Held

The machine inhales a steady hiss, pauses, then the exhale clicks in, a quieter woosh. I’ve been sitting in the same spot for hours, unwilling to move, terrified that she’ll die if I do. It’s been over a month since doctors put my mom on life support, and I’m still not used to the noise. The ventilator sounds drown out my thoughts. The buzz of my phone pulls my attention.

Brian: How is she? How are you?

Me: About the same. I’m okay, just exhausted. I miss you.

Brian: I’m so sorry. I miss you too.

I can’t sit here anymore. The ventilator’s repetitive, insistent breaths are starting to sound like voices. I stand, walk over to my mom’s bed and stare down at her. She’s shiny, swollen from the steroids, and drenched in sweat. I dampen a wash cloth in the sink and wring it out, carefully folding the freezing cloth into thirds before laying  it across her taut forehead. 

“I’ll be back soon, don’t die.” 

After eating a bag of sour gummy worms from the gift shop, I ride the elevator back to the 7th floor. I glance at the directory sign on my way out: Ardmore Tower: Pulmonary Intensive Care Unit. I settle into a chair in the middle of the line–they’re all empty, so I pull a second one in front of me to put up my feet. Brian hasn’t texted since earlier.  He’s working as a counselor at camp Mondamin for the summer, nearly three hours away from the hospital. We’ve only been dating six months, so I know it's unreasonable that I wish he could be here–but I do. In the absence of the deafening ventilator breaths, I allow my eyes to close.

My hands are warm. I blink open my eyes and my lap comes into focus. I see my own hands wrapped in a larger one. 

Kate: Kevin Foster thinks ur hot, u should come over!!!!!!

I stare down at my blackberry. Kate’s text is timely, I’ve just dumped Jackson and continuing to sit in his apartment among his ‘lax bros’ is more uncomfortable than usual. He sits on the cheap, orange couch across from me in a yellowing lacrosse t-shirt and sweatpants that should have been thrown away years prior, nursing a cheap beer and pouting. He is exceptionally disheveled and probably smells like wet socks, his signature scent.  My roommate, Sam, sits beside me, engaged in a raucous conversation, wholly ignoring me. I elbow her, 

“I’m going to head out, see you at home.” 

She half-way looks in my direction. 

“Yeah, see ya, Bookie.”

Her straight, dirty-blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail, highlighting her delicate profile. I stand, taking care to avoid Jackson’s gaze, which I feel burning into my flesh, and leave. 

Flip flops were an interesting choice for late January, yet somehow my hands are even colder than my feet. I’m wearing lightwash, low-rise jeans and a v-neck navy sweater to compliment my stupid footwear. My hair is straightened into submission and I maintain a golden glow well into winter thanks to alarmingly frequent tanning bed visits. As I trudge through the dewy grass, toes marinating in the freezing liquid, I think of the fun I’m about to have. I’m finally single for the first time in over five years, which is truly sad seeing as I’m newly 20. I’m ready to tear through every frat boy I can find…starting with Kevin Foster.

↔

Kevin stands across the bar in his apartment’s kitchen, contorting his mouth and making squirrel noises. 

“See? If you just squish your cheek like this…” he mumbles.

He keeps at it and I send Kate an SOS-glance. She’s already drunk, cooing at her boyfriend Rob. Finally, Kevin stops, only to scoop another tarry wad of chewing tobacco into his top lip, explaining that his bottom one has already deteriorated from overuse. He is the most average white guy I’ve ever seen, with mousy brown hair and matching eyes, his only defining feature a lone dimple—and the squirrel thing.

Rob pulls out an orange jar of Tang powder drink mix with a flourish, 

“I’m makin’ y'all Tangaritas!” 

Kate wiggles her thin brows at him excitedly. Her pale skin is flushed, and I push her burnt orange hair behind her shoulder. 

“You okay?” I ask her. 

She giggles. I worry about Kate–she’s my ‘little sister’  in our sorority, and I am overprotective of her at times. It’s something I’m working on. 

“Jesus…you got enough powder in that thing?” a third roommate in Baggy Jeans and Hoodie asks Rob.

I look to see that Rob has used an entire scoop of Tang power per drink. He haphazardly stirs at it, the chunky mixture sloshing around in the plastic red cup. Rob is sweaty…so, so sweaty. He’s not handsome, but has a boyish smile that compliments his chubby cheeks. He serves up the drinks, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes, flinging sweat across the kitchen. Kevin has disappeared to chase his ex-girlfriend around in the cold. So much for tearing through that frat boy.  I take a hesitant sip from my drink and struggle to swallow. It's like drinking a Flintstones Vitamin. 

↔

I reach up to tuck my hair behind my ear and notice my earring is missing from my left ear. 

“Oh my god! Where is my earring!?” I screech.

I jump off of the stool, a bit unsteady after several drinks. Kate follows and we begin searching frantically. These earrings are my favorite, they’re sparkly studs in a perfect periwinkle purple. 

“This it?” Baggy Jeans and Hoodie says.

I whip around to see him holding my beloved in his hand. 

“YES!!!” 

I really look at him for the first time–he has a striking face, balanced but masculine with a sharp jawline, strong brow, a slightly dimpled chin set below full lips, and grey-blue eyes hidden behind simple, wire-framed glasses. His hair is messy, falling in loose blonde waves around his forehead, ignoring his obvious attempt to push it back. 

“Thank you!” 

I take my earring from him, his fingertips touching my palm as I do. I inhale and put my earring back in its place.

The night drones on in a flurry of poorly mixed drinks and laughter.  

“I think Brian likes you,” Kate scream-whispers in my ear. 

Brian, not Baggy Jeans and Hoodie. 

“Yeah, no shit.”

Brian, as I now know him, has been following me since the earring was discovered, trying to make conversation. He walks up to the bar, holding a glass and spoon in one hand and two bottles of beer in the other, 

“Watch this,” he says, clunkily sitting down the supplies.

He pours a light beer into the glass, holds the spoon over it, and begins pouring a dark beer over top. I watch his hands–they’re big, muscular with visible veins and short, clean nails. The dark beer spills over the spoon and mixes with the light beer already in the glass. His cheeks turn pink, 

“It was supposed to make the dark beer float on top of the light beer…but,” he says, shrugging.

“At least it probably still tastes good,” I reply, appreciating the effort. 

He offers a lopsided grin, revealing a dimple of his own (much cuter than Kevin’s), in his right cheek, 

“Wanna play darts?” 

↔

“Let me walk you to your apartment, it's late” Brian says.

I remind Rob to make sure Kate doesn’t drink any more and that she gets plenty of water before they sleep. Even though he’s immature, I think I can trust Rob. But Kate is only 19, and, much like me my Freshman year, has never really drank before. Brian and I take off together, sticking to the sidewalks as he’s also wearing flip-flops–idiots, the both of us. We talk about Kevin, Rob, and Kate on the way and it's easy, nothing feels forced or awkward. After we make the 3-flight climb to my apartment door, I reach to unlock it as Brian says, 

“Hope you have a good night, it was nice to meet you.” 

I whip around, the door hitting me in the back. This dumbass is really about to leave without even getting my number!? 

“Uh…do you want my number or anything..?” I respond, giving him an unsubtle side-eye.

“Oh shit, yeah, that would be awesome,” he reaches into his pocket pulling out a giant brick of a phone, and flips it open. 

“...or you can come in and hang out if you want?” I suggest, pushing back into the door. 

Frat boy number one, right on time.  He looks up from his phone, his right eyebrow raised above his glasses. He doesn’t hesitate, snapping his phone shut and pocketing it, then steps into my apartment.

↔

I leave Brian sitting on my bed while I sneak into the shared bathroom and vomit sticky chunks of Tang powder. Thanks, Rob. I sit up, tears stinging the corners of my eyes and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I sidle to the sink, brush my teeth and wash hands, hopeful I’ll feel better. When I return to my bedroom, Brian is sitting on the edge of my bed, shaking one leg up and down and looking at his hands.

“Is it cool if we lay down, the room is doing spinny things” I say, flopping onto the pink comforter beside him. 

He lays beside me, careful to leave as much space between us as the twin mattress will allow. Our conversation picks back up easily, and we eventually move on from our mutual friends to our families. He’s close with his mom, who lives half-way across the country in Oklahoma. 

“I’m super close with my mama too! She’s kinda sick lately, somethin’ goin’ on with her eyes.” Brian doesn’t respond, but rubs a gentle circle on my upper arm. Somehow, over the course of the last hour of talking, I’ve ended up with my head on Brian’s chest, tucked under his right arm–it’s heavy, but I can feel him flexing to keep me from bearing its full weight.

We tumble through conversation, sharing stories of our alcoholic fathers, favorite books, high-school emo phases–sprinkling kisses and laughter throughout. He swaps his Charleston Southern accent for an Australian one every so often, seemingly for no reason except that it makes me laugh.  My stomach growls loudly and Brian raises that right brow again. 

“Sorry…I’m starving,” I say, “Wanna go dig around in the kitchen?” 

He sits up, taking my hand and we make our way to the pantry together. 

We’re sitting on my bed again, eating a loaf of white bread and giggling. There was next to nothing in our kitchen, so stealing a bread loaf from my roommates was the only option.

“Best…bread…ever” I mumble between chews, he smiles at me, cheeks full. 

His phone rings, interrupting our romantic chipmunking. He finishes chewing the bread in his mouth and answers; he says little before hanging up. 

“That was Rob…it's Kate.”

↔

Kate is sprawled across the toilet; her arms and legs extended in a star-shape, naked, with dribbles of puke littering her chest, her head flopping sideways. Panic strangles me, I can’t move even though I know I should. Brian steps into the bathroom, and my first instinct is to stop him–she’s naked and unconscious, what if he hurts her? I look at Rob, who is standing beside Kate, holding onto her shoulders to keep her from falling off the toilet completely; he meets my eyes and nods–it’s okay, he’ll help her, the look says. Brian grabs a towel from the shower curtain bar and wraps it around Kate. With Rob’s help, Brian lifts her and walks her into Rob’s bedroom, laying her carefully on the bed. 

“Get her clothes on, Rob. Amanda, go to the kitchen and get her some water.” 

We do as he says. How is he so calm?  Brian helps Kate drink water by holding her head up to allow her swallow it without choking. She starts to come to, and I can feel the cramp in my chest beginning to loosen. The theme song to Glee, Season 1 blares on a loop from Rob’s TV–they’ve left the DVD in, the menu dancing on the screen. 

Brian looks at me. “She’s gonna be okay, I think we can skip the ER for now. But I’m gonna stay here with her to be sure.” 

It was probably all that fucking Tang powder. 

I hug Kate’s half-sleeping body and say, “I’ll be back soon, don’t die.”

Rob walks me back to my apartment, explaining on the way that this is who Brian is: the one they call when things go wrong, the one who stays calm in chaos, the one who can fix things, the one who can be a little arrogant–especially about his intelligence– but is always trustworthy. Back in my apartment, I sit on my bed alone, replaying the last hours of my life. I think of Brian’s hands, their steady strength when holding my own, their calm confidence when carrying Kate, their delicate safety when holding me while we talked about our mothers. This was not going to be a frat boy I would tear through, this was going to be something more. I finally lay down, exhausted and exhilarated at the same time, and, in the absence of chaos, allow my eyes to close.

Morning comes too soon, the knock on my apartment door startling me awake.

“Hey there,” Brian smiles at me when I open my apartment door.

His voice is warm and steady, like sunshine, an inhale. Rob and Kate are standing behind him, Kate grinning at me. 

“Hey bitch, you hungry?” she says.

I’m shocked at her state: peppy, bright-eyed and seemingly unaffected by last night’s near-death experience. 

“Literally dying–how are you this awake!?” 

She laughs, shrugging, and turns to go down the stairs. The four of us walk toward our campus cafe, Kate and Rob in front, holding hands and talking over each other. Brian takes my hand and I look down to where we’re joined, his hand an exhale of strength around mine.

I look from our hands, up and to my left. Brian sits in the ICU waiting room chair beside me, in baggy jeans and a hoodie. 

“Hey there,” he says.