Aftermath

Part XIV: Adam

This can’t be happening.  This is NOT happening.  I gripped my hair hard, pulling out some of the strands.  I stood up from the bed, wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, leaving a few black streaks behind.  I kissed Christie’s forehead and walked out of the room.  I sprinted down the hall and took the back stairs down three flights and roamed the halls until I reached the hospital chapel.  Luckily it was empty, so I went inside and closed the doors.  Blinded by tears, I stumbled over to one of the pews and collapsed onto it.  My head just bobbed forward into my hands and I let out a long, loud, agonized wail.

Gasping for breath, I jerked my face heavenward and said, “God, if you’re listening…please, let me know.  Give me a sign.  Something…anything.  How could you let this happen?!  Why?!  She cut herself, that much she did, but can’t you heal her?  People say that you make miracles happen, or whatever.  Can’t you make one for her?  Don’t take her away from me.  Please!  I’ll do anything!”

I hardly believed in God, although I did have my own form of faith.  But at this point, I was so desperate that I was willing believe in Santa Claus if it meant that Christie would live.

I was hoping for some kind of sign—a sudden thunderstorm, a ray of light breaking through the clouds, a dove on the windowsill—but all I got was silence.  I waited several minutes, even, but still nothing.  Now, I had always been a fairly optimistic person.  Some people say, “Everything is okay in the end; if it’s not okay, then it isn’t the end.”  Yeah, I used to believe that too.  Until now.

Later, I went upstairs to one of the family waiting rooms and closed and locked the door.  I sat down on one of the couches and stayed there for I don’t know how long.  Apparently I’d fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, I was laying face-down with one arm dropped over the edge of the couch.  The million tears I’d cried were dried to my face and my cheeks felt a little stiff.  I blinked a few times and sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes.  I pulled my cell phone out of my back pocket and looked at the tiny clock on the front.  One-thirty.  I’d been in here, with the door locked, for almost two hours.  I decided that it was time to man up and go back into Christie’s room.  With a big yawn, I stood up and stretched my arms over my head until I heard my shoulder blades crack.  I swallowed the rest of my tears, unlocked the door, and headed back upstairs and down the hall to the second room on the right.

I hadn’t even entered the room before I noticed a shock of white-blonde hair perched at Christie’s bedside.  Oh, my god.  Tommy.  What the hell is he doing here? I wondered.

I wasn’t even two steps past the threshold before he looked at me and demanded, “Where have you been?”

My eyes bugged out of my head.  “Oh, I think a more fitting question would be, ‘What are you doing here?’”  I jammed my hands on my hips and leaned back against the wall.

“Christie called me,” he said simply, even though the flash of anger in his eyes was still quite evident.

I gaped at her.  “You what?!”

“What, did you think I was never going to let him come back here just because you two are fighting with each other, that you’re on the verge of a breakup?”

“Yes!” Tommy and I exclaimed in unison.  We glanced at each other, a bit amused that we’d just had the same thought at the same time.

“Well, I won’t have that,” Christie declared.  “Not for a second.  You two need to make up right this instant, because your fighting isn’t exactly making this situation any easier.”  She glared at Tommy and me.  “You can do it here, or you can do it in Florida—I don’t care—but it needs to happen now.”  With that, she turned away and shoved her iPod earphones into her ears.