Chapter Twenty-Three Kami #2
Studying at home served as a distraction, a way to keep thoughts about Thiago at bay.
For a few hours, at least, it usually gave me some relief, and since my only other activity was going to the hospital, my grades were excellent, and a little part of me was happy and felt proud of myself.
But of course, I thought of Ellie—of all the times we’d talked about going to college.
How we’d dreamed of living in the dorms, going out to parties, meeting guys.
The thought of Ellie brought back the thought of everyone else—all of them—friends and acquaintances, people who would never go to college or graduate or grow up, who would never fall in love, who would never do anything.
They were dead, dead because three worthless sickos had gotten hold of guns and hunted them down like dogs.
My parents were overjoyed with my grades, and I would start getting answers from colleges any day now.
Of course, Mom and Dad couldn’t stop talking about Yale.
All my life, I had wanted to go there, but now, these hopes were indelibly connected with the worst memories of my life.
My parents convinced me to send in an addendum to my applications, an essay describing how I had overcome the difficult experience of the school shooting. It was terrible.
Reliving what had happened, trying to put it down on paper—it was an impossible task.
There were no words for what I had seen that day at school, for what I had to face every morning when I opened my eyes.
There was no way of describing how hard it was to see the person you’re in love with slowly wasting away, day by day.
The dictionary just doesn’t have words to describe so much pain.
The essays must have worked, though, because I got into three different Ivy League universities.
I remember the envelopes all came the same day. They were lying on the kitchen table when I came home from the hospital one warm afternoon. My parents, who were basically inseparable by that point, were waiting for me to open them, but they had already peeked and were too impatient not to tell me.
“You got into all of them, Kami. Princeton, Harvard, and…”
“Yale,” I said, slowly walking over to the table and picking up the heavy envelope with its blue and gold lettering.
“Honey, you did it!” my father said, squeezing me tight. “Annie, go get a bottle of champagne!”
I hugged my father, but I wasn’t excited. All I could hear in my head, over and over, was:
Yale is in New Haven, Connecticut.
Yale is in New Haven, Connecticut.
Yale is in New Haven, Connecticut.
I couldn’t go so far from home.
“I can’t,” I said, and my parents fell quiet. My mother stopped in front of the refrigerator door and looked over.
“What do you mean?” my father asked, looking shocked.
I couldn’t handle a confrontation—not then, when the reality of knowing I couldn’t leave was painful for me, too, upturning everything I had worked for.
My father must have read my mind: “You’re not insinuating that…”
“I’ll do exactly what I said. Once he wakes up, then—”
“You will do no such thing!” he shouted in a fury. “I’ve been waiting for weeks, for months, for you to get over this, and I’m not going to let you keep wallowing in self-pity, Kamila. Enough’s enough!”
Unable to believe what he was saying, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“You’re not going back to that hospital.”
I laughed bitterly. “You can’t tell me where I can and can’t go.”
“You are going to college! Do you hear me? You’re going to Yale.”
“You don’t understand!” I screamed. “I don’t want to leave Thiago, and I’m not going to.”
“I’m going to talk to Katia, Kamila. If you remain this hardheaded, you’re going to force me to do something I don’t want to do.”
That got my attention, and I looked him in the eye. “Katia wants me there, Dad. She agrees with me. She thinks if we keep spending time with him, visiting him…”
“Enough, Kamila!” my mother shouted. “Get over him and get on with your life! He’s not going to wake up, sweetheart. He’s just not. And someday you’re going to look back and realize you threw your future away for nothing.”
Her tone had softened, and she was trying to soothe me, but it only made me madder. “You don’t know anything!” I yelled back. “Neither of you do!”
Furious, I went to my room, where I cried for hours. And before going to bed, I looked through the window, hoping Thiago would appear, as if by magic. I was waiting for a miracle, for him to open his eyes, ask for me, go home, smile at me from his bedroom window like he’d done so many times before.
But his room was empty.
* * *
The next day, I got up early, even though I’d barely slept, and went to the rehabilitation facility, ready to spend the whole day there. I sat next to Thiago for hours. At some point, his mother appeared in the doorway and asked me to come out and talk with her.
“Your parents called me, Kam…” she said. Hearing her call me that made my heart ache. “They told me you don’t want to go to college.”
“I’ll go when Thiago’s better.”
She smiled and hugged me. “You don’t know how much it means to me that you believe my son will open his eyes again, Kamila. But I can’t let you waste your life.”
“Katia, this is my decision. I want to be here. My parents don’t understand now, but they will.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear, but I can’t let you go on like this.”
“But—” I heard the fear in my voice. I felt as if I was drowning.
“Today will be your last visit,” she said through tears, but firmly.
“No…”
“Tomorrow, I’m taking you off the visitors’ list. I’m sorry, Kami. Doing this hurts me more than it does you, believe me, but it’s the right thing to do.”
“No, no! Please, no,” I begged, taking her hands. “Please don’t break us apart. Please. I know I can get him to wake up, I know he will. Don’t push me away…” I cried, and my legs gave out. On my knees before her, I went on pleading, but it was no use.
She cried with me, but she made me understand there was nothing I could do.
They were pulling me away from Thiago. They were coming between us. I wouldn’t be able to see him anymore. It was as if he had died.
* * *
I cried for weeks. I cried, shouted, broke things, locked the door to my room, barely spoke with my parents.
I cried until I had no more tears left, and when they were gone, I tried to think of what I could do to keep from losing contact with Thiago. I needed to know how he was progressing, if there were changes or improvements in his condition.
Taylor came to see me, and I cried on his shoulder.
He felt my pain, he understood it, and he cried with me.
He had gotten into Harvard, and he was leaving, too.
We were both leaving Thiago behind. His mother would bear the burden alone, but she knew Taylor had to live on, had to live for his brother, it was what Thiago had wanted when he’d gone back for him.
It was what he’d sacrificed his life for, so Taylor could live out his dreams. Taylor had to live for him. That was what he told me.
When he left, I sat at my desk, looked out the window, and sent an email to the university to confirm my attendance.
When I told my parents, they looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.
“Harvard?”
“Harvard?!”
“Yes, Harvard,” I said dryly. It was the first time I’d spoken to them in weeks. “You wanted me to go to college, and I’m going, so you should be happy.”
“Why Harvard, though? What happened to Yale?” Dad asked.
I didn’t say anything, but my mother’s face told me she knew. “It has to do with Taylor, doesn’t it?”
I didn’t answer, though I was surprised by how quickly she had guessed. I just left the kitchen and went back to my room.
I was going to Harvard because Taylor was my last link to Thiago.
If we were at different universities in different states, I’d never know anything about the person I loved except for what his mother would tell me over the phone.
And besides, Taylor helped numb my pain, helped me still feel Thiago close.
I knew it was weird, maybe even wrong, but I didn’t care, and I didn’t care what anyone thought: not my parents, not Katia; it didn’t even matter what Thiago would have told me to do if he’d been conscious.
When it was time to leave, I packed my bags, despite my feelings of reluctance and disgust. It was emotionally draining to have to close doors I wasn’t ready to close yet, say goodbye to a family I hadn’t been kind to but that had supported me and helped me keep my head above water all those months.
I asked Katia to let me say goodbye.
My parents understood, and even she eventually agreed to let me see him one more time.
I barely recognized him. Over the spring and summer, he had grown so much thinner. Before, he’d looked like he was asleep. Now it looked as if he was fading away.
I didn’t sit beside him like I had done before. Now I stood at the foot of his bed. I observed him in silence, remembering how much I had prayed for him to open his eyes. As I stood there, I became awash in rage, rage fueled by all the pain I’d kept inside.
After a few minutes, I spoke, and my voice sounded unrecognizable. I let out all the things I’d been holding inside. I was furious, I started screaming at him, I wanted to hit him, to hurt him, I wanted him to feel the pain I’d felt when he left me all alone.
“How could you do this to me?” I began. “You promised me you’d be OK!
You promised we’d be together! You promised you’d stay by my side, through good and bad!
I begged you not to go! I told you to come with me!
But no, you had to play the hero, and now look at you!
How am I supposed to go on without you? How am I supposed to just go and live my life when I know you’re still here, breathing, maybe dreaming?
Knowing that even if you’re not conscious, you still love me! ”
I walked over to him, squeezed his hand, and fell to my knees. My rage died down, replaced by grief. I sobbed—no one could imagine what I was feeling just then, no one but him, perhaps.
“Come back to me, come back to me, please…” I pleaded, my tears filling the palm of his hand.
“Come back to me, put an end to this nightmare, make it end, please. I need you. I’ve always needed you; I’ve always loved you…
even when I was little. Please, don’t leave me alone, don’t abandon me in this world full of hatred, fear, sorrow, and grief. Please come back.”
I don’t know how long I was there, crying. It felt like hours. All I know is I got the time I needed to say goodbye—the way I wanted to, the way I had to.
“I’m going to Harvard,” I said when I realized it was time to go, when I was tired of waiting for him to open his eyes. “They say I’ve got to get on with my life, but what they don’t understand is deep down I will never stop waiting for you. I love you, Thiago.”
I wiped a tear from my cheek and walked out of his room.
There was one thing I didn’t see: a slight movement of his ring finger after I had shut the door and left.