Picture Us

Chapter 16: Tam

She's in a coma.

Tam reached in his mind for any other possible interpretation of the words. Any trace of humour, of lies, of mistakes, to no avail. They were true as they could get. It couldn't be true, it just couldn't. But Keefe would never lie, not about this. The sad, bitter truth was that his sister was in a coma. And there was nothing he could do. Funny thing, Tam thought to himself. How people considered it comfort. But there was no comfort in being helpless. Tam had felt that way too many times.

They don't know if she'll wake up.

The world around Tam dulled. Faintly, he heard the machine he was hooked up to beep faster. His heartrate was increasing. But the information fell on inattentive ears. Even the previously resounding noise from nurses striding down the halls, and deafening shouts from moody patients next door didn't bother him. The world faded away into a muffled shell of itself, and Tam was stuck somewhere in between what used to be and what was, waiting for something to change.

"Tam?" Keefe's voice came back into his hearing. It was soft and low and was edged with an empathetic sort of fear. Tam tried to push words out of his mouth, but his throat was too dry, and he had nothing to say. So, he locked eyes with Keefe, hoping the blond would understand what he was trying to communicate. "I'm so sorry. You know what? You don't need pity right now. Is there anything I can do?"

Tam tried to reach in his brain for an answer. Keefe didn't deserve to be left in silence. He didn't really need any physical thing right now, but if it could make Keefe feel more useful...

"Some water?" Tam rasped. "Please?"

Keefe nodded with vigour. Determinedly, he sprinted out of the room, running aimlessly to find a cup of water. Tam sighed, and flopped on his back, trying to make sense of the situation. In times of distress, Tam had always noted that his brain managed to see spoken words as a puzzle that's hard to put together. They floated around in his brain, bumping into each other and almost sliding into place, but grief pulled them apart like two norths of a magnet.

Keefe rushed back in a moment later, holding a cup of sloshing water. He set it in front of Tam and waited. With shaking hands, Tam took the cup of water and downed it. He felt the cool liquid flood through his throat, as if new voice had been given to him. It gave him the courage to tell Keefe, "I need to see her."

Keefe nodded. "I'm going to go find a nurse and see if they can help us."

Keefe rushed back in with a tired nurse holding an empty wheelchair. Tam dangled his legs over the hospital bed, and with a fair degree of difficulty and a little help, he was ready to move.

Linh's room had a deathly kind of quiet. The kind that demanded you to observe its stillness and sit in its discomfort. Even the dust particles dared not flutter, and the sunlight from the window cast a soft, angelic glow on the floor. Linh lay nearly motionless pushed against the wall, and Tam had first noticed how even the beeping was slower than his was. All she could do was breathe, and even that was some sort of miracle.

"Linh," Tam said, placing his arm on hers.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Come back, please," Tam felt tears on his cheeks. They were quiet and only made his voice shake slightly, but there was sadness in them yet. "I can't live without you. You can't let me live without you."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"You know, mom and dad stopped by today," Tam rambled, desperately talking to fill the silence. "They were assholes, like they usually are. I'm glad you didn't have to hear that."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"But at the same time," Tam teared up. "I wish you were there. Not because I wanted you to have to see them, but because I really wish I had my sister next to me. It's selfish, I know, but I need you, Linh. I need you."

Tam wasn't a believer of any kind of faith. But he briefly looked to the sky and hoped that whatever gods existed would magically wake her up, and she'd be fine, and they'd all go back to living happily ever-

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Tam threw his head back. It wasn't happening. She wasn't waking up. At least, not right now. Tam looked down at his hands; they were shaking. He was out of hope. He was sick of hoping and waiting for something good to happen. It was a mistake to rely on chance. So, he buried his head into his hands and took tearful breaths.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to find Keefe, staring at him with piercing eyes. He didn't say a word; he didn't have to. Just like Tam, Keefe found value in the silence. And that's what he needed right now: silence.

Fifteen minutes passed in Linh's room, staring at Linh without hope. It was the most painful fifteen minutes of his life; more painful than the crash itself. And fifteen minutes was too much. So, Keefe brought him back to his room, where he brought the covers all the way up to his neck.

Keefe squeezed Tam's hand. He was good at that, saying things without actually saying them. He was so expressive, so easy to read. But Tam realised that same quality could be used against him, too.

Even though Keefe didn't say it, there was hope in his eyes. Tam didn't dare extinguish it; if Keefe has a chance at happiness, he should take it, Tam thought. Maybe at some point I could be that happy too.