Date: Mon, 21 May 2007 05:08:50 -0700 (PDT)
From: Matt Wess <cow91387@yahoo.com>
Subject: Michael: Part Twelve

Michael: Part Twelve

      Michael looked down at Dylan, then glanced over at Macy's tight
face.  In a second he realized they had to suck it up - Dylan was hurt
bad.  They needed outside help.  Everything in him wanted to grab Dylan
and get out of there, away from strangers and doctors and hospitals.  But
if he did that, Dylan would die.
      The obnoxious wail of an ambulance siren was drawing closer.
"Adam?" Macy said, speaking fast.  "Grab more paper towels.  We'll go to
the hospital.  Quick, keep these paper towels against his wound."
      Dylan's blood soaked the paper towels repeatedly and was seeping
between Macy's fingers.  Her mouth opened - but nothing came out.
      Michael wanted to start vomiting again, wanted to run somewhere,
get away, but it was already too late: Two paramedics were running the
length of the parking lot towards their bench.  The flashing lights of
the ambulance made intermittent rosy stripes across all their faces.
      "What's happened here?" One of the paramedics dropped down next to
Dylan, already taking out his stethoscope.
      "Accident," Michael said, looking round at Macy and Adam, who
seemed to be holding their breaths.
      Reluctantly Macy moved her hands from the soaked pad.  Dylan's face
was white and still.  Bystanders started to form and Michael wished that
they would mind their own business.  The three of them were being sought
after by the authorities and being made public would reveal them.  Then a
thought occurred to him, maybe the New Jersey residents didn't know about
their escapades, yet.
      "Accident?" the paramedic repeated, staring at the injury.  "With
what, a tractor trailer?"
      Nobody answered him.  The other paramedic shone a small flashlight
into Dylan's eyes, and Michael realized Dylan was truly unconscious.  His
sense of fear and danger escalated: not only would they be made public,
but all of his fantasies about Dylan were wiped away.
      Because Dylan may die anyway.
      The antiseptic smell inside the ambulance made Michael's stomach
knot with nightmares.  In the back of the ambulance, Macy, Michael, and
Adam sat by Dylan's side.  Adam was focusing on the saline drip taped to
Dylan's hand.  It was a scary experience - every moment of this trip has
been horrifying, Michael thought glumly, staring mindlessly at Dylan's
pale face.
      Fifteen minutes later, orderliness ran out with a gurney, the EMT
guys started rattling off Dylan's stats to a nurse.  And then Dylan was
wheeled out of sight, down a hall and through some doors.
      The three of them started to follow, but a nurse stopped them.
      "Let the doctor see him first," she said, flipping a page on her
clipboard.  "While waiting, you can give me some information.  Now,
what's his name?"
      "His name is...Paul," Adam lied nervously.  "Paul, um, Canker.
He's my brother."
      The nurse looked at Adam, his bleached hair and fair skin, and
mentally compared him to Dylan - who had tan skin, dark eyes, and a
chestnut brown hair.  Michael could tell she wasn't buying it.
      "We're all siblings, actually," Macy spoke up, "our parents adopted
us.  Well, Dylan is the only one not adopted.  That's why it's prudent
that we see him."  The nurse nodded her head warily as if to say,
"Right..."  But before she had a chance to say anything a doctor in green
scrubs came hurrying out.
      "Did you all come with your friend?" he wanted to know.
      "Brother," Michael corrected him.
      The doctor also looked skeptical, but seemed to be too much in a
rush to question.  "Could one of you come with me, right now?"
      Nobody moved at first.  After a few seconds Michael took a step
forward and followed the doctor down the hall, wondering what on earth
was happening.
      Walking quickly, the doctor lead Michael into a small, tiled, eerie
room.  Dylan was on a gurney.
      He had a tube going down his throat and more tubes attached to his
arms.  Michael felt his heart sink and stomach twist violently.  Jesus,
he thought over and over again.  Wishing he could rewind time.
      Another doctor and a nurse were standing by Dylan.  They had cut
his shirt off.  To do compressions?  Was it really that bad?  Michael
spoke what was on his mind.  He openly asked the doctors how Dylan was;
surprised that he could find his tongue to get the words out.
      "We don't know if he will be okay," said one of the doctors,
looking extremely concerned.  "He took quite a blow to the head.  There's
some clotting."
      The other doctor gestured to Dylan.  "How did this happen?"
      Michael set his jaw, watching the EKG, making up a story.  He never
even imagined that somebody would ask the story.  He couldn't tell the
truth.  "H-he fell," he lied quickly.  "Really far because he was goofing
off and at the bottom of the hill really smashed his head against a rock
or something."
      The doctors gave a dubious look, the same kind the nurse provided
earlier, but didn't further question him.  "Okay, well, prepare to give
him blood donations," the one doctor instructed.  "Tell your friends,
too."

Forty minutes later, the three of them were making their way down the
hall to the waiting room, which was crowded.  They had contributed their
share of blood and Michael was feeling incredibly woozy and dizzy, which
reminded him of his nights drinking.  The regular nights.  What he would
do to have those nights back...
      Now Dylan was in surgery.
      "Here, eat this," the nurse that had greeted them was speaking to
them.  She handed them a small plastic bottle of apple juice and a
muffin.  "It will help with the dizziness.  Have a seat, too.  Your
friend will be awhile."
      The three of them impatiently sat down.  Adam was clenching and
unclenching his fist, barely eating his muffin.  If he felt the way
Michael did, he couldn't blame him.  His throat seemed to be closed up.
He tried desperately to talk about something, but realized there was
nothing to discuss.
      So far two people have died on the trip.  The officer and Mrs.
Kloves.  Michael repeatedly thought through that.  Two people.  He wasn't
sure if he could continue the trip if Dylan didn't make it out of
surgery.  His parents must be worried sick, Michael thought, but they
would probably have a coronary if they found out that their son was
currently in a hospital somewhere in New Jersey with death knocking on
the doorway.
      "Everything seems surreal," Macy said softly.  "You see this kind
of stuff happen in movies and soap operas and you think, 'Well, this is
only fiction that would never happen in real life.'  Then it does happen
and you're not sure what to do."  She stared blankly ahead, watching a
mother support her child through the double doors.  "I-I never really
knew Dylan before this trip.  I would seem him around at school.  He was
very popular.  A lot of people must be missing him right now, but for
some reason he decided to stay with us.  And he might be the first to
go."  Her voice trailed off.
      Michael couldn't fathom encountering another death.  Not again.
Two deaths are enough, he thought once more.  This trip wasn't meant to
be action-packed.  Just a journey across a couple states to find his
mother and escape from the oppression back home in Queens.  Nothing more,
nothing less.
      He delicately leaned his head back against the wall, closing his
eyes, imagining Dylan before this all began.  Macy was right, he was very
popular.  He had all of this cheerleaders hanging on him around the
clock.  Dylan had been a heavy drinker, Michael knew that from
experience.  He remembered the parties and partially recalled being in
bed with Dylan, then waking up at Adam's house.
      Then his mind drifted into his fantasy world.  The snowy forest.
Dylan by his side in his snowy white boxer briefs.  There was enough sun
that filtered dimly through the tall pine trees to warm their bare
backs.  Michael could scarcely taste Dylan's perfect lips.  Feel his abs,
the waistband of his underwear.  Then the snow would begin the fall and
would land upon their skin.  It was tranquil, beautiful, a perfect state
of mind, that was suddenly interrupted by a hard jab in his side.
      Michael quickly lifted his head, realizing that he must have
drifted off to sleep.  The moment he opened his eyes he felt the fantasy
world slip away from his fingers and the cold, abrasive reality snapped
back into focus.  He looked around and saw that Adam had been the one to
nudge him in the ribs.
      "Your head kept on dropping onto my shoulder," Adam informed
Michael.  "Anyway, I'm not sure how you can sleep with the thought that
Dylan may never make it back out.  I mean, sure I always thought he was a
punk, but he's become something of a friend on this trip."
      Both Macy and Adam had shared their feelings about Dylan, but
Michael kept his feelings to himself.  His feelings for Dylan were
bursting with passion.  To lose him would mean to lose a lot.
      Suddenly a doctor and a nurse walked by briskly.  For one reason or
another, perhaps out of sheer boredom, Michael tuned into what they were
saying and caught the end of it.  "...the situation with that Paul Canker
is getting incredibly dicey, doctor.  He just started severe
hemorrhaging..."  The pair hurriedly pushed through the steel double
doors.
      Macy, Adam, and Michael looked at each other.  Macy's face was
ghostly white and the tall pine trees in Michael's fantasy began to
burn.