Chapter Twenty-Three Kami
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kami
Waiting…
I was no good at it. I didn’t have the fortitude. If you’d asked me before, I’d have said I was patient. I was a calm person who was mentally prepared to make it through any storm, but this goddamned waiting was killing me.
Thiago wouldn’t wake up.
The doctors insisted that the operations had been a success and they could see signs of brain activity, but for some reason, he just wouldn’t wake up.
They finally let me see him—his mother wanted me to. I sat there in silence, observing him. A white bandage was wrapped around his head. He was breathing on his own, but he was very still. Very peaceful. He looked like he was sleeping.
His mother kept saying he’d wake up soon, she was sure of it, and I believed her. No other possibility fit into my thoughts. I couldn’t bear to think otherwise, I couldn’t imagine it.
Thiago would wake up.
And yet the days turned into weeks.
Life went on, and I had to make important decisions. A big one was where I would go to school.
Carsville High reopened its doors, but not many of us wanted to revisit those halls; most people didn’t even want to walk past the building. Lots of students requested to be transferred to other schools in the surrounding counties. But I outright refused to go at all.
Over Christmas dinner, my father insisted: “Kamila, you have to finish high school.”
He had decided to come back to Carsville, at least for a while, to be close to us.
And strangely, my mother seemed happy about it.
She’d experienced a catharsis of sorts after what had happened, and that changed things for all of us, Dad included.
All those hours of not knowing whether we were dead or alive had caused her to rethink many things, and one of them was the way she lived her life.
It seemed like, as a family, we’d found a way to come closer after the tragedy, but quickly my parents seemed to unite against me, and they wanted to decide my future for me and tell me what was right or wrong.
I wasn’t going to allow that: If I’d learned anything from what had happened, it was that life is a gift, and it can vanish in the blink of an eye.
It’s far too fragile to spend it worrying about other people’s ideals.
“I’ll finish school, Dad,” I said calmly. “But I’ll do it my way.”
“Saint Michael’s is the best school in the state, and they’ve offered free scholarships to the survivors. We won’t even need to pay for it.”
That was another thing: Everyone was showering the survivors with gifts and charity. Famous people had come to visit, colleges were offering scholarships—it was as if none of them realized that the one thing we wanted was to wake up from this nightmare.
“Forget it,” I said stubbornly.
My father smacked the table so hard that Mom, Cameron, and I jumped.
“You will! You’ll finish school and you’ll go to college! Those murderers may have ruined this town, but I’m not letting them ruin your future, too!”
But my life was ruined. I felt soulless, only capable of going through the motions: eating, sleeping, doing a little exercise, and not much else.
I didn’t want to go to the psychologist.
I didn’t want to go to work.
I didn’t want to do anything except visit Thiago in the hospital.
That was my life.
Visiting him and keeping him company.
I didn’t even talk to him. I’d just sit in a chair and stare.
Day after day, that was all I did, and that was all I wanted to do until he opened his eyes.
“Taylor’s going to be studying at home starting in January,” my mother said. “Ms. Di Bianco told me. The district has set up a program. You can follow your own schedule, and that will allow you to graduate on time…”
That was another thing.
I didn’t want to see anyone.
Anyone at all.
Not even Taylor.
I couldn’t look him in the eyes without feeling guilty.
I couldn’t be around him when deep down I felt partially responsible for what had happened.
I had been friends with Julian. I should have figured out he wasn’t normal.
I should have seen his dark side. Worst of all, both brothers had warned me.
Both of them knew, both had tried to tell me, but I hadn’t wanted to listen.
And now one was physically and psychologically damaged, and the other—who knew what would happen to him.
“I don’t like that idea,” Dad said. “Kami hasn’t gotten into Yale yet. If her grades drop, her chances could be out the door. I’m not sure they’ll think too highly of studying from home.”
“I’m not interested in going to Yale, Dad,” I said, putting my fork down and staring into his eyes. “Do you honestly think I give a shit about college when the person I love is lying in the hospital in a coma?”
“I know, Kamila, but life goes on,” he responded.
“Not for me. When he wakes up, that’ll be a different story, but for now, there’s no way I—”
“He’s not waking up!” my father shouted, making me freeze.
When he saw the look on my face, his expression softened, and he tried to grab my hand, but I withdrew it.
He went on, “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be insensitive or tell you to give up hope, but the chances that he’ll awaken from a coma after this long are minimal. ”
“He’ll wake up,” I said, feeling my pulse start to race. “I know he will, and when he does, I’ll be at his side, waiting.”
I didn’t let them tell me anything else. I didn’t care that it was Christmas. I got up and locked myself in my bedroom.
Nobody was going to force me to leave him. I wouldn’t let them.
Never.
* * *
I ended up doing remote school. They sent my brother to Saint Michael’s. Every morning, he dressed up in his little blue uniform and left with a smile. He said his new school was the coolest.
It’s amazing how children can be so resilient in the face of trauma. Cam hadn’t seen the worst of what went on at our school that day, unlike Taylor and me, but it was more than enough for a lifetime.
Taylor came to see me almost every day once he got out of the hospital, and that first week, we told each other everything we had to say, but once the funerals were all over, I let him know I needed space.
Now we only saw each other at the hospital, when one of us was coming to watch over Thiago and the other was leaving.
We had made a schedule—the three of us—so he would never have to be alone.
If I’d been able to choose, and my parents had let me, I would have spent every day and night with him.
And yet, strangely, in all those hours I passed at his side, I never could tell him anything.
I could hardly even open my mouth. I could only look. I looked as the hands on the clock ticked by, and the time came for me to go. I couldn’t say anything aloud, but in my heart, I was screaming.
The worst part was watching his body deteriorate.
He started to grow a beard after always being clean-shaven, and the nurses made sure to comb his hair, which was so unlike his normal, tousled look.
He would have hated that, I thought. His athletic physique started to lose muscle mass.
Physical therapists came and went, but there wasn’t much they could do, and eventually they had to move him to a rehabilitation facility.
When they announced that, my heart broke, and I realized maybe we really never would get him back.
His mother was suffering, but she smiled whenever we crossed paths.
She had this idea that if I kept visiting him, he would open his eyes, and I wanted to believe that, too.
I wanted it so bad, it was all I could think about, all I could live for.
After a while, Taylor stopped coming so often. It hurt him to see Thiago like that. He told me so one afternoon when he invited me for some coffee at the facility cafeteria.
“You’ve got to get on with your life, Kami,” he said, squeezing my hand. “I don’t want to watch you fade away, too.”
He had tears in his eyes. I shook my head.
“He’s going to wake up, Taylor. I know he is,” I said, trying not to burst into tears as he asked if he could hug me.
“When did we turn into this, Kami?” he asked, his head against mine, his scent surrounding me.
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t cure his broken heart, a heart broken twice over: once by me, and again because of his brother. All I could do was hold him, briefly. Then I left.
The holidays came and went, but time seemed to stand still.
I hadn’t celebrated New Year’s. I didn’t want to celebrate anything again.
I told my parents I didn’t want cookies and cakes, presents, cider, I didn’t want to stay up till midnight and toast with champagne, I didn’t want anything.
All I could think about was how terrible the holidays had been, how they had probably ruined the holidays for me forever, and even the end of the school year, which I had looked forward to as a moment when Thiago and I would no longer need to keep things secret, now meant nothing to me.
My parents understood, and tried to respect my wishes, so I only got one present that year, from Thiago’s mother. It was in January, in her son’s hospital room. She handed me a small velvet box.
“Merry late Christmas, dear. I know Thiago would have wanted you to have this.”
I opened it, and inside I saw the colored bracelet he always wore. The bracelet his little sister had made for him and that he never took off. It was silly, just some plastic beads, the kind of thing I used to make when I was a little girl and try to sell on the sidewalk.
“They had to take it off during the operation,” she said.
I smiled as best I could through my tears and said, “Thank you, Ms. Di Bianco.” She slipped it on my wrist and helped me knot it. “I won’t take it off,” I told her.
She kissed my forehead and left.
* * *
Winter transitioned to spring, and spring brought final exams.