“You want to know a secret?” I whispered into his ear. “Something’s killing me, too. It’s called depression. And it’s not a symptom of anything but me.”
I touched my hand to his chest. His heart was beating, but not enough. It was beating only because it chose to. It would stop only when it chose to. He, too, was incurably human.
“I guess people die in all kinds of ways.”
Chapter Twenty
ONLY THREE HOURS LATER, I WAS awakened to a rush of nurses. My mom was bewildered, tossing out questions returned with silence. Machines were ringing at excruciating decibels. Personnel were shouting all of these medical words I didn’t understand. Mom and I were exiled from the room without the chance to say goodbye.
Fortunately, goodbyes weren’t in immediate order. Unfortunately, they weren’t off the table. The doctor informed us that his condition had caused him to slip into a comatose state (see: coma), which could be as mild as a few hours of unconsciousness to the severity of days. Apart from monitoring his heart and vitals, there was nothing more to do. My dad’s life was a waiting game.
Karen did the only thing she knew. She prayed. And I didn’t mock it. I didn’t particularly mind it, either. She meant every word she said. She asked me to pray, but I didn’t even know where to start. But Karen actually said something that helped me. She said praying isn’t about the words you say, it’s about the meaning you put behind them. So I prayed for nonsense. And I let myself hope. I hoped that, if no one else did, God understood me.
We sat in the waiting room near the elevators. Karen was on the phone with Frankie, explaining the situation as he promised to make it to town by noon. It was Sunday morning, maybe six. I hadn’t checked my phone since I got to the hospital. I took it out of my pocket to see the time and noticed three missed calls from Snake. There was a text spread across the screen.
I wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ll be outside if you need me. Call me back when you can.
He’d sent it at two in the morning, right around the time my dad slipped into the comatose state that we all knew was a coma but refused to classify. There was no way Snake was still outside. He must have waited for a while and left when he got no news. He must have gone home when I didn’t respond. Then again, I wouldn’t have put a hospital parking lot all nighter past him.
I glanced at Karen, who was in deep conversation on the phone. I nudged her and mouthed, “I’ll be right back.” She threw up a dismissive hand.
When I reached the parking lot, there it was in its gold, soccer mom, yoga wisdom glory. The Prius (see: wimpmobile) was parked next to the hospital sign on the edge of the road. Snake was sleeping in the front seat, his head resting on the steering wheel in the most uncomfortable sleeping arrangement in the history of makeshift car beds. He looked peaceful, though. Calm in his unconsciousness. I didn’t want to wake him. I didn’t want to serve the long-time-coming blow that was needed and unavoidable and possibly the most painful absence I would ever demand. In my selfishness, I wanted to keep him for a little longer. I wanted to bask in his presence and forget how momentary the pleasure. But God, if I ever prayed for nonsense, it was to not have to walk this tightrope alone.
He jolted awake when I knocked on the window, disoriented before he wiped his eyes and remembered how he got there. He opened the door and stepped out of the car, his chaotic hair electrocution-level crazy. His dull and amazing eyes were watching me with concern.
“How is he?” he asked, reaching to hug me.
I backed away, staring at the pebbles of broken pavement on the ground. “Not great,” I answered, my voice nearly gone. I was just like Dad, there and not at the same time. “He slipped into a coma early this morning. They don’t know how long it will last.”
“Oh,” he breathed. He knew something was off. There was dread in his tone. “I’m really sorry.”
“Thanks. You should have gone home.”
“I wasn’t going to leave you.”
“Why?”
“You were freaking out on the way over. I was worried about you.”
“I can take care of myself, Snake.”
It wasn’t necessary to remind him. But I couldn’t stop myself once I knew how badly this would hurt.
I looked into his eyes for the first time.
He was what I expected him to be. Tense. Upset. Overwhelmed in a controlled kind of way. “I know?” He took a step toward me. “What is this about?”
“We need to talk.”
I regretted how horribly Breakup 101 it was to say that. Next thing I knew, I’d be saying “it’s not you, it’s me” and waiting for him to beg so I could toss out the old “we can still be friends.”
“Reggie,” he whispered. His face was discolored like he was going to be sick. “Please, don’t do this. I know what you’re going to say, and I’m begging you to let me be ignorant for just a little while longer. Okay? Let me pretend like you want me the way I want you.”
“I want you, Snake,” I said. It was like admitting that I was the one who stole the crown jewels. It was like confessing to a homicide. It was liberating and horrifying in one beat. “That’s the problem. You’ve always wanted too much, and I never wanted enough until now. And it feels like dying, to be honest. It feels like Prozac seizures and frenzy and Disconnect, because I know how tragically temporary this is. How tragically temporary you are.”
“It’s only as temporary as we let it be,” he said, panic sweeping across his face. “I know I haven’t shown you the rest of my film yet, but if you give me a chance, you’ll see that I understand exactly how you feel. That’s the outlook. Temporariness. And it doesn’t have to change anything. Just give me a chance to prove that to you.”
“I can’t,” I insisted, my voice catching. It would have been unforgivable to cry. I bit my lip so hard it throbbed, and I could still feel the tears threatening to overwhelm me. “My dad is in there dying. Not the you-and-me version of dying. The real kind. The kind Zoloft can’t alleviate. The kind therapists can’t write prescriptions for. Heart-stops-beating, dirt-on-the-casket dying.” He was shaking. I could see Stage 1 in his twitching fingers, in his disbelieving eyes. “I’ve been neglecting him all this time. I’ve been so focused on you, and that’s great. Really, Snake. You’ve been the only thing keeping me alive. But you have a bad case of human. You were made for two things, to make people want you and to leave them still wanting. And I can’t do it. I can’t stand around waiting for you to leave me.”
“So you’re going to leave me? Is that it?”
“It’s going to happen eventually. Might as well save ourselves the melodrama.”