THE OTHER SIDE OF LIFE
CHAPTER TEN
Wednesday, September 1, 1993
2:00 a.m.
A light shaking woke Sam from his much needed rest. "Mr. Beckett?" a voice invaded his dreams. "Mr. Beckett?" the voice repeated, finally getting a result. "Ah. Good. You're awake. I'm Dr. Shetfield."
Sam looked up and rubbed at first his face and then his neck. The chair wasn't the most comfortable he'd ever slept in. "Um… yeah." Suddenly realizing where he was, he asked "How's Al?"
Dr. Shetfield looked at him, and paused before answering. "Well, he's in critical but stable condition. That means..."
Sam stopped him. "I know what that means. I have an MD as well. What's his immediate prognosis? The nurse indicated the arterial gash and internal bleeding and that you were concerned about the head wound. Were there any complications?"
The doctor coughed gently. "All right. You have the background so I'm going to tell you. Al suffered a major trauma to his right side. We were able to fix the arterial gash. There will be additional scar tissue that forms. I don't think I've ever seen that much scar tissue on a patient before."
Sam nodded. "That's from the war. He, um, well... had to face some very unpleasant conditions."
Dr. Shetfield nodded. "Yes. From what I saw, the man must have faced hell." He paused. "Strangely enough, though, that may actually help him through this. Anyone with that kind of strength of will can fight through damn near anything."
Sam nodded. He understood what the doctor was saying but he needed to know how much worse things were. "What else?"
The Doctor nodded. Sam obviously wanted things served straight up. "His spleen had to be removed. There was simply too much damage to repair it. We see a lot of those injuries due to seatbelt damage." He paused a moment. "And we are still concerned regarding the head injury. It was very close to the eye and we're not sure whether he will lose sight in his right eye or not. We'll have to wait until he awakens to check that."
Sam closed his eyes at the report. It was bad, but he knew it could have been worse. He gave a silent thanks to God that at least Al was alive for now. The rest he'd face as time went on. "Can I see him?"
Dr. Shetfield looked at him carefully, "I understand that he has named you as next of kin. Are you a family member?"
Sam shook his head. "No. At least, not by blood. But I guess I'm the closest he has to family." He whispered under his breath. "I know that he feels that way to me."
Shetfield nodded his head slightly. "You can see him but only for a few minutes."
Sam nodded. "I understand, although if there is anyway I could stay close to him. I want to be there when he wakes up. Let him know I'm here for him."
Shetfield hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath. "I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you, Doctor."
Dr. Shetfield asked a nursing assistant to take Sam up to Mr. Calavicci's room. Sam corrected the doctor gently, telling him that Al should be addressed as Admiral. Dr. Shetfield stated they would change his records to reflect his title. The young woman led Sam to an ICU unit.
Sam was not surprised by the medical equipment attached to either the outside of his friend's body or, such as the IV's, entering it. He reached over and took Al's hand. He started to say something but the words caught in his throat. Hoarsely he pushed out, "Gawd, Al. I'm sorry. I should have let you drive. Then you wouldn't have to face another battle."
The older man didn't react to Sam's heartfelt words. There wasn't even a flicker of recognition that another human being was in the room.
Sam pulled the chair in the corner up beside the bed. "Al, I'll be here for as long as they let me. I won't leave until I know you're going to be all right. I promise you that."
He knew there wasn't anything more he could do. Sam understood that much of medicine was simply placing the patient into a position where they could heal, providing what support was necessary. But he also knew there was medical support and the support that came from the human side of the equation. And always there was prayer
Several quiet minutes passed as Sam sat with Al, gently holding his hand, before Dr. Shetfield came into the room.
Sam looked up at the doctor, hope in his eyes that they wouldn't pull him away from Al. "What..."
Shetfield raised a hand to silence him. "I'm afraid that we can't let you stay here in the ICU but there is a motel just across the street. I've already reserved a room in your name should you need it," he told Sam. "However, you can remain here for another half hour as long as you remain out of the nurses' way."
"Of course. I don't want to jeopardize my friend any more than has already occurred."
"Is there anything I can get for you in the meantime?" Shetfield asked after a moment of quiet. "Cup of coffee?"
Sam shook his head. "No. I'll be fine. Will I be able to stay with him during visiting hours during the day? And I'd like to be notified if there is any change in his condition no matter what time it may occur."
"You're quite welcome to stay during visiting hours," Shetfield assured him. "And I will personally make sure that you are informed if there are any changes."
Sam thanked the Doctor again. He knew that at least part of the man's willingness to bend the rules were professional courtesy. Still, it meant a great deal to him. Dr. Shetfield wished him well and then indicated that he had rounds to attend to. He left saying he would see him again soon.
For the next thirty minutes, Sam kept his hand on Al's arm. He spent each moment he had been given praying for the recovery of his friend.
Wednesday, September 1, 1993
3:00 a.m.
Sam went across the street to the motel to let them know that he would need the room the following night but would not require it that night. He would have to go back to the house and pack things up. The motel owner understood. The motel being across the street from the hospital meant that this scenario had been played out many times.
Sam called a taxi and headed back to the house. He walked in and locked the door. He looked around the room. Yeah, it was still messy. Al was right. He did tend to be more on the messy side than not. He went through the rooms, picking up and straightening them.
As he finished putting away the dishes that Al had washed after the brunch, he found it was four a.m. Visiting hours were in a few hours and he'd made a promise to Al. He wasn't going to break it. He finally walked back to the bedroom area. He closed the door to Al's room. Somehow it made it feel like he was there.
He padded into his room. Again, he was taken by the differences in their styles. Sam's towel was still on his bed, his boots in the middle of the room.
He thought back to the argument tonight. He knew that at least part of the problem was that the connectivity with Ziggy was still a factor. Still, did Al really mean any of what he said? Had he? Sam went over in his mind again the events that had taken place in the past week from the moment that Ziggy had been turned on.
Looking at the situation 20/20, he realized that the situation for the first few days, up until they had left the project had been annoying but it hadn't been that difficult either. He had finally gotten upset enough to say something uncalled for to Al and for that he was sorry. Indeed, now all he wanted to do was apologize to his pal.
Then he'd been mugged and everything had started getting worse. He thought back to Albuquerque and the totally idiotic action he'd taken when he saw Al in the bar. He knew that Al seldom if ever drank anymore, and still he'd done the unforgivable and questioned that by sniffing his glass. Some friend he was.
Still, Al had been willing to give him another chance. And yet, in Taos, things had continued to get worse. So much so that it took third parties, seeing their actions to point out what the problem was. Yeah. A whole lot of good six doctorates are if I couldn't even see that I'd caused this to happen! I should never have done this if I didn't know for certain.
After they'd realized what was wrong, it became easier to determine when something was happening between them. Still, there was the nightmare the other night. Sam had felt the terror and fear while encased in the horrid dreamscape and thinking back realized that Al had been incredibly upset about it as well. Sam suddenly realized it wasn't just the nightmare itself that bothered Al; it was the fact that Sam now knew the hell that Al had lived though. Or at least had an inkling. Sam knew he'd never reach the level of understanding as someone who actually lived through it.
Sam shook his head. That must have been what tonight was all about. Al wouldn't say anything to me directly so he took it out on me the only way he could! He was upset that my building Ziggy and merging our cells in the matrix had allowed me to really see what Vietnam was like to him! Sam knew that was a sore spot with Al because he'd never been willing to talk to him much about those dark days even though Sam had offered to listen, to let him get it out. Al had told him there were some dark secrets that should just remain secrets. By building Ziggy, he'd learned about some of those hidden memories.
Still, Sam would ask for the past week's problems to come back in a minute if he could just know that Al was going to be okay. He hoped when he got to the hospital in a couple of hours that Al would be on the mend.
With that thought he crawled into bed and fell into a very unsatisfying sleep.
Wednesday, September 1, 1993
1:00 p.m.
Sam had been at the hospital sitting next to Al for the past six hours. He brought a couple of the books he'd brought on the trip with him and passed the time reading. He'd only left Al's side to use the restroom which he'd mostly taken care of at the times the nurses kicked him out of the room.
He hadn't been able to get all of the luggage together this morning and still make it to visiting hours. There was no way he'd be late. He planned to go back tonight and collect both his and Al's possessions and bring them back to the motel room.
Nancy Balmer, Al's nurse on this shift, walked into the room. "Dr. Beckett?" When he didn't answer, she spoke a bit louder. "Dr. Beckett, sir?"
Sam looked up. "Hi. I'm sorry, Nancy. I guess I was lost in thought."
"Um, I'm going to have to ask you to leave again. We'll need about a half hour. You might go get yourself some lunch. The cafeteria isn't really too bad, but there's some fast food places around too."
The physicist rose from his chair, stretching to get the kinks out of his back. "I'll just go to the cafeteria, just in case he wakes up. You'll be able to contact me there." He started to walk out the door. "Are there payphones there as well?"
"Yes. In the hall right before you reach the cafeteria."
Sam nodded. He went to the elevator and pushed the button to take him to the basement where the cafeteria was located. Finding the pay phone, he put in his calling card and began to dial the ten digits that would put him in contact with the project. He softly voiced each number as he dialed "505-555-2231." He noted the phone was picked up on the second ring. He asked the operator to connect him with Dr. Gushman.
"Umm... Hello?" a timid sounding voice answered after the phone rang several times.
"Gooshie? This is Sam. I have some bad news." Sam hesitated to say anything more. He knew there wasn't any sense to the idea, but somehow, not saying directly that Al was laying in the ICU and wasn't yet out of the woods sort of made it seem it wasn't really true.
Gooshie frowned for a moment, confused that Dr. Beckett was calling. "Dr. Beckett, I thought that you were here. Umm... What... what bad news?"
Sam chuckled. He'd forgotten how out of touch with reality his head programmer could be at times. They'd been gone for a week and the man still didn't know they were gone. "Maybe we should get Tina on the line as well." Sam was afraid if he just told Gooshie, the man might not let anyone else know.
"If you want," Gooshie agreed. His voice could be heard over the speaker as he spoke to someone. After a moment, there was a slight popping sound and then a high pitched feminine voice.
"Sam... like, what's wrong?"
Sam grinned slightly. He knew there were those who never realized just how intelligent a woman Tina really was. Her voice was what put most off. But Sam knew that Tina would make sure that the right people knew what was going on with Al and himself. He greeted her, "Hi, Tina...Um, I thought you'd all want to know. There's been an accident..."
"An... an accident?" Gooshie questioned, his voice filled with concern.
"What accident?" Tina asked. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine. But, Admiral Calavicci... Al... has been injured."
"Oh, my gawd! What happened?" Tina exclaimed. Sam could imagine both hers and Gooshie's shocked faces at the news. He knew they'd both be concerned.
"A drunk driver broadsided us last night. Al had emergency surgery. He's..." Sam had to stop for a moment. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "He's in the ICU right now. The doctors aren't sure for how long."
"How... how bad is he?" Gooshie asked, his voice shaking more than it normally would.
"Well, he's stable. But it could still go either way. He hasn't regained consciousness yet. They have no idea when he will. For now, we can just wait and pray."
"Is... is there anything we can do?" Tina asked.
"Um. Al's getting the best care possible. As I say, it's just a matter of time." Sam realized that as one of the partners, he hadn't yet asked about the project. "How are things going there since we've been gone?"
Ziggy decided at that moment to break into the conversation. "Hello, Doctor Beckett. I am pleased to inform you that all is well. Both you and the Admiral may return at your convenience. That is, when the Admiral has recovered, of course."
"Hello, Ziggy." Sam's voice held a slight annoyance. "I won't be back until Al is on the mend. I'm not leaving him."
"As you wish," the parallel hybrid computer replied. "Your vocal intonations indicate that you are emotionally irritated..."
"Ziggy, I don't think that now is the time..." Tina interrupted the computer.
"Tina? Gooshie? Would the two of you leave the control room for now? And take any technicians who may be working there at the moment. I want to have a discussion with Ziggy. I promise I'll call you with any updates on Al's condition."
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "As you wish, Dr. Beckett," Gooshie replied before informing everyone to leave the Control Room.
Sam waited for a few moments for the room to clear. "Are you alone now, Ziggy?"
"Affirmative, Dr. Beckett," Ziggy answered. "What is it that you wish to discuss?"
"Did you know last week what was happening through the biological matrix of your computer chips?"
"Please clarify, Doctor Beckett," Ziggy requested.
"Did you understand what was causing the emotional distress between Admiral Calavicci and me?"
"Are you referring to the increased sensitivity within the biological matrix?"
Sam hedged. "Perhaps. Tell me what the predicted outcome of this increased sensitivity was."
"I predicted a 95.8 percent probability that it would increase the relational friction between both you and Admiral Calavicci. I also predicted a 98.3 percent probability that the effects would diminish within four days."
"That didn't happen, Ziggy. Admiral Calavicci and I spent the last eight days arguing needlessly with each other. If you knew this, why did you remove us from the project?"
"I believed it was in the best interest of the project staff not to be subjected to the negative ramifications of the increased frictions. In addition, I believed you had been working too hard and required what humans term 'down time.'"
"And you didn't think it might be a good idea to tell us what was happening?"
"I felt it would be wise to allow the two of you to figure out your own solution. Additionally, I wasn't one hundred percent sure of all the parameters."
"Ziggy, you'll never be one hundred percent sure of anything. That's why I programmed you to determine probabilities. In any case, things got worse and not better."
"That was due to an unexpected situation. The fact that you allowed yourself to be physically injured by the two men who took my handlink..."
"They had a gun to my head! They would have killed me, Ziggy!"
"That was not a valid parameter in my calculations, Doctor. As I was saying, the injury you sustained created a stronger relational sensitivity between you and Admiral Calavicci. Thus, the friction became greater and the connectivity between you increased exponentially."
"Then why can't I feel it now?" Sam voice held an anguish that mirrored his soul.
"I do not know, Doctor Beckett. That is not within my current analysis parameters. If you choose to return to the project, perhaps you can develop an algorithm to address that question."
"I told you, Ziggy, I'm not leaving Al." He took a deep breath. "Ziggy, keep working on this situation. Pull whatever data you need from accessible databanks. I want to know why I can't feel Al anymore."
"Of course, Dr. Beckett. Will that be all?"
"Yes. For now. Tell Gooshie and Tina they can come back in. Let them know I need them to keep working on the programming. I'll call again when I can."
"I will inform them." There was a pause. "And I will continue to consider the ramifications of a positive outcome for the Admiral."
"Are you saying you are hoping he gets well?"
"I believe that would be a close approximation of my output." With that concession, the phone went dead.
Sam looked at the receiver and shook his head. What was he thinking? And why the hell did he choose Barbra Streisand?
He hung up the phone and went into the cafeteria, choosing a pre-made tuna sandwich and a bag of chips. He obtained a cup of coffee and then paid the cashier. He found a small table in the corner of the dining area.
Biting into the sandwich, his memory was pulled back to the days when he was an intern. He wondered if every hospital cafeteria had the same recipe for a tuna sandwich. They all had slightly too much mayonnaise and not enough pickles. Still, considering that he hadn't had anything else to eat today, it tasted pretty damned good. Between bites he sipped on his coffee.
It took a few minutes to finish the food. After disposing of the trash, he headed back up to the fifth floor to spend the next five hours beside Al's bed. Come on, Al. You've fought off worse crises before. This should be a piece of cake for you! was his thought has he reentered the room. He noticed that the sheets and Al's hospital gown had been changed. He just wished the expression on his best buddies face had as well. He sat down and continued his vigil by Al's side.
Wednesday, September 1, 1993
7:00 p.m.
By the time that Sam had reached the house again, the sun was preparing for its evening slumber. He went first to the laundry to put the sheets and towels in the dryer. He'd stripped the beds earlier that morning and had taken bedclothes and towels and washed them in the laundry room. While he was waiting for them to dry, he went into his room to pack.
As in unpacking, it didn't take Sam long to put his clothes and toiletries in the bag. He took it and the computer bag and put them in the foyer. He then turned to Al's room.
Walking in, he couldn't help but notice the scent of Al's aftershave, just as he had that morning when he'd stripped the bed. Al had told him he liked it because the fragrance embodied the Italian style and hinted of passion. Sam wasn't the best at identifying scents but he felt Al's brand involved a combination that hinted of citrus and spice. Somehow, the scent and Al seemed made for each other.
Now he went to the closet and found Al's clothing, precisely hung, a color coded pattern evident. He removed each piece carefully, knowing that Al treated his clothing as he did women: with respect and care.
Sam thought back again to the totally unfair and vicious words that had started this entire road trip. Al screw his project? Never. Never in a thousand years. Sam knew that with every fiber of his being and yet he'd said it. He wished now that he could take it back, even though he now understood that the 'relational friction,' as Ziggy called it, had brought those words to his lips. He wished he could return to that point in time and never breathe that sentence. Perhaps, then, they wouldn't have left the project and Al wouldn't be lying in a hospital room fighting for his life.
He finished carefully folding each piece of clothing, giving each the precise attention that their owner would treat them with. Once they had all been put into the proper configuration, he placed each into Al's suitcase which he noted was soft Italian leather. The items that required it were placed in the garment bag that Al had brought as well. He also made sure that Al's toiletries were packed. Once everything was put away, he took them to the foyer and left them with his items.
He walked through the rooms again. He found the bag with Tina's health food and the other bag that held not only his books but also the bolo tie he'd purchased for Al in Taos. He took it out and looked at it again. A thought flitted through his mind that he hoped that Al would be around to open the present three and a half months hence. He carefully rewrapped the bolo and placed it back in the bag, taking it to be placed with the others.
Checking again to assure that his room was thoroughly devoid of his personal possessions, he then went back into Al's room. In the closet, he found a fairly large wrapped rectangle which he recognized as the picture Al had said Yvette had given to him. As he held the picture, he recalled that Al had wanted him to look at it. He decided his friend wouldn't mind if he did so now. He took the picture with him and went into the living room. Sitting on the couch, he opened the wrapping carefully, planning to rewrap the picture with it after he looked at it.
Leaning it carefully against the couch, Sam took several steps back and gazed upon the work of art. He was immediately struck by its beauty. Yvette captured the New Mexican sun just behind the San Andres Mountains as well as the astounding hues that burst from the mountain in the wane of the orb. The painting exuded an explosion of color and was most definitely an amazing piece of work.
"Wow," Sam commented as he lowered himself to the floor to get a better look at the painting. "She's incredible." Instantly, he remembered the photos that Al had shown him, the body art that he and Yvette had taken of each other. Most of the pictures had been of Yvette but, if Sam really thought about it, the ones he saw were tastefully done. He realized that, if the connectivity issues hadn't been prominent and he hadn't been so sure that Al was only interested in sex - something he knew wasn't completely true - he might have realized that they reflected Al's own talent with paint.
Not to mention his great taste in art. Al was right. Yvette's painting was almost like looking right into the entrance of Quantum Leap. He suddenly wished that he could see Al's work. Learning that his best friend was also an artist only made him appreciate that there was so much more to Al Calavicci than computer electronics and stories of conquests. But even those he was desperately starting to miss. Just one story about some woman Al met in Las Vegas or Las Cruces... someplace starting with Las.
As he stood up, thinking about Al, his affinity for women, and the photographs he had taken of Yvette, he realized yet another talent that Al never revealed to him. He was one hell of a photographer. He smiled slightly at the thought. Photographer, artistic painter, ex-astronaut, Doctor of Astrophysics... the man had so many talents and yet he never made himself out to be anything of consequence. He always let Sam take all the bows whenever there was a breakthrough at the project, even if Al was the one who watered the seed that Sam planted. It was the two of them together that brought about those breakthroughs. He owed so much to Al, his dearest friend. He didn't want to think what life would be like without him. Going over to the painting, he carefully lifted it again, gazing at it one more time. "I'll keep this safe for you, buddy," he murmured before carefully recovering the painting.
Sam was a bit down as he called the taxi. He had all of the luggage in the foyer and, while he waited, he went over to the piano to play. He found himself playing the music he knew that Al enjoyed, including a work by Grieg. He was about two-thirds into it when he heard the doorbell.
He got up and carefully closed the cover over the keyboard. When he opened the door, he found the taxi driver. "I honked but no one came out," the man explained.
"Oh, that's because I was playing the piano and didn't hear you." The man started taking the luggage to the car. Sam went over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle Maker's Mark. I hope Mike wouldn't mind too much.
Once all the items were in the car, Sam locked the door to the house. He planned to come by the following night and put the rest of the house in order. He didn't know when the next tenants would arrive but Al had indicated a fairly small window. He got in the taxi and gave the man the address of the motel across from the hospital.
"Oh, I know that place. Lots of people who have family at the hospital stay there. You have someone sick in your family?" The taxi driver, like many in the profession was a talker.
"Well, not exactly family but as close as you can get. My best friend was in a car accident last night. We were driving back from the Plaza."
The taxi driver responded, "You mean that accident that the car was broadsided?"
"You heard about that?" That was a bit surprising.
"Well, you ride the narrow streets in Santa Fe for a living, that kind of stuff sort of gets around. Is your buddy going to be okay?"
Sam shrugged slightly. "I don't know. I mean, it's still too early to tell."
The driver touched the Rosary that hung from the rear view mirror. "I'll say a prayer for him." Sam thanked him. A couple of minutes later, they were at their destination. The man helped him get the luggage out of the car. Sam paid him and added a generous tip.
Sam had picked up the key earlier that day so he loaded the luggage cart and took the luggage to his room. He'd put most everything away when he noticed the flashing light on the phone. That meant a message had been left. He quickly went to the phone and dialed in the right code. The message was a little over two hours old. The nursing assistant on duty had called to inform him that he needed to come to the hospital immediately.
Sam instantly stopped putting things away. He rushed out of the room and across the street. As it was after 10 p.m. he had to enter through the emergency room entrance. He explained the reason for his visit to the nurse on duty. She checked with the fifth floor and waved him through. Sam felt like it would have taken less time to run up the stairs than taking the elevator as it stopped on each floor. Finally reaching his destination he bounded out, rushing to the nurses station.
"How's Al?" he queried fearfully.
The nurse looked up at him for a moment and then realized the situation. Dr. Beckett only now had received the message that had been left for him at the motel. "Have a seat, Dr. Beckett. I'll inform Dr. Shetfield that you are here."
Sam was frantic. "No. How's Al? The message said I needed to come right away. I know that's serious." Sam's eyes betrayed trepidation that the news wasn't going to be good.
The nurse sighed. It never was easy with the friends and family of patients. Standing, she walked around to meet him face to face. "Admiral Calavicci destabilized and went into cardiac arrest. He's fine, now." Before Sam could send a barrage of questions at her, she turned and paged Dr. Shetfield, ignoring Sam's demands. "The doctor will give you details when he arrives."
Frustrated, but having worked in a hospital before, Sam knew it was not in anyone's best interest to get on the wrong side of the nurses. They were the front line in a hospital and doctors that understood that fact were well served. He noticed her nametag. Maria Cervantes. "Um, Ms. Cervantes? Can I see Al before Dr. Shetfield arrives?"
Nurse Cervantes looked at him plainly and shook her head. "No one sees the Admiral unless Dr. Shetfield approves. Those are the current orders. The Admiral is very weak."
Sam closed his eyes tightly, the strain on his emotions evident. He took a deep breath. "All right. I'll be in the lounge down the hall." He knew that he needed to follow the hospital protocols or they wouldn't let him stay with Al as long as they had today. Professional courtesy only went so far. He figured by putting some distance between Al's room and himself, he wouldn't just rush in anyways, which was what his mind was screaming for him to do.
Sam had arrived in the small room and had immediately started pacing a three by three square. Several minutes later, Dr. Alan Shetfield walked into the room, a chart in his hand. "Dr. Beckett..." the man had started, causing Sam to stop mid-stride. He turned to Al's doctor to demand answers. The resident raised his free hand, and stated, "The Admiral has stabilized and the stitches have been reset."
Sam gave a small nod. Calming himself, he asked "How...?"
"As I told you previously, Admiral Calavicci has major scar tissue."
"Yes. I know that."
"And you know that scar tissue does not close as well as normal healthy skin. One of the incisions broke open and there was a significant loss of blood which caused the heart to go into cardiac arrest. It required additional surgery to close the wound and to provide an emergency transfusion." He looked at Sam, his face blanched. "Certainly you knew this was a potential issue?"
"Yes. I guess I didn't really want to believe it would actually happen to Al though. It's hard to be objective when it's your best friend facing such a potential situation." He paused, he shoulders drooping. "It's even harder when it actually happens."
Shetfield looked at him with sympathy. "I understand," he told him softly. "Again, we were able to stop the hemorrhaging and repair the incision as well as stabilize his heart. It's beating regularly, though a little weakly. He should strengthen as the night passes."
"Thank you, Dr. Shetfield. I truly appreciate your taking the time with me." He smiled. "Is there any way you'd allow me to see Al?"
Shetfield seemed to think about the request for a moment before nodding. "I don't have to tell you to be delicate with him."
"Of course. I'll just do as I did earlier. Sit beside him and hold his arm." He looked down. "I don't even know if Al realizes I'm there, but I hope so. I know there is nothing else I can do now."
"From what I've seen of him," Shetfield told him, "I have no doubt that he knows you're there beside him. He's a very determined patient, defying the odds just out of spite."
Sam smiled. "You've cracked his secret. That's Al for you!" Sam wanted to assure that his friend would keep fighting. If his strength could help him do so, he'd be there forever.
"However, even though you are a doctor, I can't give you anymore then a half hour. But you can come back for all visiting hours tomorrow. Just as you did today."
"That will be fine. I just need to see him tonight. Be with him awhile. And, then I'll just be across the street."
Sam again, just like the night before, went in to his buddy's room. "Hi, Al. I know you just need to rest. But they said I could sit with you a little while. I'll be right here beside you and when I leave, I promise I'll be back again as soon as they let me in. You need to allow yourself to heal, Al, and I'll be here as long as that takes." With that he sat again in the chair and lightly laid his hand on his best pal's arm and again turned to prayer during the short time he'd been given to stay with his friend.
Wednesday, September 1, 1993
11:00 p.m.
Sam returned to the motel after his half hour with Al was finished. He wished he could stay with his friend for a longer time but understood the need for rules in a hospital. Hell, he'd probably have handled things the same way. It still didn't make it easy for him to leave.
Sam lay down on his bed and turned on the television. Flipping through the channels he continued to feel more and more frustration. He realized it wasn't that the television didn't have anything to watch; it was that he still was concerned about the lack of connectivity between he and Al. For the past week, he thought he was in some kind of warped space that he just wanted to get out of. Now, with his best buddy lying in the hospital room across the street, still at considerable risk - the cardiac arrest proved that - Sam would do anything to try and find that connection again.
He'd given it a little thought while at the house and had brought the bottle of bourbon with him to see if it could trigger some mental response between the two men. Sam didn't take this step lightly. He knew that both times the two of them had drunk on the same night, there seemed to be a merging of their minds in dreams. And, even if one had been drinking, like the times Sam had had a beer when Al had not, there was a stronger connection. Sam thought of the most recent event, with the Tsunamis. That situation had been the most terrifying in his life and he knew that Al would not wish of repeat of that situation. Still, Sam felt he had to try something.
He got up and went to the dresser, where the ice bucket rested, surrounded by several plastic cups. He thought to himself that good bourbon should really be drunk out of a beautiful crystal glass that allowed the clear amber liquid to sparkle, but tonight, his purpose was to simply allow the physical effect of the alcohol to play its role on his neurons and, hopefully, Al's. He had to know if Al would be all right.
He retrieved the bottle he'd pilfered from the house and poured two fingers into the slightly opaque plastic cup. Going back to the bed, he lay back again and took a sip. The feel of the liquor burned his lips and he felt the heat as it crossed his tongue and slid down his throat. The slightly numbing effect in his mouth tingled a bit. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift. Nothing.
Sam continued this exercise for a time. A slight sip, a pause, searching with his thoughts and hoping to find that connection that he'd believed would tell him that Al was there. He still didn't particularly enjoy that relational sensitivity, especially the arguments that seemed to spring from it, but still, he'd known that Al was there.
His head was beginning to become a bit dizzy. Sam thought back to the last time he'd drank whiskey like this and realized it was after Donna had left him at the altar. He'd wanted to lose himself then, not think of the possible scenarios of what he'd done to cause her to leave him like that. He thought it was ironic that now he was using the same technique to find someone as valuable to him. With another sip, he realized that he'd drained the glass. The link between he an Al was still missing.
He got up to pour himself another drink. This time, walking across the room took a little more time and he had to stop to allow the room to stop rotating. He grabbed the bottle and carried back to the bedside table. Pouring another two fingers, he repeated his experiment but found that he obtained similar results. After finishing stage two, though, he was glad he'd brought the bottle back with him. He figured if he tried to stand at this point, there was a distinct possibility of hitting the floor.
The third administration of the liquid proved to be the last. Sam had barely been able to hold the glass and with a final flourish, he'd finished what was still present after less than three sips. He still hadn't found Al's presence. It depressed him. He threw the glass across the room in a futile attempt to dispel his anger that this experiment hadn't worked the way he'd hoped. Seconds after that, he didn't remember anything as he fell into an alcohol induced slumber.