CHAPTER TEN
"He's not here, is he?"
Amanda was chomping on a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich, and her cheeks looked like a chipmunk's. She took a gigantic swallow, and said, "Who?"
"Mark," Meg said impatiently. "I've been looking for him all day. He's not here, is he?" she repeated.
Amanda took a second swallow. "Well, I see his friends over there--" She pointed to a booth on the wall closest to the lunch-line. "--and he's not with them." She shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe he went off campus. He is an upper-classman." At Glenwood High, only upperclassmen were allowed to go off-campus during their periods off.
Meg turned her head back round to Amanda and sighed. "I know, but I've been searching for him the whole day. I even know where a couple of his classes are now, and he wasn't there."
"So he's sick," she replied.
Meg bit her thumbnail thoughtfully. "I suppose you're right. I suppose I don't have any reason to be worried."
"So don't be," Amanda encouraged. "I'm sure after what happened yesterday, he's bound to be a little under the weather."
Meg's eyes darkened, remembering the aftermath of her outing with Beth. She had a dim memory of Mark finding her and bringing her home, but a much more stark one of waking up with a throbbing headache to her mother's harsh scoldings. Not at all impressed with Meg's sickness, she'd unleashed a string of attacks almost immediately upon Meg's opening her eyes to the twilight. Her father was downstairs, uninvolved, watching the television set, probably trying to drown out the shouting voices from upstairs.
Oh, why had she agreed to go with Beth that afternoon? Looking back, it was much like the wolf in Granny's clothes... she was ever so sweet in inviting her to come over, and wouldn't it just be the most fun?
She knew why she did it. She wanted to impress Mark. All his friends, she knew, were a lot tougher and more street-wise than she ever was, and she hated being thought of as innocent. She wanted, for once, to be the impulsive one, the daring one, the exciting one. And after being somewhat intimate with him... perhaps she felt vulnerable.
"Do you think I looked like a fool?" she asked Amanda, who lifted blonde lashes lazily in reply.
"From what you told me, Meg, he's probably more concerned than judgmental right now."
"And what about you?" she asked. "Do you think I was crazy for what I did?"
Amanda smiled weakly and patted her hand. "Of course not. Maybe you were a little stupid, but not crazy." Amanda's humor was very blatant. "I must admit, I had no idea that the two of you had a history together when I first told you not to go near him, but the story remains the same: Mark has caused a lot of trouble in the past. When you told me about your older brother, then later when you told me that Mark was the one who pulled the trigger--"
"By accident, of course," Meg interjected.
Without missing a beat, Amanda went on, "I was shocked out of my mind. I knew you had to be with him, to talk with him, to get whatever curiosities you had inside of you out of your system, but I was still wary of him, and I would have advised you to take all precautions necessary. After all, he's already gotten you into trouble, hasn't he?"
Meg saw her point.
"But listen," she said, leaning in closer. "If it's any consolation, I know that you have deep feelings for him, and I know that no silly teenage pot-smoking record can take that away...am I right?"
Meg looked into her bright green eyes and nodded carefully.
"So, Meg," she said, clasping her hands together, "Go be with him. See if you can make a difference. But don't get sucked into his depressed lifestyle. That would only be defeating the brilliance of your presence in his life." Amanda paused to give her a knowing look. "Besides," she said. "I'm pretty damn sure he feels deeply about you, too."
"I care about him so much," Meg blurted, suddenly gasping for breath. "that sometimes I don't know what to do with myself."
"It was love at first sight, wasn't it?"
Meg wrung her hands and gasped at the effrontery. After a long pause, she spoke. "I suppose it was. Not technically, since we knew each other when we were children, but yes."
"Then figure out what exactly you mean to do about it, and do it."
"But we've already--"
"I don't mean that," Amanda broke in. "I mean, after what's been done, do you want to have a serious relationship with this boy? After all, one night doesn't necessarily mean anything more than itself in the nineties."
"Amanda!"
"Come on, Meg, it's the truth."
Meg's cheeks became hot and flushed with embarrassment. "It just happened..."
"Have you talked with him since?"
"No."
"Not once?"
"Nope."
"Well, it's only been a couple of days. And have you thought about Beth? What did she have to say when you went over to her house?"
Meg rested her forehead against a propped-up arm. "Nothing. She said they hadn't spoken in a while, but they were going to go out that evening...the rest is kind of a blur," she admitted.
"Still going out?"
"Apparently." The tone of the conversation turned sharply gloomy.
"You didn't tell her anything, did you?"
"No," Meg said. "How could I have? I didn't think it was the proper time and place to break such news. Besides," she went on, "Mark would probably be the better person to tell her."
"You're right about that," Amanda agreed. "Best not to meddle in other people's affairs."
Meg was bombarded with a sudden unpleasant thought. "Amanda? What if he's not planning on telling her?"
Amanda laughed softly. "You're already worried about that? It's only been a couple of days. Give him time. Maybe he even told her last night, after he dropped you off at your house. Have you seen Beth today?"
Meg thought. "No."
"Well, I'll be with you at cheerleading practice. We'll see her then, okay?"
"Okay." The bell rang. The masses of kids got up from their seats and threw trash into bins before heading through the double doors into the main building of the school. Amanda and Meg got separated in the crowd, and several tall boys obscured Meg's view of her.
But Amanda's shouts broke through the crowd. "Meet me after school, outside the locker room!"
"Okay!" she hollered back.
But Meg's anxiety about Mark continued throughout the rest of the day, and she found that she could not concentrate in the rest of her classes.
After the final bell rang, Meg met up with Amanda and told her that she was going to skip practice and walk to Mark's house.
"Just don't let your parents find out," she warned, and gave her a brief hug.
The walk was an easy one. It was a pleasant day, partially overcast, and Meg walked much of the distance staring at the shadow in front of her, which bobbed up and down with each step. She was nervous, and yet excited, finding herself hungry to see Mark again after what had taken place between them over the weekend. She'd not been able to speak with him properly when she'd gotten drugged and drunk, and she was anxious to see what he thought of her for doing that...whether he was frightened or disappointed, shocked or maybe sympathetic.
It took fifteen minutes to get to his house, and she surprised herself by remembering which way to go to get there.
His house was a grey split-level badly in need of a paint job. The wood panels looked dingy, and the paint was beginning to peel at the corners, and the little flakes were forming small piles on the ground. Garden tools were thrown haphazardly around the lawn, as though someone had begun to do some yardwork a long time ago and had forgotten about them. After all this time, somehow the house looked smaller and darker than she remembered it. The one brightness about the place was a floral wreath hanging cheerfully on the front door, filled with silk purple irises and red poppies, but it looked odd and misplaced next to the seediness of the house.
Meg walked up the stone pathway and went up the steps to the concrete stoop, which was covered by an awning. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. She lifted her fist and knocked loudly on the grey door three times. She waited, holding her breath.
After a brief moment, the door slowly creaked open. Mark's mother was standing there, dressed in a sweatshirt and sweatpants. Her face was swollen and blotchy, and remnants of tears were still in her shrunken eyes.
"May I help you?" the woman asked, obviously trying to fight back a sob.
"Are you alright?" Meg asked, suddenly rushing to her side.
The woman wiped away a stray tear. "It's my son-- he's in the hospital--" Her voice trailed off. Meg gasped. Oh, no! She could see that the woman was practically frantic.
"Where?" Meg demanded. "What happened?"
The woman was shaking, trying to control her tears. "Underwood hospital. He tried to kill himself. I'm on my way there now--"
He'd tried to kill himself? "Take me with you," Meg pleaded. "I'm a friend of his. I'm sure he'd want me to be there."
"Megan Mitchell?" she asked weakly, a glint of recognition in her eyes. A large tear dropped from her chin. "Is that you?" Meg nodded. "I've not seen you in years..." Her voice was hoarse and quiet, just above a whisper.
"Please," Meg said. "I want to see him."
"Alright," she said. "Follow me to the car."
The car trip was tense and silent. Meg stared out the window, watching the trees and houses go by, and chewed her bottom lip to pieces as they drove the few miles to the hospital. She looked over to her left briefly a couple of times and Mark's mother was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles were white. She listened to her jagged breathing and waited for them to near the town's local hospital.
When they were at an intersection, Meg asked, as calmly as she could, "What did he do?"
After some hesitation, she answered in a hoarse voice, "The kid went and shot himself. They found him up at Raven's Point yesterday, bleeding from a head wound. Campers heard a shot, and rushed to the scene."
"Had you known he was missing?"
The woman shook her head, still looking at the road. "He was gone all hours of the day, most every day. First I heard of this was when the police called me last night to tell me my son had attempted suicide."
Meg was shaken. "How bad is it?"
"He was in critical condition yesterday, and today he was in stable condition. He's still got tubes running all throughout his body, but they've just given him his own room, and that's why I was about to return to the hospital. To see him." The muscles around her mouth were twitching. Meg noticed for the first time that she wasn't wearing any makeup.
As they neared the entrance to the hospital, Meg took note of the luxurious garden that ran the length of its perimeter. It was devoid of any flowers, for the Fall season had already begun to rear its cold head, but Meg guessed that it contained tulips and azaleas during the Spring months. In between buildings, there was a space where a white gazebo stood with ivy entwined through its slats, and inside of it was a wooden swing where people most likely sat to enjoy the garden. Too cheerful, Meg thought, for what lay inside.
Heading into the parking section, Mrs. Powell retrieved a ticket and moved into a parking space near one of the entrances. She turned the car off, put the emergency brake on, and lifted out the keys.
Once inside, the building had the quiet and hushed air of a hospital. The floors were well polished and squeaky clean, and tiled black and white, checkerboard-style.
They rushed through the wide halls, following the signs, and made way to Mark's room. He was on the third floor. Meg was lit with fear. Was he going to be alright? What was he going to look like? They quickly got an elevator and stepped out to a nurse's station.
"Mark Powell's room, please."
"And you are?"
"His mother." Her voice was urgent and impatient. "And this is Megan...a friend."
"Right this way." The stern, uniformed nurse pulled out a manilla folder and led them to a room halfway down the hall in back of the nurse's station, and they followed her single-file.
Mrs. Powell gasped. Just as she'd said, tubes were coming out of him from practically every orifice. The woman rushed to his side and started brushing back his hair with her hands, as tears spilled down her cheeks and splashed onto Mark's body. Meg was aware that her own pallour had suddenly become white with shock, and she knew that she was shaking slightly. How could he have done this? And why? Why now? Bandages were wrapped all around his head, covering his eyes. A tube was coming out of his mouth, and another out of his nose. Next to him, a heart monitor rang a steady beep!...beep!, and a breathing machine was pumping oxygen into his lungs.
These sounds were like a whirlwind around Meg's head, as she felt her whole world crashing down around her. The scene was so unreal: just that afternoon, she was talking calmly with Amanda about him as though nothing catastrophic had happened, and now here she was, standing at his hospital bedside, watching as the machines helped him to breathe. The nurse tapped on Mrs. Powell's shoulder. "He won't know that you're here, ma'am. He's unconscious right now."
"I don't care about that," she said, wiping a tear away. "He's my son and I'll be with him right now, if you don't mind." She gently stroked the arm that was not connected to an i.v. and spoke soft words to Mark, as Meg looked on in horror. "Where is my ex-husband?" she asked, as if the thought had just occured to her.
"A man was here just earlier," the nurse replied, and checked the i.v. bag. "Do you wish to see the doctor?"
Mrs. Powell stroked Mark's limp hand and looked up tearfully to the nurse. "Right away, if at all possible."
"He'll be here shortly, then." The nurse turned and left, and the two women were left alone with Mark, whose heart monitor was still throbbing a steady tune.
Meg looked at her watch. It was four o'clock. If she was later getting home than she usually was, she knew she'd have to face her mother and tell her where she'd been. But she didn't care. It was an emergency, and it had to do with Mark's life.
When the doctor came in, he explained what had taken place. Using x-rays to illustrate his speech, he told them that if the bullet wound had been any lower, his optic nerve would have severed. Mark would no longer have been able to see. And if the gun had been placed just a centimeter back, Mark might not even be alive right now.
The doctor then said, directing his voice to Meg, "Miss, if you don't mind, I'd like to speak with Mark's mother alone now. There are some matters we need to discuss which concern only family. I hope you understand."
Meg obediently stepped out into the hall and waited. After the door closed, she watched as a hunched-over patient wearing a hospital gown strolled slowly across the tiled hall, his i.v. in tote behind him. Several people were sitting in plastic seats near the nurse's station, and Meg decided to have a seat.
An hour went by, and the door remained closed. Meg glanced at her watch again. She was soon going to be expected back at home.
When Mrs. Powell emerged with the doctor, fresh tears on her cheeks, but looking a little more alive, Meg jumped to her feet. "Is he going to be alright?"
"Quite alright," the doctor said. "As I've told Barbara here, I'm confident that Mark is going to make a full recovery."
Meg breathed a sigh of relief. "May I see him again?"
"Go ahead...but be brief. Visiting hours are almost over." She padded cautiously into the open room and saw what she had seen before; nothing had changed. He was still unconscious or sleeping or whatever the nurse had said, and hooked up to all sorts of machines. She sat down beside him and examined his face.
"Why is there a bandage covering his eyes?" she asked.
"Blood flowed into them and had to be drained," the doctor explained.
Meg felt her own tears beginning to well up in her eyes. "Why would he do this?" she asked, quietly.
"Perhaps in the future he can explain it to you himself."
A hand reached out and squeezed her on the shoulder. "Come on, Megan. Let me take you home. It's getting late for you." Barbara Powell's hand remained on her shoulder, and Meg reluctantly got up.
"I just wish there was more I could do," she said.
The woman smiled. "Your presence here was enough," and she got out her keys from her purse.
When they arrived at Meg's house, both her mother and her father were home.
"Where were you?" her mother demanded. "Were you with that slimy, Godforsaken person again, the one I told you twice never to see again?"
"Something happened...something awful," she replied, drained of all energy.
"You didn't go to practice?"
"Mark's in the hospital, Mother. He tried to kill himself...he almost died."
Both parents turned to stare blankly. A shocked silence followed. Meg was scarcely aware of what was happening, because she was in such a foul mood that anything could have gone by her, but before she knew it, her mother was raising a shaky hand to her mouth, saying, "Oh, dear," and then collasping onto the floor.
"Ann!" Her father rushed to her aid. "She's fainted, Meg. Help me to lift her up."
When they carried her over to the couch, her mother regained consciousness. "I must have passed out..." she said. "But I'm alright."