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Kim
clears
her
throat
.
"
Um
,
it
doesn
’
t
do
us
any
good
if
Brooke
is
a
diversion
in
the
lobby
.
We
need
to
go
upstairs
to
the
ICU
and
then
maybe
someone
could
shout
that
Brooke
Vega
is
here
.
That
might
do
it
.
If
it
doesn
’
t
,
then
sing
.
All
we
really
want
is
to
lure
a
couple
of
curious
nurses
out
,
and
that
grouchy
head
nurse
after
them
.
Once
she
comes
out
of
the
ICU
and
sees
all
of
us
in
the
hall
,
she
’
ll
be
too
busy
dealing
with
us
to
notice
that
Adam
has
slipped
inside
.
"
Brooke
appraises
Kim
.
Kim
in
her
rumpled
black
pants
and
unflattering
sweater
.
Then
Brooke
smiles
and
links
arms
with
my
best
friend
.
"
Sounds
like
a
plan
.
Let
’
s
motor
,
kids
.
"
I
lag
behind
,
watching
this
procession
of
hipsters
barrel
through
the
lobby
.
The
sheer
noisiness
of
them
,
of
their
heavy
boots
,
and
loud
voices
,
buzzed
on
by
their
sense
of
urgency
,
ricochets
through
the
quiet
hush
of
the
hospital
and
breathes
some
life
into
the
place
.
I
remember
watching
a
TV
program
once
about
old
-
age
homes
that
brought
in
cats
and
dogs
to
cheer
the
elderly
and
dying
patients
.
Maybe
all
hospitals
should
import
groups
of
rabble
-
rousing
punk
rockers
to
kick
-
start
the
languishing
patients
’
hearts
.
They
stop
in
front
of
the
elevator
,
waiting
endlessly
for
one
empty
enough
to
ferry
them
up
as
a
group
.
I
decide
that
I
want
to
be
next
to
my
body
when
Adam
makes
it
to
the
ICU
.
I
wonder
if
I
will
be
able
to
feel
his
touch
on
me
.
While
they
wait
at
the
elevator
banks
,
I
scramble
up
the
stairs
.
I
’
ve
been
gone
from
the
ICU
for
more
than
two
hours
,
and
a
lot
has
changed
.
There
is
a
new
patient
in
one
of
the
empty
beds
,
a
middle
-
aged
man
whose
face
looks
like
one
of
those
surrealist
paintings
:
half
of
it
looks
normal
,
handsome
even
,
the
other
half
is
a
mess
of
blood
,
gauze
,
and
stitching
,
like
someone
just
blew
it
off
.
Maybe
a
gunshot
wound
.
We
get
a
lot
of
hunting
accidents
around
here
.
One
of
the
other
patients
,
one
who
was
so
swaddled
in
gauze
and
bandages
that
I
couldn
’
t
see
if
he
/
she
was
a
man
or
woman
,
is
gone
.
In
his
/
her
place
is
a
woman
whose
neck
is
immobilized
in
one
of
those
collar
things
.
As
for
me
,
I
’
m
off
my
ventilator
now
.
I
remember
the
social
worker
telling
my
grandparents
and
Aunt
Diane
that
this
was
a
positive
step
.
I
stop
to
check
if
I
feel
any
different
,
but
I
don
’
t
feel
anything
,
not
physically
anyhow
.
I
haven
’
t
since
I
was
in
the
car
this
morning
,
listening
to
Beethoven
’
s
Cello
Sonata
no
.
3
.
Now
that
I
’
m
breathing
on
my
own
,
my
wall
of
machines
bleeps
far
less
,
so
I
get
fewer
visits
from
the
nurses
.
Nurse
Ramirez
,
the
one
with
the
nails
,
looks
over
at
me
every
now
and
again
,
but
she
’
s
busy
with
the
new
guy
with
the
half
face
.
"
Holy
crud
.
Is
that
Brooke
Vega
?
"
I
hear
someone
ask
in
a
totally
fakey
dramatic
voice
from
outside
the
ICU
’
s
automatic
doors
.
I
’
ve
never
heard
any
of
Adam
’
s
friends
talk
so
PG
-
13
before
.
It
’
s
their
sanitized
hospital
version
of
"
holy
f
*
*
king
shit
.
"
"
You
mean
Brooke
Vega
of
Bikini
?
Brooke
Vega
who
was
on
the
cover
of
Spin
magazine
last
month
?
Here
in
this
very
hospital
?
"
This
time
it
’
s
Kim
talking
.
She
sounds
like
a
six
-
year
-
old
reciting
lines
from
a
school
play
about
the
food
groups
:
You
mean
you
’
re
supposed
to
eat
five
servings
of
fruit
and
vegetables
a
day
?
