The Multitudes Within Me (Sequel to The Sound of Ice)

23

I wake up with a jolt, my muscles seizing, a scream stuck in my throat. My eyes adjust to the darkness - Cameron's bedroom. And Cameron is sleeping beside me. He shifts, the bed squeaking, and lazily opens one eye to look at me. "Just a dream."

"Not really," I whisper, and he kisses my forehead, then my lips. I glance at his alarm clock, the glowing red illuminating the corner of the room, and it reads four-thirty in the morning. His bedroom is clothed in shadows, faint moonlight slanting through the window. The air mattress is on the floor. "I'm going to take a walk," I say.

"Right now?"

"I can't sleep."

"You want me to come with you?"

"No, I won't be long. I just want air, is all."

"It's cold."

"I'll wear a coat."

Cameron buries his face into the pillows, his hair messy, his breathing steady. Even in the darkness I can make out his expression, the way his eyebrows are creased slightly. He mumbles something as I get out of bed, pulls the comforter up to his chin. "Be careful," he says, and his words are slurred and thick with sleep.

It is cold outside, but crisp and dry. In the distance, a siren howls, and dead leaves scatter across sidewalks. The yellow street lights are on. This is my street. That is Cameron's house. That is my house. I stuff my hands in my coat pockets and start walking, and even though I logically know there is an abundance of oxygen, it feels limited.

Eliza has sent me a ton of text messages.

where were you??? you missed the exam???

if you talk to dr howard rn and have a really good excuse, which you better, i'm sure she'll let you make it up

why are you not answering me wtf sam

pierce said all your stuff in the dorm is gone where the fuck are you seriously

are u okay???

And from Pierce, just one message.

hey man, you left earlier than planned. i hope everything's okay with your uncle.

I walk past the grocery store. Then the high school. Then through back streets with run-down restaurants, coffee chains, ice rinks. Almost everywhere is deserted and empty, the only sound the distant barking of dogs or the occasional car driving by. Sometimes I walk past a house with the lights on, and I imagine what they're doing, and why they're up so early this morning. Maybe they have a sick relative, too. Maybe they're heading to work, or the rink to practice. Maybe they have to study before class.

I walk until my legs are sore, and I end up at the Catholic church. I know my parents are buried in the cemetery, but I can't bring myself to walk to their gravestones. Instead, I go inside.

Tom was never much of a church person, not like Ms. Beckett, but we would try to go at least once every couple weeks. It's smoky inside, and I sit in a back pew, tilt my head and look at the altar, at the statue of Jesus. I start to cry and I'm ashamed, even though no one can hear me except for maybe god.

So then I say a prayer. God? I deserve this more than Tom does. I want to believe in you but I just don't. And if you're real, then I hate you, a little.

~

Two days go by with no changes with Tom. He still has a high fever, half-delirious, refusing to eat or drink much of anything. I spend more time with him in the hospital.

The weather is nice, which really makes me fucking mad. It's cold outside, but the sky is blue and cloudless. I want it to storm.

I watch black and white movies with Cameron, and sleep a lot, and he is so gentle and patient with me I can hardly stand it. I don't even realize how selfish I am until he runs to the grocery store with Hailey, and I am left alone watching TSN in the living room.

"Cameron Beckett, leading rookie on the Toronto Maple Leafs, was not at the game against the Rangers last night. Beckett also reportedly missed the last couple days of practice."

"The flu is going around, Jim, that's for sure."

"Tough luck for the Leafs. We'll hopefully be seeing more of Beckett again soon."

I sleep and I have nightmares and then Cameron whispers something in my ear, and then I sleep again.

Dr. Howard sent me an email.

I would not recommend you taking this class again next semester.

And Eliza keeps calling. After ignoring her and feeling bad about it, I finally answer a call, sitting on the edge of Cameron's bed. Cameron is on the floor, leaning against the wall, flipping through a comic book, glancing up at me.

"Hello?"

"Sam?"

"Hi, Eliza. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Don't be sorry, I'm not mad. I'm really happy you answered, actually. Cause I've been worried fucking sick about you! What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I say. I pick a loose thread on Cameron's quilt. "My uncle is sick, and not doing too great. It was an emergency. I kind of had to come home right away."

"Oh my god, Sam. Jesus. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah."

"Are you doing okay?"

"I mean, I've been better."

I miss watching Cameron play hockey in Eliza's dorm room.

"Let me know if there's anything I can do."

"Okay. Have a good time in San Fran. I have to go, but I'll talk to you again later."

I sleep more, dream that I killed Tom, wake up crying with Cameron's arms wrapped around me. At three-thirty on Monday, Cameron and I wait for Hailey at the bus stop. It's a sick, sick game we're playing, waiting for someone to die.

And then, on Tuesday afternoon, I walk into the kitchen after a nap and Ms. Beckett is crying.

The sky is blue and I'm fucking pissed.

"Tom died," I say, and I wait for her to repeat the words back to me. There's already a suit in my closet to wear to the funeral - the same suit I wore to the NHL draft. And I already know where his gravestone will be, what the funeral will be like, under a nice, cloudless blue sky, can already taste the tangy cologne and the sharp, cold air.

But she shakes her head. "No," she says. "He's okay. He's really okay. Fever's gone. High levels of something in his blood - oh, I don't remember what the doctors just said - but they gave him something that worked and he's alright now. He's going to be okay. Oh, Sam." She hugs me and runs her fingers through my hair like a mother might do, and I don't mind when salty tears from from her cheeks onto my skin. "Thank God. Thank God. It's a miracle. You want to put on a fresh pair of clothes, honey, and we'll go to the hospital?"

So I shower quickly, let hot water burn my back and scrub soap over my body, and try to be clean.

A/N thoughts? lemme know what you're thinkin! (also it's NHL playoffs rn, go leafs and go cameron! :))