House Arrest (23 page)

WEEK 48

You're coming, right?
Mrs. B?
To the Carnival of Giving?
I mean, you don't have to give money
it just seems like you should be there
and James, too.
We wouldn't even be having this thing
without you guys.
So you better be there.
You better.

Maybe I will write something down.
In case I have to do the speech.
Or, no.
Maybe I won't.
Because I'm not going to get onstage.
No way.
Nope.

Clowns.
People on stilts.
A fire-eater.
A dunking booth.
Tacos!
And Levi.
Out in public for the first time
in a long time.
His face was so funny
watching all those things,
trying to figure out the world
outside of his four walls.
I guess that's what made me take the microphone,
what made me make that speech
(without any notes!)
what made me say those things
about my own four walls
my walls made of James and Mrs. B and Mom
and now José's house, sometimes, too.
I guess that's why I talked about
how strong Levi is
how nothing scares him
how he could be attached to a ten-ton boulder
and he would still learn to drag it behind him.
Still learn to run.
I guess that's why I said those things,
watching his walls open up like that,
and how it all made me think of my own walls
and how they made
me
open up
instead of the other way around.

Up there onstage,
looking out over all the people—
holding the microphone,
seeing so many faces—
it wasn't as scary as I thought.
I think I used more feeling words
at one time
than I have ever used before.
And I wasn't even really thinking about it.
I was just talking.
Just telling people how things are.
The feelings came out on their own.
And not one of those feelings
made me want to punch a wall.
And that was something.
That was really something.

Seriously.
You guys.
Was that fun or what?
I don't even care if they raised a hundred dollars,
or a million dollars,
it was just
so
much
fun.
All day, outside, laughing and talking
like regular people,
just me and Levi and Mom
and Marisol and James and Mrs. B
and Jose's one million sisters
and Isa.
Just hanging out
eating corn dogs
goofing around
watching that crazy fire-eater
watching Levi grin and sign
more more more
hot smile man
more more more
.
I wanted more, too.
I wanted it to never stop.

A real gullywasher.
A frog strangler
as Dad would say.
The rain just pounding
so loud
so loud
it makes you smile wide
because how can nature be so crazy?
I almost didn't hear the knock
because of the rain
and the howling wind,
but my spidey senses . . .
they kicked in and
sure enough
right there
in the pouring rain
stood Mrs. B.
She held up a piece of paper
so wet it looked like it was melting.
Her hair was stuck to her face
the rain dripping down her chin
and into that little throat space,
that little neck hollow,
like a tiny pool.
Her smile was huge
lighting up the doorway
brighter than the lightning.
Timothy!
It was a gasp.
The melted paper hit me in the chest.
I just got it. I couldn't wait. I printed it for you.
Read it!
Mom came around the corner
holding a squirming Levi.
Maureen? What are you doing out there?
Come in! Come in!
You'll wash away.
So she came in.
Mrs. B.
Dripping.
In my house.
Looking so young
all wet and smiley like that.
I took the soaking paper
careful not to let it tear
and read it.
Then I read it again.

He was touring medical schools.
Giving speeches.
Recruiting other doctors
to learn how to do what he does.
He is sorry for not responding sooner.
He says there is a charitable care program,
a fund, at the hospital
to pay for sick babies who need his help.
He says he has given our contact information
to the people who run that fund,
to the people who give out the money.
He says Levi will have to pass tests.
Not like school tests,
medical tests.
His lungs have to be healthy.
His stomach has to be healthy.
His whole body has to be healthy
so that he can manage the surgery.
It's a tough surgery.
He says that if Levi is as tenacious as I am,
if Levi is as spirited as I am,
if Levi has half of my determination,
half of my guts,
he has a fine chance of passing all the medical tests,
of becoming a candidate for surgery,
of getting his trachea fixed.
He says,
I look forward to meeting Levi.
I look forward to meeting you, sun.
And I can't believe he spelled
son
wrong
but I kind of love that he did.
I really kind of love it.

WEEK 49

Just a few more weeks.
Then you don't have to see me every week, James.
Well, you'll see me
because I live in 742
and you live in 534
just over there
but you know what I mean.
This all will be over.
You'll just be another beardy dude.
I'll just be another kid.
Don't look at me like that, James.
It makes me think you want to hug—
Dude.
You're getting to be just as bad as Mrs. B.
And that's saying something.

fifteen
thousand
two
hundred
forty
eight
dollars
and
seventy
two
cents
holy
crap
holy
crap
holy
crap
Mom is holding the check.
The PTA lady is at the door.
Look at this! Look at what you've done, Timothy!
Mom says it with a huge smile
with tears in her eyes
and she means it in a good way this time.
Look at what I've done.
Look at what I've done!!!

I think about that crumpled flyer
a rolled-up ball on my desk for so many months.
How I thought the Carnival of Giving
was so, so stupid and then crazy and then impossible
and now I want to frame that crumpled thing
and put it on the wall
and dedicate it to the dwarves in my head
the ones that wouldn't give up
the ones named
Scared and Determined
Angry and Stubborn.
Thank you, dwarves,
for not screwing this up.

Levi has a cough now.
Sigh.
That means trach bullets everywhere—
shooting balls of snot
out of that tube in his neck.
It's kind of a superpower, if you think about it.
Once someone gets hit with a trach bullet
they're so grossed out,
they are stunned.
Frozen in place.
If Levi wasn't trying so hard to breathe
I bet he would laugh.
You should see Marisol's hair.

Enchiladas.
Just like the bad old days,
except man, they taste so good
I don't care what they remind me of.
José's mom is in our kitchen
clicking her tongue
talking to herself in Spanish
not happy with our selection of spices.
She is here with José and Isa.
Marisol with Levi in the living room.
Levi sick again.
Levi coughing.
Levi setting off alarms.
The suction machine BUZZZZZZZZZING.
It's strange to me
seeing them here,
José and Isa,
even though their house
is only a block away,
even though it only takes two minutes
to walk here.
It's still strange,
their faces in our new world.
I like it, though.
I'm glad they're here.
When Mom gets home she'll be glad, too.

Stupid germs.
I took Dad's old sweatshirt
and made it like a blanket
to tuck behind Levi's head
so maybe he can breathe easier.
I can't tell if it's working.
Mom is on the phone with the doctor,
the pulse ox is beep-beep-beeping.
It's a little bit crazy right now.

The night stretches ahead of us.
I have the oxygen ready.
If he needs it.
I have the breathing medicine ready.
If he needs it.
I have an extra trach ready.
If he needs it.
Mom is on her way home
from the new job,
from her long day of training.
She is bringing us coffees.
A treat
, she said.
We'll watch movies
, she said.
It'll be fine
, she said.
He'll be fine
, she said.
I have the doctor's number.
If we need it.