Paralyzed (2 page)

“Can we go to the hospital?” I said it so fast I surprised even myself. “I'm kind of worried about Nate. I mean, he wasn't even moving.”

Dad had already left the stadium parking lot. As I spoke, he pulled the car over and stopped.

“Reggie,” he said, turning his head and looking directly into my eyes. Mom was staring at me too. “It was an accident. What happened to that boy wasn't your fault.”

I knew it wasn't my fault. Why did everybody feel like they had to tell me that?

“I know,” I said. “I just want to make sure he's okay.”

“I'll tell you what,” Dad replied gently. “We'll go out and grab a bite to eat. Then we'll go home and maybe watch a movie. You can go check on Nate at the hospital tomorrow after practice.”

I nodded.

“Maybe he'll even be out by then,” Mom said.

I didn't say anything. But somehow, I doubted that very much.

We went to Sperlini's for pasta. Normally, I would have been happy to get a big plate of tortellini with meat sauce, a Caesar salad and a Coke. But I still wasn't hungry. I asked the waiter for a half-order and a water.

“You feeling okay?” Mom said. “Usually you're hungrier than this after a game.”

“We didn't exactly get a full game in, Mom,” I replied. That got me thinking about Nate Brown all over again. As Mom and Dad talked, I stared ahead at the big-screen television on the wall. It was playing a European soccer game. I tuned everything out. My mind was somewhere else.

I woke up early the next morning to the sound of geese honking. I got up and went to my window and watched intently as an entire flock flapped past our house. They were flying unusually low, in a V, with one bird leading the way. The rest of them followed the leader, in nearly perfect formation.

I knew these geese were going south for the winter. Pretty much every fall,
I saw the same thing: These huge beautiful birds flying together, honking noisily. Dad had told me about how geese take turns at being the leader. I thought it was pretty cool that these birds were smart enough to share the responsibility. None of them got too tired.

I had only been thinking about the geese for a few seconds when thoughts of Nate Brown rushed back into my head. I felt butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I wondered how he was doing and whether he was out of hospital yet.

Mom and Dad were already up and eating breakfast. Dad had the Saturday
Times
spread across the kitchen island, as usual. Mom was reading a novel. Saturday morning was pretty relaxed around our house. I didn't feel relaxed this morning.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dad said. “Have a good sleep?”

I nodded. But I got right to the point. “Can we go to the hospital today?” I said. “I really want to see if Nate is okay.”

Mom looked concerned. She glanced at Dad and then fixed her blue eyes on me. “You have something to eat and go to practice, and then I'll take you up there,” she said.

Dad was reading the front section of the newspaper. I snatched the sports section of the
Times
from the pile under him. It was our usual routine on Saturday. It was the only section of the paper I ever read.

I flipped past the college football coverage and checked out the prep scores from last night. Although we hadn't got to finish our game, there had been plenty of other high school action. I was curious to see how all the other teams in the city had done in their season-openers.

The headline running across the top of the inside page caught my eye immediately.
Milbury star suffers serious injury
. Once again, I felt queasy. But now it was much worse than before.

Promising Milbury High School tight end Nate Brown remained in hospital last night after being injured in a game at Lincoln High
, the story began.

Brown, a six-foot senior, was hurt as he attempted to tackle Lincoln's Reggie Scott early in the first quarter. Brown was removed from the field on a stretcher and taken to Gower General Hospital.

Medical staff at Gower would not provide any information on Brown's condition last night. But the injury was considered serious enough that the season-opening game between Milbury and Lincoln was halted
.

I scanned the article to the bottom, looking for more information on Nate. But there was none. Obviously, though, the injury was serious if the newspaper was doing a separate story on it.

“Did you see this?” I asked my parents, my voice croaking. “I wish it said how he was doing.”

“Don't worry, Reggie,” Dad said. “There's nothing you can do about it anyway. You get ready for practice. Mom will take you up there afterward.”

I went upstairs to wash my face and brush my teeth. About the last thing I felt like doing this morning was playing football. But maybe somebody there would know something more about Nate's condition.

Dad drove me to Lincoln, mostly in silence. He could tell I was stewing about Nate Brown. There wasn't much he could say to make me feel better.

I got out and began heading to the gym. Dad pulled alongside me and rolled down his window partway.

“Reggie,” he said, “you can't dwell on this. Just try to forget about it. Go out there and have some fun.”

“Okay, Dad,” I replied. But I didn't feel okay, and I certainly wasn't going to be able to forget about it. What if Nate never walked again?

I seemed to be the only one preoccupied with Nate Brown. The accident the night before was only mentioned once—as we watched the brief videotape of the first quarter.

Just a few plays in, the sequence that caused the injury flickered across the big-screen tv at the front of the room. There was me making the right read and picking off the football. There was me looking upfield. Then, suddenly, there was Nate Brown, lowering his head and slamming into my backside with his helmet.

I could see now that Brown's head had collided directly with my hip. He had fallen straight to the ground. As my teammates cheered my interception on the screen, I could only watch Brown lying there, motionless.

“I wanted you guys to see this,” Coach Clark said, striding to the front of the room. “Smitty, can you get the lights?”

Travis Smith, our manager, flicked on the lights and turned off the TV. Coach Clark continued.

“What happened to that boy was very unfortunate,” he said. “But it was entirely preventable. It was caused completely—one hundred percent—by poor tackling technique. Not just poor, but sloppy and dangerous.

“Nobody should ever lead with their helmet. It is not a weapon, gentlemen. It is for protection. When somebody tackles like this boy did last night, it can result in a serious injury.”

Pete Fulton blurted out what everybody in the room was thinking. Or certainly what was on my mind. “Is he okay?”

“We don't know,” Coach Clark said. “We haven't got an update yet. But as soon as we have one, we'll let you know.”

The practice that followed was the usual Saturday morning drill. No pads, no hitting. Just a lot of sprints, some light passing and coverage practice. The coach blew his whistle whenever somebody was out of position.

Still, it dragged for me. My head wasn't into football. All I could think about was Nate Brown lying there. The rest of us
were able to run and laugh and joke this morning, but what about him?

When practice finished, I dressed quickly, not bothering to shower since we hadn't worked hard enough to sweat much. I grabbed a couple of textbooks out of my locker and headed out to the parking lot to wait for Mom.

A few minutes later, she pulled up in the minivan. The back was full of groceries. Mom's usual Saturday fall routine was to do the shopping and then pick me up from our workout.

“Well,” she said as I climbed in, “how was practice?”

“Okay, I guess,” I said. “We didn't do much. Saturday's usually pretty light.”

“I picked up some of that corned beef you like and some nice rye bread,” Mom said. “Thought we'd have it for lunch on the patio and then—”

“What about the hospital?” I said. “I thought we were going there to check on Nate.”

“Well, I've got this van full of groceries,” Mom said. “I've got ice cream and meat in here that probably won't keep in this sun.”

“Can you drop me off there, then?” I said. “I can get home on my own.”

Mom looked worried. “Reggie, let's just go home. I can take you to the hospital later if you still want to go. But come home and have some lunch first.”

“I'm not hungry,” I said curtly. “Just drop me off at the hospital, okay?”

I immediately regretted the tone in my voice. But I was getting irritated. Why didn't my parents want me to go to the hospital?

“All right,” Mom said. “I can come back and pick you up later.”

“It's okay. I'll catch a bus.”

Mom turned down Commercial, away from home and in the direction of Gower General. She asked me a few questions about football and school along the way. All I could manage were one-word answers. I was obsessed with getting to the hospital and making sure Nate was okay.

Once we were in the hospital parking lot, I jumped out of the van and headed up the steps to the main entrance. I had been inside Gower General only once before—the time I had broken my leg falling off my bike when I was six. Hospitals still scared me.

The main lobby was crowded. Doctors and nurses, patients and family members milled about. I spotted the reception desk and waited in line to ask where to find Nate.

“Can I help you?” said the woman behind the desk. She was about the only staff member not wearing a white coat or a set of green hospital scrubs.

“Can you tell me how to get to Nate Brown's room?” I asked.

The woman looked at her screen and typed Nate's name into her computer. “Nathaniel Brown,” she said after a few seconds. “He's still in icu, room three-one-six. Are you family?”

I shook my head. “What's icu?”

“That's the Intensive Care Unit. It's on the third floor. But he can't have visitors unless you're family.”

“But I have to see him,” I said. “I need to see if he's all right.”

The receptionist's face softened. She could sense that I was desperate. “I'll tell you what,” she said. “Take that elevator up to the third floor and speak to the head nurse at the icu station. That's the best I can do.”

I nodded and thanked her. I pressed the up button and waited for the elevator. When the door opened, I was staring at a tall orderly in green scrubs. He was standing beside a gurney. On the gurney was a patient with tubes sticking out of his nose, mouth and arm. “Come on in,” the orderly said.

There wasn't much room in the elevator, but I squeezed in beside the gurney. The sick man was asleep, and I didn't say anything to the orderly. I got out of the elevator on the third floor, relieved to get away from
the man on the gurney. Hospitals creeped me out. I hadn't been around much serious illness. It wasn't something I knew about or felt comfortable with. I preferred to keep it that way.

I found the head nurse's station and, again, waited my turn.

“What can I help you with?” The head nurse had jet-black hair, a thin face and friendly hazel eyes.

“I came to see Nate Brown, er, Nathaniel Brown,” I replied.

“I'm sorry, but he can't have any visitors,” she said gently. “Are you a family member?”

I shook my head. “I'm a friend. Sort of. I was playing football against him last night when he got hurt.”

“It's a real shame,” the nurse said. “So young...”

“Can you at least tell me how he's doing?” I knew I sounded desperate, but I needed to know right now that Nate was going to be okay.

“Let me check with somebody. Maybe I can get you an update,” she said as she turned and walked quickly down the hall and around the corner.

In a few minutes, she returned. Alongside her was the tall redheaded woman that I had seen last night on the football field. The one who had been sobbing beside Nate Brown.

The woman was staring at me intently. She looked confused.

“I don't know you,” she said loudly as she and the nurse approached us. “Are you a teammate of Nate's?”

“No,” I said solemnly. “I play for Lincoln. It was me with him on that play...”

The woman's face changed in an instant. Gone was the mournful, confused look. In its place was a flash of anger. Her face grew red, and her eyelids twitched.

“What are you doing here?” she said harshly. “Why did you come?”

“I came to see Nate,” I stammered. “To see if he's okay. I—”

“How do you think he's doing?” The woman was shrieking now. “This is the Intensive Care Unit. How the hell do you think he's doing?”

I didn't know what to say. “Maybe I should come back some other time.” It was all I could think of.

“No, no...No!” she said. “Don't come back. Ever! I don't want you here. Nate doesn't want you here. I saw you dancing around after that play. I saw you celebrating. Don't think I didn't notice.”

Her words hit me like a speeding train. Everybody had been telling me the accident wasn't my fault. Now Nate's mom was blaming me. My legs felt weak. I could hardly breathe.

“But it was an—” She didn't let me finish.

“Get out of here! Now!” she screamed. The nurse with the black hair wrapped her arms around Nate's mom, attempting to calm her down. She managed to turn her around and head her away from me.

“You'd better go,” the nurse said to me over her shoulder. “Just go.”

I turned and walked out of the ICU and into the third-floor lobby. Never had waiting for an elevator taken so long. Tears were streaming down my face, and my chest was heaving.

I hurried through the crowded main lobby of the hospital, suddenly feeling like an intruder. I was still crying, but I lowered my head so that nobody would notice.