail to register.

My mouth feels dry and my throat sore. My muscles are weak, and I’m unable to move a limb.

It takes a few more seconds before I can finally lift a hand. My nose itches, so I start to scratch and realize there’s a tube in there. Naturally, I begin to pull it out.

The nurse chuckles as she comes to me and says, “No, no. Leave it in there.”

Her words only partially register with me. My mind is still one big jumbled mess. I don’t even know what’s in my nose or what I just did, but I don’t really care either. I’m just really, really tired.

After a few more minutes have passed, I finally look around. I vaguely see people in scrubs walking around and someone coming near me.

“Hey there. Waking up already?” a woman says, but I can barely hear her. As if cotton balls are stuffed in my ears.

I think I groan a response, but I’m not sure.

It feels as if only seconds have passed since I last lay on that cold, flat surface, waiting to be operated on. So when I open my mouth, the first thing that comes out is, “Is it done already?”

The nurse laughs. “Yeah. You’re all done.”

Wow.

I never understood what people meant when they said they missed a few hours of their life, but now, I do. I literally feel like I went to sleep and woke up within the same second.

No. Sleep is the wrong word.

Sleep is soft and gentle. You fall slowly and deeply into a soft cocoon. You can wake up at any moment from the slightest of sounds or movements.

But this … this was something different.

Something that felt like I was there and then I wasn’t … and then I woke up, all in the space of one second. It was literally nothingness.

Like how I imagine death would feel.

The nurse shoves something cold into my mouth. “Here’s a popsicle. Suck on it. It’ll help you wake up quicker.”

I do what she says and take a lick. Strawberry. My favorite. But I have trouble swallowing. God, my tongue feels swollen. And I’m tired … so damn tired.

Finishing my popsicle seems to take forever. I don’t even know how long I’ve been here, or how long ago the nurse came to give the popsicle to me, but when she comes back, she’s decided it’s time for me to go back to my room.

I just let it all happen.

It’s not as if I can stop them anyway. I can’t even utter a goddamn word.

Riding through the hallways feels like bliss now that the surgery is finally over and my accumulated stress dissolves. Until I see my parents standing near my room, waiting to greet me.

But I can’t say more than a simple, “Hi.”

Not because I don’t want to but because my mouth refuses to move properly. Plus, my throat feels more sore than ever. Must’ve been the tube they used to regulate my breathing.

I’ve never felt this groggy before, and after a quick two-sentence conversation with my parents, they leave again. The nurse says I need the rest, and they agree. I do too, actually.

All I can think of is pillows. And sleep. Lots of sleep.

I close my eyes for a second, only to wake up hours later in the middle of the night.

My stomach growls. Too bad it’s past the time when you can still order food using the phone.

Does that mean I’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning to eat something? Because it’s been almost a day now since I’ve eaten. Not that I can’t live a day without, but still, I’d like to taste something other than Tylenol in my mouth.

So I search through the bag that Dad brought me, but unfortunately, I find no Doritos. Sighing, I pull open the drawer in search of my phone so I can text him to bring me some. However, right next to it is a Snickers bar with a note below it.

I don’t remember bringing that …

I take it out and open the note that’s underneath.

Hey. It’s me, that guy who was looking at you awkwardly. Sorry I didn’t say anything. But I just wanted to say hi, so … yeah. Anyway, I know you must be hungry after the surgery. I don’t know which sweets you like, so I hope a Snickers bar is okay. Enjoy.

My heart skips a quick beat.

That boy standing at the door … I remember him.

The first genuine smile in ages forms on my face as I close the note and tuck it back into the drawer with care while unwrapping the Snickers and stuffing it in my mouth.

God, a Snickers never tasted this good.