THE DAWN PATROL
A reading...
CHAPTER III
1998
Russell walks into the Waiting Room with two large cups of coffee and a handful of sugar packets shortly after Ronnie and I arrive. I pick Mrs. Duncan up off the floor and hold on to her, wondering how long it’ll take for Ronnie to notice she’s missing. Ronnie settles onto the couch beside Mom and looks up at her with a smile as Russell comes in. He musses up her hair, calls her Sport, and gives Mom her coffee and a handful of sugar; he keeps two packets for himself. Mom puts her coffee down and starts to open the packets of sugar — one after the other — pouring them into her cup without a second thought as she talks.
She tells me the doctors are getting ready to do tests on Dad, and suggested it might be easier on her if she waited outside.
“So I came in here to watch TV, instead. Not that there’s anything on,” she says with a smile as she starts to stir her coffee.
Ronnie looks at me, and I hold Mrs. Duncan up for her. She reaches out for the doll as if she’s greeting an old friend, babbling on about what a fright Mrs. Duncan’s given her, asking her why she ran away, as I try to listen to what Mom’s saying.
“I don’t understand why I can’t be in there with him. What if he comes to and doesn’t know where he is?”
“Ma,” Russell says with a laugh as he pulls the lid off his coffee cup. “I think if he wakes up and sees a bunch of doctors and nurses standing over him, he’s gonna have a pretty good idea of where he is. He sure ain’t gonna be thinkin’ he’s in Kansas.”
“The doctors probably don’t want to upset you because they’re going to shove needles into him,” I say. “They can be pretty invasive. You might not like what you see,” I add, trying to show her a little more compassion than Russell does.
“What am I gonna see that I haven’t seen before? Are they afraid I might see them take his pants off? Believe me, there’s nothing to see there.”
“Ma!” Russell says. He’s trying not to laugh as he takes a sip of his coffee. “Jesus. Can you believe her?” he asks me; I smile and shake my head. We really shouldn’t be surprised by anything she says, I tell myself.
“What? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Mom says in all innocence.
“I guess they mean there could be complications,” I say. I’m wondering if I should tell her about a guy I know who had tests done to him. They gave him a local and shoved a camera down his throat. He began gagging and spitting up blood, trying to catch his breath and regain control as the camera slid past the gag point. And that was for T.B. they already knew the guy had. I tell myself it’s probably smarter not to tell her anything like that.
“Maybe it’s better if you’re not in the room?” I say. “Like I said, some of those tests can be quite upsetting.”
“And how would you know about that?” she asks.
“Hey,” I say in my own defence. “We had to bring Ronnie in here once when she was two. Remember? I told you about it,” I go on saying, and Mom gives Ronnie a reassuring pat on the knee. “They wanted to do a spinal and said they had to put a needle in a vein in her forehead. They said it was normal with kids that young — otherwise, they move their arms around and rip the needles out. Thing is, the nurse missed the vein, and blood went spurting out all over her face.”
“It did?” Ronnie asks, suddenly interested with the mention of her name.
“Like a water fountain,” I add for her benefit.
“How old was I?”
“Not quite two,” I say, and then look at Mom again. “The point is, they wouldn’t let us be in the room with her. She was screaming her lungs out — in a real panic — and they still wouldn’t let us in the room with her. They told us later it tends to upset the parents more when they have them in the room with the kids. The kids don’t know what’s going on. Just like I’m pretty sure Dad won’t know what they’re doing to him.”
“Bullshit!” Russell says, the word disguised with a fake cough, and Ronnie laughs.
I look at him and he gives me one of those I’m-sorry-I-forgot-the-kid-was-here kind of shrugs.
“You said over the phone that he’s in a coma,” I say, looking up at Russell. “He’s not going to feel anything if he’s in a coma. It might be better if you aren’t there,” I finish by looking directly at Mom.
“Is Grandpa gonna die?" Ronnie asks, and I feel myself sinking down into my chair. That’s all I need now, Mom in tears because Ronnie asks her what we’re all thinking.
I knew I should’ve left her behind.
But there wasn’t any time to get a baby sitter, I remind myself. With Caroline not home from work for another two hours, I didn’t really have much of a choice, did I? I left her a message on the answering machine, and hopefully she’ll see when she gets home. I told her we’re at the hospital and that I don’t know how long we’ll be. I told her to call me, which is probably more than she would’ve done if it was her parents in the hospital.
She’ll probably have to come down and pick her up, if she wants Ronnie in bed on time; otherwise, I'll probably be dropping her off late for school in the morning. Ronnie’s one of those kids who has to have at least ten hours of sleep a night, or she’s miserable in the morning.
“Is he?” Ronnie asks Mom again.
“We already talked about it on the way over, Pun’kin,” I say, my voice faltering.
“No we didn’t. You said you didn’t know.”
“Well, I didn’t. We still don’t.”
“He might, honey,” Mom says with a heavy sigh.
I look at Mom in disbelief. I never would’ve imagined her saying something like that. I think I was expecting her to be more like Gramma was, hysterical and needing to be sedated — or else pretending to be — because Mom’s always been the emotional one in the family. It’s Dad who’s always had a hard time sharing his feelings.
Ronnie’s strangely quiet for a moment, and Mom reaches out to her and pulls her closer, hugging her, kissing the top of her head, and telling her it’s alright.
“Your grandfather’s seventy-six years old, Sweetie,” she says, kissing the top of her head again. “He’ll want you to be strong for him when we see him.”
Seventy-six isn’t old, is it? I ask myself. Grandpa was only seventy-three. That doesn’t look too good for me, does it?
“Where do you go when you die? Is that where Heaven is?”
“Yes,” Mom says, staring at some invisible point on the wall ahead of her, not looking at either Russell, or me. Maybe it’s better that way, I tell myself. I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold myself together if she looks at me. And what good would that do any of us?
“Is Grandpa gonna be an angel?” Ronnie asks, looking up at Mom, and I shake my head. I want her to stop; I need her to stop. As much as I feel sorry for Mom, I don’t think there’s much I can say that will stop Ronnie’s endless questions. I look at the wall and wonder if maybe there’s something there I didn’t see earlier — something Mom’s been looking at that I don’t see. That’s when I realize Mom’s using the wall as a focal point, so she can concentrate and not break down crying.
“Is he?” Ronnie insists.
“What dear?”
“Is Grandpa gonna be an angel?”
“Ronnie that’s enough,” I say, my voice a hoarse whisper, but Mom shakes her head.
“She has to know these things,” she says to me, and it reminds me of her talking to Russell, Angie and me, trying to explain the impossible. I couldn’t help but watch Uncle Ray looking at us, trying not to listen, trying hard not to be a part of it.
Maybe she should have tried explaining Uncle Ray to us instead?
“He’s always been an angel to me, Honey,” Mom says, looking down at Ronnie and smiling. She invites Ronnie to lay her head on her lap and turns away briefly as she wipes her eyes with a tissue.
It’s then I realize she’s crying again and Ronnie doesn’t see it.
“Did you call Uncle Jack? Or try Auntie Win?” I ask Russell.
“I did,” Mom says, turning to look at me.
“You did?”
“I had to do something after I phoned 9-1-1,” she explains.
“What did they say?”
“Oh, they’ll be here,” she says with a note of finality in her voice. “Winnie’s still upset about Freddy and Jenny dying last year. Jack seemed to take it all in stride. But then, he’s always been the strong one in the family.”
“The oldest one always is,” Russell says.
“What about Auntie Marge?” I ask, ignoring Russell.
“She went to Angela’s; she won’t be back until next week,” Mom says.
“You could’ve made the effort and phoned Angie all the same,” Russell says, and I realize he’s talking to Mom.
That’s Russell: Just call me Mr. Sensitivity.
“What makes you think I didn’t? They went on one of those bus tours to Vegas.”
“Am I supposed to know that? How would I know that?” Russell says to me, as if him saying that should serve as an apology.
“Just like I asked you an hour ago if you phoned Katherine?” Mom says.
“I told you Ma, Kathie’s at her pottery class,” Russell explains. “I don’t have any way of getting hold of her.”
“They don’t have phones there? She doesn’t have a cell phone? I thought everybody had a cell phone these days,” she says, looking at me.
“Well, I don’t,” Russell says testily.
“I’m the one with the cell phone, Mom,” I say awkwardly.
“So, where’s Caroline, then? Did you phone her?”
“She’s at work. She had two hours left in her shift, so rather than screw up the rest of her day, I left a message on her machine. She’ll probably come straight over the minute she gets it. But she might want to change first.”
“So now you think you’re being considerate?” she says. “She has to go all the way home, and then turn around and come back. You should’ve left a message for her at work. What if he doesn’t make it through the night?”
Why does she always have to second guess me?
“Did they say how long the tests are gonna be?” Russell asks, and I’m grateful to him for changing the subject.
I know he’s doing it to distract her; we both do it for each other because of the way Mom’s always been about the women in our lives — right from day one with my first crush on Mary-Ellen Bell. She can’t understand why Caroline and I divorced, while never really liking Katherine in the first place. Having two sons who can’t make a relationship work is probably the one thing in life that bothers her most — though she won’t come right out and say it. I think she believes that deep down inside she failed us as a parent, because we all know it’s the parents we blame when things go wrong, don’t we?
“The tests?" Mom says in answer to Russell’s question. “Probably an hour or two.”
“An hour or two for tests?” I say. “What the hell are they doing in there?”
“They said they might want to monitor him after — obviously they’ll have to do something like that — so we shouldn’t expect much."
“Jesus, Ma. You gotta think about what you say before you say it,” Russell says with a shake of his head.
“Did they say what sort of tests they were doing?" I ask, trying to get some sort of an answer that makes sense.
Mom shakes her head and strokes Ronnie’s hair as if she just remembered Ronnie is laying beside her with her head on her lap.
“I’m hungry,” Russell says to me. “Are you hungry? Is the cafeteria still open downstairs?” he says, turning back to Mom.
“There’s a sandwich shop somewhere across the street. Well, that’s what the nurses told me. They told me to go there if I get hungry,” Mom says. “They said nobody eats here.”
“Did you?”
“I’m not hungry. How about you Ronnie? Are you hungry?”
“Daddy brought me to McDonald’s on the way over,” she says, pulling her feet up and settling Mrs. Duncan more comfortably in her arms.
“Why don’t you two go get something to eat then? I’m sure you’ll probably want to talk things out. I remember that’s what Dad and everyone did when Grampa died. Us in-laws were more like outlaws,” she smiled.
I want to say I guess that makes Uncle Ray the biggest outlaw of them all — the Jesse James outlaw of in-laws — but I know it’s a sore point for Mom. As much as Dad might be estranged from his sister and brother-in-law, it hasn’t been without consequence as far as Mom goes.
“They got drunk,” Russell says with a half laugh.
“And you won’t?” Mom says with a tilt of her head. She draws her eyebrows down into that tight Vee I remember her doing when we were kids.
“Stop it,” I say in my West Van voice.
“Are you telling us to go out and get drunk?” Russell asks, laughing.
“You’re both big boys now. I don’t think I should tell you how to live your lives.”
“It never stopped you before,” Russell laughs again, looking at me to see if I’m behind him on this one.
“Don’t look at me, big brother,” I say, as I shake my head and wag my finger. “You started it. Besides, the oldest one’s always the strongest,” I remind him. “Or don’t you remember?”
“Maybe we should get something to eat?” he suggests.
“Yes. Maybe you should. And Danny? Don’t worry about Ronnie. I’ll make sure Caroline understands if she shows up before you get back.”
“Why would I worry about her, Ma? I know she’ll be fine. Won’t you Pun’kin?”
She lifts her head up and grins, then lays it abruptly on Mom’s lap again.
“Caroline should be calling in about ten minutes,” I say, looking at my watch, and then running to catch up to Russell who’s already at the elevator.
“I’m sorry, did you want to push the button?” he asks me.
Excellent writing,Ben. I wouldn't change a thing. Geeze, family dynamics! So darned complicated!
This so exactly captures the way people talk in a hospital waiting room, ignoring the elephant in the room but letting their emotions erupt in roundabout conversations. You really get the family dynamics across. The only criticism I have is that the ending is rather abrupt and doesn't terminate the situation. Or maybe that's the point. That's where the characters are.