Callie's Sister

Chapter 7

All the Facebook posts did nothing to help Callie’s recovery. After two months and sixteen days there was not one sign of the old Callie so they moved her from the hospital to a rehab facility. My mother insisted on taking every card, stuffed animal, remnant of Mylar balloon and displaying it in her rehab prison, I mean rehab room. And because Callie was so well-liked by what had to be every single person in our school, there wasn’t an inch of white space on the walls. The only white space appeared to be in Callie’s brain. She was in a Persistent Vegetative State, affectionately known as PVS, which meant that she had no cognition but could perform some involuntary functions. She had periods of sleeping and periods of being awake and sometimes made noises, but it all meant nothing. They told me that people rarely recover from this. My mother seemed to think Callie would be the very rare exception and was doing everything she could to make this happen. My dad was going along with my mom. He was a medical researcher for diabetes so he knew about insulin, but not about brain function.

If Callie lasted like this for a year, they would upgrade her to Permanent Vegetative State. My question was not would Callie last a year like this, but would I?

The police grilled Sarah after the accident. Cam said she was pretty hysterical the whole time and, after, I tried to reach out to her so she could maybe tell me what happened, but she pulled away and didn’t seem to want to talk to anyone.

As for me, I had planned to get a job that summer at an ice cream place or a bookstore I really liked in town, but I wasn’t inspired to do too much. So I ran. And did sit ups, push ups, pull ups, anything I could think of to not have to think.

Ever since the day of the accident, Cam and I had shared this unspoken bond. Some days we would pick a town and bike over to the local coffee shop, order their version of a skinny latte for me and some frozen whipped cream thing for Cam and bike back. We didn’t talk much, just rode our bikes and sipped our coffees. It helped me get through the awful, lonely days.

Evenings were often spent in the hospital, reading to Callie.

“It might be just the thing she needs,” my mother said, continuing her quest to restore my sister. Sometimes when my parents went to get some dinner I pulled out some true beach smut. Callie didn’t seem to notice, but I was amused. I knew my mother hated those books.

Once in a while I went out with my friends Jess and Lara and pretended they were a wonderfully supportive distraction, which is what they were hoping to be. I wanted to confide in them, but it felt weird. I brought Callie up once and they changed the subject pretty quickly, so I didn’t do it again. They wanted me to be fun and happy and I could fake it for a few hours, but it was exhausting. With Cam I didn’t have to fake it. I could just be.

Diana drove me to the rehab place after Mom “settled Callie in.”

“She would have left for Columbia this week,” Diana said. As if I had to be reminded. I watched Sarah and Cam loading all of Sarah’s stuff into Cam’s car that week for her trip to State, every box containing books, clothing and toiletries that Callie would never need.

 “How are you, Maddie?” Diana asked, turning away from the road to give me a direct, piercing look.

“I’m good,” I said. “Fine.” That’s what everyone wanted to hear. She didn’t need to know I was lonely, sad, scared, bored, worried…

“You need to come for dinner more,” she said. “Looks like you’re losing a little weight.” She smiled.

“A little, I guess.”

“You’ll have to give me your secret,” she said. “I keep trying to lose, but nothing seems to work—no matter how many ‘sure-fire’ diets your mother finds for me to try.” Diana wasn’t fat, but sort of roundish, with long wavy hair and a smile that made her an instant hit with anyone who was looking to buy or sell a house.