April 6, 2001
What would you do if your son was at home
Crying all alone on the bedroom floor, 'cause he's hungry
And the only way to feed him is to sleep with a man
For a little bit of money
"Look at the bright side" Ashley suggested, "at least he isn't whoring himself out to buy Geranimals. So, it could be worse, right?"
City's High's 'What Would You Do?" was playing over the stereo of her roommate's Mazda as Julie sank back into the seat, watching as the highway stretched ahead.
With that, Julie once again found herself crying, her head pressed against the passenger window as tears rolled down her cheeks.
"He'll never be able to whore himself out…"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm guessing his pretty crushed by that change in career plans..."
"Seriously. I just…I don't know. It's not fair."
"I know."
...
The good news was that he'd made it through surgery.
The bad news was everything else.
Twelve hours after Connie's call, Julie found herself headed into Boston to catch the first morning flight to Minneapolis. Now 4 a.m., that planned return to her nap had proven elusive. The entire night, she'd managed a grand total of two hours of sleep—two hours that would leave her crying every time she woke up.
In her dreams, he was still him. Still scoring the winning goal in the last championship game of their high school careers. Still walking through the grassy courtyard of Eden Hall with her, and picking her up in his arms when they hugged. In her dreams, the whole world was still ahead of him, and life was still the way it was supposed to be.
And then, she would wake up.
.
Within a few seconds, she'd once again find herself aware that there would be no more winning goals. No more walks through the courtyard. That he'd never again be able to put his arms around her, or feel the wet grass on a cool spring morning. That he'd never again be Adam Banks.
It wasn't fair.
Nobody deserved that fate.
Certainly not him.
Especially not him.
…
"It's just…"
"I know. I'm sorry."
Hearing a crash, Julie opened her eyes to realize that the bed beside her was empty, but the floor was not.
There, lying on the carpet, was Adam; his attempt at getting out of bed having literally fallen flat. He was now facedown, trying in vain to get up before Julie could notice the indignity of the situation.
His nose still buried in polyester loop, he shifted his weight to roll over when he heard the very words he dreaded.
"Oh my gosh! Are you okay?"
"Fuck." He thought, shutting his eyes as he begged for the carpet to swallow him whole.
At least I have my teeth in this time.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
April 6, 2001
Five hours later, she was in Connie's arms, standing by the baggage claim of Minneapolis-St. Paul International.
.
It was real now.
.
That whole time in the front seat of Ashley's Mazda-that whole time crammed into the middle seat of her flight-there was a piece of her refused to believe that any of this was happening. That it wasn't all some sick prank. She kept imagining that when she arrived at the airport, Adam would be there with a dozen roses, blaming Charlie/Larson/Scott/Whatever Random Friend for their warped sense of humor. Or, perhaps, that it had all been some sort of misunderstanding-that he had indeed gotten hurt, but that just as she'd initially suspected, everything would be fine.
Another concussion, maybe.
Perhaps a pinched nerve or a ruptured disk.
Something that might mean a month or two of taking it easy, and that perhaps would prove annoying from time to time as the years went on, but ultimately wouldn't be that big of a deal.
As Connie stood there in track pants and an old sweatshirt of Guy's, however, it became real. With her limp hair and tear swollen eyes, Connie was not someone who'd heard good news that morning.
"I'm sorry." Connie repeated over and over. "I'm so so sorry."
.
Making their way out to Connie's beloved Mitsubishi Eclipse, Julie thought that whole time of the magazine features she'd read on Christopher Reeve, and the people she'd avert her eyes from when they went out to eat. She thought of their summer together back in Bangor just a few months before; of climbing the fire watchtower buzzed on pilfered Everclear, and making out on the dock behind her house; of the way that the water glistened on his sunkissed abs.
It wasn't congruous.
He could never be the former.
He was too capable. Too full of life. Too sexy.
God could never let something like that happen to someone like him.
He just couldn't.
"We good now?"
"Of course." Adam chuckled, doing his best to hide his shame beneath a sunny veneer.
His elbow stung, courtesy of a bit of carpet burn.
.
He thought of watching the boys when they were toddlers; still getting the hang of walking. They'd crash to the floor and spring right back up, completely unfazed. They weren't embarrassed. They didn't decide to go slower the next time, or hold to the side of the couch for support. They'd just go right back at it, convinced they'd do better the next time.
Will in particular was unstoppable; he wasn't going to let his older brother win. He'd go flying across the concrete, and before anyone could even ask him if he was alright, he'd have Tucker tackled into the bushes. Laura would worry, but Adam knew there was nothing to worry about.
Will was the kind of kid who was going to do just fine in life.
.
Of course, Adam realized, Toddler Will was not 6'3 and 230 lbs.
.
Kids that age were meant to fall down and spring back up. It's what their bodies were designed for.
Adult bodies, on the other hand, weren't meant for that. The engineering specs were all based on the assumption that by the time a person was tall enough to ride the roller coasters at Disney World, they'd no longer fall trying to get out of bed. Damaged spinal cords and useless limbs weren't really factored into the design calculations.
Nothing about the last twenty years had been factored into the design calculations.
.
"Charlie has nice carpet." He continued, hoping against all logic that if he just kept talking it would somehow make things less awkward. That driveling on would somehow change the fact that his first love had had to help free him from his Stainmaster captor. "It makes for a much softer landing than the parquet at home."
Aaand, this is why you've kissed two women in your life, Cakeeater.
Julie just shook her head, reaching to brush a sprig of hair out of his eyes.
Unable to quite let go, she buried her face in his shoulder, her hand ruffling the back of his hair.
"You really don't let practical considerations get in the way of making sure things look perfect, do you?"
"Trust me." He smiled. "My life is depressing enough, as is. I'm not going to make everything look like a nursing home just to avoid a few bruises."
April 6, 2001
Arriving at the hospital, any bit of hope that remained was lost.
It was only 9 in the morning, yet already the waiting room was packed...or perhaps more accurately, it was still packed from the night before.
Looking around, Julie saw Charlie and Guy on a turquoise loveseat, Charlie's head rested against a coat as he tried to sleep. She saw Scott a few feet away, in faded flannel and work boots. At only 27, his face already sagged from the weight of existence; little left of the prep school bad boy cheerleaders had fawned over just a few years before.
The other figures were less familiar, but she recognized a couple as guys who used to play for Shattuck. Broad shouldered and buff, one had his rosary in his hand, his eyes threatening to well over with tears.
In another corner sat a quartet of preppies, all in rumpled khakis and Sigma Chi windbreakers.
Next to Minnesota's hulking defensive line, they looked like Peter Pan's Lost Boys, the smallest sprawled across a makeshift pallet on the floor. The physical dichotomy laid plain what he was: A kid, scared that he'd lost his favorite pledge brother.
.
This wasn't okay.
This wasn't business as usual.
Eleven years of hockey. Three brothers, and eleven years of hockey, and it was clear that this was something far outside the norm; that this was something that wasn't supposed to happen.
.
.
Her eyes scanning the room, one of the only empty seats was next to the girl she recognized from Adam's emails—a ruddy cheeked blonde in khakis and a Barbour jacket.
The girlfriend who agrees that chicken strips are appropriate for every meal.
Unsure of how to feel, she felt tempted to go join the Lost Boy laying across the floor; his backpack pillow more appealing than having to sit down next to her replacement.
Still, logic won out, and Julie found herself making small talk with someone for whom years of cotillion classes hadn't translated into social ease.
.
"They really should reconsider their waiting room coffee." The WASP-ier blonde mused, staring down at the styrofoam cup cradled between her hands. "I mean, considering the cost of healthcare, I don't really think spending an extra $4 or $5 a day throughout the hospital system would be that great of a burden. And considering bulk discounts, that's probably at the higher end. A serviceable upgrade could be had for less."
"That bad, huh?"
"It really is. And the thing is that it's just such an avoidable bad." Laura continued, lost in the logistics of hospital expenditures. "I mean, the uncomfortable linens? There isn't really a cost-effective solution there, when you consider the disposal rate and the cleaning process needed. Same with the lack of proper creamer—I get that it's hard to keep everything health code compliant. But this is an easy fix."
"Why do I feel like this is the kind of conversation she and Adam have on dates?" Julie thought, shaking her head as she recalled Adam's own tendency to over-analyze such topics.
.
For all of the quirks she missed, that one was not high on the list.
.
"Thanks for the warning."
"You're very welcome."
For a moment, their small talk petered out, discussions of coffee pricing having reached their logical end.
Julie looked back and forth between the blonde's gold Rolex and her own Baby G watch, left to contemplate how they could possibly come from the same planet. She folded her hands together, self-conscious of her chipped blue nail polish.
It was a silly thing to worry about under the circumstances, but still.
Insecurities didn't disappear just because there were bigger things going on in the world.
.
"I'm Laura, by the way." Laura finally offered, still hesitant to look up from her cup of coffee.
"Julie."
"That's what I figured." Laura nodded. "Adam always talked about you...I'm pretty sure he liked you more than he liked me."
"Heh, thanks."
"It's nice to finally meet you...well, other than you know..."
"Yeah."
"Worst excuse for a get together ever." She chuckled, still staring down at her coffee.
Then again, it's not like there ever would have been any other reason for a get together.
"Definitely!"
The pleasantries continued on for a moment, the sadness in Laura's eyes only growing.
.
For her, coffee prices had been a welcome distraction.
Coffee prices made sense.
Coffee prices were normal.
Coffee prices didn't derail a person's life. They didn't crush everything you hoped to accomplish one day. They didn't swoop in just as you were about to break up with your boyfriend; just as you were imagining bright, happy, separate futures.
As she toyed with the interlocking bands of her Cartier ring, she knew that she'd sealed her fate.
By waiting until after playoffs, by waiting until after he'd gotten to bask in the post-championship celebrations, she'd inadvertently closed the door on her own dreams.
.
"Any updates?"
Laura shrugged, still toying with her trinity ring.
"I don't know. He made it through surgery, so I guess that's good. I think. Maybe.
The last word hung in the air.
She hadn't even meant to say it out loud, but as soon as it left her mouth, there was no taking it back.
.
She didn't mean it that way, of course.
But, she supposed, she didn't not mean it that way, either.
Adam had just turned 20 over spring break. They'd just gotten back from sailing in the Caymans. He'd spent the entire time talking about the upcoming draft; about all of the things he was looking forward to doing once he was in the NHL. One morning when she'd joked about the sand being too hot, he picked her up and carried her all the way from their hotel room to the water, the glass of gin and tonic and a cigarette still in her hand.
And now doctors were telling him he'd never use the bathroom by himself.
.
"They said most of the spinal cord was still intact." She continued. "But...even so, it doesn't sound like they're really holding out much hope of him regaining any function. At least, nothing useful."
The life he knew is over.
The life I knew is over.
"Shit."
"Yeah..."
"Does he know yet?"
Laura nodded in the affirmative as Julie continued to feel the world crash down around her.
"I'm sorry."