It’s also a situation
where “you have to wait
to find out what will
happen next.”
I’m in limbo, too
while we wait
for the verdict.
Letters to the editor
fill a whole page
in the paper.
“A win for the plaintiff
could set a dangerous precedent
for our gun rights. The next thing
we know, the government will be
taking the guns right out of our hands.”
“The tragic truth is that two boys’ lives
were ruined by the carelessness of
one man. No matter what the decision,
everyone is a loser.”
“In the end, we are all paying for
the care Jonah Carrier will need
for the rest of his life. And I ask the
question, Who is going
to pay for MY care?”
How can anyone know
that Clay’s life
is ruined?
I’m in limbo
watching
for a red truck
that never comes.
Every night,
I wait down at the eddy
alone.
The water is warming up.
It’s light out later and later.
There are frogs croaking
and little minnows hiding
in the shadows of the dock.
Jonah’s eyes are closed
more and more.
The only voice
that will wake him up
every time
is mine.
It’s like he’s in limbo too—
somewhere between
awake and asleep.
Suck-It-Up is being
a very good friend.
Lately, no matter what the time,
he’s by Jonah’s side.
The party is in three days.
The guest list
on the fridge
gets longer
every day.
Dr. Kate is coming
and so is Birchell,
and Hunter and Sara
and all the hippie kids.
I don’t feel
“clear or certain”
whether I should
talk to Rainie
about Phoebe’s ring.
What can I say?
Please ask your animal
to give it back?
I learn that
I don’t like
being in limbo.
Even if it’s bad news,
I want to know
now.
I’m not good
at being “between here
and there.”
Team Meeting
There’s a
Team Meeting
to talk about
Jonah’s big sleeping,
all the
“support”
he’s been needing,
and the crackly sounds
in his chest.
Jess and Lila think
he has his days and nights
mixed up.
Vivian says,
He seems to be . . . ,
and she looks over at Mom,
ah . . . withdrawing a little.
I know the words
she means to say
before she remembers
Mom is there—
“giving up.”
That can’t happen,
because then it would be
just me.
Johnny and Phoebe
don’t say anything.
I think Jonah is bored,
I speak up.
I’d be bored,
doing the same thing every day,
and, no offense,
I love you all, but
seeing the same people.
When Jonah’s O needs stabilize,
we can look into a day program,
Dr. Kate says then,
nodding seriously at Dr. Liv.
There is a stroke-and-head-injury rehab program
at the hospital,
where he could be picked up
and do therapies and activities
during the day.
How old would the other people
be, in these programs?
Mom asks.
I can see she hopes
these programs
will be like a fun summer school
for Jonah,
with other kids his age.
There’s a range,
Dr. Kate says.
Everyone in the room,
except Mom,
knows that’s not a real answer.
The Fidgets
There’s not much room
to pace
in our house
at night.
I can’t go upstairs
because Mom is asleep.
The kitchen to my room
only takes two steps.
Johnny watches me walk around
the kitchen.
You know, the best cure
for the fidgets
is getting in the birthday-party spirit,
he says.
Who says I have
the fidgets?
How many times
did you just look
in the refrigerator
in the last thirty seconds?
I thought you nurses
were planning everything—
all the food
and the guest list.
Johnny reaches into the
oversize man purse
that holds his stethoscope,
water bottle, and food,
and tosses me a bag
of balloons, a plastic
hand-pump balloon inflator,
and three packs of folded-up
birthday banners.
What the heck?
I say, holding them all
in my arms.
Dollar-store specials,
Johnny says.
No string for the balloons?
Johnny reaches back into his bag
like Mary Poppins, RN,
and holds up a spool of kite string.
Is Jonah awake?
I ask him.
It’s hard to tell,
Johnny says.
I carry all the party supplies
into the living room.
Let’s wake him up,
and get him
in his chair,
while we decorate.
Maybe this is his
daytime,
I say to Johnny.
We lift Jonah into his chair.
It feels like he
is fighting us
in a quiet way,
letting his arms hang
and stiffening his legs
on purpose.
I notice Food Truck
is serving seltzer
instead of vanilla milkshake.
That’s a first.
Change in menu?
I ask Johnny.
It’s Pedialyte,
Johnny explains.
He wasn’t tolerating
the formula.
When Jonah is sitting up,
I sit next to him
and start pumping up
balloons.
Blue, yellow, pink, red,
purple, green, orange.
Jonah opens his eyes
to see what we’re doing.
I put a green balloon in his lap,
and move his hands
onto it.
Hey, Jonah, I say,
Johnny and I are doing
some middle-of-the-night
party prep.
What do you think?
Jonah smiles at me.
Both sides of his mouth
don’t move in the same
direction anymore,
but I remember the before-smile
so well, it’s what I see.
Maybe Jonah was just bored,
because he’s wide awake
for the party decorating.
OOG OOG,
he says,
whenever another balloon
is blown up.
Johnny puts Jonah’s
Zombie Vest on him
and switches it on.
Brooka Brooka Brooka
Brooka Brooka Brooka
Zombie Vest shivers.
Johnny starts dancing
around the living room.
I attach balloons to Food Truck,
and tape them to the ceiling
over Jonah’s bed.