“Can you believe it?” Carole says. “Mags found it online and ordered it in for me along with her fembot mask. You can find anything you want on the Internet these days. How crazy is this? It looks so authentic. Simon, you may not know this, but your mom once told me that it was the Bionic Woman TV show that made her realize she was gay. Oh my God, that woman had a thing for Lindsay Wagner… Oh! I mean, has a thing for Lindsay Wagner.” Carole’s face turns red, and she looks away.
And just like that, the jubilant atmosphere is sucked right out of the hallway with Carole’s slip of the tongue. The four of us stand in silence until Mags comes to the rescue.
“Carole, I’m not blowing smoke up your ass when I say this… You look hot! Seriously, you’re a dead ringer for Lindsay Wagner. It’s amazing. You’re a librarian by day and an OSI agent by night. You have totally become the Bionic Woman.”
“Yeah, thanks, Mags, I appreciate it,” she says under her breath.
Neel leans over to me and whispers, “Wasn’t the Bionic Woman a schoolteacher by day?”
“Yes,” I say, “but that’s not the point.” Neel looks confused. No one else speaks for the rest of the walk back to the ICU.
We stand in a circle around Mom’s bed. No one knows what to do or what to say.
“Mom, wake up,” I whisper. “Look who’s come to see you.” I touch her arm lightly. She doesn’t make a sound. She doesn’t open her eyes. Just the steady beep…beep… of the monitor.
Without warning, Mags karate chops PJ in the neck and mock-battles him with bionic sounds and slo-mo action moves.
“You are no match for me, Steve Austin,” Mags says. “Prepare to meet your end!”
Everyone looks away.
“Please, Mrs. Bugg, you need to wake up,” Mags pleads. “Who will teach me all the lesbian things I need to know? Who?”
A nurse, who did not help herself to our Halloween candy, sticks her head in the door and says curtly, “Only two people in the room at one time. Three of you need to leave. Now!”
PJ, Mags, and Neel walk out without complaint, leaving me and Carole standing there feeling foolish in our ridiculous costumes.
Who am I kidding? This was never going to work.
27
Dad
I’m sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of instant oatmeal and staring into space. I can’t believe it’s Saturday again. It’s been two weeks since my A Very Bionic Halloween experiment was an epic fail, and five weeks since Mom went into a coma. So much for she could wake up at any time. Stupid Doctor Glassman, what the hell does he know? I hope Mom will be home for Thanksgiving. We can’t have Thanksgiving without Mom! The alien twists and turns in my stomach. It’s been so active for a good portion of my days and nights now that I’m getting used to it living inside me. The problem is when it wants out.
Sammy darts in and out of my legs and rubs against me. He alternates between purring and meowing. “Yes, I know you’re hungry and want your breakfast too. Just give me a minute, Sam. I’m not moving very quickly this morning,” I say.
It’s another Saturday when Carole needs to be at the library. She used to only work the first Saturday of the month, but her schedule is more fluid now. The library has been very accommodating about her time off to be with Mom, but there have also been compromises made, and working more Saturdays is one of them.
I need to go to the hospital to be with Mom, but the burden of it weighs me down, and I’m having a hard time getting myself going. I force myself out of my seat and trudge to the hall closet to fetch Sammy’s food. He continues to dart in and out of my legs, meowing loudly, and I swear he is going to knock me over. I make it back to the kitchen in one piece with a scoop of dry cat chow in hand. As I pour the food into Sammy’s bowl the doorbell rings. Who could that be? I’m not expecting anyone. Great, a solicitor is just what I need! I quietly sneak to my bedroom and perch on the edge of my bed to wait for whoever it is to go away. I can’t deal with someone trying to sell me something or talk to me about Jesus while I’m trying to get out the door.
The doorbell rings incessantly and is now peppered with intermittent knocking. I don’t want to deal with it! Why won’t they go away? I hold my pillow over my head. The alien doesn’t like the disturbance either and goes from twisting and turning to wanting out! Scratch, scratch, scratch. Ring, ring, ring. Knock, knock, knock. Repeat. I’m rocking back and forth holding my pillow. “Please stop,” I whisper into the pillow, and it does. No more doorbells, no more knocking. The alien quits scratching. A few moments of silence are interrupted by the ring of my mobile phone. Dad’s face fills the screen. Why is he calling so early? This is not typical of Dad. I try to compose myself and answer the phone with a shaky voice.
“Hello?”
“Simon?”
“Yes, Dad, it’s me. What’s up?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m home. Why?”
“I’ve been standing at your door knocking and ringing the bell for ten minutes. I came back to the parking lot and saw your car was still here. I can’t figure out where you are.”
“Oh, sorry. I was…in the bathroom. I’m out now.”
“Okay, I’m coming back up. Open the door this time, please.”
