The Hospital

I awoke to muted aches, pain that had taken a few hours to settle in. Light
pierced my eyes when I opened them, sending pain shooting through my head. I
groaned, my side aching as I sat up stiffly. The vertebrae in my neck popped as I looked
around. I’m in the hospital, I realized. To my left was Misha, his hand clasped in mine. He
was asleep, his tall body crumpled awkwardly in the plastic hospital chair.
What is Misha doing here? I wondered. How had he known where I was? Did he
know what happened?
I swallowed. My throat was raw and dry. From screaming, I realized. What had
happened to me? I’d never been that horribly upset. Memories of the fight came back
to me more clearly now, and a profound feeling of emptiness filled me. An ice-cold fist
tightened around my heart. I’m alone now, I thought. Even Misha, my best friend,
seemed like just a dream as he slept quietly at my side.
The hospital was silent and still. Flashbacks raced through my mind. I
remembered the sound of my screams. They sounded so tortured, so helpless, so
pathetic. Had I wanted to die? I had. Did I still want to die? No, I decided bitterly. All of
those emotions were gone, leaving behind a hollow shell. I no longer had the motivation
or energy to kill myself, but that didn’t make life any easier to live.
I hung my head, glancing over at Misha. Looking at his still body, I noticed the
creases in his face, the lines where his eyebrows were perpetually furrowed. Had those
been there when I’d first met him? I traced them absent-mindedly, my hand lightly
brushing his face. He stirred, drawing a deep, shuddering breath. No, don’t wake up, I
thought. I don’t want to talk to you. I just want everything to be quiet and easy like it is
now.
But he sleepily opened his eyes, looking up at me. “Paul,” he whispered quietly,
with a weighty sadness in his eyes. In one fluid movement, he arose, sat down on the
bed facing me, and threw his arms around me in a tight embrace, sighing heavily.
Startled, I stiffened. I slowly relaxed, resting my arms gently on his back. “Misha?”
I asked, uncomfortable.
“God, Paul,” he said, his breath heavy in my ear. His arms tightened around me.
“Why’d you do this?”
“I’m sorry, Misha,” I hesitated. “I’m so sorry.” Raw guilt filled the empty space in
my chest as I cradled my head on Misha’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I
repeated it in whispers, but the more I apologized, the more ashamed I felt. Tears
welled up in my eyes and I bit my lip. “I’m sorry, Misha.” My voice wavered.
“No, Paul, I’m sorry,” he said. What? Why was he apologizing? I was the one
who’d jumped off the bridge. “I wish I could have done something for you,” he said
remorsefully.
“It’s not your fault,” I replied.
 “Yes, it is.” He waved his hand obscurely in the air, frustrated. “You’re loved,
Paul,” he said, turning his head to look at me. His gaze was painfully patronizing. “How
come you didn’t know that?” When he leaned back from me, his face was contorted
with a sadness that didn’t fit him, worry he didn’t deserve.
“I’m so sorry,” I said guiltily, burying my face in my hands. I don’t want you to
look at me, Misha, I thought, humiliated. Why was he acting like it was his fault? I was
the one to blame. He should be yelling at me, he should be hitting me, anything but
trying to convince me it was his own fault. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
“Stop apologizing,” he said, pulling my hands away from my face. “Just tell me
why you did it.”
I looked down and dropped my hands to my lap. Where to begin, I wondered
bitterly. A few moments of silence passed as I avoided his eyes, wishing he would just
forget about it if I stayed quiet long enough.
“Paul,” he said gently. No forgetting.
“My dad kicked me out,” I said shortly.
“What?” Misha asked incredulously. “Why?”
“He just did.”
“You need to talk about this,” he pressed.
“How would you know what I need?” I snapped, glaring sharply at him.
He paused. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” His expression was that of a hurt, berated
dog. He looked down at his hands, shaking his head.
I sighed. A few minutes passed. Why did I have to be so nasty to the one person
that still cared about me? I was selfish. He deserved to know.
“He read some of our emails,” I began, hesitant. “He was upset by some things I
said about the church.”
Misha frowned. “Is that all? Why would he kick you out of the house for that?”
I paused. “He found out that you’re gay,” I sighed. “He thought you were turning
me gay, too.” I cringed. Turning me gay. The words tasted so disgusting in my mouth. I
wished I didn’t have to say them.
Misha looked away, red-faced, humiliated and angry. “If that’s how he sees it—“
“He told me to stop being friends with you, and I said I wouldn’t,” I interrupted.
He glanced up at me. I tried to smile at him, but it felt too broken to be real.
Besides, no smile could really cure Misha of the embarrassment he’d suffered.
“Thanks, I guess,” he muttered, clasping his hands together.
A long stretch of silence followed. “I’m not like him, Misha,” I said. “Just because
he hates you doesn’t mean I do. Look, he hates me now, too.”
“That’s not a comfort, Paul,” he said angrily. “My aim wasn’t to make your family
hate you.”
“It’s not your fault, Misha, how many times do I have to say it?”
“Sure it’s not,” he said sourly.
 I put my hand over his. “It’s not, Misha,” I said. “I’m just different from them.”
“Well, that’s good, at least,” he said. “I’m so sorry that this happened, Paul.”
I shook my head. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.”
When was the last time I’d comforted someone else? I wasn’t used to being the
strong one, the one that kept someone else going. Until now I’d been the unstable,
unreliable friend, a weak-minded little boy that always needed support. But sitting in
this hospital room with Misha distraught before me made me feel worth something, like
if I could make him feel better I’d have a purpose. I smiled. “It’s fine. I’ll be able to work
something out.”
“Do you have any place to stay?” he asked suddenly.
“Ah, come to think of it, no,” I replied. I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.
“Stay with me,” he said decisively.
“I don’t know,” I was dubious. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden, Paul.”
I smiled. “Thank you so much.” Within me was an innate feeling of hollowness. I
was holding it together, but I wasn’t sure how I could be.
Questions suddenly flooded my mind. “How long have I been here? How did I
even get here? And how did you know where I was?” I asked.
“Well, you were pulled out by Joseph Bauer,” he said. “He was walking home and
heard you screaming, and when he ran down to investigate, he found you unconscious
in the water. You’d hit your head on something, probably a rock. He called 911 right
away and was able to administer CPR to get the water out of your lungs.”
“Oh,” I replied quietly. Joseph Bauer. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but a
face eluded me. It was bizarre. The man had saved my life. It was a very alien sensation,
waking up and not remembering what had happened, just losing some time. It wasn’t
like sleeping, where after you woke up you were aware of dreams you’d had, or you
remembered lying down in your bed. This time was just gone. Faint wisps of memory
floated through my mind, not nearly enough to piece together what had happened after
I jumped. Sirens, being carried. Lying down in a tube that sounded like a train driving
over tracks on the inside. And somewhere along the lines, my life had been saved by a
man whose face I couldn’t recall, whose name I barely recognized.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked.
“Joseph Bauer is a family friend. You met him once. He recognized you and called
me up after you were taken to the hospital.”
“Oh,” I said again. I felt profoundly grateful. “Thank you both,” I said. “I wish he
was here so that I could thank him, too.”
He smiled. “You’ll see him another time,” he assured me.
 “I just really wish I could remember who he was,” I said, frustrated. “I mean, he
obviously remembered me. And he remembered that you and I were friends. I just feel
guilty that I can’t even put a face to the name.”
“Don’t feel bad,” he said. “You only met him once. And Joseph has a great
memory, especially when it comes to people. I’m not at all surprised he remembered
you. Joseph and I are pretty close; he likes to know who my friends are.”
“I see. Well, thank you for coming.” I sighed, looking around the room. “When
can I get out of here, do you think?”
“Not sure,” he replied. “A doctor will probably come to check on you soon, and if
you’re okay you’ll be discharged. You were knocked out, but they don’t think there will
be any lasting damage. You also had this huge bruise on your side. At first they thought
maybe you broke a rib, but it ended up being fine.”
I pulled my hospital gown to the side to reveal a large purple bruise stretching
from my hip to my ribs, across half of my stomach. I winced, remembering my dad
kicking me. His voice echoed in my head, ringing with a faraway sound. Get out of my
house!
Misha frowned, concerned. “That looks painful.”
“It’s actually not that bad,” I lied, feeling a tightness bind itself around my chest.
“It feels much better than it looks.”
“Not saying much,” he said. “It looks pretty horrible. You’re lucky you didn’t
break any bones, though, and that your head’s okay.”
“I am lucky,” I repeated hollowly. I didn’t feel lucky. My family had disowned me,
and on top of it all I was in the hospital by my own doing.
“Oh, my dad stopped by and brought you some clean clothes,” Misha said,
nodding at a folded stack of clothes on the bedside table. I recognized the folded striped
shirt on top of the stack as one of Misha’s.
“Thank you very much,” I said, though the prospect of wearing Misha’s clothes
was strange.
A knock at the door startled us both. Misha stood up quickly as the doctor walked
in, a slightly heavyset older woman that smiled pleasantly despite the early hour. “I see
you’re awake,” she said kindly.
I smiled back at her. “Good morning,” I said.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“I am,” I replied. “Thank you.”
Misha stood silently on the other side of the room as she checked me over.
“Do you feel all right? Dizzy? Any vision or sensory problems?” She flashed a
penlight over my eyes.
I blinked. “No, I think I’m fine. I have a headache, but none of the things you
mentioned.”
 She chuckled. “A headache’s to be expected. That was quite a fall you sustained.
You’ll probably be sore for a little while, but you should let someone know if it starts
getting a lot worse.”
I nodded. Quite a fall, indeed. “When can I leave?”
“Soon, soon,” she chirped. “Just a few more things. I need to make sure your
memory’s all right. If you would, please tell me your full name, the year, date, day of the
week, and president.”
“Paul Jacob Kleiman. 2005. Friday, March 4th. George W. Bush.”
“Good!” she said. “Your memory seems fine. You sure you feel all right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Wait, is that all I have to do?”
“You had a CT scan earlier. You might not remember it fully, you were pretty out
of it,” she said.
A tube that sounded like a train driving over tracks on the inside. A CT scan. “I
vaguely remember,” I said.
“Okay, then. So, you’re sure you feel all right? Anything else bothering you
besides your head?”
I shook my head wordlessly.
“Then I think you’re good to go!” she declared cheerfully, patting my shoulder. “I
think we’ll monitor you for a few hours to make sure everything’s okay, but after that
you’re free to go.”
“Sounds good,” I replied.

~~~

The streetlights cast an unfamiliar pallor over the suburban scenery. I sat with my
cheek pressed to the cold glass of the car window, blankly staring out onto the street.
Though Misha drove slowly, it seemed like he was passing everything before I could
really take it in. It was so quiet, yet none of my thoughts were slipping back into my
mind. Everything was empty.
Misha stared straight ahead, lines of worry etched into his face. He turned his
head slightly and I could feel his eyes on me, a pitying expression on his face. Unsure of
what to say, he leaned over and took my hand in his, reverting his eyes back to the road.
“It’ll be okay,” he said quietly.
The pure absurdity of the statement lifted my spirits slightly. Misha’s touch was
comforting and foreign all at once, strangely reassuring. How did he know things would
be all right? I sighed and closed my eyes, savoring the darkness. I opened them again,
glancing over at Misha.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
 He squeezed my hand and frowned. “I forgive you,” he said. “But know that you
never have to feel like you’re alone or you have no other options. I will always be an
option,” he said firmly.
“Thank you,” I said, taken aback by the sincerity in his eyes. “I was just ashamed
of what had happened, and –“
“You don’t need to be ashamed around me,” he interrupted. “You’re my best
friend.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, abashed. “I was just so afraid of what you’d think of me. You’re
my best friend. It matters to me what you think.”
“Stop worrying about it,” he said kindly. “I won’t judge you for anything.”
I hugged my knees to my chest, looking away. “I don’t know why you put up with
me,” I muttered. It’s because I love you, Paul. I imagined his reply. No. That’s not how
things are, I told myself, shaking my head slightly. What’s wrong with me?
“You’re my friend,” Misha said. “I care about you.”
“But aren’t you angry at me after what I did?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “I was just very, very scared.” His tired face bore new creases,
marking relief and worry that made him look like an old man instead of the optimistic
teen he should have been.
“I’m sorry,” I looked down guiltily.
“I’m just glad you’re all right,” he said.
As we drove up to Misha’s house, I noticed that the lights in the front room were
on. It’s not even four-thirty in the morning, I thought. Who could be awake at this hour?
Walking in the door, we were greeted by an exhausted-looking Alek. He stood up
and yawned as we opened the door. “You’re home,” he said tiredly. He looked at me,
noticing the patch on my head. “What happened to you, maelchek?” he asked.
“Accident,” I replied drily. I cringed as Misha frowned deeply at my lie. Man, I’m
pathetic, I thought. But what was I supposed to say?
“Dad, Paul’s going to stay with us for a little while,” he said. “Is that okay?”
“Fine by me,” Alek said. “Stay as long as you like.”
I smiled halfheartedly. “Thank you so much,” I said.
“Did you stay up all night, Dad?” Misha asked.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Alek replied. “I slept for a little while, but I kept waking
up to check my phone for messages from you. When I got the one saying you were
coming home, I decided to stay up and wait for you. Now,” he said. “If there’s nothing
you two need, I’m going to go to sleep. You boys should get some rest, too. You both
look pretty horrible.”
Misha smiled tightly. “Night, Dad. Sorry to keep you up.”
“It’s no problem,” he said, starting down the hall. “Good night. Feel better, Paul.”
“Thank you for everything, Alek,” I said softly.
 “Anytime, son,” he replied over his shoulder, his footsteps disappearing down the
hallway.
My stomach twisted. Son. Did Alek really think of me that way? So kind, yet the
word stung. As much as I appreciated their hospitality, I missed the familiarity of my
bedroom, the quiet noises of my house.
I followed Misha to his bedroom, where he set up a makeshift bed for me on the
sofa. He tossed me a pair of flannel pajama pants, and, groaning, fell heavily onto his
bed. I stood still for a moment, lost.
“Time to sleep, Paul,” he said.
“Right,” I said. I quickly changed into the pajama pants and lay down on the sofa,
my body sinking into the thick cushions. “Good night,” I whispered into the darkness.
Good night. What an absurd phrase considering all that had happened. The night had
been many things, but not good.
“Good night, Paul,” Misha answered me.
Bone-tired, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. The room was silent apart from
Misha’s faint breathing from the other side of the room. Though the air of the place was
comforting, everything seemed so unfamiliar. Misha’s house, Misha’s clothes, Misha’s
sofa.
What does Misha think about all of this? I wondered. He was so strong, so stoic in
the face of crisis. I sighed. I felt immensely guilty for throwing this all on him. He didn’t
have to support me, yet he was the only one in the hospital when I woke up, and he’d
let me wear his clothes and stay in his home. All without the slightest expectation of me.
Thank you, Misha, I thought silently. For now it was the best I could do.