Chip
“I don’t know,” he says. “I feel okay for now.”
She takes a breath like she’s about to say something, then stops and shakes her head. “They deserve some time with you,” she says, not looking at him. “Don’t give this place your only good days.”
He leans his head back against the seat. “Once I leave here, Vic—”
“Then it’s over.”
“Yup.”
“But you’ve made some good memories. They need some too.”
“They had me my whole life.”
“They’re your family, Chip. You mean everything to them.” Her jaw tightens. “They can replace you here. Your mom and dad and sister never will.”
He gives her a blank stare and grabs the paperwork from the hospital.
“I’m sorry to be so blunt, but you know what I mean.” She reaches for his hand, but he pulls it away. “Chip.”
“Thanks for the ride.” He gets out and starts to walk away, but she presses down on the horn. He stops and turns. “Cut that out.”
She keeps honking. He rushes to her side of the car, opens her door, and kneels in front of her. “All right, stop.”
She takes her hand off the horn and raises her eyebrows.
“There’s no right way to do this. You’re like some kind of protestor, going against what you felt was wrong, standing up to a sickness that wants to take everything from you.
” She reaches for his hand again, and he gives it to her.
“But you don’t want to only be bad when you see your family again. ”
He closes his eyes. He has imagined this would be like returning from Camp Allegheny, from overnight baseball clinics. From when he went to the prom with Sonya Heller junior year and a group of them went to Hershey Motor Lodge for the weekend after.
Why does he think he still has unlimited time?
“Have you realized how imminent this all is? Have you accepted it?” An intern who followed Dr. Palmer said this to him at an appointment, and Dr. Palmer had cut the guy off in a sharp tone.
“Mr. Bishop is processing quite a lot at the moment.” But maybe that intern was right.
Maybe Chip was being reckless and foolish.
Until he got a speeding ticket in the Mustang, he thought he was invincible in that car.
Until he broke his arm when he was fifteen, he thought his body was capable of anything.
“I’m hiding,” he says now, quietly. “I’m hiding here, Vicky, and I want to keep hiding.” His face falls.
“Who wouldn’t do the same thing, Chip?” She kisses his forehead.
He feels lost. He looks up at the trees with all the leaves. So green. Exquisite denial. He kisses her and stands. “Let me keep hiding a bit more, through one more transfusion, and then we can go home.”
“I guess it’s only the beginning of August,” she says and puts on a brave smile.
“Plenty of time for trouble.”
“Well, I better get back to work in good old Easton. Not everyone can escape, Charles Henry.”
“Thanks for letting me do this.” He hugs her and waves as she drives away.
When he goes up to his room, Phil’s wet towel is on the back of the door as usual, but Hawk’s bed looks untouched.
His Red Maple uniform is across the bottom of it with his black shoes below it.
Chip needs to know what happened yesterday.
He thinks he should take a shower and then visit Rhonda’s office.
He eats a sandwich Vicky got him from the diner down the street, and he feels pretty decent. He starts to undress, and the door swings open. “There you are,” Phil says. “Jesus, I heard you had a bad spell.” He stands in front of him. “You okay, man?”
“Much better.”
“Was it your, um, insulin, or whatever?”
Chip sighs. He looks at Phil’s face, the concern in his eyes.
“Sorry, bro. I don’t have diabetes.” He holds his shirt.
He sits down on his bottom bunk and moves his feet back and forth.
He sees the tiny cross Phil wears sway, and he thinks of his family and what Vicky said. “I won’t be here much longer.”
That night around seven, after one of the hottest days on record, according to the news, Chip covered trivia and bingo, and Nancy took three couples to the bowling lane in the basement of the recreation building.
Chip went to look for Rhonda, but the door to her office was closed, and no lights were on.
He finds Paige locking up her office. “You’re back,” she says, and gives him half a smile. “We were so worried.”
“Yeah, thanks for coming to the hospital.”
“You look better.” She holds his gaze for a second. “I’m glad, Chip.” She shakes her head. “It’s not fair you’re dealing with that. I mean, I know it’s none of my business, but Rhonda was pretty insistent that Nancy tell us what was happening.”
“No, it’s cool.” He notices his belt is crooked and he adjusts it. It’s still so hot. He wishes he could jump in the lake right this minute. “Paige, what happened to Hawk? He’s not back yet.”
“I think he’s coming back soon, Chip.” She purses her lips. “He’s been under a lot of stress.”
Exactly what Rhonda said. Chip feels something sinking in him. He hates that his illness is affecting his friend. “He’s okay though?”
Paige tilts her head to the side. “Are any of us okay?” She glances around. “Sorry, that’s a dumb thing to say to you.” Her eyes dart from side to side. “I just, I have something going on too, and I feel like I need to tell someone or I’m going to explode. Can I trust you, Chip?”
“Of course. You can tell me anything.” A distraction from his thoughts will be welcome.
She leans against the desk where everyone usually checks in. Bridget is talking to a group of elderly couples leaving the dining room, making them laugh with stories about the history of the Poconos.
Paige blinks. “Well, remember I was telling you I didn’t think my boyfriend was so invested anymore?”
“Yeah, when we were on the hammock.”
“Well, you told me if I asked him if he wanted us to be together, I had to be prepared that the answer might be no.”
“Yeah.” He looks at her, and she is so worried. “I hope I didn’t give you bad advice.”
“I found out he’s seeing someone else.” She folds her hands and looks down at her bag. “So he moved out.”
He frowns. “I’m sorry, Paige. But probably for the best, right? You deserve better than that.”
“I also found out I’m having a baby.”
Later, he avoids Nancy, telling her he’s beat, which is true. He walks back to the crew lodge, almost everyone sitting outside on the lawn because the building feels like a sauna. “Hot enough for you?” one of the guys who plays in the dinner band says.
“Roasting,” Chip says. He sits for a minute and smokes a cigarette with a group of them and then decides to go to bed, hoping the box fan Phil bought a few weeks ago will help. Phil is sprawled out on his bunk with wet washcloths on his chest, studying for another test.
“Dude,” he says. “This is insane. It’s like an attic in here.”
Chip strips off his undershirt and uses it to wipe his forehead.
Phil’s radio is on, and the news is about Nixon and what might come any day now.
There is so much energy in the air, it feels like a bubble about to burst. Some predict he will resign; some await impeachment.
“What a time,” Phil says. There is a story about a bomb exploding on a train in Europe and something about a guy attempting a motorcycle world record jump and crashing.
Chip looks at Hawk’s empty bed, and he stands in front of the box fan and lets the air cool his face. He doesn’t know why he does it, but he kneels down and talks into the fan like he’s ten years old again. “Philllllll, the alien leaders have come for you.”
Phil raises his arms. “Praise Jesus, take me to a frozen planet.” He laughs and goes back to his studying. “I wish my grandma was still alive, Chip. She used to tell me she was praying for me when I was studying for a test, and even though I don’t believe that stuff, it always made me feel better.”
Chip thinks of his grandparents and the music box and can’t believe they’ll outlive him.
But something about that notion comforts him in an odd way.
He will never have to lose his grandparents or parents.
What will Maggie have to go through? A thought suddenly makes him queasy, wondering if she could get what he has, if her body might be destined to fail in the same way.
He takes a cigarette out of his pocket and flicks a match.
Maggie wearing her necklace. Her face when the kitten died.
Her smile when the music box played again.
He looks down at the red ember, and if he could wish for anything, he wants her to have the years he won’t get to have.
A long life, he thinks, and brings the cigarette to his mouth and puffs on it to keep it glowing.
A few hours later he’s awakened by a loud noise. It takes him a minute to realize what’s going on, with Hawk and Phil shouting at each other. Hawk has Phil up against the wall.
Chip has never seen Hawk so bad. He scrambles out of bed and tries to step between them, but Hawk is all muscle and adrenaline. “Back off, Chip. Stay the hell out of this.”
“What happened?”
“I just threw out a fucking soda can and he started screaming!” Phil says, trying to pry himself out of Hawk’s grip.
“Hawk, what’s up?” Chip tries to put a hand on his shoulder, but Hawk reflexively takes a swing at Chip.
“Hey, don’t touch him!” Phil shouts, grabbing Hawk’s arm.
Hawk twists Phil’s wrist and slams him into the wall. “Don’t you ever put your fucking hands on me!”
“Stop!” Chip throws his arms around Hawk and they struggle.
“It was a soda can!”
Hawk’s eyes are red and his breath reeks of beer.
Chip’s heart pounds, but he’s scared what Hawk might do to Phil.
Chip loses his footing and Hawk’s elbow flies back, grazing his temple.
Phil shouts and rushes forward, and the sound his fist makes when it hits Hawk’s jaw makes Chip want to throw up.
Hawk looks like a stunned animal on the floor by his cot.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Phil says to him.
Chip sinks to the ground. All the adrenaline, all the fear, all those things he’s been trying to keep bottled up, and he’s crying uncontrollably. He blubbers like his house has burned to the ground. Hawk stops and seems to remember where he is.
“Goddamn it,” he says. “I’m sorry man. I’m really fucking sorry.” He rubs his jaw where Phil punched him. He stands and walks out of the room, slamming the door so hard it bounces open.
“Jesus,” Phil says, shaking out his hand. He crouches by Chip and puts an arm around him. “You’re okay, Chip. You’re okay.” His face is scratched, and his cheek is bleeding. He smells like his Old Spice deodorant. Chip’s shoulders shake.
One of the lifeguards, Lenny, sticks his head in the room. “Was this over a girl?”
Phil pats Chip’s back and stands and wipes the blood from his face. “I tossed the soda can in the garbage and it sent Hawk into a spiral. He came at me like a lunatic.”
Lenny walks over to the garbage can, as though surveying the actual soda can will help him understand, the way they analyze plane crashes.
“Dude, sounds like he’s shell-shocked. Maybe he was in Vietnam.
” Lenny bends down and picks up the soda can as if it’s definitive proof. “Did anyone ever ask him?”
The next morning Chip gets up at five, Hawk’s bed empty and the room a mess. He walks through the wooded area and finds him fishing in the spot where they went that time. Hawk doesn’t turn. He casts his line again. “Don’t bother, Chip.”
“Don’t bother what?”
“Trying to smooth shit over. I’m a lost cause. I’m gonna buy a bus ticket today. Go somewhere else.”
Chip slowly approaches him. He watches the way his hands shake as he holds the fishing pole.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you.” Hawk stares straight ahead. “I didn’t mean it. I think of you like a brother.”
Chip looks at a fly that lands on a rock before buzzing away. “I know.” Hawk turns to him with those aviator glasses, and Chip sees his own tired reflection. “Take those off, man. I’m trying to talk to you.”
Hawk seems like he’s about to to say something awful, but he keeps one hand on the fishing pole and slowly reaches up and pulls the glasses off his face.
He looks terrible. Swollen, crushed. A bruise where Phil hit him.
His eyes are red. “Little things bring back the horrors. Flashes of the worst things you’ve ever seen.
Like… like a pumpkin thrown and smashed up in the road but it’s actually a baby.
” He clenches his jaw. “Your brain can’t even decide what something like that is, man.
It looks at the parts and can’t add it up. ”
“I didn’t know you were there.”
Hawk shakes his head. “Phil got off easy. Luck of the draw, I guess. I had the lowest number possible. Even my rich family couldn’t get me out of it.
” He whistles. “Boy, did they try. But I kind of felt relieved. I felt like it would be cheating if I didn’t go.
” He flicks his wrist gently, and the line dances.
“Can you imagine coming back after that, and you think people will understand what you saw, what you went through, and instead, there’s groups chanting that you’re a murderer?
” The word echoes in the woods for a minute, and there is a splashing sound in the water.
“I was a fucking nerd, Chip. I played tennis at a country club that made Red Maple look like a shithole. I wanted to be an inventor when I was a kid. I wrote poems.” His eyes are glassy, and he looks down at himself.
“Look at me now. No poems left to write.”
Chip waits a moment, then asks, “Hawk’s a nickname, right?”
“Why?” He stares at the water.
“Well, I assume your hoity-toity family didn’t call you that.”
Hawk rolls his eyes. “You think you’re so smart.”
“I know things. I’ve gotten superpowers in my final days. But what’s your name?”
Hawk cocks his head to the side. He looks at Chip like he’s seeing him for the first time. Regret and sadness and something else. “I’m not him anymore,” he says, and looks puzzled, as though he forgot he was ever anything but the guy who had to act tough. “But it’s Elliot.”