suction device.
Sarah spoke. “Thank God they have better taste in music. I was half afraid they’d be in here listening to Justin Bieber.”
I ignored her. Instead, I slowly walked around the table. My left arm and leg had received the same treatment as Sarah’s leg, both of them crushed in the accident. I couldn’t even see my face underneath the chest tube and cloths that covered it.
I winced when I got to the other side of the table and got a good look at what was going on. The surgeons had completely removed the top of my skull at my forehead. As the nurse steadily sucked blood out of the way, the surgeon reached in with the tiny, tiny tweezers and extracted a bone fragment from the grey, folded matter underneath.
Then the surgeon said, in a matter of fact voice, “It’s times like this I think the family would be better off if we just stopped and let the patient go. Even if he lives, there’s not going to be anything in there.”
One of the other surgeons, working on my left arm, said, “We don’t know that for sure.”
“No,” the first one replied. “But I wouldn’t take a bet on this one.”
I winced.
Sarah put her hand on my arm. “Maybe we should go.”
“Yeah.” The words felt weird coming out, my lips numb like I’d been to the dentist. I could feel a nasty headache coming on, a blinding one, and that begged the question: how the hell does a ghost get a headache? It was like a bad joke where I was the punch line.
As we exited the operating room, Sarah gave me a worried look. “If it will help you feel better, you can go look at the goo coming out of my leg again.”
I coughed and said, “Um ... no thanks. I’ll pass on that.”
So we headed back to the waiting room, and I was so distracted I didn’t even notice the little boy at first. But I heard him, loud and clear, when he said, “Excuse me, mister? Can you help me find my mom?”
It was the kid I’d seen from the elevator. About four feet tall and thin as a rail, he wore sweats and a Spider-Man t-shirt. He had a Mets baseball cap on, twisted sideways, the brim pointed off toward his right shoulder.
Stupidly, I said, “You can see us?”
The kid looked at me like I was nuts. And then he said, “Well, yeah.” He was quiet for a minute, and said, “You’re the first person who answered me. Why wouldn’t anyone answer me?”
Crap.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“I’m Daniel.”
“What are you like ... ten?”
“Eight. Almost nine.”
I looked toward the waiting room. I needed to get back to Carrie. But I couldn’t let this kid go alone. As I hesitated, Sarah said, “Let’s see if we can go find your mom.”
We all walked back toward the waiting area and the main hallway.
Out in the hallway, I said, “So um ... how long you been here?”
He shook his head. “I dunno. I think ... we were going to the zoo. And then I was here.”
Crap. The zoo? “You were with your mom?”
“And my dad,” he said.
“What do you say we head down to the emergency room? I know the way.”
The kid nodded.
Sarah said, “Hey ... didn’t your mom tell you to be careful of strangers?”
He nodded. “She says I can talk to police, and he’s a soldier, so I figured that’s the same.”
I blinked. How ... and then I realized. For the first time since the accident I became conscious of how I was dressed. In uniform. I don’t know why that bothered me, I mean, it’s what I’ve been wearing most of the time lately. But ... did how we appear here have something to do with how we saw ourselves? I didn’t know. Maybe. But then, if that’s the case, why was Sarah in a dress?
Who knew? Sarah was a hard girl to figure out. In any event, we needed to help this kid find his way to his mom.
“All right then, come on. My name’s Ray, and this is Sarah. And what’s with that cap?”
The boy shrugged. “I like baseball?”
“The Mets? Are you kidding me? I’m from New York, and that’s not
Sarah spoke. “Thank God they have better taste in music. I was half afraid they’d be in here listening to Justin Bieber.”
I ignored her. Instead, I slowly walked around the table. My left arm and leg had received the same treatment as Sarah’s leg, both of them crushed in the accident. I couldn’t even see my face underneath the chest tube and cloths that covered it.
I winced when I got to the other side of the table and got a good look at what was going on. The surgeons had completely removed the top of my skull at my forehead. As the nurse steadily sucked blood out of the way, the surgeon reached in with the tiny, tiny tweezers and extracted a bone fragment from the grey, folded matter underneath.
Then the surgeon said, in a matter of fact voice, “It’s times like this I think the family would be better off if we just stopped and let the patient go. Even if he lives, there’s not going to be anything in there.”
One of the other surgeons, working on my left arm, said, “We don’t know that for sure.”
“No,” the first one replied. “But I wouldn’t take a bet on this one.”
I winced.
Sarah put her hand on my arm. “Maybe we should go.”
“Yeah.” The words felt weird coming out, my lips numb like I’d been to the dentist. I could feel a nasty headache coming on, a blinding one, and that begged the question: how the hell does a ghost get a headache? It was like a bad joke where I was the punch line.
As we exited the operating room, Sarah gave me a worried look. “If it will help you feel better, you can go look at the goo coming out of my leg again.”
I coughed and said, “Um ... no thanks. I’ll pass on that.”
So we headed back to the waiting room, and I was so distracted I didn’t even notice the little boy at first. But I heard him, loud and clear, when he said, “Excuse me, mister? Can you help me find my mom?”
It was the kid I’d seen from the elevator. About four feet tall and thin as a rail, he wore sweats and a Spider-Man t-shirt. He had a Mets baseball cap on, twisted sideways, the brim pointed off toward his right shoulder.
Stupidly, I said, “You can see us?”
The kid looked at me like I was nuts. And then he said, “Well, yeah.” He was quiet for a minute, and said, “You’re the first person who answered me. Why wouldn’t anyone answer me?”
Crap.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“I’m Daniel.”
“What are you like ... ten?”
“Eight. Almost nine.”
I looked toward the waiting room. I needed to get back to Carrie. But I couldn’t let this kid go alone. As I hesitated, Sarah said, “Let’s see if we can go find your mom.”
We all walked back toward the waiting area and the main hallway.
Out in the hallway, I said, “So um ... how long you been here?”
He shook his head. “I dunno. I think ... we were going to the zoo. And then I was here.”
Crap. The zoo? “You were with your mom?”
“And my dad,” he said.
“What do you say we head down to the emergency room? I know the way.”
The kid nodded.
Sarah said, “Hey ... didn’t your mom tell you to be careful of strangers?”
He nodded. “She says I can talk to police, and he’s a soldier, so I figured that’s the same.”
I blinked. How ... and then I realized. For the first time since the accident I became conscious of how I was dressed. In uniform. I don’t know why that bothered me, I mean, it’s what I’ve been wearing most of the time lately. But ... did how we appear here have something to do with how we saw ourselves? I didn’t know. Maybe. But then, if that’s the case, why was Sarah in a dress?
Who knew? Sarah was a hard girl to figure out. In any event, we needed to help this kid find his way to his mom.
“All right then, come on. My name’s Ray, and this is Sarah. And what’s with that cap?”
The boy shrugged. “I like baseball?”
“The Mets? Are you kidding me? I’m from New York, and that’s not
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