The Indescribables

Chance

"And we almost lost, but Jessica passed me the ball and I kicked it hard into the other goal, so hard I fell down and bounced a wrist off of the turf, but instead the Torches girl hand balled it and Torches was disqualified," Hope explains to our parents.

"Tell Dad what Trixie did to the girl from Torches," I suggest and grin at our small joke.

Hope looks back at me with a large smile. Her light brown ponytail whips around her back when she turns back to look at our father, his body buried under thick white sheets except for his head and arms, but she is slightly careful not to smack my chest with her hair.

"Trixie was sitting by herself in the bleachers looking disappointed, Daddy, but I didn't want Trixie to feel bad, so I asked her why she was sad and sitting alone. She smiled and said she wasn't sad, just disappointed with the girl from Torches who hit the ball with her hand because this was the fourth handball in the past season, which only started a month ago, and she was considering canceling her membership with TSDC. I told her she should, so Trixie said she would and then she did, and I know it because when Justin signed me in for soccer practice today, the number of girls on the soccer teams was twenty six instead of twenty seven. I couldn't help myself but laugh." Hope begins to laugh hysterically for a few moments and calms herself down. "I kind of feel bad though, Daddy, to be honest. Do you think I did the right thing?" Her smile is still traced on her thin, round face.

Dad gives her no response, as expected. It seems as if someone has erased the corners of my sister's smile. Once again we are reminded of the event that has isolated our hope and happiness-and very slowly but slightly noticeably, my sanity-far away, out of reach.

Three months ago, my parents hopped on the Blue Line along with Hope to go take her to a dance recital in Sacramento. I already had plans to enjoy the rest of my weekend before Monday came. It was just as the doors of the train closed that those three thundering pops-at least that I heard, the news said there were forty-and the bangs on the door from Hope screaming my name as the train sped away that we were left where we are today. There were sixteen casualties and twenty seven severe injuries, two of them our unconscious parents, who were immediately taken to The Esparanze's Miracle Hospital. I took the next train to pick up Hope, who waited in the train station with the police. The hospital keeps threatening to take them off of life support if I keep acting disagreeable. I find myself constantly telling them that I hate them for saying that they might not live because of the large cavities left in their bones from the bullets.

The bigotry I have capped inside for those nurses and doctors and so-labeled specialists cannot be described by let alone the letters of the alphabet. I can't stand them, I can't live with them, but I must hold on to whatever's left of my dignity so I don't make a fool of myself one day and lose my respect from my sister.

After that day I tried to support them by going to work so I can pay off the hospital bills. I can't bring myself, or even think of bringing myself to signing release papers. If anything was to ever happen to my parents that could worsen their condition, Lord knows what ever would I do.

In the midst of the situation, I keep Hope entertained by allowing her to continue to play soccer and dance ballet at Trixie's Sport & Dance Club, or TSDC. The founder is this plump, middle aged woman who insists everyone refer to her as Trixie, but I'm pretty convinced it's a childhood nickname, since practically nobody named their kids Trixie in the seventies. Lily's been at TSDC since she was only three and has played for the same team since she was six, the Gators. I'm glad she likes TSDC, otherwise I'd be paying eighty dollars every week for nothing, and Hope would be twice as depressed as she is now.

"Daddy," Hope says again. Her mouth is now shaped as if there's an unseen force tacking the tips to her flesh into a smile, like she doesn't want to smile but she has to. "Please tell me if I did the right thing. Wiggle your fingers or caress mine if you hear me, Daddy." She slips her small hand into Dad's. Her smile is increasing, raising up to her eyes, slowly declining but if this were to happen she would pick it back up.

Again, our father, buried under white sheets, does not respond to Hope's tiny fingertips.

Hope's smile has been whited out for good. Now instead of pseudo-smiles her eyes are filling and before I can reach over the hospital bed to embrace her she's shrieking so furiously that I believe anyone in the East Chiropractic Wing, on the other side of Esparanze's could hear.

"Hope, it's okay, don't cry, Dad can hear you. He can't respond right now," I lightly whisper, in an attempt to calm down my sister before our visiting hours are shortened.

"No, it's not okay, Justin! Daddy can't hear me. He doesn't want to talk to me." Her wet eyes twinkle with the light.

"Hope, he can hear you, but he's very tired. He-"

"Excuse me? Is everything okay?"

Hope keeps her head buried in my arms, but I turn to face a girl I've never seen on the Chiropractic Wing before, or even in the waiting room. Behind her is a younger girl looking to be Hope's age, but with blond hair rather than Hope's caramel colored hair.

"Yeah, we're okay," I say.

"Are you sure?" She insists and walks over to our hospital bed when she sees a broken down Hope. "What's wrong?"

"My Daddy won't answer me, I don't think he wants to talk to me. I asked him about something I did last week at soccer, if he thought it was the right thing to do," Hope loosens her grip on my arms and sniffles.

"Alright, well, do you want me to ask him for you?" The girl says.

I open my mouth to decline, as Hope has always known never to talk to strangers, but after all, the little girl still standing in the doorway has a purple TSDC sweatshirt on, so maybe she's not a stranger after all. I allow Hope to nod without protesting and the girl grips Dad's hand.

"Do not be troubled, sir, I'm simply doing this for the sake of your young daughter," she says.

Hope chuckles quietly and wipes the tears from her eyes.

"Do you think what..." she looks at Hope for her name and gets a response. "Do you think what Hope did last week at soccer was good? Move your fingers if you think it was good."

After a brief silence and what seems like no movement whatsoever from Dad, the girl lets go of Dad's hand and smiles at Hope with a nod.

"He did?" Hope exclaims. "Justin, Daddy thinks I did the right thing!" She looks at me with a big smile, this time not metaphorically tacked to her cheeks, but a genuine smile crafted out of genuine happiness.

"I told you, Hope," I grin. I nod a "thank you" to the girl as she exits the room with the younger girl. Hope forgets to say thanks, but the nod is from the both of us.

As she exits the room, I want to run out of the room and introduce myself, ask her name and thank her with everything I have in me.

But I'm too busy allowing the previous unseen force to tack the tips of my mouth into a smile.