38. KINDRED SPIRITS
As far as hospital rooms go, it was okay. There were two chairs, a stool, and a little two-person couch in it. The other bed in the room was unoccupied. A bathroom was attached.
Then there was Patrick, lying perfectly still in his bed, IVs attached to him. I was glad that they said his breathing had improved since I held him in my arms as we rushed him to the ER. I don’t think I could have taken seeing some tube down his throat. Instead, he had a thin little tube giving his oxygen through his nostrils.
He looked like he was sleeping. If he was, I hoped he was having pleasant dreams and would wake up soon!
I sat next to him, gently stroking his hand. Was he dreaming? Was he able to think in his state? Did he know we were all there with him waiting for him to wake up?
His mom and sister were on the other side of him. Lindsey stood beside her mom, with her hand on her back. Mrs. Connor held his hand. Every so often she’d look up and our eyes would meet.
“He’s going to be fine. We just have to be patient.” I wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince us or herself. Maybe both.
The three of us sat in silence and kept vigil at Patrick’s bedside. Now that I was just sitting, able to see him, I felt like the flurry of the night was slowing down.
I kept replaying the night over and over in my mind. How everything was great, then contorted into a nightmare. I couldn’t sleep, I was afraid of not snapping out of the nightmare and I wanted to be there when Patrick woke up. At least, awake reliving it, I could look around the room and know I wasn’t stuck at Dylan’s party. After going over it for the thousandth time and finding things I could have done differently. Seventeen to be exact. I had to stop.
I needed to think of something else. I needed to calm down. I did the only thing I could think of that would. I started singing to myself. Well, in my head. I thought about the first time I sang for Patrick, in Mr. D’s room. It seemed so long ago. But it had only been about two months.
After a half dozen or so songs, my throat started to ache. Was this a side effect of the medication they gave me?
“Why’d you stop?” Lindsey’s question pulled me out of my cocoon.
“Huh?” Stop what? I was confused.
Mrs. Connor looked concerned. “Liz, dear, are you okay?”
Why were they looking at me funny? “Yeah.” I responded hesitantly.
“Lindsey, maybe you should go find a doctor for Liz.”
“No, I’m okay. I’m just…thirsty.” I suddenly realized I was parched. My throat felt raw.
“I’ll get some water. Mom, do you want anything? Coffee?” Lindsey volunteered.
“Whatever you bring is fine. Thank you, sweetie.” She squeezed Lindsey’s hand. Lindsey left in search of drinks. I think she was glad to feel useful. Mrs. Connor smiled lightly at me, it was the first I’d seen all night on her. She seemed to be in a little better mood, considering her eldest son was lying in a hospital bed. “That was a beautiful rendition of that song.”
Oh my God. It clicked why my throat hurt. I wasn’t singing in my head, it was out loud. I was mortified. The strain in my throat had to be because I wasn’t at full volume. At least that was something. “I’m so sorry. I thought I was just singing to myself. I didn’t mean to…” I put my head down on the edge of the bed.
She chuckled. “No, it’s fine.” She patted the top of my head. “There’s a calm that comes over you when you sing and it’s contagious. We needed it.”
I lifted my head and managed a quarter smile. It felt good that I was able to help her in some way. “Really?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “And that’s one of my favorite shows. Have you seen Les Miserables before?”
“Once in junior high. We had gone to visit my godmother in Seattle. She had tickets. I fell in love with it.” My mom couldn’t wait for it to be over. “Eponine sings some of my favorite songs.”
Lindsey returned with water and coffee. We talked about theater, a welcome distraction. They had seen a lot more than I had dreamed of. Their family had season tickets every year to the Broadway-San Diego shows at the Civic Theatre.
They had a whole tradition that I envied. They took turns picking the restaurant for dinner, go to the show, then out for dessert and coffee. I could only long for one night like that, let alone many nights during the course of a year. Unconsciously, I squeezed my hands. I had forgotten that I was still holding onto Patrick’s hand. That’s when I noticed, his hand twitched. It wasn’t much movement, but it did move.
I stood up from my seat, still holding his hand and ever so lightly shook him with my other. “Patrick… Can you hear me? Wake up. Open your eyes.” It was a cross between ordering and begging.
My heart felt lighter once he slowly opened his eyes. He looked around the room at me, Lindsey and his mom. “Mom? Lindsey? Liz? What happened? Where am I?”
I smiled as his mom told him everything was going to be okay. It was. For once during this never-ending night, I felt that it really would be.