He moved on to his mom and stepdad’s room at the end of the hall. He spotted her purse on the dresser and Leonard’s flannel pajamas in the fourth drawer down, exactly where she’d said they’d be. On his drive home, his mom had texted that perhaps he should bring a change of regular clothes as well, so he picked out a pair of jeans and Leonard’s favorite sweatshirt, which announced will golf for beer, along with a couple pairs of boxers and socks. He laid everything on the bed and walked into the closet, looking for a bag to put everything in. Not spotting one on any of the shelves, he remembered that his mom kept suitcases in the attic.
Down came the foldout wooden stairs in the middle of the hall, and up Anders went, tugging on the string at the top, illuminating the bright light bulb. He spotted the cluster of suitcases immediately and picked a small roller-bag carry-on wedged between the plastic tub of Christmas ornaments on the left and a stack of two cardboard boxes on the right. The top box caught his eye, because it had his name in bold letters on top. He nearly turned away from it, assuming it was maybe old clothing that his mom hadn’t donated yet, but curiosity got the better of him and he paused, opening the top flap. And then he realized what it was—his mom’s collection of his childhood belongings. There was Elmer, his stuffed elephant that he refused to part with until at least third grade, maybe even longer. Scribbled artwork, stacks of handwritten stories, report cards, photos. He briefly rifled through it all, not remembering half of it, until he got to the middle of the box and a stack of VHS tapes, the top one with the words, in Leonard’s handwriting: Anders’s 4th Grade Talent Show.
He paused, half cringing and half laughing at the memory—not of the actual talent show but of telling Piper about it and her delighted reaction. He felt a pang in his chest. And then he pulled the tape out of the pile and closed the box.
After packing up his stepdad’s belongings, he walked downstairs to the den with the video, slid it into the VHS player on the built-in bookshelves, and turned on the TV. It took him a few minutes of fast-forwarding, but then there he was, a gangly nine-year-old in a backward baseball cap, standing stone-still and alone in the middle of the stage in his elementary school cafeteria. And then the first electronic strains of the Beastie Boys’ “Intergalactic” filled the air, followed by his mom’s voice. “Is the red button on, Leonard?” “Yep, we’re rolling,” his stepdad replied. “Shh! He’s starting!” his mom said, and likely nudged him, causing the camera to jerk before Leonard righted it, zooming in on Anders. Anders watched as his younger self moved his limbs, jerking and spinning and throwing himself to the ground with all the rhythm and awkwardness of a giraffe on roller skates. The laughter began about twenty seconds in, starting with surprised snickers until it built on itself, rippling through the crowd like a tidal wave. Anders squirmed for the boy onstage as if he were watching someone else, someone who had all the enthusiasm in the world, and none of the talent. He watched as the laughter reached young Anders’s ears. He saw the light go out of his eyes, the smile leave his face, and he suddenly remembered that moment so vividly. How had he forgotten the humiliation? But then, above the roar of laughter from the crowd, he heard something else—something he certainly hadn’t heard all those many years ago. It was his stepdad’s voice, loud and booming: “Woo-hoo! You’ve got this, Anders! Good job, son.”
* * *
—
Back at the hospital, Anders’s mom was sipping hot tea from the cafeteria and waiting some more. Leonard had made it out of surgery but hadn’t come to yet. The doctor let his mom see him briefly, and then said someone would let them know when he woke up. The three of them sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts, until at some point Anders nodded off.
He woke up to his sister shaking his arm, drool hanging from his mouth, a painful crick in his neck. “Huh,” he said, looking up, trying to make sense of his whereabouts. He wiped his lips with the back of his arm and remembered.
“Come on. He’s awake,” Kelsey said.
They walked single file down the hall, his mom in the lead like a mother duckling with her chicks. Anders’s stomach tightened with each step, unsure what they were going to find. Kelsey had briefed them on the possible side effects of stroke: being paralyzed, confused—and what Anders thought would be the worst—unable to speak.
But his worst fear was quickly squelched as they got closer to the room and heard Leonard’s booming voice drift out into the hall. “You’d think at least one of them would have ducked.”
It was his infamous “three men walked into a bar” joke that both Kelsey and Anders had heard so many times growing up, they often said the punch line with him. His mom took off as soon as she heard his voice, with Kelsey and Anders at her heels, and they rushed into the room and found him, head wrapped in bandages, laughing more at his own joke than the nurse taking his blood pressure.
“Well, there they are!” he said, spotting the three of them in the doorway. “Alisha, this is my family. My wife, Carol, my daughter, Kelsey, and my son, Anders.”
Anders’s mom hurried over to Leonard’s side.
“Kelsey’s about to be a world-renowned actress and Anders is a famous podcaster. Have you heard of What the Frick? Everyone’s talking about it. Even The Rock.”
“Really?” Alisha said kindly, as she slipped the blood pressure cuff off his dad’s arm. “I haven’t heard of that.”
“Take a listen. Great stuff.”
“How are you feeling?” Carol asked, her voice filled with concern. She looked him over up and down like she used to with Anders when he was a kid and fell off his bike.
“I’m just fine! ’Course I’m OK! You think a little stroke is gonna take me out?” He paused. “Can’t move the left side of my body, though.”
“Oh my god. Are you serious?” Kelsey said.
“Yeah. I mean, I did have a stroke. Doctor says it’s nothing a little physical therapy can’t sort out.”
“How did it happen? Could it happen again? What are they doing to prevent it?” Anders went straight into reporting mode. Gather as many facts as possible so you know exactly what you’re working with.
Leonard shrugged, though only his right shoulder actually moved. “Just one of those things, doc said. Said they’d run some tests.”
“They better,” Anders said, crossing his arms. One of those things was absolutely not an acceptable diagnosis when somebody’s life lay in the balance.
* * *
—
For the next three days, Anders took turns with his mom and sister visiting the hospital until Leonard could regain enough strength to go home. Anders mostly spent the time online researching everything he could about ischemic strokes and then grilling the doctors and nurses whenever it was his turn to be at the hospital.