I start to make out cords. Cables connected to the ceiling on my right, holding something up, maybe. I follow the cables to a big white hunk of plaster and gauze. A cast.Mycast.
My arm.
Oh,shit.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I shift my gaze further to the right. Casted to the elbow; all I can see are my fingers. My right arm is unmoving.
‘No,’ I choke out. ‘No, no, this …’
‘Magalinho.’
A new sound. My mom’s voice.
Mãe steps in front of me, her brow knitted, her eyes red. It looks as if she’s aged years on worry alone. If I’m in the hospital, in America … how long’s it been? Long enough for her to fly over? ‘You were in the car on the … on the way to the club, they said. You were driving, but you did not do anything wrong. And a truck – it came from your right, it …’ My mother purses her lips. It hits me as she turns away that this is causing her immeasurable pain because this is how we lost Pai. My stomach sinks even deeper.God.
‘Dr Lopez,’ my mom says.
‘Darien.’ The tall doctor comes back into view. He’s balding, bespectacled, and stressed. ‘Darien, your right arm was—’
‘How long?’
‘I’m sorry?’ He leans in.
‘How. Long,’ I say again through gritted teeth. The beeping of some excessive machinery beside me quickens in pace. It feels as if my entire body is shaking.
‘How long …’ Dr Lopez clears his throat. He looks away from me. Is he embarrassed? Why is he embarrassed?
‘Six months. The least. It’s possible that … your arm may not function the same, even after a full recovery.’
Six months.
Six months is a lifetime. Six months is the rest of my season gone. Six months is I let down this team, and I let down Brazil.
That’s not even accounting for the possibility of being forcedinto an early retirement. Of losing the only thing I have left from my Pai.
I want to throw things around and have a complete meltdown, like a little kid; but I can’t even do that, I’m so fucking immobilized. All I can do is look up at the ceiling and fight off hot tears that pour down my face anyway. ‘Leave,’ I whisper, my voice rough. ‘Can everyone please leave?’
Mãe is torn. But she leaves, and the doctor follows. I don’t know what to do right now. All I know is that I don’t want any of them to witness what I’m going through.
It’s about half an hour later that someone else enters the room. I’ve already told the doctors I don’t want visitors, but someone has flagrantly disregarded that. I get ready to lash out, until I realize who it is, and everything makes much more sense.
Diana Zahrani looks as bedraggled as my mom, and seeing me doesn’t help. Her eyes squint in pain, even though her face remains unchanging. She’s clearly just wrapped up a race session, maybe the qualifier: I can tell because she’s still wearing her fireproofs and race suit, the arms tied around her waist.
‘I wanted towreckyou on the track this weekend.’ She bites her lip nervously. ‘But Darien, you idiot, I didn’t know someone else would beat me to the punch.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I manage, but she just shakes her head, her curls bouncing in their ponytail.
‘I talked to Celina.’ Her voice is a murmur lost to the sounds of the machines. ‘None of us like this.’
‘I can’t just sit here,’ I whisper. ‘I can’t.’
Diana looks up at the ceiling, exhales. ‘I know you can’t.’
I’m lost. I don’t want to sacrifice racing. Not this last shred of Pai that I’ve clung to for so long.
‘I need this, Diana.’ I lock eyes with her, my pupils full of hurt. ‘I need to be on the grid again. Soon.’
She clasps her wrist, the adjustable bracelet around it sliding down towards her palm. ‘That’s what everyone thought you’d say. I talked to Shantal, too.’
