His Blue ✓

51| Intensive Care Unit

     Bryce was allegedly drunk at the time of the crash. It was early Friday morning, and he had been journeying home from a Thanksgiving-night rager when he lost control of his vehicle and ran off the road.

     The police concluded that the car had rolled over twice before crashing against a creek-bed and leaving him stranded for nearly six hours, before the next car would pass by, notice the wreckage, and call for help.

     When we get to the hospital, Anson rushes inside without waiting for me to catch up. I rush into the hospital after him, and find where Bryce was taken to. By the time I get to Anson, we're turned down by the nurses and told it's a critical case. Unable to refute, Anson sits in the waiting area with me by his side, hoping for a small miracle for Bryce.

     The news hits me surprisingly hard, too. I try not to cry, because nothing is final yet. I don't want to distress Anson. So, I sniffle against his shoulder, trying to comfort him.

We don't speak at all. His hand clutches mine and his glassy blue eyes remain focused on the door to ICU.

After hours pass, Bryce's parents arrive in the waiting room with us. I've never seen them before today. Under these circumstances, I'd rather it never happen at all.

    I notice that Bryce looks a lot like his father, dark hair and eyes with creamy white skin. His mother has surprisingly curly hair, again dark, eyes blue. They're puffy and swollen; I conclude she's been crying.

     Bryce's father comes to solemnly shake Anson's hand. Anson calls him by his first name, Dennis. He calls Bryce's mother Lois. I mentally file the names away, but of course I stick to calling them Mr. and Mrs. Brown to their faces.

     Silently, they settle in beside of Anson and me.

"How is he?" Anson's voice is hoarse. His eyes are wide on Bryce's dad. I bite my lip to keep quiet.

   "He lost a lot of blood. Broke several bones in his hands, along with his collarbone and femur. Recovery will be difficult." He recites Bryce's list of injuries as if he had to memorize it for a test.

I feel Anson's muscles tense when I'm pressed against him.

"Lois, tell them about his brain." Bryce's dad says.

    Lois' voice is weak. "They checked for hemorrhaging, there was none, luckily. However, he did experience head trauma. The effects could worsen. Only time can tell." Her lip trembles; she starts to cry. I subtly grab Anson's hand and squeeze, ignoring the pain in my chest and the feeling of tears in my eyes.

     He blinks down at our hands, clutched together, against his leg. "He'll get through this." Anson's voice is deep and certain.

     Bryce's parents look at him with both hope and disbelief on their expressions. 

Emotion stirs tears to my eyes. I blink them away as best I can.

Does Anson truly believe that Bryce will survive? If he does, I do too.

    Anson's expression is thick with emotion. He sounds pained, his voice is raspy. "The Dennis and Lois that I know have a strong, fighter son. Bryce will get through this."

    As if to punctuate his statement, the door to the ICU opens, and Lois and Dennis are ushered back inside without another word to us.

*****

My alarm goes off at 6 am. I quickly sit up from my bed and turn it off. My clothes are laid neatly in the corner. I slip them on and brush my hair out. I quickly French-braid it behind my head, no time to shower, and grab my purse on the way out of my room.