“Look, Mom, he’s awake. Buzz, can you hear me? Buddy, it’s Guy. Can you hear me?”
“They’re taking him to surgery,” Mr. Adams said quietly, putting his hand on my arm and pulling me away as the nurse continued down the hall with Buzz.
“Surgery?” my mother said, coming over and putting her arm around Buzz’s mom.
“Some of his ribs were broken by the impact, Lorraine, and there’s internal bleeding,” she said. “They said there’s no guarantee. Can you believe that’s what they said about my child? There’s no guarantee.” Then she began to sob, and Mr. Adams took her away down the hall to try to calm her down. The fact that she was still wearing the Mother’s Day apron just made the whole thing even sadder somehow.
“Mom, what does it mean?” I said. “What’s happening?”
“It’s too early to tell,” she told me.
“Do you mean too early to tell what’s wrong, or too early to tell if he’s going to be okay?”
“It’s just too early to tell, Guysie,” she said. “Listen, baby, I need to call Jerry and fill him in. And I’m going to try to reach your dad too. He’s probably midair somewhere between San Diego and here, but I’ll leave him a message on his cell. Wait for me here, okay? If there’s any change, come find me downstairs.”
She went off to find a phone, leaving me by myself. I counted the tiles from one side of the waiting room to the other. I pulled on my eyebrows and blew wishes for Buzz as the second hand traveled impossibly slow circles around the clock. Finally I closed my eyes, willing myself back into the only safe place Buzz and I could be together.
Chapter Fourteen
W e rehearsed the play for about two weeks. During that time my mother came and went, causing a stir whenever she appeared with some new ridiculous thing she expected someone to wear.
“Princesses are supposed to be pretty, you know,” the girlie-girls complained when she showed up with dresses she’d made for them out of newspaper and brown twine.
“It’s part of the theme,” my mother explained. “What appears to be common is in fact extraordinary and vice versa.”
There were tears shed and some foot stamping until it was decided that the theme wouldn’t be sacrificed if the princesses wereallowed to wear nail polish and red lipstick.
Lana’s plunger scepter was exchanged for one made from my mother’s old twirling baton from high school covered with glitter and topped with a tinfoiled tennis ball. Kevin was too busy making fun of our shrub costumes to make a stink about his crown.
“You look like green boogers,” he hooted.
We all agreed that it would have been even worse if we’d been wearing the boxers instead of the sweatpants my mother got for us.
The afternoon of the play everyone was pretty nervous, including my mother.
“I hope the audience will appreciate the underlying message, and not just think I was trying to cut corners by using recylables,” she said as she adjusted the paper dresses on the princesses, who had secretly conspired to wear not only nail polish and lipstick for the performance but bright-blue eye shadow, rouge, and a lot of sparkling jewelry as well.
My father came to help out backstage,which was probably not the best idea in the world. He has bad eyesight, and he can’t see very well in the dark.
When the curtain opened, the first thing the audience saw was Lana’s scepter flying through the air as my father tripped over her big feet, sending them both sprawling onto the stage.
My mother was on the opposite side of the stage when it happened, and I guess her old reflexes kicked in, because she caught the baton perfectly in midair and, spinning it over her head like a majorette, marched across the stage to help Lana and my father untangle themselves.
And that was only the beginning.
Kevin got a horrible case of stage fright and completely lost his voice. Mrs. Hunn told him to just move his lips, and she asked my father to read his
“They’re taking him to surgery,” Mr. Adams said quietly, putting his hand on my arm and pulling me away as the nurse continued down the hall with Buzz.
“Surgery?” my mother said, coming over and putting her arm around Buzz’s mom.
“Some of his ribs were broken by the impact, Lorraine, and there’s internal bleeding,” she said. “They said there’s no guarantee. Can you believe that’s what they said about my child? There’s no guarantee.” Then she began to sob, and Mr. Adams took her away down the hall to try to calm her down. The fact that she was still wearing the Mother’s Day apron just made the whole thing even sadder somehow.
“Mom, what does it mean?” I said. “What’s happening?”
“It’s too early to tell,” she told me.
“Do you mean too early to tell what’s wrong, or too early to tell if he’s going to be okay?”
“It’s just too early to tell, Guysie,” she said. “Listen, baby, I need to call Jerry and fill him in. And I’m going to try to reach your dad too. He’s probably midair somewhere between San Diego and here, but I’ll leave him a message on his cell. Wait for me here, okay? If there’s any change, come find me downstairs.”
She went off to find a phone, leaving me by myself. I counted the tiles from one side of the waiting room to the other. I pulled on my eyebrows and blew wishes for Buzz as the second hand traveled impossibly slow circles around the clock. Finally I closed my eyes, willing myself back into the only safe place Buzz and I could be together.
Chapter Fourteen
W e rehearsed the play for about two weeks. During that time my mother came and went, causing a stir whenever she appeared with some new ridiculous thing she expected someone to wear.
“Princesses are supposed to be pretty, you know,” the girlie-girls complained when she showed up with dresses she’d made for them out of newspaper and brown twine.
“It’s part of the theme,” my mother explained. “What appears to be common is in fact extraordinary and vice versa.”
There were tears shed and some foot stamping until it was decided that the theme wouldn’t be sacrificed if the princesses wereallowed to wear nail polish and red lipstick.
Lana’s plunger scepter was exchanged for one made from my mother’s old twirling baton from high school covered with glitter and topped with a tinfoiled tennis ball. Kevin was too busy making fun of our shrub costumes to make a stink about his crown.
“You look like green boogers,” he hooted.
We all agreed that it would have been even worse if we’d been wearing the boxers instead of the sweatpants my mother got for us.
The afternoon of the play everyone was pretty nervous, including my mother.
“I hope the audience will appreciate the underlying message, and not just think I was trying to cut corners by using recylables,” she said as she adjusted the paper dresses on the princesses, who had secretly conspired to wear not only nail polish and lipstick for the performance but bright-blue eye shadow, rouge, and a lot of sparkling jewelry as well.
My father came to help out backstage,which was probably not the best idea in the world. He has bad eyesight, and he can’t see very well in the dark.
When the curtain opened, the first thing the audience saw was Lana’s scepter flying through the air as my father tripped over her big feet, sending them both sprawling onto the stage.
My mother was on the opposite side of the stage when it happened, and I guess her old reflexes kicked in, because she caught the baton perfectly in midair and, spinning it over her head like a majorette, marched across the stage to help Lana and my father untangle themselves.
And that was only the beginning.
Kevin got a horrible case of stage fright and completely lost his voice. Mrs. Hunn told him to just move his lips, and she asked my father to read his
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