The Sky at Our Feet

  The word home jolts me like a speed bump. I search my brain for an answer to Dr. Shabani’s simple and complicated question.

  But I’m struck with a thought that would knock me off my feet if I weren’t already sitting. My mother and I have something in common now. For both of us, home became a place that hurt us, that took away the person we love most.

  Eight

  There’s a quick knock on the door.

  “Hey, guy. I’m Eric, and I’m your nurse.” Eric doesn’t look much older than the high school kid who lives next door to us.

  “Hey, Eric.”

  “I’m gonna check your vitals. Is that cool?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I say, not wanting to admit I don’t know what vitals are. I like how he talks to me—like he’s just offered me a soda or chips. No big deal.

  “It’s your second day here, and it’s my second day,” Eric announces. “And I’m off to a good start getting assigned to you. You, Mr. Manhattan Doe, are becoming quite famous on this unit.”

  Eric shines a light in my eyes then peeks at the lump on my head.

  “Thanks for going easy on the new guy,” Eric says with a laugh. He types something into the computer stationed in the corner of my room. “I’ll be back later to check on you. And if you’re up to it, you should check out the Reserve.”

  “The Reserve?”

  “Yeah, it’s an activity room. We’ve got some video games and books and puzzles and I don’t know what else in there.”

  “Why’s it called the Reserve?”

  “Because it’s a place for kids to feel like they can take a break from all this hospital stuff. No docs or nurses allowed.”

  The Reserve is just what I need, especially since a step out of this room is a step in the right direction.

  I stand at my door and spot the big room across the hall with decals of Disney characters the size of small children on the windows. There are sheets of paper taped to the door, a collection of finger-painting projects.

  I put on a second gown Eric left for me, and this one covers my back. Now that SpongeBob is safely out of sight, I can take a look at the Reserve. It’s a room for babies, I’m thinking even as I drag my feet across the hall. I’m pretty sure I’ll be miserable in there too, but at least I’ll be alone.

  I walk into the room and see a car-racing game on a big-screen television. When I close the door behind me, the game pauses.

  “Who dares to disturb my game?” roars a voice from the other side. When I don’t answer, the armchair swivels around, and what I see makes my jaw drop. In one heartbeat, I’m pressing my back against the closed door and wondering if I’ve just made another mistake.

  “What’s your name?” says a girl about my age with a white knit cap over her head. From underneath the cap, a ponytail made of electric wiring hangs out. The wires lead into a small backpack she’s got at her side. She looks like some kind of robot.

  I can’t seem to answer. A polite voice in my head tells me to at least close my gaping mouth.

  The girl cocks her ear toward me as if that will help her hear what I’ve not said. Her chestnut eyes look at me expectantly.

  “I only asked you for your name, dude, not how to calculate the speed of light. Still stumped?” She’s snappy and smart, which makes me fumble for words.

  “Hey, I’m . . . uh . . .”

  “O-kay,” she says finally. “I’ll start. My name is Max.”

  “Hey.”

  By now I’m starting to collect myself. Max is wearing a hospital gown too, but she’s got purple warm-up pants underneath and a matching sweatshirt on top.

  “You know what?” Max says brightly. “It’s been really nice getting to know you, but what do you say we take a break from all this talking. Wanna play?”

  “Sure,” I reply, and watch her swivel her chair back to the television screen with one push of her feet. Her hands are wrapped in white bandages with only her fingers poking through. She looks a little like an unraveling mummy.

  “Grab that controller. It’s in the basket by the wall.”

  I spot the basket and walk over toward it. As I do, I catch a glimpse of a uniformed person standing at the half-moon desk in the center of the hallway. It’s a police officer.

  My breath catches in my throat. Max is staring at me curiously. She follows my gaze and spies the police officer just as a nurse begins nodding at him.

  Max looks back at me. “That crafts closet is big enough to hold two football players. Just saying,” she mutters, and turns back to the video screen.

  Don’t think. Just move.

  I open the oak cabinet and, just as Max promised, there’s more than enough room between the buckets of Lego bricks and rolling carts with drawing supplies to fit me. I close the door behind me and wonder how I can possibly think I’ll get away with this.

  I hear the door to the Reserve open.

  “Hey, sweetie,” calls a sugary voice. “Have you seen a boy in here? This officer’s looking to speak with him.”

  I don’t know Max at all. How do I know she isn’t pointing at the cabinet this very second?

  “There was a dude here but he never told me his name. I think he went to the cafeteria or to get some X-rays of his elbow or something.”

  “Well, that doesn’t make any . . .” The nurse sounds puzzled. “All right, well, thanks.”

  I hear the door close.

  “You’re clear,” Max calls out. My heart’s hammering in my chest, but she’s cool as ice cream. I open the door slowly and come back into the Reserve. The hallway outside is empty, and I wonder where the officer and the nurse have gone.

  “Ready to play?” Max asks. There’s not a hint of worry in her voice.

  “Thanks for doing that.”

  Max shrugs. “It’s my special talent. No big deal.”

  I keep looking at the door, expecting the police officer to come bursting through. Max has pulled out a second controller in the meantime. She hands it to me.

  Max chooses the yellow Ferrari as her avatar. I choose a red Corvette. A checkered flag waves and our cars speed off, zipping down virtual city streets and jumping over police cars.

  “You’re not bad,” Max observes.

  “Thanks. You play this a lot?”

  “First time.”

  We’re both narrowly escaping collisions and are neck and neck in our race to catch up with the white van full of money. The van swerves and turns through narrow streets, green bills flying out the back every time its back doors swing open and closed.

  “Dude, watch your back!”

  Max wins twice, but in the third game, I corner the white van while she drives off a bridge and falls into the river. She groans, drops the controller, and lets her head slump between her knees in defeat. I look over and see that her wire ponytail collects in a small backpack at her side. I can’t figure what all that is for, so I ask.

  “What are those wires?”

  “What wires?” Max says, looking confused. For a second I regret asking. I should have known better than to pry. But then Max weaves her fingers through her robotic braid. She lowers her voice and looks at the floor. “Oh, you mean these wires.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to . . .”

  “It’s all right,” she says. She’s sitting straight up again, her knees together as she leans in to tell me her secret. “I’ll tell you if you can keep it to yourself. I don’t share this personal information with just anyone.”

  I nod and wait for her to go on.

  “These wires are measuring my brain activity. I’m here for specialized testing because, according to the experts, I’m a genius.”

  “A genius?”

  “Yes, a genius,” she says with a sigh. “Just something I have to live with. Meanwhile, everyone’s interested in finding out how the magic happens.”

  She waves her hands around her head as if a rabbit is going to pop out of her ears.

  “What about you?” she asks, her posture relaxing. “Why ar
e you here?”

  I look back to the television screen, which is split in two by a flashing lightning bolt. Our cars are on either side of the electric divide, but my Corvette is flashing victoriously.

  I’m not a genius. If I were, I probably wouldn’t be trapped in this hospital. I barely know this girl and don’t dare tell her my real story, even if I am feeling totally alone.

  “It’s a long story.”

  Just then the door to the Reserve opens again.

  “There you are!”

  I turn around to see an open-armed nurse in violet scrubs. Behind her stands a police officer. From the grim look on his face, I can only gather that the Reserve is no longer my safe zone.

  Nine

  The officer’s gold badge gleams bright in my room. My mother was always nervous around police officers, and I never understood why. She wouldn’t even cross at an empty crosswalk if the signal didn’t give her permission.

  His name is Officer Khan. We’re back in my hospital room, and he’s taken a seat in the visitor’s chair across from my bed. He’s clean-shaven with thick, dark eyebrows and grayish eyes. He’s got his elbows on the armrests and is holding a small notepad in one hand. So far, he hasn’t written anything down, because I’ve told him the same thing I’ve told everyone else: I can’t remember my name, address, phone number, or the names of my parents.

  “You were in Penn Station. Do you remember taking the train to get there? Or were you there to get on the train?”

  “You know, sir, I really wish I could answer your questions, but the thing is . . .” His badge is really intimidating. My voice sounds funny, a little higher pitched than usual.

  “What about your father?”

  “No,” I say, and I leave it at that.

  There’s a buzzing sound, and Officer Khan takes his phone out. He raises a finger to tell me he’ll only be a moment. He turns his back to me, and I let out a sigh of relief.

  I look at the door of my room and see part of a familiar face in the glass window. It’s Max. She’s peering in, trying not to stick her entire head in the window. When my eyes meet hers, she gives a friendly wave. She points to herself and then into the room, as if to ask if she should enter.

  I shake my head no, not sure why she wants to come in here. Officer Khan is now looking at me with raised eyebrows, and I try not to stare at the window. Did he ask a question?

  “Okay, let’s try something else. When’s your birthday?”

  Over Officer Khan’s shoulder, I see Max waving her bandaged hand around wildly. She’s pointing at her head now. She’s wincing as if in pain. She holds her head in both hands and presses her lips together tightly. Then she points at me, her face bright with energy. She wants me to act like I’m in pain.

  I feel like a genius should be able to come up with a better idea than this. Then again, I don’t have any ideas of my own at this second.

  I put my hand on my head, right over the lump. I inhale dramatically as Officer Khan tries to become my friend.

  “You know, when I was your age, I would sometimes get so angry with my parents that I would wish I had another family. I even thought about running away from home. Every kid’s thought about running away from home at one point or another. But I grew up and realized that home’s actually the perfect place to be. At least it was for me.”

  I can tell that he’s trying to get me to tell him I ran away from home. I groan softly and close my eyes, my hands still on my head.

  “And no matter what was going on in my life, I always found someone to talk to. I would either talk to a cousin or my mom or my best friend at school. That’s why I wanted to become a police officer, actually, because I knew how much it helped to just . . . just be there and listen to someone. And that’s what I do now. I listen to people and see if I can make things better.”

  “I am trying. I really am. But when I try to remember anything, it makes my head—”

  “Maybe if we look at a map?”

  Max opens the door. I stop groaning and watch Officer Khan turn his attention to her.

  “The nurse will be in soon with your constipation medicine,” Max says cheerfully.

  I feel my face flush.

  “I just got mine and all I can tell you is it works fast. And by fast, I mean FAST.”

  Max smiles politely, her eyes sparkling with innocence. It’s impressive. Officer Khan is looking for words. When his phone rings a second time, he looks relieved. He steps outside the room to take the call, and Max and I watch him through the window.

  “I’m not sure why you keep doing this for me,” I say to Max.

  “I hate for my talents to go to waste.”

  Officer Khan opens the door and steps back in.

  “Okay, I’ve got something I need to take care of, but don’t worry, I’ll be back. If you do remember anything, please let someone here know so they can give me a call. We really want to get you home, kiddo.”

  I nod, and Officer Khan disappears. I walk to the window ledge. Stale air and dust mites come through the vent. Even in the evening, the sidewalk outside is crawling with people. Some have their hands in their pockets, some walk with a bounce in their step, some wear headphones, some are walking with a friend. Two chubby legs kick playfully in a stroller. A man in a wheelchair holds out a cup as people walk by.

  A car tries to move through a crosswalk. The people passing in front of it wave wildly at the driver. One person knocks on the hood of the car and the driver honks back, a warning. Everything and everyone is moving quickly.

  Even if I’m sure to be trampled on the way, I’ve got to get to Auntie Seema’s apartment, and all I have is the part of her address I remember from the cardboard box.

  I realize that Max is sitting beside me. She’s written something into a small notebook with the letter M on the cover. She closes it softly and tucks it onto her lap.

  “There are lots of good places to hide in a big city,” she says slowly. “Lots of places better than a hospital. Want to tell me why you’re here?”

  I keep my eyes on the city for so long that my eyes start to blur. The bustling street becomes more and more frightening the longer I stare. How am I going to do this alone?

  “Max,” I say with my eyes on the world outside. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Ten

  When I finish telling my story, Max is quiet. Her eyes stay on the pale-gray floor tiles. I haven’t known her long, but this seems unlike her.

  “Sorry, you probably think I’m—”

  “Brave.” She looks up and faces me. “Even though I don’t like that word. But you really are, Jason D.”

  Now it’s my turn to be quiet. I feel a lot of things, but I don’t feel brave. It was probably risky to spill my secret, but I feel a lot better now that someone’s called me by my real name.

  “So that’s why the cop was here. Can you get arrested for hiding your real name?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. But I need to get out of the hospital. I’m afraid they’ll put me in an orphanage or something.”

  “An orphanage? Jeez. I see why you want to get out of here. But busting out of a locked hospital unit?”

  “There’s got to be a way,” I say with more determination than I feel. I am a riddle solver, but this is one riddle that has me stumped. How do I get past the nurses and doctors, and the locked door at the end of the hallway, and make my way down nine floors to get out of the building?

  “If you’ve got a plan for this, I need to hear it. There’s no way I’m jumping in on some lame plan that’s only going to get us caught.”

  I stare at Max, her mouth pulled to the side in a half smile. Did I hear her correctly?

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I want to get out there too. There are lots of cool places in the city, like Chinatown and the Central Park Zoo and the Museum of Natural History. . . .”

  “You’ve been to all those places?”

  “Not exactly,” Max says, a hint of defeat in he
r voice. “Since we got to New York City, I haven’t been anywhere but this hospital. Do you want to hear something totally unfair? My parents are staying in a hotel room that overlooks Central Park, and where am I? Stuck in this hospital with all this junk.”

  Max points her thumb at the white cap covering her head of wires. There’s a small crack in her voice but the set of her jaw makes her look defiant and strong. I don’t know if she’s telling the truth about her genius testing, but there is something honest in what she’s telling me now. I can see it in her face.

  “When I grow up, I want to fly all over the world. I want to go to every single country and try to learn a bunch of different languages and eat lots of different kinds of food. My mom told me she was a foreign exchange student when she was in high school. She lived in Spain for a year with a family. And that family sent their daughter to live in New York with my grandparents. That’s what I want to do—maybe in Morocco or Germany or Brazil.”

  People in my neighborhood would laugh to hear Max talk about other countries as if they’re Disneyland.

  “What’s wrong with staying in America?”

  Where I come from, everyone wants to be in the United States. Customers in the laundromat talk about “green cards” and “papers” that give them permission to stay in the United States. People like my mom even break rules to stay in the country. I feel a little flush of embarrassment creep into my cheeks when I think about it. It’s still hard to get over.

  “There’s nothing wrong with staying in America,” Max says, her eyes turning to the window. “It’s just that America’s boring, especially where I live. I want to see something . . . something . . . different.”

  She says “different” in a dreamy, breathless kind of voice. Then it’s her turn to ask me a question.

  “Have you ever gone to Afghanistan?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “Why not?” asks Max.

  “My mom said it wasn’t safe.” I asked my mother once if we would ever go to Afghanistan to visit her family there. My mom looked like she’d just been poked in the heart. She hoped we would, she said, but not now. Given the sad way she said “not now,” she might as well have said “never.”