April 7, 2001
"So how's it feel to be the all-time winner of 'who can lay still the longest?"
"Like my plans for taking over the world are complete." Adam laughed, the gap where his teeth used to be revealing a dark abyss every time he opened his mouth.
His tongue was starting to hurt, the jagged edges scraping a groove every time he forgot that things were no longer where they should be.
It was a minor problem in the grand scheme of things, but still.
.
Julie, meanwhile, glanced around the room, gazing up at the 'Tri Delt Loves #99' banner hanging above his bed, signed by hundreds of sorority girls with loopy, perfect handwriting.
.
She had to give the mastermind of that project credit-maroon and yellow would have been the obvious choice, but this one was done in navy, with gold glitter accents.
His favorite colors.
.
Every inch of the room had been taken over with gifts from well-wishers, cards and flowers and balloons filling the flat surfaces. Other sororities too had created banners and signs and even a fleece throw blanket, all wishing him the best. She'd had to stifle a giggle when she noticed that one Chi Omega's get-well message promised him a blow job when he got out of the hospital, and another had jokingly drawn a set of breasts under her signature.
Adam was nothing if not well-loved.
.
"Heck yeah they are." She agreed, looking everywhere but at him. Everywhere but the abyss where his teeth belonged, and the metal contraption holding his head in place, and the hands and shoulders that were supposed to be moving but weren't.
Why him?
"See Dad?" He joked. "I knew I'd accomplish something one day."
"You're just accomplishing all the things, aren't you?"
"Damn right I am!" He smiled. "I hope to start growing moss next week."
"That'll be sexy."
"It'll be so sexy you'll want to come mow me."
"How are you feeling, anyway?" She asked, glancing over at one of the pewter picture frames Laura had brought in, complete with a photo of he and Scott at the lake, the water glistening behind them as the stood there in their matching polos.
"Like I wish I could scratch my nose."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah."
Julie reached over, rubbing the side of his nose for him as he moaned with relief; this clearly bringing him more pleasure than she'd ever brought any man, clothed or not.
"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" He sighed, finally content.
"Meh, I kind of like you, too."
"Just kind of?"
"Just barely kind of. Like, I don't like you much at all." She reminded him, brushing his bangs with her fingers.
"Well good. Because I think you're icky and you have cooties."
"I'm never scratching your nose for you again..."
"Fine. I take that back." He chuckled. "I love you more than anything in the world, and I'd do anything for you, just please scratch my nose for me again."
Julie shook her head.
"I think you're just using me for my nose scratching abilities."
"You got me."
...
"I'm sorry about crying yesterday." She added a few minutes later, now settled in next to him as she held his warm, calloused hand. "And for disappearing afterwards."
"Don't be. I'm sorry for upsetting you."
"You're apologizing for being in the hospital?" She laughed, giving his hand a squeeze.
I do believe I've found the world's biggest people-pleaser...
"Well, you're the one apologizing for crying about me being in the hospital, so clearly I started this with all of my awesome hockey-playing abilities."
"You're right. It's all your fault. Dork."
Adam laid there quietly for a moment, those final seconds replaying in his head.
.
It was his fault.
It had been a clean hit. The Wisconsin player had done nothing wrong. He simply landed the wrong way-sixteen years of hockey, sixteen years of being told to keep his head up, sixteen years of being told to be aware around the boards, and this was one of those times where his body just didn't do what it was supposed to.
.
"I'm just saying. I think I was in a better position to prevent this than you were."
"Whatever.
Julie shook her head, her thumb stroking his as she thought about what he was saying.
"You know this isn't your fault, right?"
"Heh, I was too busy watching the puck."
"You didn't do anything wrong, Adam." She reminded him, leaning over to kiss the side of his cheek. "You didn't do anything wrong at all. Things just happen sometimes."
"I know. I'm just saying."
"You were perfect. You played an incredible game out there."
"My last one."
"Yeah. Probably."
For a moment, the room grew quiet, only the sound of nurses scurrying outside to break up the silence. Julie picked at her nail polish; a fleck of Laguna Blue sailing through the air and landing on Adam's bed sheet as he thought about those final seconds.
"Seriously dude?"
Russ stared down at the beige carpet, kicking himself for saying anything.
Suddenly, he felt thankful for the rainbow of melted crayon accenting his center console, and the orange coating of Goldfish crumbs that coated his daughter Olivia's booster seat.
.
Minneapolis wasn't that big-people talked.
He should have known.
Heck, he'd gone to U of M. He remembered when Adam totaled out his Porsche, and the time a month later when the police were called on him for standing outside the Tri Delta house, threatening to kill himself if Laura didn't come out and talk to him. He'd had a gun and everything.
Another time-a quieter time-he ran into Adam in the Wilson Library. His old friend was so thin he could barely recognize him; a pilled Lacoste sweater hanging off his frame.
Still, it never seemed congruous. Even that time in the library, even when it was all standing right in front of him, he didn't believe it. Adam might have looked horrible, and there might have been rumors swirling around campus, but he was still as polite as ever. The two spent ten minutes talking about Russ' family at home before going their separate ways. When they talked, Adam was fine. Smart. Dorky. He made a joke about how if he lived South-Central, he'd join the Crips over the Bloods for the sake of the easier hand sign, but then re-considered when imagined Christmas decor without any red.
In other words, nothing had changed.
.
Besides, everyone knew that people like Adam had to stay perfect.
If they weren't, what hope was there for everybody else?
Why else would you leave your family, leave L.A.? Why else would you trade in your culture; trade in your F.U.B.U. jeans and NWA CDs for Dockers and jokes about hump day with some guy named Brad in the next cubicle if there weren't some kind of panacea at the end of it all?
.
If the corner office and German SUV didn't solve everything.
.
"Yeah."
"Shit. I'm uh, I'm sorry man."
"Heh, it's alright." Adam nodded, enough blood returning to his face that he could feel his earlobes burning. "I was alone, so I didn't hurt anybody but myself. And I'm fine...no lasting damage. At least, none that matters."
"That sounds reassuring."
"Meh." Adam shrugged. "At this point, I'm pretty sure that when I die, they'll be able to recycle me into a full set of golf clubs. But the extra titanium in my femur serves as a good reminder about not acting like an idiot. And I probably had too many feet of intestines, anyway, so that's not a big deal."
"And you're...doing better now?"
"Much."
"Good. Glad to hear it...
.
Russ sighed as he thought of his own carpool duties, and teaching Gabby and Olivia about Tupac on their way to ballet.
.
Olivia was still more into The Jonas Brothers, but Gabby's favorite was California Love, and it always surprised him how well she could rap along with it. For a light-skinned girl who lived in Minnetonka and had gone to Catholic school her whole life, she was good-a fact that brought him more solace than he cared to admit.
.
"And uh, if you ever need anything, I'm here." He reminded his old friend, shuffling around in his seat as he tried not to think about how little use a guy like Adam would have for the account manager at a place that sold produce to grocery stores. "I won't even invite myself over to your house. Even though it does look like a pretty sweet house!"
Adam shook his head, a smile overtaking his eyes.
"You're welcome over anytime you'd like. I won't even make you play tea party with Caroline."
"Dude. I ain't missin' out on that shit." Russ pointed out. "You think just cuz' I'm black, I don't want to go to no tea party?"
"Fine." Adam laughed. "In that case, high tea is whenever she says it is, and the dress code may or may not include pearls and a tiara."
"Heck yeah! That's more like it."
"Seriously, dude." Adam paused, his voice thoughtful this time. "Come over any time. It gets lonely, and I'd really love to have the company."
April 7, 2001
"Oh my gosh, you are such a loser!"
"What? It's true!"
"Is not."
"Is too."
For the last 36 hours, the waiting room of Abbott Northwestern had turned into something of a preppy refugee camp, dozens of college kids left sitting around as the news continued to sink in. Even for those who had houses or apartments just down the road, it somehow seemed wrong to go back to the world of hand-me-down couches and stolen beer signs, those things all now remnants of another time. Instead, they'd taken over the hospital sofas and vending machines, the floor now a maze of hoodies and Jansport backpacks.
Every so often, one gang of refugees would journey back to the Sigma Chi house, or the campus dining hall, or an off-campus apartment in search of food and shower, and another group would come to take their place.
Desperate for a break from the smell of hospital antiseptic and Polo Blue, Julie and Connie had decided that it was time for a pilgrimage to mecca. Along with Guy and some random stock broker that appeared to be a friend of Scott's, they'd all piled into the back of Scott's Lincoln Navigator, headed out in search of cheap liquor and distraction.
Now pleasantly inebriated and gorging themselves at the $6 Chinese buffet, 'distraction' featured heavily on the agenda.
"I am not the secret ingredient in egg rolls!"
"You are the Cat Lady..."
"Yeah, but do I look like I'm an egg roll?"
"I mean, maybe..."
"Dork."
"Loser."
"Why do they call them egg rolls, anyway?" Scott chimed in, snapped back to the conversation going on at the other end of the table.
.
He'd been staring at a bowl of sweet and sour sauce for the last half hour, oblivious to the world around him as reality sank in. As it sank in that Adam wasn't getting better. As it sank in that their mom hadn't been by the hospital. That she hadn't answered his calls at all. That even when he went by the house, nothing he said was registering; she'd just muttered something about how 'that's too bad' before returning to her nap.
Phil might not have been the best dad, but at least he was coherent enough to deal with situations as they arose.
Without him, everything was on Scott.
.
"Makes them sound like an omelette or some shit." He continued, trying to chase the other thoughts from his mind as the orange light from the 'Super Wonderful Amazing Chinese Buffet'-sign filtered in through the blinds.
His buddy shook his head.
"See bro, this is why you were supposed to pay attention in English."
"They didn't teach about egg rolls in English. Trust me. I would have paid attention to that shit."
"Yeah, but they talked about not sounding like a dumbass."
"Whatever. I was too busy banging your girlfriend."
"No shit man." His friend agreed, taking a bite of sesame chicken. "You could have scheduled that for after English. Only difference between her and bicycle was that only one person could ride a bicycle at a time."
"I've never seen a bike with knockers like Jennifer's..."
God she had great tits.
I should have become a plastic surgeon or something. Those dudes get paid to be around tits all day. Way better than driving a damn forklift.
"Those were nice funbags."
"You two are disgusting."
"He's the one who said it." Scott pointed out, giving an innocent shrug as he scooted in closer to the table to adjust himself; the memories of Jennifer and her knockers a bit too much. "I respect all women, thank you very much."
"By banging them?"
"By banging them respectfully."
"Yeah, I'm sure that's what Crystal and LaToya are saying."
Scott just shook his head.
"I can't really help it that Crystal looked at a seventh grader and said 'Yeah, I think he seems like real father material'. That shit was kind of on her..."
"Yeah. But then you did the same thing with her a year later."
"She wanted Cierra to have a brother or sister." Scott explained, his voice softer now as he stared back down at his plate of noodles.
.
All his life, he'd had trouble in school. The other kids always laughed when he'd have to read aloud, and on the ice, he was better at hitting people than shooting the puck. Still, before that, he wasn't really any different than any of his other schoolmates from the bottom-half of the class; no different than any other suburban disappointment.
Then he had two kids with Crystal by the middle of ninth grade.
After that, everybody pretty much agreed that the only things he was good for were fighting and fucking.
Still, even after everything, he couldn't say that he regretted Jasmine.
.
"I figured Adam and Susan were pretty legit. Might as well let Cierra have the same thing."
"Why do I feel like there are a few stories you've forgotten to tell me?" Julie asked, her head cocked to the side as she and Adam stood alone in the bread aisle.
.
Adam's conversation in the car hadn't been forgotten, and now that the group had split off, she took advantage of their newfound privacy.
Standing shoulder to shoulder, she chewed at the side of her lip, thinking of all of the known unknowns. Knowing that there was probably quite a bit of unpleasantness that had been kept silent; suffering that hadn't been discussed with anybody.
.
"Well, yeah..."
"A lot?"
"Yeah."
She looked up at him, staring into those familiar eyes that had been creased by age; an invisible weight pulling at them.
"Why don't you ever talk to me about any of this stuff?" She asked, recalling the years of half-secrets. The way that even back in high school, his stories would come to a halt mid-sentence before the topic changed; his way of redacting the uncomfortable parts.
"Because you probably wouldn't like me if you knew."
"Dork." She smiled, leaning into his shoulder. "I don't like you, anyway."
"Well good. Because I don't like you, either."
"I don't like you, more!"
"Solid choice." He agreed with a nod. "I don't like me more, too!"
"Whatever, loser." She put her arm around his waist, pulling herself in closer as they stood surrounded by bagels and loaves of sourdough. "I'm just glad you're okay."
"Well, thank you."
"And also," She reminded him, playfully squeezing a bit of the fluff around his middle. "I think there's quite a bit about you to like."
"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or a fat joke..."
Julie turned the color of the strawberry lemonade she was holding in her other hand; insulting him the last thing she'd meant to do.
"A compliment." She assured him. "You are very likable. And not fat."
Adam chuckled, pulling her in towards him the best that he could with his right arm. Julie didn't think much of it until looked over and realized that he had a baguette and orange juice in his left hand; her eyes lighting up when she put two and two together. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she took hold of his mostly-useless hand and entwined her fingers with his.
"I'd happily settle for one out of two on that one." He smiled. "But thank you."
"You're very welcome. Just...know that it's okay to talk about things, okay?"
"I know."
"And uh...don't forget how much people care about you. How much I care about you." Julie added, squeezing his hand as she looked up into his eyes. "You may be a giant dork, but you still sort of matter to me."
"Has anyone told you you have horrible taste in friends?" Adam joked as he leaned over to kiss the top of her forehead.
"The worst."