tulip bulbs. I’d never planted bulbs—too much promise, not enough guarantee. I preferred annuals; knowing what I was getting. But Edward’s parents loved me and his mother stood patiently by while I strung a string between two carefully measured stakes, ensuring a straight line would come of this effort.
I had a ruler stabbed down the fourth hole when the phone rang. Edward’s mother disappeared to take the call, then reappeared a minute later, her face a doughy pale. “There’s been an accident,” she said.
Pine Island Community Hospital, the other acute facility in town, had a busy Emergency Room that day. Bloody fingers, swollen eyes, sprained ankles, lots of damaged people. Edward was not in the waiting room. The ER receptionist directed us to a curtained cubicle in the back. Edward’s mother led the way. Whatever greeted us behind those curtains would belong to Edward’s mother first.
Edward was sitting sideways on the gurney, swinging his legs off the edge. In his left hand, a half-eaten apple. His right arm was taped to his chest, the flannel sleeve of his shirt hanging free.
“Look, Ma,” Edward said, pointing his chin at the empty sleeve, “no arm.”
Edward smiled over his mother’s shoulder; she was squeezing him carefully like he was one big bruise. There were bits of apple in his mustache catching the beam of the overhead lamp, glistening flecks of gold.
“Dislocated shoulder,” Edward said into the space between me and him. “Not too serious considering what could have happened.”
I looked at the bits of earth still bunched under my fingernails, the earth from Edward’s parents’ house. “What could have happened?” I asked.
“Could have fallen three stories to the basement. The sub-floor wasn’t nailed down.”
Edward’s mother backed away from him. “Linda,” she said, “come give your husband a hug.”
I laced my arms around Edward’s neck. “How did you manage to not fall to the basement?” I asked.
“The pipes,” he said. “I grabbed for them when I felt myself going down.”
I kept my arms around my husband for a long time. I closed my eyes and held on the way I imagined he had saved himself on the strength of his own creation. I held Edward, banishing doubt, banishing mistrust, inviting whatever lay beyond physics, beyond entropy and gravity and into the space where I could be or not be. The space where the sky on my face was real and mine. For keeps.
###
Thanks for reading. Shoot me an email and let me know what you think!
Suzy Vitello’s stories have won several awards, including The Atlantic Monthly's Student Writing Award and an Oregon's Literary Arts Fellowship. Her work has appeared in national journals and her young adult novels, THE EMPRESS CHRONICLES and RAISING CHEER, are currently on submission through her agent, Melissa Sarver . Suzy holds an MFA from Antioch Los Angeles, and is a founding member of a critique group recently dubbed Portland's Hottest Writers' Group by The Oregonian .
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I had a ruler stabbed down the fourth hole when the phone rang. Edward’s mother disappeared to take the call, then reappeared a minute later, her face a doughy pale. “There’s been an accident,” she said.
Pine Island Community Hospital, the other acute facility in town, had a busy Emergency Room that day. Bloody fingers, swollen eyes, sprained ankles, lots of damaged people. Edward was not in the waiting room. The ER receptionist directed us to a curtained cubicle in the back. Edward’s mother led the way. Whatever greeted us behind those curtains would belong to Edward’s mother first.
Edward was sitting sideways on the gurney, swinging his legs off the edge. In his left hand, a half-eaten apple. His right arm was taped to his chest, the flannel sleeve of his shirt hanging free.
“Look, Ma,” Edward said, pointing his chin at the empty sleeve, “no arm.”
Edward smiled over his mother’s shoulder; she was squeezing him carefully like he was one big bruise. There were bits of apple in his mustache catching the beam of the overhead lamp, glistening flecks of gold.
“Dislocated shoulder,” Edward said into the space between me and him. “Not too serious considering what could have happened.”
I looked at the bits of earth still bunched under my fingernails, the earth from Edward’s parents’ house. “What could have happened?” I asked.
“Could have fallen three stories to the basement. The sub-floor wasn’t nailed down.”
Edward’s mother backed away from him. “Linda,” she said, “come give your husband a hug.”
I laced my arms around Edward’s neck. “How did you manage to not fall to the basement?” I asked.
“The pipes,” he said. “I grabbed for them when I felt myself going down.”
I kept my arms around my husband for a long time. I closed my eyes and held on the way I imagined he had saved himself on the strength of his own creation. I held Edward, banishing doubt, banishing mistrust, inviting whatever lay beyond physics, beyond entropy and gravity and into the space where I could be or not be. The space where the sky on my face was real and mine. For keeps.
###
Thanks for reading. Shoot me an email and let me know what you think!
Suzy Vitello’s stories have won several awards, including The Atlantic Monthly's Student Writing Award and an Oregon's Literary Arts Fellowship. Her work has appeared in national journals and her young adult novels, THE EMPRESS CHRONICLES and RAISING CHEER, are currently on submission through her agent, Melissa Sarver . Suzy holds an MFA from Antioch Los Angeles, and is a founding member of a critique group recently dubbed Portland's Hottest Writers' Group by The Oregonian .
website
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