Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it.
The Worst That Could Happen
Chapter One: Saturday
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
I remember nothing about the car ride but the hospital looming into view, this menacing white giant that had swallowed up my best friend. Inside, I kept my head down, breathing through my mouth, trying not to catch that whiff of anesthetic and death.
Death.
Dead.
It could happen.
I tried not to think about it, tried to think of happier things, like how perfect tuna sandwiches tasted on a worn old sheet spread out on the grass in the park after a long bike ride.
My mom had taken my arm and led me through the hospital to Gordo's room. I was incapable of walking without her lead, it seemed. When we got there, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon were already waiting in the hallway, trying to get comfortable in those awful molded plastic chairs, staring aimlessly into space, their worlds crumbling into nothing around them. My mom coughed slightly and they looked up, plastering weak smiles on their slack faces at the sight of us. "Jo, Lizzie," Mrs. Gordon said fondly.
"Is Miranda here?" I blurted. I don't know why out of all the questions jumbled in my brain, that that was the one I selected.
She shook her head. "No, we didn't call the Sanchezes yet. We thought it was more important that you know."
I was more important than Miranda. To the Gordons, at least. To Gordo?
We'd been friends all of our lives, and the thought of life without him was impossible. And yet, here it was, a chance, a fork in the road that wasn't on the map. I could lose him. I could lose my Gordo.
"Can she go in?"
I was jolted back to the adults and the hallway, and realized my mom was asking about me.
"Of course she can," Mr. Gordon said. "She's family."
I walked in. It was a small room, but still it was too large for Gordo, too large for a person who wasn't awake to do anything in it. There were tubes and wires and one of those blinking machines, and all sorts of things that I didn't know what to make of them. He looked so small there. Not just short, which honestly, was the feature about Gordo that I noticed the least, contrary to what he thought, but small, like a little boy.
I remembered him as a little boy. He was so shy, so quiet, and sometimes I think that if he hadn't had me, he might not ever have had friends. He'd needed me then, to help his social development.
Needed. He'd needed me then, and he needed me now.
I needed him, too. Did he know that? He must've known that. He couldn't not know it. Without him, I wouldn't be Lizzie. Around Gordo and Miranda was the only time where I could truly be myself, where I could just let go and not care about anything else, and that confidence was slowly translating into the rest of my life. He had to know that I was who I was because of him. He had to know that I needed him so much.
"Gordo," I whispered, and I reached out and touched his hair. It was matted slightly, and a bit oily in some places, and part of it was shaved off, where he'd been cut. I loved his hair, did he know that? It was just so uniquely Gordo. "Hey. It's me, it's Lizzie. I don't know if you can hear me or not. They said you might."
I wanted to cry. More than anything. But somehow, I couldn't cry in front of him. It wasn't like he hadn't seen me cry a million times, it wasn't like he'd helped to dry my tears on almost all of those occasions, but crying was like admitting defeat. "Epidural hematoma," I told him. "I watched ER the other night, and that's the only phrase I picked up. I don't know what it is, and I don't know if you have it or not." I sighed. "Gordo, please wake up. Please wake up and be okay. They said you probably don't have brain damage. Just wake up, and...and still be you. Please? For me."
He didn't move. I hadn't really expected him to, but it would've been nice.
My heart felt like it was breaking. Gordo was such a good person. He was giving, and loving, and sweet and kind, and just about everything you could ever want another human being to be. He was my best friend, my oldest friend, my closest friend, and sometimes it felt like we were more than best friends, like we were soul mates. Like we were destined to find each other and spend our lives together.
I didn't want that to be cut short so soon.
One tear was all I allowed myself, and I prayed that it wouldn't be a gateway for worse things to come. I couldn't cry in front of him, I just couldn't, it wouldn't be fair.
"'Cause if you changed," I continued, "if you woke up and you weren't Gordo, you were someone else...I couldn't take it. I'd die. I would die without you, do you know that? Do you know how much you mean to me?"
Part of me expected him to answer, that my teary bedside ranting would somehow reach his comatose brain and lodge in there, and he would wake up, and everything would be okay again.
"Please, Gordo, wake up and be okay," I pleaded, taking one of his hands and wrapping it in my own hands, trying to be strong for him and transmit the strength into him. I said a silent mantra of encouragement, and then pleaded to whatever higher powers I could think of. If there is a God, now would be a good time to show yourself and make him okay. I can't exist without him.
"I took you for granted," I admitted to my best friend. "I thought you'd always be there, and I ignored you sometimes, and sometimes I was mean, and sometimes I wasn't as good or supportive a friend as I should have been. I'm sorry, Gordo, I'm so sorry, I'd take it all back now if I could. That's so cliche to say, I know, but I mean it, I really do."
I couldn't hold back the tears now. He looked like I would break him if I moved too much, and watching him, something in me just died. I put my head down on the bed next to him and still held his hand and cried.
I woke up when my mother started shaking my shoulder slightly. "Honey, visiting hours are almost up, and the Gordons still need time with him."
I was still clutching his hand. "Do we have to?" It was selfish, Gordo was their *son*. But he was *my* Gordo, and I couldn't leave him. What if he woke up, and I wasn't there? I'd hate myself forever.
But they were in the room now, Gordo's parents, looking haggard, and I couldn't throw a tantrum in front of them. I nodded, stood up weakly, and my mom smiled at me encouragingly. Suddenly, a thought struck me, and I took off my pink beaded bracelet and slid it onto his wrist. "That's probably not regulation, sweetie," my mom said, making her concerned face.
I shook my head. "It doesn't matter." I leaned over, kissed Gordo's forehead, and gave his hand one last squeeze. "I'll be back tomorrow," I promised.
As we started out the door, I stopped in front of the Gordons. "You'll be here all night, right?" Mr. Gordon nodded. "If he wakes up, will you tell him I love him?"
Mrs. Gordon pulled me into a swift hug, sniffling. "Of course, Lizzie."
As we walked to the car, my mom put her arm around my shoulders and hugged me to her, as if reaffirming to both of us that I was perfectly safe and healthy. Which was a reassurance to her, but it only made me feel all the more guilty as the image of Gordo, small and alone and prone in bed popped unbidden into my mind.
"The Gordons will make excellent in-laws," she mused to herself, and I'm not certain if she thought I could hear her or not. "Family get-togethers will be easy."
"If we ever make it to the altar," I murmured softly.
The Worst That Could Happen
Chapter One: Saturday
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
I remember nothing about the car ride but the hospital looming into view, this menacing white giant that had swallowed up my best friend. Inside, I kept my head down, breathing through my mouth, trying not to catch that whiff of anesthetic and death.
Death.
Dead.
It could happen.
I tried not to think about it, tried to think of happier things, like how perfect tuna sandwiches tasted on a worn old sheet spread out on the grass in the park after a long bike ride.
My mom had taken my arm and led me through the hospital to Gordo's room. I was incapable of walking without her lead, it seemed. When we got there, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon were already waiting in the hallway, trying to get comfortable in those awful molded plastic chairs, staring aimlessly into space, their worlds crumbling into nothing around them. My mom coughed slightly and they looked up, plastering weak smiles on their slack faces at the sight of us. "Jo, Lizzie," Mrs. Gordon said fondly.
"Is Miranda here?" I blurted. I don't know why out of all the questions jumbled in my brain, that that was the one I selected.
She shook her head. "No, we didn't call the Sanchezes yet. We thought it was more important that you know."
I was more important than Miranda. To the Gordons, at least. To Gordo?
We'd been friends all of our lives, and the thought of life without him was impossible. And yet, here it was, a chance, a fork in the road that wasn't on the map. I could lose him. I could lose my Gordo.
"Can she go in?"
I was jolted back to the adults and the hallway, and realized my mom was asking about me.
"Of course she can," Mr. Gordon said. "She's family."
I walked in. It was a small room, but still it was too large for Gordo, too large for a person who wasn't awake to do anything in it. There were tubes and wires and one of those blinking machines, and all sorts of things that I didn't know what to make of them. He looked so small there. Not just short, which honestly, was the feature about Gordo that I noticed the least, contrary to what he thought, but small, like a little boy.
I remembered him as a little boy. He was so shy, so quiet, and sometimes I think that if he hadn't had me, he might not ever have had friends. He'd needed me then, to help his social development.
Needed. He'd needed me then, and he needed me now.
I needed him, too. Did he know that? He must've known that. He couldn't not know it. Without him, I wouldn't be Lizzie. Around Gordo and Miranda was the only time where I could truly be myself, where I could just let go and not care about anything else, and that confidence was slowly translating into the rest of my life. He had to know that I was who I was because of him. He had to know that I needed him so much.
"Gordo," I whispered, and I reached out and touched his hair. It was matted slightly, and a bit oily in some places, and part of it was shaved off, where he'd been cut. I loved his hair, did he know that? It was just so uniquely Gordo. "Hey. It's me, it's Lizzie. I don't know if you can hear me or not. They said you might."
I wanted to cry. More than anything. But somehow, I couldn't cry in front of him. It wasn't like he hadn't seen me cry a million times, it wasn't like he'd helped to dry my tears on almost all of those occasions, but crying was like admitting defeat. "Epidural hematoma," I told him. "I watched ER the other night, and that's the only phrase I picked up. I don't know what it is, and I don't know if you have it or not." I sighed. "Gordo, please wake up. Please wake up and be okay. They said you probably don't have brain damage. Just wake up, and...and still be you. Please? For me."
He didn't move. I hadn't really expected him to, but it would've been nice.
My heart felt like it was breaking. Gordo was such a good person. He was giving, and loving, and sweet and kind, and just about everything you could ever want another human being to be. He was my best friend, my oldest friend, my closest friend, and sometimes it felt like we were more than best friends, like we were soul mates. Like we were destined to find each other and spend our lives together.
I didn't want that to be cut short so soon.
One tear was all I allowed myself, and I prayed that it wouldn't be a gateway for worse things to come. I couldn't cry in front of him, I just couldn't, it wouldn't be fair.
"'Cause if you changed," I continued, "if you woke up and you weren't Gordo, you were someone else...I couldn't take it. I'd die. I would die without you, do you know that? Do you know how much you mean to me?"
Part of me expected him to answer, that my teary bedside ranting would somehow reach his comatose brain and lodge in there, and he would wake up, and everything would be okay again.
"Please, Gordo, wake up and be okay," I pleaded, taking one of his hands and wrapping it in my own hands, trying to be strong for him and transmit the strength into him. I said a silent mantra of encouragement, and then pleaded to whatever higher powers I could think of. If there is a God, now would be a good time to show yourself and make him okay. I can't exist without him.
"I took you for granted," I admitted to my best friend. "I thought you'd always be there, and I ignored you sometimes, and sometimes I was mean, and sometimes I wasn't as good or supportive a friend as I should have been. I'm sorry, Gordo, I'm so sorry, I'd take it all back now if I could. That's so cliche to say, I know, but I mean it, I really do."
I couldn't hold back the tears now. He looked like I would break him if I moved too much, and watching him, something in me just died. I put my head down on the bed next to him and still held his hand and cried.
I woke up when my mother started shaking my shoulder slightly. "Honey, visiting hours are almost up, and the Gordons still need time with him."
I was still clutching his hand. "Do we have to?" It was selfish, Gordo was their *son*. But he was *my* Gordo, and I couldn't leave him. What if he woke up, and I wasn't there? I'd hate myself forever.
But they were in the room now, Gordo's parents, looking haggard, and I couldn't throw a tantrum in front of them. I nodded, stood up weakly, and my mom smiled at me encouragingly. Suddenly, a thought struck me, and I took off my pink beaded bracelet and slid it onto his wrist. "That's probably not regulation, sweetie," my mom said, making her concerned face.
I shook my head. "It doesn't matter." I leaned over, kissed Gordo's forehead, and gave his hand one last squeeze. "I'll be back tomorrow," I promised.
As we started out the door, I stopped in front of the Gordons. "You'll be here all night, right?" Mr. Gordon nodded. "If he wakes up, will you tell him I love him?"
Mrs. Gordon pulled me into a swift hug, sniffling. "Of course, Lizzie."
As we walked to the car, my mom put her arm around my shoulders and hugged me to her, as if reaffirming to both of us that I was perfectly safe and healthy. Which was a reassurance to her, but it only made me feel all the more guilty as the image of Gordo, small and alone and prone in bed popped unbidden into my mind.
"The Gordons will make excellent in-laws," she mused to herself, and I'm not certain if she thought I could hear her or not. "Family get-togethers will be easy."
"If we ever make it to the altar," I murmured softly.