4He was my boy next door. You know the one-my comrade in all things mischievous. The one who always got me in trouble, the boy with the dirty face, messy smile, and who always needed a haircut...
On my own, I was never headstrong or naughty, but with Christian? Let's just say, at five years old, we traveled across town in our wagon together. All we had were a few peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, my new puppy, and a dream of making it to Disneyland.
But he was also the boy I talked to through the fence when my parents told me I was too sick to play. Who wrote me secret encrypted notes he shoved inside the pipe that joined our backyards together. The boy all of my friends adored. The guy who took me to homecoming dance as friends.
Everyone loved Christian.
I loved Christian.
It's the only secret I've ever kept from him.
I should be thinking about Mr. Parker right now. I should be holding Mrs. Parker's hand and telling her that everything will be ok. That her husband will make it through, that he will walk again after his legs had been smashed to smithereens by a drunk driver. Instead, my heart is beating a mile a minute because I know at any moment Christan will be walking through that door.
It's been almost a full year since I've seen his face. I mean, we've talked on Instagram on occasion, and he did Facetime me on my birthday, but I was ready then. Hair brushed, makeup on, good lighting. But tragedy doesn't wait for such circumstances. Tragedy takes you out of bed in the middle of the night and doesn't care if you're wearing clean underwear. Or underwear at all actually. Oh God, please tell me I have on underwear.
Doesn't matter now. What matters is that Mr. Parker is okay. That he makes it through surgery. That he's able to keep his legs.
The automatic doors of Valley Prespterian Hospital opened then, and Christian, the twenty-two year old love-of-my-life who was still in need of a haircut, walked into the waiting room. His clothes disheveled, his eyes puffy. My own vision locked onto his flannel shirt that looked like it was pulled out of the laundry. To the fact that the buttons weren't aligned just right. It would have been six in the morning when he got the call in London. I imagined him yanked from sleep, hearing the terrible news, then getting dressed in the dark.
I straightened, instinctively running my hand over my long red hair to smooth it, but there was no hope. My heavy mane required 400 degree heat to be anything less than frizzy. My arms dropped heavily to my sides as I waited for him to come closer.
"I got here as soon as I could," he said, falling to his knees in front of us. He took both of Mrs. Parker's small hands in his and asked almost silently. "Have you heard anything?"
"No," she whispered.
He hadn't looked at me, and a part of me I wasn't even sure he knew I was there. A lump formed in the back of my throat as he looked at his mother. He was always a good son, but watching them now, seeing the love in his eyes, the fierce protection-
I should give them privacy.
Yes, Mr. Parker was like family to me, but my being there felt like an invasion. I pushed off the seat, intending to go to the vending machine for another bag of M&M's, but Christian's hand clutched onto my thigh, stopping me.
His eyes met mine, bloodshot, glassy, which somehow made their green shade more vibrant. "Where are you going?" His voice was different than I remembered. Hoarse, almost like he'd been screaming.
I could feel tears raising up in my throat, but I was determined to push them back inside. "To the vending machine. You know I'm always ravenous at times like this."
A tiny smile cracked from his stoic face. "Get me a Snickers?"
Typical Christian. Even when I knew he was dying inside, he forced a smile to ease my heart. To comfort me. He was always like that. Taking care of everyone else before himself. Always trying to make people comfortable, welcomed, accepted.
He had a great smile. One that was was bright, and charming, and a tiny bit lopsided. It made me feel at peace. Calm. Secure. It was a smile I would wait a thousand years for. One I provoked at any moment I could when we were young. Because when I got one, just like now, it made me feel like I'd won something great. "Sure."
His hand moved down my leg as he released me, and I somehow pulled myself to stand. His touch always did that to me. Made me shaky and weak at the same time. Made my head foggy, and heart stagger. Given I hadn't slept all night, it was a wonder I could stand at all.
Reaching deep into my backpack, I fumbled for the loose change that had fallen out of my wallet. Christan took a seat by his mother, then engulfed her with his large body.
Mrs Parker hadn't shed a tear all night, but now, in her son's embrace, she sobbed.
The sound caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. Every person in the room grew silent, like the sound of her cry somehow blanketed them in her pain. Emotion flared in my belly, and the feeling overwhelmed me. It was almost unbearable. Fear, anger, sadness, all rolled into one, sending a numbness to run length of my body.
I turned away, sucking in a deep breath through my nose, then pushing it out just as forcefully through my mouth. I needed to keep the tears inside, but their moisture lingered at my lips-Threatening. Waiting. Barely contained. I had to get a grip on myself. I had to get a grip on myself for Christian.
Snickers. He needs a Snickers.
As I stood in front of the vending machine, hands shaking as I deposited each coin, I couldn't stop myself from taking another peak at them from over my shoulder. Mrs. Parker was still held in her son's arms, though she was sobbing more softly now. She looked so tiny in his arms. Almostly to the point of disappearing. I often wondered how someone so tiny could produce someone so vastly different. Mrs. Parker was barely five-three and almost reminded me of Mrs. Brady. Blonde, petite, always put together.
Christain on the other hand… he took after his father. Tall, broad shoulders, hair as black and wild as a stallion…
Most would expect Christian to be an athlete, or at the very least someone who worked in construction lifting heavy things on a daily basis… but that wasn't him. Christian was a nerd. He was gentle, and he was kind, and he was so smart he could figure out anything. I was the first to realize how great he was. When he was constantly getting into trouble because of his inability to sit still. When he talked too much, and listen too little. When he constantly had a messy face, dirty hands, and a round belly…But I saw past all that… because the soul that shined inside of him was brighter than anything I'd ever seen in my life.
By highschool everyone seemed to catch on to magnificent treasure he was. I mean, it was hard to ignore a freshman who was already larger than most of the varsity football team. I don't know if it was the fact it took him most of his life to grow into his body, or because he never seemed to pay much attention to himself, but he never seemed to realize how good looking he was. Most of his life he looked like a puppy who still needed to grow into his paws, but in highschool… in highschool everything fell into place. All the people who made fun of him, now wanted to be his best friend. But it was too late. He already had one of those.
Me.
Depositing the last of my quarters in the machine, I thought about our friendship. Being Christian's best friend was both one of my greatest accomplishments, and the thing that plagued me on a daily basis. Because never once had I wanted to be "just friends." Even as a little girl.
I punched in the code for the Snickers bar into the machine and took a deep breath. I needed to focus. I needed to get my head out of the past.
The candy bar fell to the bottom of the machine, and I dropped down into a squat to retrieve it, but then the sound I'd been waiting for squeaked behind me. I turned around, just in time to see Mr. Parker's surgeon appear through the automatic doors. The sight of him made me hold my breath.
I wasn't sure if I was ready for this. It had been four hours since the last update, and the possibilities of what he would say carved my insides into shreds. I straightened, the Snickers bar clutched so firmly in my fist I almost crushed it.
"He's in recovery. We were able to save his legs."
I must have let out an audible cry because Christan glanced back at me over his shoulder.
I walked closer, even though my legs were shaky and unstable. The surgeon's voice came clearer. "He's resting. You can visit him shortly."
More details about the surgery followed. About the condition of the bone, the fact his legs were crushed so significantly they had to be held together with pins. I tried to listen, to understand what was going on, but it was all so forein to me. I should have paid more attention in anatomy class. I should have…
But then Christan's voice broke through all of my panic, fading everything else from existence. "Will my dad walk again?"
His voice was quiet, but came so vividly, a scream would have been no different.
The doctor paused for a second, his focus shifting from Mrs. Parker, to her son. "Your dad's in a lot of pain. He has a long road of recovery ahead of him-"
"Will my dad walk again?" This time he almost yelled it. It was so unlike Christian to raise his voice, but I could tell everything inside of him was being held together with string.
"I can't give you that promise-"
Before the words fully left the surgeon's lips, Christan had pulled away from his mother, and pushed open the doors that led to the intensive care unit.
"Christian, wait!" his mom yelled, looking at me for help.
All I could do was follow after him. To be there. It was the least I could do for him.
He strode down the halls with wide forceful steps as I scampered to try and keep up. His head was high, his chest inflated as he peered into one room after another.
I couldn't imagine what was going on inside of his head. Panic, anger, frustration, probably all of the above.
He continued walking, only stopping when he made it to the end of the hall. He paused for just a second at the last door, then pushed it open, even as nurses and other staff yelled and hollard for him to stop.
I hesitated only for a second before following after him. A nurse on the other side of the hall yelled at me, but I didn't listen. I needed to go in there. I needed to be with him.
The room was dim when I entered, but I found Christian right away, standing at the foot of his father's bed, watching him sleep.
Mr. Parker was covered in tubes, IV's, and his face was so bruised I could barely recognize him… But it was him… The man who was the spitting image of his son, now clothed in a full body cast. It covered him from mid torso to the ankle on both sides. His legs were spread apart, and elevated in some sort of traction device.
Christian hadn't budged when I came to stand beside him, nor when the nurse called from the doorway. "Sir! You're not supposed to be in here."
But she must have seen what I had- a young man who was so worried about his father that he was visibly shaking.
Suddenly she stopped speaking, and turned to me, regret in her eyes as she closed the door softly behind her.
I moved closer to Christian, hesitantly looping my arm in his, and resting my face on the top of his bicep.
He relaxed a little, like my touch comforted him a little. "Hey," he said softly.
"Hey," I whispered back.
In spite of all of my efforts, tears welled in my throat and my chin began to wobble. I had never been so scared in my life. Scared for Christian. Scared because I'd never seen someone so broken before. But that was the only word to describe Mr. Parker. He was broken. In a way I wasn't sure could ever be fixed.
Christian looked down at me, his face softening. One side of his lip lifted as he knocked the side of my chin with his thumb. "Why the frown?"
I shook my head, unable to keep my emotions contained any longer. "Chrstian, your dad-"
My voice cracked, and he pulled me into his arms. He hugged me harder than I'd ever been hugged in my life. I could barely breathe, could barely move, but I didn't care.
"He'll be fine," he said to me.
It wasn't a statement, but a promise. A promise I wasn't sure he could keep. I wrapped my arms around his middle, allowing the side of my face to rest on his chest. His heartbeat was hard and fast it made me worry.
"I don't care what they say," he demanded, his hand trailing down my back, then up again. "He'll walk again, Lucy."
All I could do was nod. Not because I believed it was true, but because I knew Christan wouldn't accept a different answer. "Of course he will, Christian. Of course he will."