I’m just real grateful that the accident happened when his folks were home. They were supposed to leave the next morning for Bali. If Jasper has any semblance of a normal life after this, it’s because his family brought in rock-star type physicians from around the world.
I’d never met his mom, but I’ve seen her in tons of magazines. She’s usually, like, covered in diamonds, hanging out on yachts with dukes and princesses and sheiks when she’s not doing her charity stuff. But right now, she’s here in the same NSHS sweatshirt someone handed her at the accident scene three days ago, insisting everyone call her by her first name. She hasn’t left the hospital at all, not even to shower or brush her teeth. Asked us all to call her Vanessa, too, not Mrs. Gates, and keeps telling us she’s real touched that so many of us care.
I told her what Euripides once said—“Friends show their love in times of trouble, not happiness.”
Because Jasper’s in the ICU, his family can only visit with him for a few minutes every hour. She seems to want people to talk to her, so I’ve been telling her about my Gatekeepers documentary. She suggested I interview the other kids while we wait, said no matter what happened, I’d want a record of this.
That was very cool of her. Who even thinks about others at a time like this?
Yesterday, I shot footage of different Gatekeepers telling me what nickname Jasper had given then. I cut them all together last night to show his mom when I got here today. She liked it a lot, even showed a hint of a smile.
Mr. Gates (who does not share his wife’s love of informality) has been here the whole time, too. He’s mostly been on the phone. Lemme just say this—from the sounds of these calls, I would not want to be an Avery right now. Suspect Jasper’s dad did not amass his impossible fortune by being Mr. Nice Guy.
Regardless of their individual approaches, his parents are rallying around him. If anything good comes of this, it’s that. I know that more than anyone.
Jasper’s mom and dad are in with him now, watching the doctors bring him out of the coma. We’re told that even if his brain recovers, he has a long road to recovery, lots of surgeries ahead, between the broken bones and internal injuries.
So, we’re all sitting here, real nervous.
Mallory’s friend Elise approaches me. I met her a few times back when my parents hung out with Mal’s. (I think their moms were in college together or something.) I never really talked to her before the Gatekeepers, though. Honestly, didn’t even recognize her at first. She used to look like every other girl up here, like Mallory’s clone, but now she’s more interesting. She’s sort of Goth now, with her hair dyed dark, a few piercings, and some ink. She strikes me as the kind of person who wouldn’t be personally invested in Gigi Hadid’s dating life.
“Hey, Owen, I heard you wanted to interview me? Can we do it now? Otherwise we’re just going to be sitting here freaking out as we wait.”
Sounds like as good a plan as any.
I say, “Do you wanna grab your coat? I’ve been doing most of the interviews outside. Unless it’s too cold for you?”
“Actually, that sounds perfect. I’m so ready to get away from all this recirculated air,” she says. “Makes me feel suffocated.”
Huh. “Hey, do the fluorescent lights, like...zap all your energy?” I ask.
“Ugh. So much.”
Thought I was the only person who felt that way.
“Sorry it’s not nicer out. Yesterday was better, a lot sunnier,” I say, gathering up my filming gear. “Today I’ll definitely need my 5-in-1 reflector to get rid of shadows.”
Without even asking, she grabs one of my cases so I don’t have to hump it all out myself. “I like the gray skies. Being able to see my breath while we talk all seriously will add an interesting element. Good visual. Whatever I say would have less gravity on a warm, sunny day, right?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Today kind of makes me think of this one scene in Michael Moore’s documentary Roger and Me. You familiar with the bunny lady?”
I shake my head. I sort of miss the beads on the ends of my dreads, but they pulled on my scalp and eventually gave me too much of a headache. I took ’em out last month. “No. And Moore’s a great filmmaker, how’d I miss that?”
“Probably because you weren’t born. That was his first. Find it on Netflix. Anyway, Moore’s interviewing this ex-auto worker about her life now that the GM plant’s closed. For most of the interview, we see the lady tending to these fluffy rabbits. She’s real upbeat and the bunnies are super cute, with their fuzzy ears and twitchy noses. Then we cut to a scene where it’s colder and darker and her hopes haven’t materialized. With weather alone, you get the feeling that her life’s devolved. The scene ends with her butchering a rabbit on a weathered old picnic table because that’s what’s for dinner now that the assembly plant is gone. I mean, she’s eating her pets. She doesn’t have to say her life is a shit sandwich because of GM. Instead, Moore shows it.”
“I hate it. But I also kinda love it,” I say.
“Right?” Elise dons her jacket. “Shall we roll?”
*
After we’re set up on a bench outside, I give Elise my first prompt. “Describe North Shore for me.”
She scrunches up her forehead as she considers. “Hmm. I guess I’d say that North Shore is a beautiful fa?ade, held together with duct tape and Crazy Glue.”
Dark. But accurate. I nod, encouraging her to elaborate. I like how quickly she gets real.
“What do you mean by fa?ade?” I ask.
She answers, “Seems like most North Shore parents want to believe their kid is a star, you know? What’s that quote about not everyone being able to march in the parade, because someone’s gotta sit on the sidewalk and watch it pass by? The problem is, everyone up here expects their kids to be in the parade, like there’s no honor in being a spectator. Parents do their kids a disservice when they perpetrate the narrative.”
“Can you explain why you mean by ‘the narrative’?”
Elise is supposed to be talking to the camera, but instead, she’s speaking directly to me, like we’re having a real conversation. “The narrative of our fairy-tale lives, where everything looks perfect, where appearances are more important than reality. On top of that, we’re, like, wreathed in commendations from a young age, celebrated and congratulated for everything. That’s not the real world. I mean, our bosses won’t give us trophies for showing up to our jobs someday. That’s a baseline expectation.”
I stop the interview. “You sound like Mallory’s brother Holden.”
She smiles. “I love Holden. I’ll take that as a high compliment.”
“Good. That’s how I meant it.”
Her cheeks flush pink and I start filming again.
She tells me, “Seems like nobody strays from the prescribed text to deliver the real story. That’s why we have problems. When everything’s not perfect in our lives, we assume we’re defective, that there’s something wrong with us. But that’s bullshit. Life is inherently imperfect. We’re imperfect. We should embrace that. The messy parts are what make it interesting.”