Chapter Three
Doubts
"Psst… Gordon? Are you awake?" Gordon woke with a start to the sound of John's voice calling his name and a light tapping on the door. He sighed and turned over.
"What?"
John's outline was silhouetted against the bright landing lights, and Gordon squinted to make out his form. John held a finger to his lips.
"Come with me, quickly."
"What?" Gordon repeated, and looked at the luminous clock on the wall, "It's half three in the morning."
"I know! We've got to be quick. Come on!" John crept away from the door and Gordon couldn't help but follow. He was intrigued to find out what John wanted. They tip-toed down the hallway and into John's room, where he shut the door behind them. "Come and have a look."
John walked over to the window, which was swung wide open with his Christmas telescope pointing outwards towards the sky. Gordon let out a tiny cry of delight – it wasn't often John let others touch his telescope.
"Wait a sec, I'll just check it's in the right place." John glanced through and nodded to himself, satisfied. He stood back and invited Gordon to the telescope with a flourish. They shared a smile and Gordon approached the eye piece, wondering what John wanted him to see.
Right in the center of the circle was a bright dot, with a hint of red. Gordon frowned. It looked just like any other star.
"What is it?"
"That's Mars." Gordon's eyes widened. He'd been learning about the solar system at school for the last two weeks.
"Really?"
"Yep. Maybe on another day I could show you Venus and perhaps Jupiter. Jupiter's got two moons that you can see."
"Wow!" Gordon turned back to the telescope and stood in awe of the red planet. "Does Mars have any moons?"
"It's got two, but they're too small to see from here. I'll need a better telescope. Jupiter's actually got over sixty-three moons."
"Why've we only got one?" John sat down on his bed and smoothed out the covers. He enjoyed talking to people about space and sharing his interests, and Gordon was a particular favorite for his enthusiasm.
"I don't know. Maybe it's because we're quite a small planet. Jupiter's got lots because it's the biggest."
There was silence for another few minutes as Gordon watched Mars, taking in its simple appearance and watching for any change. Eventually he stood back and smiled at John.
"Thanks for showing me this, John. It's way cool!"
"Really cool," John absent-mindedly corrected his little brother, standing up and taking a look at the planet himself, "Thanks for taking an interest!"
Gordon threw his arms around his brother's waist. "That's okay. I'm tired now; I'm going to go to bed. Night, Johnny!"
"G'night, Gordo," John replied, and Gordon shut the door as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb John. He pattered lightly down the hall back to his own room and snuggled under the blankets. He couldn't wait to see Venus and – hopefully – Jupiter.
I have the dream again. The fish are all back, with their many shades, shapes and sizes. They dance around for a while, sometimes in formation, sometimes in their own little worlds. The different colors seem more intense than last time; they sparkle and flash and wink at me in the light from the sun. The rays come down in straight lines and light up the coral reef.
Suddenly I remember the hole that had been there last time. I turn, and like a shock I see it – sitting there, open and beckoning, unmoving. It seems larger somehow.
Something's different. Last time, the hole was exciting, but there's something that's changed – this time it's scary, intimidating. But I'm still curious.
It's like something's holding me back, giving me second thoughts. How do I know what's there? What if there's a shark lurking in the depths, waiting to eat whatever came its way? What if I got lost – couldn't find my way out?
On the other hand, it's a new hole, and new places can't go unexplored. I can't help myself. I swim closer, with caution this time. I flash my torch around, remembering this time not to look and get distracted. Still nothing. The darkness looms closer, and the colorful fish are soon forgotten as this new and exciting wonder fills my vision.
Again, I hesitate. I'm right on the border between the hole and the reef. On one side of me, there's darkness; nothing, and on the other there's a whole world of bright colors and new fish I might never see again if I get lost.
I'm torn, and my doubts decide for me. I wake up, back to the cold smell and warm temperature of my square hospital room. I spend so long trying to make a decision that I'm awoken by voices again. Scott's, again. He has a thing with waking me up at important points in my dreams.
" – don, for God's sake, snap out of it."
"There – no, it's okay, Scott, he's back with us." Dad says, but his voice is shaking slightly.
"What happened?" I'd like to know that too.
"The brain signals went low again, but they've come back up," says the doctor.
"What do you mean, again?" Dad demands. Does the doctor - Dr Moore - mean I slipped dangerously close to death for a second time? I don't even remember the first. What if it happens a third, and this time I'm not so lucky?
"It happened a few days ago in the middle of the night, but sorted itself the same way it did now."
"What happens if it doesn't sort itself out?" Scott asks. He's moved around to the same side as Dad, probably so they can both face the doctor.
I hear a slight movement as the doctor shrugs. "Maybe we should discuss this elsewhere, Mr Tracy." Dad settles back in the chair.
"That would be nice. Another time though, doctor. I want to spend a bit of time here."
The doctor leaves and Scott and Dad don't say anything for a while. I'm trying to work out what they're doing, thinking or looking at, but they're not making any sound at all. Soon Scott moves back round to the other side of the bed and sits back down.
"Are you sure you're OK?" He's not talking to me but to Dad – he's using that voice. The grown up one, the 'I'm-really-more-mature-than-my-brothers' one. "You look like you haven't slept in years."
"I'm fine, really. A bit tired. Then again, aren't we all?" It is Dad.
"Not as tired as you are. When was the last time you got home for a good meal?" I'm not hungry, but I'd give anything to eat something, to feel the sensation of nutrition going down my throat, rather than through an IV tube.
One of my doctors enters before Dad can reply – Dr Grey. He has a brisk walk, authoritative and business-like. He never shows any emotion.
"Mr Tracy," he says, and approaches the bed, "How's he doing today?" Unlike most people, Dr Grey never talks to me. I don't know why – maybe he's had some past experience that puts him off. Or it's just not in the job description.
"He just scared us with some low brain signals, but he's okay now," Scott says icily, "Isn't it your job to tell us?" Not many people like Dr Grey. I wonder if he's got a wife or children.
He doesn't reply, but busies himself around the room, checking various things. Dad and Scott start talking to me for the first time since I woke up.
"Guess what, Gordo?" Scott says, and hesitates. "Ah… Dad, am I allowed to tell him?"
"Sure, go for it. I don't see why not." Dad definitely sounds tired. He's got this resigned tone to his voice that I didn't notice before. But I want to know what the surprise is…
"Well, we're getting a swimming pool. In the garden, where the old shed is. You can practice whenever you want!"
A swimming pool? That's great! I want to jump up, hug them and scream for joy – anything. The closest one's about three kilometers away from the house, and now I'll have one on my doorstep!
There's silence, and it doesn't match up to the excitement I'm feeling inside. I can tell they're staring at my face, willing me to wake up and shout 'Yes!' The doctors say that sometimes coma patients have woken up with great shocks and surprises. Sometimes even anger.
I hope my situation doesn't resort to that.
The tension is broken by Dr Grey. Until now, I hadn't realized that he's stopped as well, listening to Scott.
"A pool?" He says, moving closer, "Why are you telling him this?"
"You don't understand," Scott says, "Gordon loves the water. He'll be ecstatic."
"No," Dr Grey contradicts, and sighs, "You don't understand. He won't be able to use it. He's got permanent back damage. I doubt he'll be able to walk again, let alone swim."
What!?
He has to be lying. It's the anger thing – it has to be. He's saying something shocking to try and get me to wake up. I'll thank him for it later.
Scott stands up, pushing his chair back in the process.
"Scott…" Dad begins, but trails off. He's probably got that look on his face that says he's angry – very angry.
"Don't 'Scott' me!" He's furious, to talk to Dad like this, "He has absolutely no faith in Gordon, none at all. Gordo's one of the most strong-willed people I know, and if he wants to walk again, he'll walk again! And run, and swim. I don't think you understand that your patients have personalities too. It's not just – 'they'll walk,' 'they won't – ' it's about determination!"
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk to me about my job, young man. I find it's better not to let patients get their hopes up; it's too much trouble later on. Now, if you'd – " The doctor's trying to keep cool, calm and professional, but I can tell he's irritated.
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't put my kid brother down like that – especially right in front of him like that! And you told us yourself that you couldn't tell the full extent of the damage until he woke up, so how can you make judgments like that?"
"Scott Tracy – " Dad tries again, but Scott's in full-rant mode. He can't stop until he's got it out of his system.
"…And making an effort to walk again is too much trouble? How the hell did you come up with that one? Do you do your job by putting patients down while they're defenseless, so you won't have to deal with their disappointment when they wake up? Well, let me tell you this – "
"Scott, stop. Now." It's Dad's voice again, this time with authority. It's the voice that makes us all stop mid-sentence and reconsider.
Scott comes to a halt, breathing hard. Counting to ten, I imagine. I've rarely known him to be this stressed, but it makes me proud.
He speaks again, lower and slower. "I'm sorry, sir, but if you're going to say things like that, please say them outside of this room. And if you feel the need to discourage Gordon ever again, you'll have me to deal with."
Dr Grey shuffles out of the room after a mumbled apology. Scott sighs.
"I'm going to grab some fresh air. See you in a bit."
I feel a surge of affection for him, and I'm deeply grateful for what he said. But there's one thing that's still nagging me, and I've only realized it now – Dr Grey wasn't just saying that to try and wake me up.
Dad's talking to me. He doesn't do it very often, but I like it when he does. He has so many more memories, so much more experience than the others. And his voice is comforting, too. It reminds me of when we were younger and we'd wake up in the night after a nightmare, and he'd come rushing in, talking in soothing tones and just being there.
"Do you know what your first word was? I don't know if I ever told you this."
I believe he mentioned it once. Water-related, I think.
"We were taking you to an aquarium to see the fish. Me, you, John and Lucy. Alan wasn't born yet, and Scott and Virgil were – " He pauses, trying to remember, "Yes, that's it. A birthday party. Anyway, we took you along the tanks, showing you the various fish. The look on your face…" He chuckles as he relieves the memory.
"You were awestruck. We'd been trying for weeks to get you to say something. Momma, Dada, anything. You never did. Nothing ever appealed to you. At the aquarium, we got to the end of the row, and there was a tank full of crabs, I think. Yes, most likely. And then – "
Dad tries to continue, but he starts laughing and he can't stop. Usually, his laughter is rare but it's infectious, and I can't help thinking I should be laughing along. I want to hear the end of the story.
"You – your face lit up and you pointed at the tank, at a particularly big crab at the front." Dad stops and tries to compose himself, "And you said – "
He's off again. He can't stop. What did I say?
" – you said – 'crab.'" Oh. Disappointing. Dad's laughing again. He can't contain himself. What's so funny? Sure, 'crab' is a bit of a weird first word, but he's nearly in hysterics.
Oh no – there's more. "Only you couldn't quite pronounce the 'B'. The nearest sound you could make was a 'P,' and you went around the whole day, saying – " Dad can't finish, but I get the idea. My first word was 'crap.'
Charming. Now it all makes sense – why Virgil smirked at John last time I said 'crap.' Funny. Real mature.
"What's this? Gordon's first word?" It's Scott. I didn't realize he'd come back in – he must have done so while Dad was laughing. I didn't hear Dad reply, but he probably nods through his giggles, and Scott laughs too.
"We looked like a right weird family, carrying a baby round that said 'Crap' every five seconds. I don't know where you picked the word up from, though."
"I haven't got a clue where he got it from," Dad says, finally getting a hold of himself, "But I'm sure glad you did. It had us amused for days."
…It was kind of funny, I guess. But I still can't shake off what Dr Grey said earlier.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Lucy's here, her cheerful voice filling the room. "How's it going?"
She starts humming as she wanders over to the sink to wet the cloth. It's not really a tune, just something she's making up on the spot. Virgil does that a lot.
"Your doctor had a bit of a moan with me today. Dr Grey. Didn't say exactly what was bothering him, just something about disrespectful patient relatives. Then again, he's always moaning. I feel sorry for you, having him as a doctor!"
Inside I smile. Good for Scott. Lucy carries on chatting away.
"My boyfriend proposed to me today! I couldn't believe it – it was the best proposal ever. And my ring – oh my gosh, to die for! I'll show it to you when you wake up." No wonder she's in such a good mood. She talks more while she washes my face, about her new fiancé, about her best friend's new shoes. I want to share her joy with her, but I'm just not in the mood.
I tune back into what Lucy's saying.
"Her brother was in a car accident, poor guy. Lost the sight in one eye, which is vital to him because he does archery. He was so good at it!"
At least he can walk, I think to myself. It sounds horrible, but I can't help it.
"He was top-standard, apparently. But it's his aiming eye that was affected, and he's really struggling with judging distances, that sort of thing. I don't know much about archery, but from what Annie's told me, the future doesn't look too good. I don't know what he's going to do." And what am I going to do? At least he can bloody walk.
I don't know how many days have passed since Dr Grey's scrape with Scott. I haven't seen him since – it's been my other doctor, Dr Moore. He's a lot nicer.
I'm not one to drown myself in sorrow, but then again, I've never been in this situation before. It's like all the faint hopes I had have faded, and if I do wake up, I can't be bothered to try and walk again. It would be useless.
People come, people go, but even Alan can't lift my mood. He doesn't know what Dr Grey said; I'm guessing the others haven't told him. It's probably not very significant for them.
What is the whole point in them keeping me alive if I won't be able to walk? Dad knows – they all know – that a life without swimming for me wouldn't be worth living. Drastic, I know. But it's true. Why don't they just turn the bloody life-support machine off?
"Gordon?" Scott enters, slowly and cautiously. Oh God – I didn't mean that. Don't tell me they're going to turn it off!
Scott clears his throat. "He didn't want to tell you himself. He was a bit nervous."
Oh, Jesus, why did I think that? An image of a light bulb being switched off suddenly appears in my head.
"Anyway, I hope you don't mind." Mind? Mind!?
No, Scott, please! I didn't mean to think that! God, Mom – anyone – please don't let them turn it off! I promise I'll learn to walk again!
"…recorded it for you. You want to hear it?"
Hear what? A death song? A sending-me-to-heaven song?
He clears his throat again and moves nearer to the pillow end. Then he puts something heavy on the floor and stands up.
"Well, here it is. Alan's heard it – he says it's good."
He bends down again and presses something. Somehow I don't think it's a plug switch, or an on/off switch – I'm sure if he was going to turn me off he would have come up with some better last words.
There's a click, and then soft piano notes drift up from the floor. Virgil.
It's not a death song! I was so caught in the moment I was thinking irrationally. It's the piece Alan told me about – the one Virgil came up with.
God, talk about paranoid, Gordon! The music's good. One of Virgil's best, I think. It starts off intense, deep, moving chords and low harmonies over the top. It's in a minor key – I mentally thanked my ninth-grade music teacher – and it's passionate. I can just imagine Virgil sitting at the keyboard, playing his heart out. The pain and horror of watching a brother go to his death come out in the occasional clashing chords, and it makes me want to cry.
The music changes. The chords move up, playing higher notes lightly and slowly. Images of a still body flash into my mind, carried away on a stretcher, paramedics rushing around with painfully dubious expressions, time slowing down.
Pictures of a corpse-like figure attached to countless machines and fed through a tube. Me. What had my family been through?
The tone changes again. The melody becomes light and happy, in a sad kind of way. It breaks my heart, and I find myself thinking of my brothers: the good times; the arguments; the fondest memories. Scott, trying to get me up in the mornings in time for school.Virgil, trying to make me keep still while he painted my portrait. John, sneaking outside together in the dead of night to show me a constellation in the sky. And Alan – turning to me for help and guidance when he was struggling at school.
God, I so wish I could see their faces again.
I want so much to be with them, racing each other to the end of the garden, wrestling and dunking each other on occasional pool visits.
How could I ever live without these things?
The music rises still, and there's another surge of hope. Stuff you, Dr Grey. I'll walk – just you watch me. There's a satisfied feeling as the piece continues for a bit, then gradually comes to a close. I'll thank Virgil for that when I wake up.
Scott stands up when it stops.
"Well, there you go! I hadn't heard it before now, but Al's right – it is good. I just dropped in to give it to you. I'll be back in tomorrow. For now – goodnight, little brother!"
He leaves. I wonder if it affected him as much as it did me.
The memories have reminded me that I have a whole life ahead of me. I can't just give up, over something my doctor said. As soon as I wake up, I'll work harder than I've ever done before to walk again.
Waking up would be a good start.