Picture Us

Chapter 14: Keefe

Keefe watched as Tam was wheeled out of the room. The silence was charged somehow; with grief, with hope, Keefe had no clue. But it settled over him in the form of an ominous feeling that something was going to go wrong.

He tapped his foot against the floor, watching the scratches and wear that it had faced. Probably the inevitable result of patients being wheeled in and out of the building. It wasn't fair. Tam had done nothing wrong in the time Keefe had known him, and somehow, he was in a hospital bed after an accident. And somehow, assholes managed to claw their way through life like cockroaches. Keefe tried not to think about what that said about him.

A shooting pain in his chest. Keefe sucked in a sharp breath, his hand on the left side of his chest to soothe it. Keefe sighed. Despite the nurses' words of comfort, the sinking feeling that Tam was not going to be okay washed over him. Damn it, the last time Keefe saw time could be before he got into the car. A simple wave and cheery smile as a goodbye. How ironic.

"Excuse me," a nurse said, walking up to Keefe. "You'll have to wait in the waiting area while Tam Song undergoes surgery." Her tone was not unkind, but impatience laced it like poison.

Keefe apologised for the inconvenience briefly and went to sit in the crowded waiting area. His ears throbbed from the people in their, sucked in their own conversations. Children on parents' laps being told that everything would be okay, impatient partners on phone calls, their faces pulled into a frown... it all seemed so trivial now.

He got up from the plastic chair he was sitting on and became pacing the room. Immediately, a snobby kid took the seat, and Keefe's burst of irritation made him sent an annoyed glare at the kid. A pang of guilt hit him though. It wasn't the kid's fault that Tam was dying. It was no one's. And that meant it could've been anything that could've saved him.

He took a seat on the floor this time, head in his hands. Surgery was going to be a couple of hours, at the very least. Keefe didn't want to spend all of it worn out. So, he felt himself leaning on the wall. Once his head found its comfiest spot, he was out.

***

"Excuse me," the nurse from earlier said to Keefe, who had just woken up. How long had it been? He looked around to find a different set of whiny people on the chairs. "Tam Song has returned from surgery. He's asleep now, but you may see him."

Keefe thanked the nurse and rushed down the hallways, skidding into the room like an ice skater with places to be. Lo and behold, Tam song lay on the bed, breathing quietly. Keefe tentatively stepped near it, as if he was scared to break the imaginary bubble that was keeping Tam safe.

"Tam!" Keefe whispered. "You're alive! Which is good. Being alive is good. You're asleep though, which means you can't hear me. Which means I'm just talking to myself."

Keefe stared at Tam. On the left of his abdomen, a large, brand-new scar faced it. It looked pretty gnarly, was Keefe's first thought. He shivered. He was glad Tam wasn't awake yet to look at it.

"Tam," Keefe said softly. And he left the feelings hang in the air between them. Tam would have all the time in the world to soak it up, once he woke up. Keefe pulled one of the chairs in the corner of the room right next to the bed, and plopped down into it, not letting go of Tam's hand.

Half an hour passed like days, but when it came to an end, so did Tam's slumber. His eyes fluttered open, and Keefe gasped when he noticed it.

"Tam!" Keefe gasped. "Holy shit, you're awake."

"I guess so," he said, rubbing his forehead. He groaned. "Everything hurts."

"The price of getting into an accident and then going under surgery." Keefe chuckled, and then realised it was no time for jokes. He opened his mouth to speak, but the opening of doors and marching footsteps made him clamp it shut. He turned his head, and behind him was a man and a woman, each carrying an air of authority over them.

"Who are you?" Keefe asked, the question tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"Quan and Mai Song," the man – Quan – answered. Quan Song. Mai Song. Songs? Tam's parents?

"What're you doing here," Tam said, noticeably avoiding eye contact.

"Can't we visit and son and daughter?" Quan said defensively.

"Not when you shunned them as soon as they turned eighteen," Tam said. The room went silent. Keefe didn't dare to butt in. Not yet.

"What happened back then was a mistake," Mai tried. "If only we'd all made different choices."

"Choices?" Tam said, and his heartrate increased. He took a deep breath. "The only choices made were the ones made by you."

"You know that's not true," Quan spit. "You chose to date that egregious Dominic-"

"Dom was horrible," Tam said through gritted teeth. "I know that more than anyone. But you're upset because Dom was a guy, not because he was an asshole. That was just an excuse you keep using. I'm so fucking over it."

"Tam, you did have some choice," Mai whispered. "Being gay is something very difficult. If you'd just come back to us..."

"It's either my queerness or the parents who kicked me out the moment I turned eighteen," Tam scoffed. "Hard choice. Then again, you weren't so great when I did live with you, so maybe you did me a favour."

Mai turned away, and Keefe saw her dab her eyes with her sleeves. Quan stalked closer to Tam.

"Do not speak to us that way." Quan said in a low voice. "You are so stupid sometimes; it's a miracle that-"

"Your son got out of surgery after an accident, and all you can do is focus on his ex-boyfriend?" Keefe said, stepping in front of Quan. "You guys really are assholes."

"Who the hell are you?" Quan said, turning his attention to Keefe.

"I'm Keefe," he said. "I can see why Tam never mentioned you. If you'd spent even half the time you spend on scolding Tam, on learning about who he is, you might be more than a bad memory."

Quan stormed to the door. But before he left, he turned to Tam. "It should've been you in that driver's seat, instead." He spoke with such venom; Keefe felt the words in his own heart. He slammed the door shut, leaving with no trace except his words.