The Sound of Ice

26

The last time I was at the St. Anne hospital, it was when Veronica broke her arm nine years ago. It looks exactly the same now as it did then, with bright lights and fake plants and blue and white checkered tiles. Nurses in teal scrubs run down the hallways, pushing carts with squeaky wheels. 

My chest is so tight that it hurts to breathe. My hands are in my coat pockets. Veronica said the room is 414, 414, 414, and I whisper the number as my eyes scan the doorways. A nurse walking quickly down the hallway brushes against my shoulder, but I barely notice. 411. 412. 413. 414. The door is blue and cracked open, and I step inside.

"Cameron?"

"Sam." I bite my lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood springs in my mouth. I feel like I'm choking, and my breathing is uneven and gaspy.

Sam sits up in the hospital bed, wincing. "I'm okay. Don't cry, Cameron."

"I'm not." But I blink and my eyes are wet. 

Sam looks at me sadly. But it's not Sam. This new Sam has a deep bruise around his eye, blossoming purple and green and grey, and a cheek so swollen you can barely see the blue of his eyes. 

"Don't cry," he says again, but it's a whisper, and I can hardly hear him over the pounding of my heart.

There's a plastic chair that I pull up beside the bed. I sit down. "Sam." I hate the way my voice cracks. "What happened?"

"A cracked rib. And a minor concussion. I'm okay."

That's not the question that I asked. "I'm so sorry, Sam." I hate the way my lungs are burning. I hate the way my head is spinning. "I should've been here. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Sam tries to smile. "You're here now."

"I'm sorry, Sam." I hate the way my hands are shaking. I hate the noise that's spilling in from the hallway, the beeping of machines and the voices of doctors, and the wind that's howling against the window in the cold night. 

"Cameron," he says softly. "Cameron?"

I squeeze my eyes shut. "Who did this?" When I open them, he's staring at me sadly. "Tell me."

"I don't remember. And you don't like to fight."

"Yes I do. Tell me who did this."

Sam's mouth twitches and a tear falls down his bruised face. "I don't remember," he whispers. "I didn't see their faces."

I feel like I'm going to throw up. My throat feels raw. "I'm so sorry, Sam. I'm so, so sorry."

"Cameron."

"Sam." I squeeze my eyes shut again as the room starts to blur. "I should've been here."

"Cameron, it's okay. Please don't cry, Cameron. You're here now, okay?"

I blink up at the ceiling. A lamp in the corner washes a yellow light over the small room, and a fake potted plant stands in the opposite corner. Fuck that plant. Fuck this. My fingers twitch.

"When did this happen?"

"Last night," Sam says. 

"After the championship game?"

"Yeah."

I bite my lip again. I want to run my fingers over the bruise and make it better. 

"Has my family been here yet?"

"Yeah." Sam tries to smile. "Hailey and Veronica baked me cookies."

I press my hands against my forehead and glance out the window. Icy rain is spilling from the cloudy night sky. "Sam."

"Cameron."

"I'm sorry."

"I know," says Sam. "But you don't have to be sorry."

"Just say you forgive me."

"I forgive you."

The room blurs again and I blink it away. Sam watches me, his soft lips twisted sadly. From a room down the hallway, I hear someone crying.

I clear my throat. "What am I supposed to do now?" 

"Just stay with me."

"Okay." My fingers tingle again, though. I don't want to stay. I want to fight. I want to crack somebody's rib and give them a concussion like they did to Sam. I sit on my hands. I don't like to fight. I do like to fight. 

I stay with Sam. He makes me tell him about Finland, about winning gold. He says everyone in St. Anne has been talking about me, that everyone here is so proud of me. I don't feel it, though. My chest is so hollow.

After awhile, Sam dozes off. He twitches fitfully. I leave to get some air. I stuff my hands in my pockets.

There's a nurse walking down the hallway that I nearly run into. "Oh, sorry!" she says.

"S'okay."

She glances behind me. "Did you just come from room 414? Sam Hughes?"

My eyes find hers. She has wavy brown hair with streaks of grey, and kind eyes lined with shallow wrinkles. A stethoscope is looped around her neck, and she's holding an unorganized clipboard. 

"Yeah."

"He is such a sweet boy," she says. "So polite. Such a shame, what happened to him."

"What happened?"

She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. "A group of boys jumped him. Someone walking nearby found him."

"Found him?"

She squints kindly at me. "Are you alright, honey?"

"Oh," I say. I make it to the bathroom before I throw up. 

~

I open Sam's gift. It's War and Peace.

~

Because of his concussion, Sam gets to miss a few days of school. I cut class when I can, or always leave right after the last bell, and sit with him. He doesn't talk as much. I tell him about what's happening in all my classes. I read War and Peace out loud. I don't understand it. But the words sound elegant and nice and clean.

When he's cleared from the hospital, we take walks around the block. He doesn't say it, but I know it still hurts. He winces as we walk, sometimes. I wish I would hold his hand.

He comes over for dinner a lot. "The swelling looks better," Mom says one night.

He blushes. He doesn't like to talk about it. "Yeah."

I remember my nightmares now. Sam is unconscious on the icy ground and someone is kicking him. And I can't help him. 

We watch old movies. Sam starts to feel better. 

I feel so broken.

It snows and snows and snows.

A/N you guys this hurt to write oh my god