Chapter 2: I Want to Hold Your Hand

GRIFFIN

"Yeah, so that's pretty much the gist of it," Sebastian shrugged after finishing up the telling of his unique childhood in France. "So even though I may not have initially seemed too thrilled to go from being an only child to being thrust into the middle of a tight-knit group of siblings like you all, just know that… it wasn't exactly true." Sebastian looked away and blushed. "It's kind of embarrassing to admit it, but I've always wanted a sibling. This transition has been kind of hard, I guess, and it's just gonna take some adjusting on my end, I think. I'm new to this."

"Gosh, I'd love to go to Paris someday," Ella gushed, her chin in her hand as she hung onto every word Sebastian said.

"We should go," Sebastian nodded. "Maybe we could take a… family vacation sometime." The suggestion was enough to bring a broad smile to Sebastian's face. "I'd love to show you all around. I haven't been back since we moved to Ohio."

Hearing Sebastian's story about growing up as an only child had affected Griffin more than he'd anticipated. Artie and Ella were the other thirds of himself. He didn't know what it would be like to have grown up without them and didn't even want to imagine it. However, a lot of the toughest memories he possessed had resulted from his experiences of being the eldest Abrams kid.

"Don't get me wrong," Griffin began, looking between Artie and Ella as he spoke up for the first time since he'd asked Sebastian to share about his childhood. "I love being the eldest sibling, I do. But it's a lot of pressure. I'd be lying if I said that it didn't get to me every now and then."

"A lot of pressure, like how?" Ella wondered.

"You know, just, like, being a good role model and stuff. That's why I worked so hard in school and at sports. I wanted to be someone you could be proud of, someone you guys would want to be like. And more than anything, I was worked up about you guys. I wanted to protect you from everything."

Griffin felt awkward being this vulnerable in front of his brother and sister. He couldn't bring himself to make eye contact with either of them and realized that he was nervously fidgeting with the paper napkin on his lap, ripping little pieces of it off and rolling them into balls with his fingertips.

"And, like, not to bring the mood down, but after Artie's accident… everything changed for me. The rational part of my brain knew that there was nothing I– nothing anybody– could have done to prevent what happened. But I was eleven, you know? I still felt a little bit responsible. All I knew was that it was my job to look out for my little brother, and in an instant, he was fighting for his life. The dumb rules that the hospital had in place said that kids– even siblings– couldn't visit patients in the ICU, so I had to wait until he was more stable before I was even able to see him…"

Lima, Ohio

December 2002

"Remember, Griff, he's a little beat up. He's got some cuts on his face and on his legs, and there are a lot of noisy machines in his room, but you don't notice them after a little bit. He may seem really tired. His body's going through a lot right now as he recovers, so he sleeps a lot," Nancy Abrams rattled off, attempting to fill her older son in on the current state of her younger one.

"I know, I know, you've already said that," an eleven-year-old Griffin rolled his eyes as he quickly followed his mother down the hallway of the hospital.

"I know I have, but I just want to make sure you're prepared," Nancy replied.

It was the first week of December, and after nearly two weeks, Artie had just been transferred from the pediatric intensive care unit to a normal recovery floor, and Griffin was finally going to get the chance to see his brother. When his father had first told him that his mom and Artie had been in a serious car accident and that they needed to get to the hospital immediately, Griffin had thought that they were going to get there and some serious-looking trauma doctor was going to sit them down in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs– as he'd seen on television– and tell him that Artie was dead. The fact that that hadn't happened, and the fact that Artie was still alive and out of intensive care, was more than enough to Griffin. He didn't care that he was going to see Artie with scratches on his face, because after all his brother had been through, he was alive. And that was a miracle in itself.

Griffin had thought that his mother was being a tad bit dramatic with all of her preparations and warnings, but she had been right. The door to the hospital room opened, and seeing what awaited him in the hospital bed still took him by surprise.

There were a few scratches on Artie's upper cheeks, and bigger cuts on his legs that had been bandaged up. Some monitors beeped in regular intervals, attached to wires that trailed up his arm and underneath the hospital gown he was sporting that had cartoon lions on it. He had on a neck and chest brace, stabilizing what Griffin had been told was the most severely injured part of his body. He was surrounded by copious amounts of pillows on all sides of him– especially between and underneath his legs– and Griffin thought that even if his cuts looked like they hurt, at least his bed looked comfortable.

"H-hi Artie," Griffin said cautiously, his voice shaking as he took in how impossibly tiny his brother looked as he lay there in the bed.

"Hi Griff." Artie's small voice was raspy, the result of having had a long plastic breathing tube hooked up to a ventilator during and after his surgeries, but Griffin could hear a hint of excitement in his tone.

"How are you feeling?" Griffin asked, approaching Artie's bed and gently picking up the hand that didn't have an IV line taped to it. Griffin immediately felt Artie squeeze him, with all of the strength he could muster at the moment.

"I missed you," Artie said, completely ignoring the question he'd been asked, apparently just so desperate for face-to-face interaction with another child after being cooped up in the hospital for so long. Griffin couldn't be sure if he had just sniffled, or if that was just how Artie's breathing sounded with the thin plastic tube running up his nose to give him more oxygen.

"Same here," Griffin told him. "El misses you too. She drew this for you."

Griffin pulled the folded-up, crayon-drawn picture out of his back pocket and handed it to Artie. Artie grinned as he made out the picture four-year-old Ella had drawn of her and Artie holding hands standing under a rainbow.

"Do you want me to hang it up on your wall? That way you can see it all the time?" Griffin asked, and Artie attempted to nod despite the brace around his neck.

Artie's hospital room was already decorated with handfuls of drawings from the pediatric nurses who worked on his floor. Cards, stuffed animals, and flowers that had been dropped off by concerned and well-wishing family members and friends who had heard about what happened were scattered around the small room as well. Most notably, Griffin noticed the wooden Louisville Slugger that sat on the windowsill, adorned with dozens of signatures.

"Whoa, is that real?!" Griffin wondered, pointing to the bat and taking a few steps closer to inspect it.

"Yup," Artie replied, attempting to nod again. "It's signed by the whole 2002 Indians team. Dad's boss brought it by. They said that when we go to Jacobs Field for a game next summer, I can go into the locker room if I want to."

"That's awesome," Griffin told him, feeling just the smallest twinge of jealousy for Artie's cool gift before he forced himself to shake that feeling away. He knew he shouldn't feel any sort of envy toward Artie's current situation. Nearly dying in a car crash and maybe losing your ability to walk was a big price to pay for a signed baseball bat.

As Nancy went to go find some tape for Griffin to hang Ella's drawing, Artie squirmed the best he could in the bed. Even though a hollow smile was still plastered on his face, Griffin could see that Artie was uncomfortable but wasn't saying anything. If he told someone, Griffin guessed, then he'd be given a higher dosage of the painkillers that made him sleepy, and their time together would have to end.

"You look good, Artie," Griffin told him, reassuringly. "Your scratches make you look tough." He didn't mention the way that his brother looked much weaker and skinnier than he remembered him being on the morning of November 24th, the last time they'd seen each other.

"Daddy says I look like Indiana Jones after he goes on one of his adventures," Artie grinned.

They went on like this for a little while, chatting and cracking jokes. They had thumb wars and made small talk about Ella and about how the Browns had played in the games that Artie hadn't been able to watch. They had so much to catch up on, now that they were together again after having spent such an unnatural time apart, especially for young siblings who were as close as Griffin and Artie.

Throughout Griffin's visit, neither of the boys addressed the elephant in the room: whether or not Artie's injuries had been severe enough to prevent him from walking again. His doctors had said it was "still too soon to really tell, but the chances didn't look good", and that since it had already been a few weeks since the accident, he probably would have regained whatever sensation he was going to get back already, if there was any. Griffin didn't want to worry Artie by showing that he was worried himself, so he just didn't bring it up. He could tell that this was a good idea, based on how at ease Artie seemed now, compared to when Griffin had walked in. Griff had a feeling that Artie didn't want to talk about his body, his injury, or anything medical. For the first time in weeks, he was getting the chance to forget about it all and just act like a normal kid.

It was nice for the brothers to spend time talking, and joking, and laughing like nothing was wrong… until reality came crashing back in. Artie really had been in pain during the duration of Griffin's visit, and he couldn't bear it anymore.

"Mommy?" Artie called in a nervous voice. "It feels like fire on my back."

"Okay, my love, I'm going to find a nurse to give you more of that medicine, okay?" Nancy assured him before scampering off to the nurses' station across the hall.

If someone could be both relieved and disappointed at the same time, that was how Artie looked when his mother returned with a few nurses by her side a few minutes later.

"Mom tells us that your back is hurting, so we'll take care of that right away," A nurse wearing Star Wars-themed scrubs said as she entered the room. "It's time to shift your position, too, so Sarah and I are going to do that real quick, alright?"

Artie weakly nodded, and Griffin stood back so that he was out of the way as the two nurses began to work all around him, carefully shifting Artie's body which was already in pain. Artie had been laying on his back when Griffin arrived, but now the nurses were turning him onto his side, moving the pillows that had been surrounding him so that they were now in between his legs and behind his back, keeping him propped up. Griffin bit down hard on his inner cheek and his heart broke as he heard Artie's small whimpers of pain as the nurses did their job. He prayed that Artie wasn't about to cry, because if he did, Griffin would surely cry too.

"Good job, Artie, you did so well!" The other nurse in the Hello Kitty scrubs– that Griffin guessed was Sarah– praised him a moment later when they were finished. "You've been getting so much braver during these transfers lately, you're doing great!"

When they were done, Star Wars nurse hit a few buttons on one of the machines nearby that was connected to Artie's body by a thin tube, and almost instantly, Artie's sniffles subsided and his face softened as the pain started to mitigate. His eyelids also began to get heavier, and it was clear that he was losing the fight to stay awake.

"He needs his rest now, bud." Art Abrams told Griffin, standing up from the seat he was sitting in in the corner of the room to get ready to take him home. "You can come back tomorrow and see him, okay?"

Griffin nodded sadly as he prepared to leave, but not before picking up Artie's hand once more.

"I'm sorry, Artie," He said, quiet enough that nobody else in the room could hear.

Mostly, he meant that he was sorry he– as his big brother– couldn't take his insurmountable and unimaginable physical and emotional pain away. But a small part of him also meant that he was sorry it hadn't been him instead.

"I remember that," Artie spoke up then, surprising him. "You saying that. I had forgotten about it until you brought it up just now, but remember it."

"You do?" Griffin was shocked. All these years he'd assumed that nobody else knew about that interaction.

Artie nodded, his eyebrows furrowed. The expression on his face showed that he was trying to piece together the foggy details he remembered from that time in his life. "Those painkillers I was on were absurdly strong, and I could hardly keep my eyes open, but I could hear things that were going on around me. You know how they say that people in comas can hear things? It's true, and it goes for other kinds of medicated sleep, too. I remember hearing you… apologize to me? And, even in my subconscious state, I remember being so confused. Because you weren't driving the car. You weren't even there."

Griffin shrugged. "You're my little brother. I wanted to protect you. You'd feel the same if it was Ella, wouldn't you?"

Artie hesitated just a moment before nodding. He had no verbal response to that because it was a good point.

"In the months following the accident, especially while he was staying at the rehab facility, I was an anxious wreck," Griffin said. "I couldn't focus on anything except him. I was just, like, in this constant state of worrying about everything. What if he didn't walk again? Our house had stairs and his room was on the second floor– would we have to move? He seemed okay, but what if things took a turn and he died? It all consumed me. I didn't play basketball or baseball that year. My grades suffered. And it… took a note being sent home from my teacher for Mom and Dad to even realize something was up."

January 2003

"Hey, bud, can we talk?" Art asked, rapping his knuckles against his son's ajar bedroom door and leaning against the door frame.

"I guess so," Griffin replied, pausing the video game he was playing and pulling his knees up to his chest as his father sat on the edge of his bed.

"Mom and I got a letter from Mrs. Nichols today," Art began, and Griffin gave him a questioning look.

"What did she say?"

"She said that your grades have started to slip. She's worried about you, Griff. And so are me and Mom." He sighed and ran his fingers through his short dark hair. "We haven't really been able to be there for you and Ella these last few months, with all that's happened, and I'm sorry. That isn't fair to either of you, and we're going to make it up to you. Starting now."

"I'm just…" Griffin began before having to pause to take in a shaky breath, his eyes welling up and his nose starting to run. "I'm really scared about Artie, Dad."

"He's gonna be fine, bud," Art said, reaching an arm out to place it around his son's shoulders and pull him in close. "He's already improved so much since he's been doing more therapy at rehab. He transferred from his bed to his chair all by himself yesterday! It's only been a few weeks and he's already doing better than the doctors originally thought he'd do. He's a fighter, your brother."

Griffin sniffled as he nodded. The positive news his father shared was instilling hope in his anxious heart.

"And he may not walk again, but that's okay. He's still your same little brother. He's still the same Artie. He just has a new way of getting around. His doctors and therapists will work on the physical aspects of getting him back on track, but what he needs now is a big brother to look up to. Someone to set an example for him to follow."

Art took a deep breath before continuing.

"Some people are going to react strangely to his wheelchair. When this is all over and he goes back into the real world, people might treat him differently." His dad's voice cracked just then, and Griffin noticed. Art cleared his throat before continuing. "He needs someone who won't. He needs someone who will treat him normally, someone who will look out for him. Do you think you can do that? Can you be that person for him?"

Griffin nodded vigorously. For the longest time, he'd felt helpless during Artie's recovery. But now he had a job to do, and he'd be damned if he didn't do it well. At that moment, he committed to being there for Artie no matter what, and to be the best version of himself so that Artie would have someone to model himself after.

"I don't blame Mom and Dad for not noticing that I had begun having my own problems during that time. They were so preoccupied and stressed themselves. But it wasn't until I had that talk with Dad that I realized that getting poor grades and quitting my sports teams weren't going to do anything. If anything, I was setting a bad example for you both," Griffin said, looking between Artie and Ella. "That conversation was such a wake-up call for me that I worked hard to get my shit together…From that point on, I turned it around. First off, I started seeing a therapist, which helped a ton. And I went from ending the school year that Artie got hurt with C's, to graduating from middle school at the top of my class. When I moved onto high school, I played varsity football and basketball all four years." Griffin reported proudly, the three others at the table smiling back, pleased that this heavy story had a happy ending.

"I gave up baseball, though," Griffin added a moment later, forcing himself to meet Artie's eyes. He could see that they were watery behind the lenses of his glasses. Artie adjusted his frames, pushing them up the bridge of his nose, which Griffin knew to be a nervous tic of his. "That was the one sport that was too hard to do while knowing that Artie couldn't do it with me. It was… our thing. Although growing up, he was more into gymnastics and I was more into football, baseball was the sport we both loved together. Going to Indians games with Dad, playing Wiffle ball in the yard… everything about the sport reminded me of him. It hurt too much to play anymore when I knew he wouldn't be able to.

Out of the corner of his eye, Griffin saw the way that Artie twisted his mouth to the side and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the way he always did when his disability was the subject of conversation.

"And I don't mean to put that on you, Art, I don't," Griffin quickly assured him. "It wasn't your fault, obviously. It was just a personal thing that I had to work through, but I… couldn't. I wasn't strong enough to do that. But, luckily, you were stronger than me. Seeing you overcome every obstacle and every worry I had for you helped more than you could ever know. It showed me that I didn't have to get worked up about everything. You didn't need to be coddled. You were good then, and you're killing it now. I mean, seriously, Art, you're the best of us."

"That's true," Ella chimed in, and even Sebastian nodded his agreement. The tips of Artie's ears turned red as he began to get embarrassed by their compliments.

"You've never been afraid of anything in your life, and I should have known that you could handle it all on your own," Griffin said, and Artie met his gaze and gave a knowing smirk. "I spent so many years trying to be someone you could admire, but I think it's pretty clear that it's actually worked out the other way around. You're the one I've been looking up to all this time. You're the best role model anyone could ever have."