Barrett
Luckily Jermain lives closer to the hospital than the school, so he was already there waiting for me. Brian and his mom took a seat in the waiting room while Jermain pulls me aside.
“Do you know how Codi?” I’m frantic.
“Talk nurse who say uncle come talk soon.”
“Codi awake? Hurt bad?”
“Don’t know. Sorry me.”
“Not fault you. Thank you coming here. Know not job right now—” He puts his hand up, stopping me from continuing.
“Here for you. School, meeting, friend. Whatever need you. More than interpreter me. Friend.”
I give him a hug and will my tears not to come. The double doors open and my uncle comes out looking pale and about ten years older than when he went in. He nods us over, and when we join him, I can tell he has been crying and I instantly want to puke. I’m too emotional to try and lip read or talk, so I ask Jermain to voice for me.
“What happened? Is Codi all right?”
“I will bring you back to see him, but before I do there’s something I need to talk to you about.” Jermain is busy interpreting what Randy is voicing while we follow him over to a small alcove.
“Codi has a severe concussion from the blow. I told the doctor about how he was hurt at practice and then again with the helmet. They ran a CT scan and found that he has bleeding on his brain. Do you understand what that means, Barrett?” He waits while Jermain finishes interpreting and I feel cold sweat break out all over my body.
“Yes, understand.” I whisper out. Then I turn to Jermain to voice for me.
“What now? Will he be okay?” Jermain voices but never once takes his eyes off of me.
My uncle sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He is looking everywhere but at me, which gives me my answer. I grab him by the shoulders and make him look at my face. I then look at Jermain and sign, “Voice again.”
“What now? Will he be okay?” Jermain voices for the second time. Tears start pouring out of my uncle’s eyes, but he raises his head and looks directly at me. All I want to do is punch him. Anything to take that look off of his face. That’s the same look he had when he told me my mom was dying. I refuse to see that look again, not now, so I turn my back on him and face Jermain. My uncle must be talking again because Jermain’s hands lift and he switches to interpreter mode.
“The thing is, Barrett, they have to stop the hemorrhage to his brain, but with the swelling, it’s very risky. But if they don’t do the surgery, he will die. If they do it, they might not be able to stop the bleeding, depending on how bad it has hemorrhaged.” Jermain pauses and his eyes go large. I whip around to look at my uncle.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I choke out.
“I can’t get ahold of your father. I had the neighbor go over and she can’t wake him.” I think back to what my brother had said earlier that night. Was that just a few hours ago? Why does it seem like a lifetime? My father had drank himself into a stupor. My uncle looks deeply pained and I don’t even need to look at Jermain’s hands when he signs. “In emergency when parents can’t be reached, next of kin who is of age decides.”
I’m furious. If anything happens to my brother because he had to wait, I’m going to kill him.
“No!” I yell out and several heads turn. I don’t even care.
“I’m sorry, B. I’m so sorry, but they need an answer, because waiting can make things worse. The doctor said the surgery was his only chance.”
“But you said it could kill him,” Jermain voices, and I feel myself slowly die on the inside.
“It can. But if you don’t do it, he will die eventually.”
“We try?”
“We try.” I finally bring myself to look over at my uncle and he nods once.
“It’s his only chance. No matter what happens after you sign those papers, know that it’s his only chance, son.”
There’s been many times when I’ve cursed my deafness. Usually it’s because of something I can’t do. But today, for the first time in my life, it’s because of something I can. Being deaf has its advantages, and one of them is picking up on micro cues. I don’t even know I’m doing it anymore, but I can tell pretty much anything about someone’s mood or confidence in one look. All it takes is one glance to assess a situation.
All it took was one glance for my world to come crashing down around my feet. I have stared at the same double doors for the last seven hours. That’s how long it took for the surgeon to come walking out. I could see the small beads of sweat that lined his forehead and upper lip. They are trained to school their features, but as soon as the door opened, I slammed my fist against the wall as hard as I could. I beat the wall over and over again, picturing number 43’s face. I refuse to sit here in one piece while my little brother bled out on a table. Because that’s exactly what happened. I know before the man even has a chance to open his mouth. I hit the wall over and over again with both fists now. I welcome the pain. I concentrate on the crunch of the bones. It’s the blood on the wall that finally brings reality crashing back down on me.
I look around the security guard, and Jermain, and over the two orderlies who come to help restrain me. I look right at my uncle as tears flow freely down his face and the look of utter uselessness that I see reflected back at me. I watch the doctor’s lips as he tells my uncle that they did everything they could, but they just couldn’t stop the bleeding. Five seconds and a plastic strap is all it took to rob me of everything.