The Time Until (10 page)

Present Day

Ethan and I sleep way longer than I wanted.

I blame Ethan and his stories for keeping me up
all night.

As the nurse rolls in the wheelchair, I slowly
start to get out of bed.
 
The pain is
still there, but I'm able to move, which is a major plus.
 
I had them stop giving me painkillers early
last night to see what it'll be like when I leave the hospital.
 
So far so good.
 
Maybe I'll be able to leave this place sooner
than I was told.

Time — and the doctor — will tell.

I ease myself into the chair and we're off to see
Sam.
 
I try to start a conversation with
Ethan as we go, but nerves and anticipation are conversation killers.
 
Everything that could have happened to Sam is
playing over and over again in my head causing me to feel even more anxious.

We enter the elevator and go down three floors —
my head didn't like that — but it was a bearable pain compared to recent
memory.
 
The elevator doors open to a new
hallway, one that is slightly more inviting than the one we just left.
 
The walls are lined with pictures and glossy
rosewood paneling.
 
There are also potted
plants and trees to add a friendly, homey feeling.

I already dislike it.

It's too comfortable.
 
It makes me think they want people to stay
here forever.

We turn the corner and immediately I notice the
couple sitting on a bench — the Cohn's.
 
I haven't seen them since the day they told me Sam was in a coma. While I
understood that they would rather be with their daughter than me, I’m still a
little disappointed.
 
Alex isn’t with
them, so
me
coming to visit must be important enough
to keep him at home.
 
As we arrive, Mary
gives me a small smile and hugs me across the shoulders.

"We're here when you need us, Son." Nate
wraps his arm around me and whispers into my ear.
 
All I can manage is a nod.
 
He said “when” not “if.”
 
That's a clear indication of how bad it
really is in there.
 
Nate doesn't beat
around the bush.
 
He knows how much I can
handle and how much I can't.

He just told me I can't handle it.

It's only when Mary pulls away from me that I
notice she's seen better days.
 
Her face
is sunken and her eyes are swollen red.
 
She's always been the biggest advocate of make-up — moderate, barely
there, but still a necessity — and I notice she isn’t wearing any.
 
She's a far cry away from the well put
together young lady that Nate introduced us to that day nine years ago.

9 Years Ago (Age 11):
 
January

I'm still thinking about Arianna when I walk up
to Sam's house.
 
She's a definite
character.
 
I know she'll fit right into
the group – especially if she and Quentin can ever get along.

A loud crash pulls me from my thoughts and I
run into the house.

"I can't believe you brought that whore
into the house!" I hear Sam shout and another crash against the far
wall.
 
I have no idea what's going on and
decide that I'll stay in the background until I can figure out what’s
happening.

“
Samantha
Irene Cohn!” Nate scolds and I know Sam flinches — she hates when her dad uses
her full name.
“
I don’t
remember raising you to swear like that!
”

“
I
refuse to apologize to the home wrecker,” Sam stubbornly announces.
 
I think I understand a bit of it now.

Nate brought his secret girlfriend home.

I was suspicious for a while with how often
he’s been gone at night.
 
Sam seemed
completely oblivious to it.
 
I don’t know
if I should be surprised or amazed at how unobservant she is.
 
It’s
borderline
super human.

I mean she still has no idea about my feelings
after three years.

“
I
had no idea you were even dating again!”
Completely
unobservant.

“
Please,
calm down, Sam,” Nate sounds desperate as he pleads with her.
 
There
’
s
a long spot of heavy silence.

“
What
about mom?” I hear Sam’s small voice and rocking sobs.
 
It’s time for me to make my entrance.
 
Sam is going to need a minute before they
solve anything.
 
She’s already too lost
in her ‘dad’s betrayal’ mentality to have a coherent conversation about
anything.
 
I step around the corner and
take in the scene.

Sam is crying into her hands and doesn’t see me
right away.
 
Nate looks as lost as he
sounded. He has his hand partially extend, almost as if he decided at the last
minute not to comfort Sam.
 
The biggest
surprise is the woman nearly cowering behind Nate.
 
The shattered plates and the chipped wall
behind her are more than enough evidence to know that Sam was throwing them at
her.
 
Nate must have been helping her
dodge since this woman doesn’t look like she could have done it herself.
 
She’s too proper.

She
’s
staring at me like I
’
m a
ghost.
 
I have no idea how to respond to
that, so I place my finger across my lips and silently
shh
her.
 
She looks at me curiously — she
obviously doesn’t know who I am or why I
’
m
here.

”
Hey,
Tomboy, what’s happening here?” I ask loudly to make sure I’m heard.
 
Sam peeks through her fingers and leaps into
my arms.

"Alan!" she shouts.
 
I wrap my arms around her waist and she
buries her face into the crook of my neck.
 
I can't say I don't like it, I like it a lot more than I probably
should, given the situation.
 
I turn
slightly to Nate.

"I think we need a cool down." Nate
nods his head in agreement, and then pulls the woman into a hug.
 
I guide Sam out of the kitchen as Nate tries
to soothe his girlfriend.
 
We sit on the
couch in the living room and Sam sobs into my shoulder.

“How can he do this?!”
She’s seriously mad at him.
 
Personally,
I don’t see the problem.
 
It’s been two
years since Emily died.
 
A man can’t be
expected to be single forever after the love of his life is gone, especially
when that love tells him to get someone else.
 
Unfortunately, Sam doesn’t know about that part.
 
I never really got around to telling her.

“Do you really expect him to live his entire
life alone, Sam?” She glares at me.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” she informs
me.
 
I smile at her.

“I’m always on your side,” I tell her.
 
She rolls her eyes at me and “
humphs
” at my statement.

“Doesn’t look like it.” I smile a little
wider.
 
I guess I should just come clean
and tell her what I heard in that hospital room.
 
I sigh loudly as I build the courage to tell
her.

“Sam,” I begin, “your mother told your dad to
forget her.” Sam’s head shoots up to look at me, wide-eyed in surprise. “She
wanted him to find a new love when she was gone.” Sam starts shaking her head
in a stubborn attempt at denial.
 
I
continue.

“She made him promise that he would not hold
back.” She’s vocally denying my statements now. “She didn’t want him to be
trapped by her ghost for the rest of his life.” Sam is still shaking her
head.
 
I decide to jump in with both feet
now.

“If I was about to die I would tell the one I
love the same thing.” I stare at her as I speak.
 
She, of course, is oblivious to my obvious
meaning, but I’m fine with that.
 
I can
take things slow, for now.
 
The statement
at least gets her to stop denying herself.
 
She knows as well as I do that her mom would have done that.
 
Something tells me that she already had that
possibility pass through her head more than once.

“You know I thought of that,” she admits.

Bingo, I love it when I’m right.

“I really didn’t want to think like that,” she
continues, “I mean, it’s like I’m forgetting my mother.”

“How can anyone forget someone that important
to them?” I didn’t have an answer to my own question.
 
I’ve never had to deal with this situation
myself.

“Why do you have to forget her?” I’m not even
sure if it’s the right thing to ask.

“I don’t, really, but it would be easier.” I
just nod because I understand that.
 
Forgetting is easier than moving on with your life.
 
I place my arm on her shoulders and she leans
into me, her head on my chest.
 
We stay
like that for a few minutes.

“It feels all too fast though,” she finally
breaks the silence. “It’s only been two years.
 
Is that really long enough to get over someone as important to my dad as
my mom was?” I shake my head at her and gently stroke her hair.

“Do you honestly think your dad has gotten over
Emily?” I gesture at all the pictures scattered around the room.
 
A picture of the three of them on Christmas
is hanging on the wall.
 
The four of us at the zoo, on the coffee table.
 
A portrait of Emily front
and center on the wall, biggest picture in the room.

“Someone who has gotten over someone else
doesn’t have their pictures all over the place,” I tell her.
 
“Especially if they’re
bringing their girlfriend over.”
I chuckle when she chuckles, then she
hits me in mock anger.

“Don’t ever call her that.
 
I still have to get used to the idea of my
dad and someone else not my mom.” She wipes a tear from her eye as she props
herself up from me.

“I guess I could at least hear them out,” she
concedes getting up from the couch.

“I mean it’s not like they’re going to get
married or anything.” We both laugh at the prospect as we go back to the
kitchen to hear what Nate and the new girl have to say.

Present Day

“We’ll wait out here for you,” Nate tells me.
 
“We thought you might like a minute alone
with her.” I nod my head and take the wheel of the chair.
 
The nurse props the door open for me and I
let myself into the room.

There is a partition wall blocking my view of the
room and it makes an impromptu hallway.
 
I slowly wheel the chair through the hallway. My breath is loud. It’s
hard to breathe through the anticipation.
 
I have no idea what to expect when I turn the corner and fear actually
stops me from making that final turn.
 
Stopping at the edge, unable to continue, I try desperately to still my
nerves.
 
My legs and hands shake.

I’m having a small panic attack.

How pathetic.
 
I’ve been bitching to everyone and anyone for the past week — almost —
about wanting to see Sam and here I am having a panic attack inside her
room.
 
I haven’t even seen her yet.

It’s sad and I know it.

I try to move my arms in order to wheel myself
out, but they won’t respond.
 
No matter
how hard I push, they won’t budge.
 
My
heart rate spikes. My breathing is erratic. I feel light headed. I start
shaking. I squeeze my eyes shut trying to calm down.

If just being here does this to me, I can only imagine
what will happen when I actually see her.

I take a deep breath and my shaking slows.
 
The pressure and tension start to melt
away.
 
Finally, my breathing returns to
normal.
 
I wheel my chair around the
corner and stop dead.

I was not expecting this when I entered the
room.
 
Though, honestly, I’m not sure I
know what I was expecting.
 
This is worse
than I thought.
 
I nearly broke down and
cried without ever getting any closer to her.

The Sam I used to know is dead and gone forever.

1 Year Ago (Age 19): May

UCLA is a beautiful campus, if you actually have
time to enjoy it.
 
I don’t. I have to get
to the library before it fills up so I can write my English paper.
 
Then I have to hightail it over to my dorm
room to study for the math test this afternoon.
 
That’s not to mention the psych paper due next week that I have been
avoiding.

College life is great.

I shouldn’t really complain, I wasn’t even sure
I would graduate high school, let alone get into the same college as Sam.
 
She never has to study and still gets perfect
grades — mostly.
 
I wish I had even an
ounce of her brainpower.
 
As it is, I
have to work my ass off just to pass, but I’m fine with that — there’s nothing
wrong with a little hard work.

Now, if only I could figure out my major.

“Watch out!” I instinctively duck when I hear
that voice and command.
 
Sam comes
tripping toward me with way more boxes and rolls of paper than she can
carry.
 
Knowing her, she wanted to get
the job done quickly and decided to do it all in one trip.
 
I sigh inwardly as the out of control girl
loses her grip and the contents in her arms spill across the grass.

“Sam,” I sigh with more breath than I mean, “
what
are you doing?” I start helping her pick up the dropped
objects.

“Thanks, Al, you’re a lifesaver,” she tells me
while organizing a pile of the fallen items.

“What are you doing?” I ask again.

“I told you yesterday, I’m helping my sorority
with their party.” She unrolls one of the posters and holds it as she
talks.
 
It’s crudely made, but catches
the eye.
 
There’s nothing special, a
couple of clipart images, monotone people dancing — used more often than
needed.
 
An elaborate photo of a grand
hall represents the background and there’s magic sparkles floating all over the
large piece of paper.
 
Words advertising
the party’s location and time are printed at the bottom with larger — much
larger — words printed at the top telling the name of the party.

It’s hideous, but gets the point across.

“So, you’re putting up posters around campus?”
I ask trying not to look at the poster.
 
Sam, thankfully, starts to roll it up again as she nods.

“What happened to helping the Music Club?”
That’s what she told me yesterday she was going to be doing.
 
She’s always doing something; we barely have
time to hang out anymore.

Though, she does make a huge effort to try.

“That’s in the afternoon around four.”

I gather up a few of her boxes and start to
walk with her.
 
I might as well help her
since this looks like it’s going to be the only time I’ll get to see her today.
 
Classwork can wait.
 
Sam greets various people as we walk and I
notice that they all know her name.
 
It
doesn’t really surprise me, Sam has always been able to make quick friends and
she’s rarely shy around strangers.

“Sam!” Ronny Waller jogs up to us as he gets
Sam’s attention.
 
Ronny’s the captain of
the swim team and one of Sam’s many admirers.

He’s also one of the people who take advantage
of her kindness.

“What’s up, Ronny?”

“You’re still coming by to help the Swim Team,
right?” Sam looks lost.
 
She forgot all
about helping them or they’re adding more to her already busy schedule without
consulting her first.
 
It wouldn’t be the
first time people took advantage of her willingness to help.

She never gets mad at them for it.

It always makes me mad.

“I must have completely forgotten,” she
apologizes, “when is it?” He smiles at her.
 
I get a sudden flash of my fist knocking out his teeth, Looney Tunes
style.

“It’s all good.
 
We’re meeting up at three at the pool.” Sam cringes at the time.

“I can’t.
 
I have to help the Music Club rearrange the stage for their concert
tonight.” Ronny’s smile falters slightly.
 
Sam rarely refuses to help and people usually understand when she does.

Ronny, I can tell, is not going to be one of
those people.

“Do you really need to help them?”

Sam nods her head.

“But if you can start earlier, say two, I think
I can manage to cut the Engineering Club short a bit.” Ronny smiles brighter in
triumph, Sam has given in to his request.

“That’s great!
 
I’ll tell the guys of the time change.” He turns to leave and shouts
over his shoulder.

“Don’t forget your swim suit.” And he’s
gone.
 
That was a cheap trick, throwing
that last line out there when he’s out of reach of my fist.

Sam sighs loudly, playing with the charm
bracelet I gave her over winter break.

“Maybe helping the Swim Team today is a little
much,” she says. I think I get whiplash from my double take.
 
Sam never complains about helping people.

Never.

“I’ve been telling you all year that you’re
trying too hard and doing too much.” We continue our walk.

“I wish I had clones of me.
 
You
know,
like that
old movie with Michael Keaton, ‘Multiplicity’?” I laugh at that.
 
I wish there were more of her as well.

“That won’t
work,
the
brain dead one was last, not first.” I laugh even more at my own joke.
 
Sam hits me in the arm for my punishment.

“Ha
ha
,” Sam
sarcastically chuckles. “Ah hell, I’d be happy with some extra arms, two of
them at least.”

I laugh more and shake my head.

“What?
 
What’s with the shaking of the head thing?”

“Only you would want to make a clone of
yourself so you can get more work done.”

“What, it’s a perfectly good use for a
clone.
 
It’s much better than an organ
donor I would think.” I continue to laugh and she starts to smile.

“That’s true, but most people would get a clone
so they don’t have to do work, not so they can do more.” I’m can’t stop
laughing and Sam starts giggling.

“Then I’ll just take the limbs.” I laugh even
harder at the mental image of her with four arms.
 
Sam chuckles as well.

Present Day

This can’t really be Sam.

It just can’t.

Sam is a lively girl.
 
Someone once asked me if she ever sat still,
I had to reply with “the world would stop spinning if she were to stop.”
 
She’s always laughing and carrying on with
things.

Seeing her like this is more than I can bear.
 
She’s too still and peaceful.

She looks like a corpse being forced to live on
with machines.

I realize I’m staring at her, but I can’t really
help it.
 
I’m enthralled by her sleeping
figure and, though it’s hard, I can tell
it’s
Sam in
that bed.
 
The medical equipment —
respirator and nasal tubes — cover most of her face, but I can tell it’s
her.
 

I can always tell when it’s her.
 

The respirator rises and falls with her chest and
I catch myself following the same rhythm.
 
The heart monitor beeps loudly and I jump, panicking a little that it
might mean something bad.

Her right arm looks like scaffolding has sprouted
from it.
 
It’s no longer black, but it is
in a cast with metal poles and cords weaving in and out of it.
 
Her arm must have been worse off than mine
was.
 
Of course it is – she got the full
brunt of the impact.
 
I can feel the fire
start to ignite as I think about the accident.
 
Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I try to banish the thoughts.
 
Getting mad is not a good idea right
now.
 
I’m here to visit Sam, not the
past.

I stop breathing when I reach the lower half of
the bed.

The blankets fall unnaturally around that
area.
 
Sam is short, but I guess about
average for a girl her age.
 
She comes to
just below my chin.
 
I think it’s the
perfect height.

Reality hits me.

Sam will never again run and jump, climb trees, or
play the sports she loves so much.
 
She
loves track and spends a lot of time on the track trying to shave that last
second off her time.
 
Sam used to play
football as a kicker for the team; she is the first girl to do that.
 
She even got in a couple of tackles.

But that’s all over now.

Sam’s legs are gone.

Both of them.

I wheel myself closer, taking care not to mess up
all the wires and tubes attached to her body.
 
I can see the catheter snaking its way from under the blankets to under
the bed.
 
There’s an IV in her arm. I
decide to go to the side with the IV since it doesn’t have the cast in the
way.
 

I notice more things as I get closer to her.
 
Gauze wraps her head and a skullcap covers
it.
 
Her eyes are closed, but unmoving
and sunken somewhat into her head.
 
She’s
pale to the point of almost matching the sheets.
 
She’s not moving — in fact, her chest going
up and down is her only movement.
 
Sam’s
hair is gone. I can’t see any sticking out of the skullcap.
 
She used to have long and pretty auburn hair.

She looks peaceful, serene — dead.

Seeing her here, like this, I can hardly believe
it.
 
The proof is looking me in the face,
but I still can’t really acknowledge it.
 
I reach up and slowly trace my finger along her cheek.
 
Sam used to wiggle and squirm when I did
that. She said it tickled.
 
Now, she
doesn’t
so
much as flinch at the contact and her skin
is cold.
 
I try not to panic at the
coolness of her touch as I reassure myself by checking the monitors again.
 
As I grasp her hand in both of mine, it seems
to flinch slightly before I bring it to my forehead.
 
I jump at the movement and think that maybe
she’s reacting to me.
 
I wait for a few
moments to see if it happens again.

It doesn’t.

Something ruptures inside of me as reality sets in
and I start bawling loudly.

My heart aches in my chest.
 
I can hardly breathe through the pain it’s
causing.
 
I squeeze her hand a little
tighter and cry a little harder.
 
I have
never known pain this intense in my entire life.

I doubt I will ever feel it again.

Everything I unconsciously repressed comes rushing
back to me.
 
The horror I felt watching
Sam’s head hit the window.
 
Being unable to see her for days and the hopelessness that came
with it.
 
The
pain of the accident and recovery.
 
I relive every mournful and en
raging
emotion that I’ve had since waking up in this damn hospital.
 
I wallow in how pathetic I feel being unable
to move properly.
 
The guilt from feeling
like I should have done something to prevent this keeps eating at me.
 
The feeling of loss for Sam’s legs and what
it’s going to do to her emotionally wrecks me.
 
The shock of seeing her in a coma like this.
 
Every emotion I refused to feel. Everything I
ignored now threatens to destroy me.

My weeping is a sweet release and my sobs
therapeutic.

“I’m sorry, Sam, so very sorry,” I apologize.
  
I don’t wipe my eyes; I just let the tears
fall, griping Sam’s hand as if it’s the last piece of her I have left.
 
This is the first time that Sam’s touch
hasn’t calmed me down.

Suddenly, a new emotion starts to form in my heart
— fear.
 
All of a sudden, I can’t think
of anything other than
what happens if
she doesn’t wake up
.
 
My mind starts
reeling.

It’s a trip through my own personal hell and my
subconscious is the tour guide.

I stop breathing and then quickly start sucking in
air.
 
My rapid attempts at breathing
cause the world to spin and I can see the familiar sight of black dots
encroaching on my field of vision.
 
I
feel like my hands should be doing something other than holding Sam’s hand and
I run one of them through my hair.
 
The
air in the room seems to grow thicker and it becomes increasingly harder to
catch my breath.
 
All the while, my mind
is racing through hell with little regard to my body’s reaction.

Images of the wake and funeral play out in my
mind.
 
My sister crying on my mother’s
shoulders, Alex — Sam’s little brother — glaring at me as if he blames me for
what happened.
 
Nate is sitting stoic in
his seat silently and tearlessly crying for his daughter, while Mary weeps next
to him.
 
Ethan, Quentin, and Arianna
stand in the back, Quentin comforting Arianna as she dabs her eyes with a
cloth.
 
And then me,
slowly walking up to the open casket.
 
My heart rips in half as I set my eyes on her, lying in her casket the
exact same way she’s lying in her coma.