43. Chip and Maggie
CHIP AND MAGGIE
Thankfully, it’s mostly a blur to him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of rainbow, just a squiggle of colored stripes in the air, and it makes him smile.
He points to it, but no one else looks. His mother watches him and keeps stroking his hair the way she used to do when he had a fever.
Her hair is tucked behind her ear, and he remembers being a little boy and sitting on her lap and doing that, tucking her hair behind her ear, and she just stayed there so patient and loving.
She watches him and doesn’t blink, and he watches her back. For a second, he can see her, and he’s not sure if it’s a memory or just a moment of insight. He can see himself lying in her arms and her giving him a bottle, wiping his chin with a cloth every so often.
“Promise,” he hears himself say to his mom, and he wants to make an important point, but he forgets what the point is, and he wakes up some time later, and his dad’s there, not sitting of course, the man can never sit down.
Chip loves his dad’s smile. “Papa bear,” he says, and his dad snorts and starts crying.
“Don’t do that, man,” he says, and tries to smile.
It doesn’t hurt. He wishes they knew. He doesn’t feel a thing—he feels like he is small and holding on to a leaf and gliding gliding down the river’s current. Wheeeee, he wants to yell as the leaf dips and floats and sails forward.
He holds his dad’s hand, and he brings it to his face and kisses it.
He wants to keep his eyes open. “Hey bear,” he says.
He tries to sit up, but maybe it’s the drugs.
Or the dying. Or both, but he can’t move his limbs.
“Hey bear, wait,” he says, and his dad crouches down and gets closer.
He takes a deep breath, and his dad’s eyes are beautiful; he never told him that.
Solid brown with flecks of gold, like his own.
“Just be okay, right?” he hears himself say, and he’s glad he got the words out.
He sees his dad nod, and his mom is there too, now, kneeling beside him. He reaches out and touches her hair, and he slides his finger across her eye and feels tears. “Just be okay, you two.”
He points to them. It wasn’t the war, it wasn’t college. It wasn’t, he pauses, life. But he had to leave one way or another, right?
His parents look at each other, and he’s not sure what words have come out.
He’s not sure what’s in his head and what’s in the air.
He pulls at his blanket and sleep feels so good.
Like after he came home from a Cub Scout camping trip, where he couldn’t sleep on the hard ground outside.
His own bed felt perfect, and the sleep at home was the best sleep he remembers.
He’s almost basking in it, and he feels their hands on his face, and he feels like Birdy Girl getting her ears stroked.
This is nice. He wishes she were here. Where’s Maggie?
He wants to tell her to rub Birdy’s belly.
Someone needs to. He hears himself snore, and then he startles awake and thinks his grandparents are there, his mimi’s eyes so sorry as she leans on Gramps.
He waves to her, but she doesn’t wave back. He tries to blow her a kiss.
Birdy Girl. He wishes she’d jump on the edge of his bed, that he’d feel her warm lump one last time.
He tosses and turns, and someone has put a cold rag against his head.
“More of that,” he whispers, but no one answers.
He shivers and then he sleeps. He is in that room at Red Maple again, and it’s the beginning or near the beginning.
Phil and Hawk are in their beds, and he’s in his bottom bunk, and it’s one of those nights none of them are tired, and they’re just laughing, talking about cars and girls and other jobs they had, talking about baseball and telling stupid jokes.
He sees his uniform shirt slung over the chair.
He hears someone say something about his pulse, but maybe they’re talking about Hawk.
Hawk on his miniature metal cot that squeaks when he tries to sleep. Poor bastard.
He opens his eyes, and he’s glad to see her.
He forgets her name for a moment, but he knows her like you know the sky.
Maggie. “He loved him so hard that he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to his ears turned grey, and his brown spots faded. He even began to lose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit any more, except to the Boy.”
Her voice is different as she reads. He holds his thumb up, and Maggie grabs his hand and seems like she tries to thumb wrestle him the way they used to. “Maggie,” he whispers, but his throat is dry. “Vicky and I have a good secret,” he says. “I told her she can tell you… but later.”
Maggie nods. She looks toward the group of adults huddled in the corner. She looks down at the book. “The boy’s okay, the bunny’s okay,” she whispers.
He points at her. “I know.” He tries to sit up again, but quicksand. “And you’ll be okay,” he says, and he hopes his words make it out. “You will be, Mags.”
She nods again. “The boy’s okay, the bunny’s okay,” she says once more, and the tears stream down her face like when the icicles on their garage used to start to melt.
He laughs, and he thinks he feels tears on his face. “Run and play little Rabbit, right?”
She nods, and she is squeezing his hand. She reaches across and she’s holding him, and he feels himself fall into her. Nothing hurts, he wants to say. “You’re the glue now,” he whispers. “Sorry.”
She nods. “The boy’s okay, the bunny’s okay,” she whispers. Her sobs hurt him, but nothing hurts. He sees the rainbow out of the corner of his eye again. It tumbles and disappears.
What a dream, he thinks. He sees Rhonda watching the ladybugs at the top of the world. Not ladybugs. Lightning bugs. He sees a golf cart with its small headlights crawling over the paths. The headlights are lightning bugs. He sees the water of the river, he’s on the leaf floating, floating.
Hey, Maggie, he tries to say, but he’s being pulled. He’s in Ocean City, and the undertow is pulling him back. But it feels fun. He feels the sun.
He sees Vicky at Red Maple. Is she in this room?
He feels her. So like her to stand back and let everyone have their time.
He feels people around him, and someone asks is it happening.
One of the nurses says something, and he imagines it’s Brenda from Pocono General.
Brenda. He wishes she knew her face skipped through his mind now.
Those are the good ones, he says. The ones you see now.
He takes raspy breaths. They are comical almost. Giant gulps.
He tries to open his eyes, and nothing. He feels their hands squeezing his.
His dad’s rough hand, his mom’s warm hands, Maggie’s thumb locking his thumb, and then hers, too, he knows she’s there.
Her finger tracing the veins on the back of his hand.
I’m regretless, he thinks, as they surround him with love.
His eyes are closed, but he can see the sky outside somehow. It’s the most beautiful October sky. He’s never seen anything like it. He’s at the top of the world, looking out at everything, and he’s so happy he found out that view existed.
He reaches out for them and hopes they all know.
Their hands, each of their hands, help his hands settle.
When the nurses come, Maggie backs away. Her parents don’t. Vicky doesn’t either. They are hanging on to him as the nurses check his pulse and sigh.
They don’t want it to be over, but Maggie stands by the window and watches the sky. As long as she lives, she’ll never ever forget this perfect sky. She hopes he could see it, even for a second.
She realizes she’s holding that dumb book. She wants to toss it, but she’s holding it against her. She’s holding it like it’s her shield.