The Bridge From Me to You

  He leaves and I throw on the clothes I wore last night.

  I stand in the hallway, hesitant. What should I do? I want to see her and yet there’s a part of me that’s afraid. I don’t know if I can stand to see her in pain.

  I take a deep breath and walk to their room. The door is slightly ajar. I can hear Grandpa talking.

  “You’re doing great, Judith. Nice, slow breaths. Help will be here in a minute.”

  I open the door and step in. She’s in her robe, lying on the floor. “Gram?” I kneel down next to her. Her eyes are closed, and it’s like each breath takes everything she’s got.

  She opens her eyes and looks like she’s going to say something, but I put my finger on her lips. They feel cold. “Shhh, don’t talk. Save your energy. I just want you to know, I love you, Gram. Everything’s going to be all right. Hang on, okay?”

  She closes her eyes again.

  I watch her chest. Up. Down. Up. Down.

  I will it to keep moving.

  We hear the sirens a minute or so later. Dad comes in and yells, “They’re here!”

  Grandpa’s eyes meet mine. He looks so worried, so scared, it makes me want to cry.

  “We need to get out of the way, Colby,” Grandpa says. “They’ll need room to get the stretcher in here.”

  We both stand up, but we don’t move. She looks so helpless. So … alone.

  Grandpa reaches out and takes my hand. Together, we step toward the other side of the room, just as the paramedics come in. He squeezes my hand before he lets it go.

  “Who can tell us what happened?” one of the guys asks.

  Grandpa steps forward and starts talking. She’d taken a bath. A long one. When she got out, she called for him. Told Grandpa she didn’t feel well. Nauseous. And said she felt like someone was sitting on her chest.

  As one of the paramedics begins to undress her to take her vitals, I realize I shouldn’t be watching.

  I turn around, my arms squeezed tightly to my chest. I look out their bedroom window. It’s gray and dreary outside. Raining.

  Gram loves the rain.

  I blink the tears back.

  THAT NIGHT, Demi asks

  me to tuck her in.

  Her mom’s taking a nap

  because she has to work later.

  Uncle Josh finishes the story,

  kisses her good night, then leaves us.

  “How do you like to be

  tucked in?” I ask her.

  “Do it the way your

  mommy did it to you,” she says.

  “My mommy never

  tucked me in,” I explain.

  “Okay. Get in and

  I will show you how,” she says.

  She hops up, throws the covers

  back, and pulls me into her bed.

  “You take the covers like this,”

  she says, bringing them to my chin.

  “Then you tuck one side and

  say, ‘Good night, sleep tight,’

  and tuck the other side and

  say, ‘Don’t let the bedbugs bite.’

  And then you give a kiss

  on the forehead, like this. Mwah.

  Before you leave, you say,

  ‘I love you with all my heart.’ ”

  “That’s so cool,” I say.

  “You are a very lucky girl.”

  Demi crawls into her bed

  and I tuck her in, like she showed me.

  After I say, “I love you with all my heart,”

  she says, “I’m happy you’re part of our family.”

  She rolls over to get comfy. I turn off the lamp.

  And as I head toward the door, I whisper, “Me too.”

  “IT’S NOT supposed to be her in there,” Grandpa says as we sit in the waiting room. “She’s not like me. She’s the strong one. The healthy one.”

  “Dad, don’t do that,” my dad says. “These things happen.”

  “She was always worrying about me,” Grandpa says. “I should have been paying more attention. Made sure she was taking care of herself too. Did she even have a physical this past year? I can’t remember. Damn it. I don’t remember.”

  He rubs his face with his hands, and I wish I could say something to make him feel better. The thing is, I feel bad too. How many times did I ask how Grandpa was feeling, never thinking to ask Gram? We all just assumed she was fine. Took her and everything she did for us for granted.

  I stand up and stretch. I’m tired of sitting. Tired of this waiting room, where I’ve spent far too much time the last few months. Tired of being reminded how things can change on a dime.

  “I’m gonna go outside,” I tell them. “Get some fresh air.”

  Grandpa jumps up. “I’ll go with you.” He looks at Dad. “If you hear anything, come and find us?”

  Dad nods. “Of course.”

  We make our way to the courtyard, passing all kinds of different people. One thing’s for sure. None of them look very happy to be here.

  Grandpa opens the door when we reach the outdoor space. We step out, and the first thing I notice is that everything’s wet, since it’s been raining on and off all day. That includes the benches and chairs. It’s a nice space, flower beds landscaped among the concrete.

  “Do you want to sit down?” Grandpa asked. “I can go get some paper towels and wipe a bench down for us.”

  “I’m tired of sitting,” I say. “But if you want to …”

  “No. I’m fine. You’re right. It’s good to stand for a while.”

  We make our way to the very middle of the courtyard, and I look up. Nothing to see but gray sky.

  “You’ve seen too much of this place lately, Colby,” Grandpa says.

  I stuff my hands in my pockets. “That’s for sure.”

  “How’s Benny doing?”

  “I talked to him this morning. He sounds good.”

  “That’s great. I bet he’ll be back home in no time.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You know, I’m proud of you, Colby,” he says. “These last few months haven’t been easy, and look at you. Going to state. Choosing a college soon. You didn’t just keep it together, you’ve excelled.”

  “Grandpa, right now, I couldn’t care less about that championship game.”

  “I understand. But there are a lot of people in this town who do care. A lot. And you know your gram and I will be there, cheering you on. Nothing will keep her away.”

  “We don’t know that,” I say.

  We’re quiet for a minute. Then he says, “You know, when bad things happen, it’s good to have something else to think about. Something to believe in. Whether it’s a terrible motorcycle accident, or a heart attack, your team and the dedication you all show to one another and this town reminds people that there is more good in the world than bad.”

  I shake my head. “I know how much our town loves us. But sometimes, when I’m thinking about it, and all the other stuff going on in the world, I want to scream at people, it’s just a game. Find something better to believe in. Something that really matters, you know?”

  “Oh, Colby. You know it matters. It matters because it brings the town together in a way nothing else does. Friends and family, all together, sending their love to one another, and to you. All of you, on that field, representing us. It’s not just a game. It’s a community, and everything that represents. And you may leave here someday and never look back, I don’t know, but I can tell you one thing. You will always remember this town and what it was like to be a part of it. Maybe now it feels small and stifling, but I bet someday, you’ll see it differently. Tight-knit. Cozy. And most of all, home.”

  I look at my grandpa, trying so hard to convince me that what I do on that field matters. Because it’s not just everyone else in this town that needs something to believe in; I need it too.

  But what if I can’t anymore?

  I reach back and pull out my wallet. I read the card I’ve read when I’ve went to buy gas for my t
ruck or a slushie at the Jiffy Mart or something for Gram at the grocery store, so I’d save her a trip.

  I believe.

  I believe in myself.

  I believe in the team.

  I believe it’s our time.

  Maybe it’s these words that got us to state.

  But when state’s over, what happens then? What the hell am I supposed to believe in then?

  WE ARE all tiptoeing

  around it.

  “We” being me,

  Uncle Josh,

  and Aunt Erica.

  “It” being

  the conversation

  we need to have,

  about what happens now.

  With me.

  My therapist says

  I just need to ask them

  if I can stay and if

  they’ll help me with

  college applications

  for next year.

  Just ask.

  Like it’s as easy

  as asking for a drink

  of water when I’m thirsty.

  For days and weeks,

  I try to get up the

  courage to say,

  “Can we talk?”

  And just when

  it seems it might be

  the right time,

  Thursday night,

  the day before

  the big game,

  the phone rings.

  It’s Mom.

  A MILD heart attack. After tests and more tests, that’s what they called it. With medications, a good diet, and regular walking, the doctor says Gram will be fine.

  She stayed at the hospital a couple of days for monitoring, and then they sent her home.

  Dad took the week off from work so Grandpa wouldn’t overdo it, taking care of her. The doctor said Gram would be tired the first week, but she should still get up, get dressed, and should not lie in bed all day.

  I’m pretty sure when he said that, he didn’t know that lying in bed all day is about the last thing my gram would ever want to do.

  With everything going on, Dad doesn’t mention the big “college decision,” and I certainly don’t bring it up. I’m thankful for the reprieve. My plan is to get through the final game, and worry about the rest later. Cross that bridge when I come to it, so to speak.

  By the second week, Gram seems back to her old self, though we only let her cook dinner for us, while we take care of our own breakfasts and lunches. We’re also doing our own laundry, which bugs the crap out of her, because none of us does it the “right” way.

  I honestly don’t care if I pull my wrinkly jeans out of the dryer after they’ve sat there for two days, but Gram cares. And she lets me know it.

  I just smiled when she told me how I should have been doing it, and when she finished giving me my laundry lesson, I said, “I’m so glad you’re feeling better, Gram.”

  She replied, “Well, honestly, I’ll be glad when I can do your laundry again, so it’s done right. You deserve better than wrinkled pants, Colby!”

  I gave her a big hug as I laughed about it.

  Now it’s Thursday, and we’re dressing for our last practice of the season. Tomorrow night, we’ll be up in Portland, in a big fancy locker room, getting ready for the game of our lives.

  I jump when I hear Coach holler, “Gather round!”

  “What’s this?” Derek asks. “The big motivating speech comes tomorrow night, doesn’t it?”

  Coach smiles. “Yes. It does. But this afternoon I have some good news to share. I just got off the phone and wanted to tell you we’ll have some special guests at the game tomorrow night.”

  We look at one another, question marks floating over our heads.

  “There’s no way you’ll guess, so I’ll just tell you. Your teammate, Benny Lewis, is flying in tomorrow for the game.”

  The room erupts in cheers. I’m sitting there in shock, wondering why Benny didn’t let me know about this.

  “Lewis has made incredible progress,” Coach goes on. “His mom told me the overseeing physician says it’s nothing short of a miracle. Anyway, I’ve been checking in with his family on a regular basis, and it was my hope that I could help to make this happen for you boys. His team of medical staff agreed to let him fly home, just for the weekend. On Sunday, he’ll return to Atlanta, because his work there certainly isn’t finished.”

  Coach looks around at us for a minute before he says, “I know this has been a challenging season for y’all. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you fell apart, if you couldn’t muster the strength and courage week after week like a winning team needs to. But you did it. And I am so damn proud of each and every one of you. And I know whatever happens tomorrow night, you’re gonna make Benny proud too.

  “Now let’s get out there and have a good practice. I’ll see you on the field in five.”

  SHE WANTS us

  back together.

  “I want us to be a family again.”

  That’s what she told me.

  Now I’m trying to tell

  Erica and Josh this.

  When I told them I’d

  just talked to my mom,

  they ushered the kids

  to the playroom,

  like a flock of ducklings,

  then took me into the

  family room.

  “What did she say?”

  Erica asks as I sit

  back on the sofa,

  trying to digest

  the brief conversation.

  I stare at the coffee

  table, the rings left there

  by glasses of juice

  because kids

  aren’t careful about

  things like coasters.

  “Lauren?” Josh says.

  I look at him.

  “She wants me to come to North Carolina.

  Just for a while. Then we’re going to

  go back to Seattle. She wants to fight

  for shared custody of Matthew.”

  Josh and Erica look at

  each other. I can tell they’re

  not sure what to say.

  “She says she needs me.

  That she can’t do it without me.

  I don’t know the details,

  why she didn’t get shared custody

  in the first place, but she said

  she regrets that she didn’t fight harder.

  She said she misses him.”

  I stare at the rings again

  and think of Andrew, Henry,

  and Demi. Those are their

  rings. On their table.

  In their family room, where

  they watch SpongeBob

  and laugh, like a family does.

  “And that was it?” Josh asks.

  “She told me she was sorry,” I reply.

  “For everything.”

  Erica talks slowly.

  “Lauren, it’s a big decision.

  Nothing has to be decided right now.

  Think on it for a while, okay?”

  “But they’re my family,” I say.

  “I belong with them.”

  “Let me call her,” Josh says.

  “I want to talk to her about this.”

  I stand up. “Fine. But I’m going to pack.

  I have money saved.

  I’m going to buy a ticket.”

  Josh stands. “Of course we’ll

  help with whatever you need.

  But let’s wait a few days.

  You know, think on it awhile.”

  I shake my head.

  They don’t understand.

  I can’t wait.

  She might change her mind.

  BENNY MUST have wanted to surprise me. He didn’t tell me because he wanted me to be surprised along with everyone else.

  Just like he wanted to surprise his mom on her birthday. He’s still the same good-hearted guy. And I can’t wait to see him. See how he’s doing. What he looks like. I keep wondering if he’ll come in a
wheelchair, or if he’s able to walk by himself now. I didn’t want to ask him any of these questions on the phone. I mean, the last thing I’d want to do is make the guy feel like a failure if he isn’t able to walk yet. I have no idea what’s normal and what’s not, and from what his mom said, it sounds like there are lots of degrees of normal, anyway.

  I’m kind of a wreck on Friday. Between the game looming large and the thought of getting to see my best friend for the first time in weeks, I can hardly sit still in my morning classes.

  And then, as I’m heading to the cafeteria for lunch, I get a text. From a number I don’t recognize.

  My mom called. I’m leaving tonight. Can I see you before I go? Lauren

  I blink a few times, reread the message over and over. At first I wonder if it’s some sort of cruel joke. I decide there’s only one way to find out.

  I move into a corner of the hallway and call the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Lauren?”

  “Hi, Colby.”

  “It is you. I wasn’t sure.”

  “I borrowed my aunt’s phone.”

  “So it’s true? You’re leaving?”

  “Yeah. Taking the red-eye tonight.”

  It feels like someone’s punched me in the gut.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  IN THE winter,

  the sun shines less,

  the temperatures

  drop, and the

  geese know

  it is time.

  It’s not something

  they consider,

  as if they have a choice.

  They don’t ask questions.

  They don’t look around and wonder.

  They don’t consult others.