Brock heard the steady tapping of angry raindrops on a window. Chills shook his entire body as he opened his eyes to see the jagged courses the drops fell into after colliding with the windowpane. "I'm alive," he shouted. "I'm alive!" A nurse's aide heard the noise he was making and rushed to his side to quiet him.
"Sir, I'm glad you are feeling much better, but you have to stop being so loud," she cautioned. She reached over the hospital bed he was lying in to adjust his leg, which was suspended in traction.
"I broke my leg," Brock asked. The overwhelming joy and relief he had felt after he realized he was alive started to fade. He slowly began to remember scenes from the accident; the sound of metal crunching and glass shattering, the cacophony of car horns, the taste of his own fresh blood in his mouth. "How are my friends? Are the okay?"
The aide's face turned grim. "You were the luckiest of all, I'm afraid," she said. "Your two friends are still in comas. The driver didn't make it." She refilled a pitcher of juice by his bedside and left. Brock sank back onto the pillow. A doctor came to see him shortly after the aide left.
"I heard you were awake," he said. "I'm glad. You suffered a horrible accident, but you are strong enough to begin therapy soon. Would you like to have crutches, so you can get around?"
"Yes, please, but doctor... Can you please tell me about my friends? How are they?"
"The girl, Misty, sustained massive head injuries," the doctor said. "She went through a window. She's been in and out of surgery these past few days. We've finally been able to stabilize her. Other than that, her condition is unchanged. The news is even more grim for Ash. He's been in his coma since we got him here. He hasn't responded to any kind of treatment we've tried. We don't know all of what's wrong with him, and we won't until he comes out of the coma. We've contacted his mother, so she'll be making the decision if he doesn't improve."
Brock dared not to breathe. "What decision," he whispered.
"The decision to keep him alive. His hospital bills are already huge. Keeping him alive with the aide of machinery piles on the financial burdens more every day. There's also the possibility that he may never wake. It may seem cruel to turn your back on someone when they don't have any say in their fate because they aren't even well enough to know what their fate is, but it may be the right thing to do. It's a very personal and private choice, and it's never an easy one. I gather that you and Ash are close?"
"Very," Brock choked. "When will she be here?"
"Not sure, but she knows you and Misty are here as well," he answered. "I hope that's of some solace to you."
"Thank you, doctor." Brock looked at the ceiling, tears pouring from his eyes, soaking the pillowcase. For three days, he didn't move from his bed. Doctors and nurses and aides came and went in his room all the while. A gentle tapping on his door turned his head. Delia Ketcham stood in the doorway.
"Hi," Brock said weakly.
"Brock." Delia hurried to his side, pulling up a chair. "How are you feeling?"
"Miserable. But I'm glad you're here."
She smiled. "Me too. But at the same time, I'm not. I'm just beside myself with all this. I haven't even gone to see Ash yet. None of the doctors seem very optimistic about him. I can't bear to lose my boy, Brock." Her chest rose and fell with sobs. "I want you to come with me when I see him. I need a friend by my side while trying to decide what to do." Brock struggled out of bed, and on crutches, escorted Delia to the ICU, where both Misty and Ash were. An ICU nurse saw them and recognized Brock. "You're Brock," she asked. He nodded. "She woke this morning. She asked for you. You can see her, if you like."
For the first time since the accident, Brock and Delia's eyes lit with hope. The nurse led them through a series of narrow corridors to Misty's bed. She lay there, sitting up. Most of her face and head was hidden under thick bandages, but her teal eyes peeked out. Never did they look as bright as they did then. "Hey, guys," she mumbled. Her mouth was uncovered as well, but she had trouble speaking clearly due to many visible cuts around her lips.
"Misty, I'm so glad you're all right," Brock said, unable to control his tears.
"I'm not close to being okay, but at least I'm conscious," she said slowly. "Looks like you were lucky." She eyed the thick cast on his leg.
"Lucky next to you," he said.
"How is Ash? Is he okay?" Delia turned her face from Misty's to hide her tears. Brock breathed deeply, trying to keep from bawling. "What's the matter? What's going on? He's okay, isn't he?" The hum of the complicated machinery in the room was her only response.
"We don't know," Brock finally managed. "Delia is here to decide what to do."
"Do?" She looked as though she was trying to furrow her brow in confusion. It was hard to tell what was going on under the bandages.
"If Ash doesn't have a chance, I'd like him to go in peace," Delia whispered.
"What? No! He's got to make it." Misty tried to shout, but her injuries wouldn't allow it. "He just won the League Championship! He's still young! He has his whole life ahead of him! And I--I..." I'm ready to accept that I have feelings for him, she thought. "No, no. He can't die." She shook her head as though that gesture would erase all that had happened.
"We simply don't know, Misty," Delia went on. "It's just as hard for Brock and me as it is for you, I'm sure. I'm going to go see him today. I'll be able to tell what he wants. I'm his mother. I've always been able to do that." Her chin quivered but she kept on. "I'm going now, in fact. I'll come back and tell you what's going on, okay?" Misty had her eyes shut tight, trying to block out her fear that Ash was beyond help. When she didn't respond, Brock and Delia rose to see Ash.
"Sir, I'm glad you are feeling much better, but you have to stop being so loud," she cautioned. She reached over the hospital bed he was lying in to adjust his leg, which was suspended in traction.
"I broke my leg," Brock asked. The overwhelming joy and relief he had felt after he realized he was alive started to fade. He slowly began to remember scenes from the accident; the sound of metal crunching and glass shattering, the cacophony of car horns, the taste of his own fresh blood in his mouth. "How are my friends? Are the okay?"
The aide's face turned grim. "You were the luckiest of all, I'm afraid," she said. "Your two friends are still in comas. The driver didn't make it." She refilled a pitcher of juice by his bedside and left. Brock sank back onto the pillow. A doctor came to see him shortly after the aide left.
"I heard you were awake," he said. "I'm glad. You suffered a horrible accident, but you are strong enough to begin therapy soon. Would you like to have crutches, so you can get around?"
"Yes, please, but doctor... Can you please tell me about my friends? How are they?"
"The girl, Misty, sustained massive head injuries," the doctor said. "She went through a window. She's been in and out of surgery these past few days. We've finally been able to stabilize her. Other than that, her condition is unchanged. The news is even more grim for Ash. He's been in his coma since we got him here. He hasn't responded to any kind of treatment we've tried. We don't know all of what's wrong with him, and we won't until he comes out of the coma. We've contacted his mother, so she'll be making the decision if he doesn't improve."
Brock dared not to breathe. "What decision," he whispered.
"The decision to keep him alive. His hospital bills are already huge. Keeping him alive with the aide of machinery piles on the financial burdens more every day. There's also the possibility that he may never wake. It may seem cruel to turn your back on someone when they don't have any say in their fate because they aren't even well enough to know what their fate is, but it may be the right thing to do. It's a very personal and private choice, and it's never an easy one. I gather that you and Ash are close?"
"Very," Brock choked. "When will she be here?"
"Not sure, but she knows you and Misty are here as well," he answered. "I hope that's of some solace to you."
"Thank you, doctor." Brock looked at the ceiling, tears pouring from his eyes, soaking the pillowcase. For three days, he didn't move from his bed. Doctors and nurses and aides came and went in his room all the while. A gentle tapping on his door turned his head. Delia Ketcham stood in the doorway.
"Hi," Brock said weakly.
"Brock." Delia hurried to his side, pulling up a chair. "How are you feeling?"
"Miserable. But I'm glad you're here."
She smiled. "Me too. But at the same time, I'm not. I'm just beside myself with all this. I haven't even gone to see Ash yet. None of the doctors seem very optimistic about him. I can't bear to lose my boy, Brock." Her chest rose and fell with sobs. "I want you to come with me when I see him. I need a friend by my side while trying to decide what to do." Brock struggled out of bed, and on crutches, escorted Delia to the ICU, where both Misty and Ash were. An ICU nurse saw them and recognized Brock. "You're Brock," she asked. He nodded. "She woke this morning. She asked for you. You can see her, if you like."
For the first time since the accident, Brock and Delia's eyes lit with hope. The nurse led them through a series of narrow corridors to Misty's bed. She lay there, sitting up. Most of her face and head was hidden under thick bandages, but her teal eyes peeked out. Never did they look as bright as they did then. "Hey, guys," she mumbled. Her mouth was uncovered as well, but she had trouble speaking clearly due to many visible cuts around her lips.
"Misty, I'm so glad you're all right," Brock said, unable to control his tears.
"I'm not close to being okay, but at least I'm conscious," she said slowly. "Looks like you were lucky." She eyed the thick cast on his leg.
"Lucky next to you," he said.
"How is Ash? Is he okay?" Delia turned her face from Misty's to hide her tears. Brock breathed deeply, trying to keep from bawling. "What's the matter? What's going on? He's okay, isn't he?" The hum of the complicated machinery in the room was her only response.
"We don't know," Brock finally managed. "Delia is here to decide what to do."
"Do?" She looked as though she was trying to furrow her brow in confusion. It was hard to tell what was going on under the bandages.
"If Ash doesn't have a chance, I'd like him to go in peace," Delia whispered.
"What? No! He's got to make it." Misty tried to shout, but her injuries wouldn't allow it. "He just won the League Championship! He's still young! He has his whole life ahead of him! And I--I..." I'm ready to accept that I have feelings for him, she thought. "No, no. He can't die." She shook her head as though that gesture would erase all that had happened.
"We simply don't know, Misty," Delia went on. "It's just as hard for Brock and me as it is for you, I'm sure. I'm going to go see him today. I'll be able to tell what he wants. I'm his mother. I've always been able to do that." Her chin quivered but she kept on. "I'm going now, in fact. I'll come back and tell you what's going on, okay?" Misty had her eyes shut tight, trying to block out her fear that Ash was beyond help. When she didn't respond, Brock and Delia rose to see Ash.