Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it.
The Worst That Could Happen
Chapter Five: Wednesday
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
Getting ready for school the next morning, I hummed to myself. Gordo would be moved out of intensive care today, and he would be ready to go home probably by the end of the week. I might have gotten so lucky that he'd be in school by Monday.
I started down the hall, still humming tunelessly. As I passed my parent's room, I heard my mom whisper, "He what?"
Normally I would've kept going. I don't know what it is that made me stop, but I did, at the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall slightly, listening.
"But...oh, no...but it's too soon...oh, *no*..."
Mom's voice was raw, her tone panicky and desperate. Fear froze me, settling in my stomach like I'd swallowed an ice cube.
"They were so happy...oh, Roberta..."
Roberta? As in, Roberta Gordon?
The fear intensified, the ice cube grew to a glacier, I clenched my hands into fists, groping against the walls, trying to find something to grab.
"We'll be right there. Yes, I'll call the Sanchezes."
Calling Miranda's house...
My throat went desert dry, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I gaped like a fish, gulping for air, unable to get my organs to work properly. The door to my parents' bedroom swung open, and my mother entered the hall.
Under normal circumstances, I would've smiled, spouted some cheerful greeting, acted like I hadn't been listening in. Normally I wouldn't have been listening.
But this wasn't normal, and there was no use pretending.
She bestowed me with a motherly look, one filled with worry and sadness. "That was Mrs. Gordon."
I nodded.
Mom swallowed. "It's Gordo. He's...he's relapsed. Some internal injury that the doctors didn't catch...he's unconscious again...they're talking about emergency surgery."
Oh, God, no. We were so close...everything had finally worked out, and we were so close to being together for real...
"Get in the car," she instructed. "We're going to the hospital."
In the car, she still didn't know what to say, didn't know how to comfort me, or if I even could be comforted. Instead, she passed me her purse. "My cell phone's in there," she instructed me. "Do you think you're up to calling Miranda's house?"
I stared straight ahead, unable to comprehend. I heard the words, but I didn't know what they meant. The purse was this heavy object in my lap, alien to me. One thought was running through my brain: Gordo, be okay.
My mom looked at me. "Apparently not," she said. "I'll call when we get there."
I said nothing. I didn't move. I was in shock.
I blamed the doctors. How could they have not caught...whatever it was they hadn't caught? What the hell kind of doctors were they?
I blamed the driver. How stupid was he, to not see a kid on his bike?
I blamed myself. Why hadn't I been there, when he'd relapsed? He was alone, and scared, and *I hadn't been there.* I was vile. I was evil. I was an awful girlfriend (was I even his girlfriend?). He deserved better than me. I should've been at his side.
At the hospital, I went straight to his room, having long since memorized the way. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Mom paused in the waiting room to call the Sanchezes. I barely said a word to the Gordons; I didn't know what to say. They nodded at me, understanding. "You have a minute or two," Mrs. Gordon said.
I entered the room with confidence and purpose, but it all ebbed when I saw him.
He was lying there, and he looked as bad as he had the first time I'd seen him in that hospital bed. He looked tiny, vulnerable.
"Gordo? Can you hear me? It's Lizzie. Listen, Gordo, I have to ask you a favor. I know, I ask for a lot...like that time that Frankie and I had to make a quick exit, so I asked you to step in...and then you gave me thirty dollars so I could buy those jeans and be best-dressed in the yearbook...and you helped me out when Kate became the Yearbook Nazi...and you always do whatever I ask, Gordo, and I feel so bad..."
I took a deep breath. "But I have to ask you a favor now, and I swear, if you help me out, I'll never ask for anything ever again. Not from you, or my parents, or Miranda, or even God, because if you grant me this one favor, I'll have everything I could ever need. Please, Gordo, just be okay. That's all I'm asking. It's really a simple favor, so I know you can do it, no problem.
"Just please be okay, all right? For me."
The doctors came in then, one doc, one surgeon, and a miniature army of nurses. "Miss McGuire, it's time."
I stepped out of the way slightly, but other than that I barely acknowledged their presence. I kept my eyes locked on Gordo's sleeping face, hoping that through sheer willpower, I could heal him. My love overpowering this cadre of medical professionals and all their training and equipment.
No such luck. He didn't wake up.
"Once you're out of here, I'll buy you a hundred orders of curly fries," I promised.
I followed them as they wheeled him into the hall, then stood and watched.
They turned a corner going to the elevators, and I swear, I thought I saw him stirring. The events transpired sort of like a movie of the week; I chased the doctors, calling his name. The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and they wheeled the gurney inside. I couldn't catch up, I pounded my fist on the doors as they closed, and I fell to my knees, screaming at the top of my lungs.
"*GORDO!*"
My mother came to my rescue then, putting her arms around me, shielding me from the staring passersby, leading me back into the quieter hallway in front of his room. Mr. and Mrs. Gordon were sitting in the same chairs they'd been sitting in that Saturday, staring at the wall in front of them, numb all over again.
My mother and I sat next to them, silent, waiting.
Within half an hour, Miranda and her mother came, and later, Dad and Matt. We sat, the eight of us, not knowing what to do with ourselves. Miranda, Matt, and I sat away from the adults while they talked quietly about adult matters. I rest my head against Miranda's shoulder, and she put one arm around me and held my hand with her other arm.
Matt sat next to me, remarkably resolute, knowing that if there was ever a time to be mature and responsible, this was it. I hated having my little brother grow up so fast in such dire circumstances.
I couldn't cry. Tears wouldn't come. Things were too uncertain now to even warrant tears. I just let myself be embraced by the nothingness, the powerful blankness of no emotions.
The Worst That Could Happen
Chapter Five: Wednesday
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
Getting ready for school the next morning, I hummed to myself. Gordo would be moved out of intensive care today, and he would be ready to go home probably by the end of the week. I might have gotten so lucky that he'd be in school by Monday.
I started down the hall, still humming tunelessly. As I passed my parent's room, I heard my mom whisper, "He what?"
Normally I would've kept going. I don't know what it is that made me stop, but I did, at the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall slightly, listening.
"But...oh, no...but it's too soon...oh, *no*..."
Mom's voice was raw, her tone panicky and desperate. Fear froze me, settling in my stomach like I'd swallowed an ice cube.
"They were so happy...oh, Roberta..."
Roberta? As in, Roberta Gordon?
The fear intensified, the ice cube grew to a glacier, I clenched my hands into fists, groping against the walls, trying to find something to grab.
"We'll be right there. Yes, I'll call the Sanchezes."
Calling Miranda's house...
My throat went desert dry, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I gaped like a fish, gulping for air, unable to get my organs to work properly. The door to my parents' bedroom swung open, and my mother entered the hall.
Under normal circumstances, I would've smiled, spouted some cheerful greeting, acted like I hadn't been listening in. Normally I wouldn't have been listening.
But this wasn't normal, and there was no use pretending.
She bestowed me with a motherly look, one filled with worry and sadness. "That was Mrs. Gordon."
I nodded.
Mom swallowed. "It's Gordo. He's...he's relapsed. Some internal injury that the doctors didn't catch...he's unconscious again...they're talking about emergency surgery."
Oh, God, no. We were so close...everything had finally worked out, and we were so close to being together for real...
"Get in the car," she instructed. "We're going to the hospital."
In the car, she still didn't know what to say, didn't know how to comfort me, or if I even could be comforted. Instead, she passed me her purse. "My cell phone's in there," she instructed me. "Do you think you're up to calling Miranda's house?"
I stared straight ahead, unable to comprehend. I heard the words, but I didn't know what they meant. The purse was this heavy object in my lap, alien to me. One thought was running through my brain: Gordo, be okay.
My mom looked at me. "Apparently not," she said. "I'll call when we get there."
I said nothing. I didn't move. I was in shock.
I blamed the doctors. How could they have not caught...whatever it was they hadn't caught? What the hell kind of doctors were they?
I blamed the driver. How stupid was he, to not see a kid on his bike?
I blamed myself. Why hadn't I been there, when he'd relapsed? He was alone, and scared, and *I hadn't been there.* I was vile. I was evil. I was an awful girlfriend (was I even his girlfriend?). He deserved better than me. I should've been at his side.
At the hospital, I went straight to his room, having long since memorized the way. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Mom paused in the waiting room to call the Sanchezes. I barely said a word to the Gordons; I didn't know what to say. They nodded at me, understanding. "You have a minute or two," Mrs. Gordon said.
I entered the room with confidence and purpose, but it all ebbed when I saw him.
He was lying there, and he looked as bad as he had the first time I'd seen him in that hospital bed. He looked tiny, vulnerable.
"Gordo? Can you hear me? It's Lizzie. Listen, Gordo, I have to ask you a favor. I know, I ask for a lot...like that time that Frankie and I had to make a quick exit, so I asked you to step in...and then you gave me thirty dollars so I could buy those jeans and be best-dressed in the yearbook...and you helped me out when Kate became the Yearbook Nazi...and you always do whatever I ask, Gordo, and I feel so bad..."
I took a deep breath. "But I have to ask you a favor now, and I swear, if you help me out, I'll never ask for anything ever again. Not from you, or my parents, or Miranda, or even God, because if you grant me this one favor, I'll have everything I could ever need. Please, Gordo, just be okay. That's all I'm asking. It's really a simple favor, so I know you can do it, no problem.
"Just please be okay, all right? For me."
The doctors came in then, one doc, one surgeon, and a miniature army of nurses. "Miss McGuire, it's time."
I stepped out of the way slightly, but other than that I barely acknowledged their presence. I kept my eyes locked on Gordo's sleeping face, hoping that through sheer willpower, I could heal him. My love overpowering this cadre of medical professionals and all their training and equipment.
No such luck. He didn't wake up.
"Once you're out of here, I'll buy you a hundred orders of curly fries," I promised.
I followed them as they wheeled him into the hall, then stood and watched.
They turned a corner going to the elevators, and I swear, I thought I saw him stirring. The events transpired sort of like a movie of the week; I chased the doctors, calling his name. The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and they wheeled the gurney inside. I couldn't catch up, I pounded my fist on the doors as they closed, and I fell to my knees, screaming at the top of my lungs.
"*GORDO!*"
My mother came to my rescue then, putting her arms around me, shielding me from the staring passersby, leading me back into the quieter hallway in front of his room. Mr. and Mrs. Gordon were sitting in the same chairs they'd been sitting in that Saturday, staring at the wall in front of them, numb all over again.
My mother and I sat next to them, silent, waiting.
Within half an hour, Miranda and her mother came, and later, Dad and Matt. We sat, the eight of us, not knowing what to do with ourselves. Miranda, Matt, and I sat away from the adults while they talked quietly about adult matters. I rest my head against Miranda's shoulder, and she put one arm around me and held my hand with her other arm.
Matt sat next to me, remarkably resolute, knowing that if there was ever a time to be mature and responsible, this was it. I hated having my little brother grow up so fast in such dire circumstances.
I couldn't cry. Tears wouldn't come. Things were too uncertain now to even warrant tears. I just let myself be embraced by the nothingness, the powerful blankness of no emotions.