This Ordinary Life (3 page)

I sigh and stare toward the hallway, thinking about the WYN60 trip I'm missing right now. I blink a few times to clear the tears until everything comes into focus.

I imagine them, watching Get Up and Go broadcast. I can see it now, the morning show team around a table, inviting the field trip students to come hang out with them and check out the equipment and broadcast area. My imagination lands on detail after detail, the headphones and microphones, the scrolling news and celebrity gossip on monitors on the table. I imagine cups of coffee, a huge spread of half-eaten breakfast—bagels and croissants and muffins, and the smiles of the radio show as they meet Ms. Hudson and the kids on the trip.

Smiles to everyone but me.

I let out a shuddering breath and look at my brother. I watch his skinny chest rise and fall with sleep, wires falling all around his face from beneath the mesh cap on his head. How can I even think about the trip and wish I was there? This is more important.

I push away the bitter disappointment and settle back into my chair using the small bit of light from the TV to read my chemistry textbook. Boring, but I am totally behind. Mr. Karns takes no prisoners and we have a test next week.

My mind drifts to the trip again. I'll talk to Ms. Hudson. Maybe I can still apply for the internship, even without meeting the crew. I sigh, shutting my chem book and look at the monitor next to Danny. No matter how many times we've been through this, I never know what any of the squiggly lines and brain waves mean. My eyes dart across the screen, imagining it shows that every single brain wave is doing exactly what it should be, that this test will show that Danny is all better. But I don't need to be a literal brain surgeon to know that isn't the case.

My phone buzzes and my best friend's name lights up the screen. I texted her the basic details of the morning when we got here but haven't updated her yet.

“Hey,” I whisper. “I can't really talk.”

“Me neither,” Frankie says. “I got a bathroom pass to sneak a call to you. I wanted to make sure you're okay. How's Danny?” Hearing my best friend's voice brings tears to the surface. What I would give to have her sitting here with me.

“So-so, don't really know anything yet.”

“I wish I could help,” she says. “Is there anything I can do?”

I sniff. “Thanks, but not really. I'll text when I know anything.”

“Okay. So. What the hell with Sebastian? Your text was shocking.”

My stomach drops. “Yeah well. He's an asshole. Shocking is definitely the word for what I saw.”

“You actually, physically caught him?”

“Oh yeah. In all his glory. Half naked with some girl in his bed.”

“I can't believe it.”

“Me neither. I mean, how the hell could he do this?”

“Do you know who she was?”

“Not a clue. She was vaguely familiar. I can't even think about it right now.” Though how could I not? I mean, the image is permanently burned in my retinas. How could the guy who I thought was my everything treat me like I'm nothing?

Frankie pauses, but I can tell it's a meaningful one.

“What aren't you telling me?” I ask.

“Well… I just wanted to tell you before you come back, people are talking about it.”

“How does anyone even know?”

Another pause.

“He changed his relationship status to single online.”

It's like I've been punched in the gut. I slump in the chair and pinch the bridge of my nose.

“He what? I can't even process this. What?”

“I'm sorry,” Frankie says quietly. “I didn't want to bug you with this when you're there, but I figured if you saw it, or if someone texted or emailed… I wanted you to hear it from me instead. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it worse.”

“No. You didn't make it worse. I don't understand. After everything that happened, and the way it happened. Wow. He was certainly in a rush to let the world know he's available I guess.” My voice goes hard but Frankie knows me better than that.

“I love you,” she says. “He doesn't deserve you anyway. I'll keep an eye out for gossip, but just be with your family now. Text me later?”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“Besties?”

“Forever.” I answer with the second half of our standard goodbye.

When we hang up, I turn my phone off and throw it in my bag. I can't believe I thought I loved him. Just the thought of it turns my stomach inside out.

Danny snores quietly on his bed and I watch his little chest rise and fall through my tear-blurred vision.

I stand and stretch, wondering where mom went for the coffee. Maybe I can rustle up some subpar coffee in the hall lounge here. I mute the TV and step away from Danny, my arms wrapped around my middle as if I can hold all the broken pieces of myself together.

“Be right back,” I whisper to my sleeping brother. I push all other thoughts from my mind. Frankie is right. I need to focus on my family now, on Danny.

On my way out, I notice a stack of comics on the other bed in Danny's room. Great. It's going to be some loud little kid who watches Batman or whatever all day. Bam Pow Wham. I can hear it now.

I decide to take a stroll past the nurses' station on my way to the crappy coffee room. My shoes squeak on the tiles and I keep my gaze on the floor, playing a game with myself as I walk down the hall, stepping only on the used-to-be-white-when-they-were-new tiles, and not on the alternating pastels. I'm hopeful as I reach the end of the hall. If any of our favorite nurses are on call, maybe I can sweet talk them into moving Danny to a private room.

No such luck. I barely recognize any of the three women at the desk. Maybe it's been longer than I realized since we were frequent flyers here at the illustrious St. Bonaventure pediatric neurological ward. Not a bad thing. The nurses, all clad in cheerful scrubs, return my tired smile with exhausted ones of their own.

I wait for the coffee in the automatic machine. It gurgles and hisses behind me while I read the announcements on the bulletin board, all printed on super colorful paper about various activities, crafts, and entertainment that will be happening all week. The hospital really tries to cheer the kids up and keep them busy. Tomorrow, a neon pink page tells me, Lucky the Black Lab therapy dog will be visiting, as well as Junior the clown. On a bright yellow sheet I see that today the Musictime Live for Kids will be making rounds right before the story time, bingo, and make your own loom bracelet hours.

Reading the notices dredges up the worst memories of some of Danny's early and very long visits. I think about how drugged they had him, how he hardly woke for days and when he did, how he could barely walk. So small and so sedated. It was the only way to stop his seizures back then.

The days he was awake he did many of these same activities pegged all over this bulletin board. Playing instruments with the music group, shaking maracas and tambourines; his eyes lighting up, despite the drugged sheen in them, when the magician made a rainbow scarf appear out of his ear.

Walking down the short hall, Mom or I trailing his IV pole behind him, would exhaust him. How Mom was so much more present then. Sure, the drinking had already started at home, but it hadn't invaded every bit of her yet. Here with the doctors, she used to ask all the right questions. Take notes on what they said, even.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

I picture her this morning, all ratty hair and last night's makeup. Smelling like she'd spilled more than one drink on herself. Hungover Mom.

Everything always changes.

My traitorous, overtired mind is apparently intent on making me suffer by snowballing through all the good memories, all the freaking used-to-bes. Like right now, it causes physical pain to my insides, as if my internal organs are pin cushions in maximum capacity use, to remember how Sebastian—at one point a new and good boyfriend—spent day after day here with me during some of Danny's longer hospital stays.

And now he's
status: single.

Whatever. I close my eyes, instantly seeing this morning's scene in my mind. Who was she? She of the mini skirt in my boyfriend's bed? How could he? God, how freaking could he? I respect myself way too much to even talk to him again, let alone ask him about it, but it's going to kill me to not know the details. How long was it going on? Was everything between us a lie?

Thankfully a ding on the coffee machine alerts me to my Fresh When You Want It! cup of coffee. I grab it and head back toward Danny's room.

I walk quietly past the mostly open doors. A baby cries down at the other end of the hall, but it's pretty quiet over here. When I turn the corner, a woman walks out of our room. She's tall, with long curly hair held back by movie star sunglasses. Her bag slips from her shoulder, and crashes to the floor, spilling half its contents around her feet. She bends to pick it up and her sunglasses slide off her head.

“Can I help?” I squat down to help her push random purse things into her bag—lip gloss, wallet, tampons—and she gives me a million-watt smile.

“Thanks, Darlin',” she says with a southern drawl. I look behind her, wondering what this stranger was doing in Danny's room. Her smile grows wide, deepening the harsh laugh lines and crow's feet that, even still, can't hide her beauty.

“I'm Lynette,” she says as we straighten up. “My son is in this room.”

What? Her son? “Oh! He must be my brother's roommate. My brother is Danny. He was sleeping when I left. I better go check on him.”

“All's quiet as a church mouse in there. Wesley is just readin' anyway. I told him to keep down his TV and music too while that little boy is sleepin'. You'd think they'd be all private rooms by now, but no.” She blows a puff of breath into her bangs. “Anyway, I'll be back in a bit. I'll see you soon.”

“Um, sure. Yeah. See you soon.”

“What's your name, honey?”

“Jasmine. I'm Jasmine.” I shake the hand she has outstretched and nod toward the room. “Well, I better get back.”

“Of course, see you around.” And with that, Lynette turns on her heel and sashays down the hall in a cloud of flowery perfume.

I peek into my room, hoping Danny is still resting. The chairs at the foot of his bed are still unoccupied. Where did Mom go
for that coffee? Pennsylvania? Good thing they don't have a bar in the hospital. I snort at my own joke, not even because it's funny, but because I'm too exhausted to think past the sad reality that she probably really would do something like that if she could.

I walk quietly into the room, eyes darting to the bed next to Danny's to see who Lynette's superhero-loving son is. I brace myself for the inevitable little kid onslaught of questions. For some reason, kids gravitate to me like I'm a camp counselor or kindergarten teacher or something.

But the boy lying on the bed next to Danny's is a teenager. A relatively
cute
teenager, too, I notice, though I only get a side eye view as I cross the room. He looks up from something he's reading, probably one of those comic books, I bet, and shakes his head to throw shaggy, dirty-blond hair out of his eyes. His gaze locks on me.

I don't want to be rude, so I give a small wave. “Hi,” I whisper.

His head tilts slightly as he considers me. He gives a hello nod back and our eyes meet for just a second. There's a sense of humor in his, but he drops them back to his book quickly, which, I see now, isn't a comic, but a thick text book. I slip into the chair at the foot of Danny's bed and take a big sip of my coffee. Scalding liquid scorches my mouth and I jump in my seat and spill even more of the steaming coffee all over me.

“Damn it,” I mutter, wiping the burning liquid from my chin. I pull my wet shirt away from my skin, wincing at the heat. I toss the offending Styrofoam cup of too-hot-and-gross-besides coffee into the trash. A few droplets splash up and hit my hand, burning me again.

Comic book boy chuckles and I look over at his bed, but his eyes are still on his book, his face serious as anything.

I narrow my eyes. Did I imagine that? He better not be laughing at me.

His lip twitches, just slightly, but it's enough for me to see. I stand abruptly and pull the curtain between the beds closed with so much force I'm surprised it doesn't come off the track.

“My brother needs to sleep,” I hiss.

I search my bag for napkins and frown at the coffee stains on my shirt, keeping one ear turned toward comic boy's side of the room. He doesn't say anything else, thankfully.

After a few minutes, I feel a little bad. I mean, the guy is obviously in the hospital and I hope he's okay. But still, if there's one thing I hate, it's being laughed at. Especially after the utterly craptastic day I'm having. I plop back into my chair and roll my eyes to the ceiling.

Come on universe, make something good happen.

D
ANNY IS SET
to leave the next day. The tech removes the cap and wires and I wash the glue out of his hair. We're both exhausted and badly in need of showers. I stand by the window in Danny's room while he colors and we wait for mom to sign his paperwork and pick us up.

“Want me to make you an Iron Man one?” Danny nods to the coloring book.

“Of course. Make a good one. I'll hang it up at home.”

With his tongue caught between his teeth, he frowns in concentration at the page he colors.

“I'm still confused about the knights,” he says, still coloring. “I get the other pieces, but why does the knight move that way?”

We'd been over this about a billion times since I attempted to teach him chess in a marathon session last night.

“You just have to practice and get used to it. All the pieces have their own way to move.”

“No, I
know
that.” He looks up at me and rolls his eyes. “But the knight is
confusing.”