Eyes wide open

“When was he admitted?”

“Says here … 2:17 this morning.”

“He seemed his usual perfectly fine, genius self when he insisted on taking lead on the Thompson surgery yesterday.” Terse. Clipped.

I’m head surgeon. My call. It was a complicated surgery.

“I couldn’t believe it myself; such a shock when it is someone we know, isn’t it?”

“Does anyone really know him?” Long exhale, a glance into the room, back to the phone.

“Don’t you and some of the other surgeons play poker each week?”

“Sure. Poker’s … poker. Not bare-your-soul time. He doesn’t DO … anything that I’m aware of. Always here. Amazed he takes time out for cards. I don’t even know if he watches TV.”

Yes, I do. I watch documentaries, and National Geographic, and Reality TV. I like Survivor, and Amazing Race.

Dad and I played cards. Before I had to be so devoted to school. I miss him.

“Coma…prelim scans showed swelling on the brain; possibly caused by a tumour. More tests scheduled.”

She flipped a page.

“Called 911 himself; something about balance, unable to focus, feeling off over last few weeks, off and on, thought it was fatigue. Last few days, severe headaches. He called 911 when he started to have trouble with his vision. Here’s an added footnote: started to become incoherent towards end of call; agitated.”

Tap Tap. Tap. Sigh. “Well, that’s that, then.” Still looking at his phone. Tap Tap. “I gotta go.” Denby raised his phone half-heartedly as though to prove the point, then disappeared somewhere into the bustling abyss of the hospital.

Nurse Allen refilled the water glass and repositioned the pillows before leaving the room.

“Heyyy!” followed by a low chuckle, knuckles cracking, and the sound of hands gripping, then releasing, the bedrail. “Wow: so … uhh … look at you, eh!”

“Right. That was stupid.”

“Um.”

“Been awhile.”

12 years.

Hand running through hair; a prolonged exhale.

”puh puh puh puh puuhhh …”

Tommy tried to look directly at his older brother, an immovable figure in a state of prolonged unconsciousness, breathing rhythmically.

“You prob can’t even hear me. But the nurse, she says, you might be able to. So; you know.”

“Maybe first time you actually listen, eh. Maybe. I mean, truly hear me. See me, like, you know. Me. Your little brother, not the troublemaker. Ah gee I don’t know. I mean, it’s just, it’s been so long but it seems just like always. I finally come to see you and you might not be able to hear me.”

Low, nervous laughter.

I’m listening. I always saw you. You never left my line of vision.

“Do you ever see me; hear me, when I talk to you? Or just how I’m not what you think I should be? Anyway … I don’t know what brought that up. Oh yeah, wondering if you can hear me.”

You were smart – are smart. Allowed to do everything that Mom wouldn’t let me do ‘cause I was ‘going to be a doctah’: join sports teams, hang with friends just because; go on field trips and road trips. But you were aimless, undisciplined. I wanted good things for you. Your friends – some of them ended up in juvie.

“So, I’m smart, too, you know. Clever, really. Not like you are, but, HA! Yessiree!!” He looked around, lowered his voice a little. “I figured a way to make some money. Enough to open a little garage up city.”

You always were good with cars.

“I know, I know.” Tommy stopped his dancing, lifted his gaze to Hoyt’s face – spoke petulantly to his older brother: “Everything I learned was probably through illegal activities … blah blah blah. So what?!?! I learned it. And guess what? I’m a damn good mechanic! So there! And my garage wouldn’t be a chop-shop. I just need the starter cash is all.”

You worked in a chop shop?

You could have come to me. I make good money; hardly use any of it.

“And don’t be telling me I could come to you: you! I would’ve had so many conditions I would drown in them before the shop ever got off the ground.”

… I would have, yes …

Tommy tapped his shirt pocket: “tck tck! This here little black book you see here – oh, right, you can’t, well- this little black book I just pulled from my pocket? Guess what? It’s proof that I am also, it turns out, very good with computers. So good, in fact, that I’ve become the go-to guy at the warehouse to trouble-shoot for the boss and them up in the glass square. Yeah.”

He paused. Looked around again.

“And I figured a way to siphon off little, itty bits of money, a little itty bit at a time, into one of several accounts that I set up, and no one sees it, and no one catches on, and when I’m done, I’m going to tell my boss adios!! Amigo and get the hell out. And you want to know the best part of it? You can’t say a word.”

Was I really that bad? Where would you have been if I didn’t become your guardian when Mom and Dad died? We were all each other had. I dug into my work and did my best to keep you fed and out of trouble. It would have been easier if you’d been less of a free spirit…for me to manage and not worry…

A tall, immaculately dressed woman waltzed into the room, phone in hand: she stopped short when she saw Tommy, pocketed the phone and sidled past him around the foot of the bed.

Moira stood off to the side, behind the inviting, comfortable chair placed for anyone who was inclined to stay awhile.

“Um..so…Hi. um. Honey.”

“Well- maybe I’ll come again. I don’t know. I’ll be putting in some overtime the next week…work on that little project I told you about.”

Tommy threw a quick, furtive look in Hoyt’s direction, and left the room.

“So…” Moira brightened. “I’m still going to go to the Gala tonight. I hope you don’t mind. Kind of keeping things normal, you know, being positive…” Her voice trailed off.

I was hoping you would sit with me a while.

Head surgeon at a prestigious hospital; figured I should have a girlfriend, and we seemed to get along; you seemed to like me. Do you? Like me? Do I like you?

“Well…you know, it’s in a few hours, and …”

“Moira…” whispered by a man sticking his head into the room.

“Yes, yes…coming.”

Jack Sunderland?

“Jack drove me here; he’s been such a comfort since I learned the shocking news about you. He’s going to accompany me to the Gala…I hope it’s ok … I mean …I don’t want to be alone right now … knowing someone in a coma is …freaky and … I don’t know…”

Have fun. Really. Don’t worry about me. Wow- didn’t know I could be that sarcastic …

Moira inched closer, bent over awkwardly, pecked Hoyt quickly on the forehead and left. Hoyt and Nurse Allen could hear her telling Jack how “horrid it was, touching a man who could be dead for all she knew, only still breathing, but dead, you know??”, and Jack’s soothing “there, there’s” fading down the hallway.

Nurse Allen closed the curtains and left the room, closing the door softly.

Alexia walked straight into the room and sat herself in the comfortable chair.

“Hello Mr. Toms. I was at the house to walk the dog, and Moira was there, and told me that you are in hospital, and I couldn’t believe it, and I came as soon as I could: I have 2 hours between walking dogs and cleaning houses that I could come, but I can’t stay long, it’s crazy how long the bus rides take, but I’ll come again, too, but, oh…I am talking a lot…I am sorry…it is awful that you are lying there, please don’t die..oh..I guess I shouldn’t have said that out loud. Oh…Alexia…” she reprimanded herself.

“It isn’t the income, or missing Mugsy, it’s just, well, I can think of a lot of people who I could live not seeing again but not you, and you help so many people.”

Hello miss cheerful, Alexia.

She sucked in her lower lip; looked around the room: Tables and windowsills were filled with vases of flowers, potted plants, cards, and even some balloons. Anyone reading the accompanying cards would note that these were all from grateful patients, OR nurses, and hospital staff.

Alexia made herself comfortable in the space, alternating between moments of silence and longish babblings about dogs, cleaning other people’s houses, family, the weather, until she eventually had to leave. In the silences, she studied Hoyt’s face; thought that he looked a lot like her favourite uncle, wondered who would take care of Mugsy.

I used to think that it was good that I did not have to chat with you all that often, it might give me a headache. Surgery suits me: I connect with people by enhancing or saving their life, I just don’t have to be involved with them. But this has been pleasant. Listening to you prattle about your everyday life: you sound so happy. Fulfilled. Interesting.

She got up, fixed her coat, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door. As she was exiting the door, she turned suddenly, “Oh! I almost forgot. I didn’t mention about taking care of Bugsy at night, too, until you are well again … only because Moira has him. K- bye. See you tomorrow!”

Moira hates dogs. Especially Mugsy.

At 8PM that evening, Nurse Allen unhooked the monitors and IV’s.

She raised Hoyt to a sitting position and handed him an overnight bag. Hoyt withdrew an envelope and handed it to her. “Thanks. Glad I did this.”

The next day, rumours began to emerge that Dr. Toms had waken from his coma and making a full recovery. No tumours were found, in fact, the cause of his coma was a complete mystery.

Hoyt appeared at Moira’s door, interrupting a late supper with Jack, and rendering her stuttering and speechless. He asked for Mugsy, much to Jack’s obvious chagrin, wished her and Jack well, and left. The grin on his face reduced his apparent age by 10 years.

He then visited Tommy, helped the shocked and trembling man to a seat on his sofa, and, after Tommy had downed his second shot of whiskey, the two men sat up chatting through the night.

Hoyt realized that there was so much he did not know about his brother, himself, or the world at large. He promised to look into being a business partner for Tommy’s garage.

Unbeknownst to Tommy, Hoyt left with photos of Tommy’s black book on his phone. He had thought about turning Tommy in, but he couldn’t. Or returning the funds, but to do so would cause inquiries as to where the funds came from and point back to Tommy. Tommy no longer needed the money for his business, but some things never change, and Hoyt couldn’t bring himself to let Tommy keep the stolen money.

On Wednesday, when Alexia responded to a knock on the door, she found not a person, but a small box and large bouquet of flowers. In the box was an envelope containing $20, 000 in cash, and a note: Thank you. Keep living your life with eyes wide open.

Hoyt assigned Denby and another colleague to all of his upcoming surgeries before heading off with Mugsy on a 3-month road trip: no map; destination unknown.