Opposite of Always(49)

“Where are you taking her?” I hurry after them as they load Kate into the back.

“You family, kid?” the woman paramedic asks me.

“Yes,” I say.

She knows I’m lying. “Hop in,” she says.

“Just stay out of the way, man,” the guy orders.

“Jack!” Jillian and Franny are on the curb. “We’ll follow you.”

I nod. The ambulance doors close. The siren squawks. I keep out of the way, only moving to take Kate’s hand. She squeezes my fingers weakly, but I’ll take it. I’ll take it.

“She’s going to be okay, right?” I ask the paramedic.

And I can tell she wants to say yes but she won’t lie to me.

The hospital is a blur of moving bodies and glinting instruments.

Orders bellowed, machines stirring to life.

Get another IV in here stat!

Venturi mask now!

Yo, where’s that IV? I needed that IV yesterday.

Her veins are crap on this arm. Lemme look over there. Move, move!

Why is this kid in my exam room?

Think he came in with her.

Well, he can’t be in here. Yo, kid, you gotta get out. We got your friend covered. We’ll come find you when she’s cool.

Those fluids need to be up, Juan.

Saline?

Naw, give me some KCl.

We want blood gases?

Yeah, we need ABGs. CBC. BMP. The whole shebang, Tracy.

Kate. Kate. Listen to me. Look at me. I need you to breathe, nice and easy, honey. Just relax, okay.

Got it!

’Bout time.

Yo, why is this kid still standing here? This ain’t a damn made-for-TV movie. Somebody get this kid to the waiting room already. How many times I gotta ask?

“Come on, kid, you gotta come with me. This way. Come on. It’s okay. You sit here, okay? We just got cable, so there’s probably something to watch if you try hard enough. You want something to drink, there’s water there. Crappy coffee too, if you’re desperate. That’s a joke. Okay, no it isn’t . . . listen, she’s going to be fine. I’ll come back out here when she’s stable and I’ll let you see her and you’ll see how fine she is. Okay? . . . Okay?”

We love to say everything’s going to be okay, but honestly there’s no way to know. And okay can mean so many different things.

Such as:

This cereal is okay.

That movie, eh, it was okay.

I’m waiting for Dad to give me the okay about the road trip.

But applied to people it generally sounds terrible—

So, what do you think about the new kid?

Eh. He seems okay.

Yo, I heard about your mom. How’s she holding up?

She’s okay.

Hey, I heard you lost a kidney. How are you doing, man?

I’m okay.

Okay isn’t as comforting as I think people intend it to be.

The nurse or doctor or ER tech or guardian angel, or whoever she is, sprints back down the hall, pushing through the doors marked Authorized Personnel Only. The doors rock back and forth, and I consider running after her, wedging my sneaker between the doors, rushing back to Kate. But the doors stop swinging, and there’s a loud clink, a latching sound that seems better suited for a correctional facility, as they lock me and the other unauthorized away from the people we love.

From the people we need.

So that they can try to save them.

So that we’re not there when they can’t.

The same woman comes back forty-three minutes later. I’ve watched each minute tick. I can’t tell you when Franny and Jillian arrived. Only that they’re on either side of me.

The woman’s smiling, which I interpret as GOOD.

“She’s okay,” she assures me. Okay, that word again. “Give it thirty minutes and you can see her.”

“What happened?”

The woman wrings her hands. “I can’t really discuss her health with anyone she hasn’t authorized. I’m sorry.”

I nod. “As long as she’s all right.”

“She is. Thirty minutes.” She disappears behind the swinging doors.

“See,” Franny says, sighing hard. “Everything’s fine.”

“Did you call her parents, Jack?” Jillian asks me, in a way that makes me think she’s already asked me this, that maybe I’d been too lost in my trance to hear her earlier.

“They’re on their way,” I say.

“I wonder what happened,” Jillian says.

“Me too,” I say. “Me too.”

“I’m just glad we were there,” Franny says.

“Me too,” I say. “Me too.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Jillian asks. “It’s like you’re somewhere else.”

She’s right.

I’m back on our first prom night, standing in the rain on Kate’s parents’ front porch, waiting for her to answer the door, for her to explain why suddenly she didn’t want me anymore.

Except now I know that night was never about me.

Kate couldn’t be at prom with me.

She was too busy fighting for her life.

When I go into her room, Kate smiles. But I don’t believe her.

I know it’s meant to assure me.