Bring Me to Life

I sat in the cheap hospital chair holding my best friend’s hand. His eyes were open, but they didn’t focus. He only gazed at the white walls of his room.
“Mr. Warner, it’s time to leave,” the nurse said gently, her hand on my shoulder.
I leaned forward, and kissed Twiggy’s forehead. “See you tomorrow, okay?”
He vacantly stared at the wall.
When I left his room, the nurse stopped me.
“He doesn’t seem to be making any progress at all.”
I nodded.
“We’re going to keep him here for a few more days, but after that…someone will need to make arrangements. I know that you said that he has no family in the area, but surely, there’s someone you could call?”
“I…I guess. His mother. Or one of his brothers? I don’t know. We never really talked about what to do if anything like this happened.”
“Most people don’t.”
“Look, would you be honest with me? His doctors all avoid my questions. Is there any hope that he’ll ever be the same? Could he regain his memory?”
“Brain injuries are very tricky. No two are the same. It’s possible, but I don’t know that it’s likely. He’s not improving at all. He has to want to remember, and it seems like he’s perfectly content simply existing. Perhaps, if you forced him to do some things on his own, it might help.”
“So, should I not feed him? Help him to the bathroom? Hold his hand when he’s scared? Cradle him when he has nightmares?”
“I’m not suggesting that you stop being there for him, I’m suggesting that you maybe help out a bit less. Let him try to do things for himself. Try to put him in a position where it would be necessary for him to verbally communicate.”
“Yeah. I can do that.”
“Good. We really need to know what he’s capable of on his own, how extensive the damage appears to be.”
“Right.”
“As of now, I think we’re looking at putting him into a facility where he can have 24 hour care. It would simply be too much for anyone to try to take him home. If he improves, things may change.”
I nodded, but the words weren’t really sinking in. I couldn’t let them. I felt absolutely broken inside. My best friend was gone. Well, he was physically still here, but the person he’d been was gone. And it was my fault.
I went home, to the big, empty house Twiggy and I shared. I climbed the stairs, took a shower, and went into his room. I picked up his pillow, holding it to my chest, burying my nose and mouth into its softness. It smelled like him.
I didn’t want to cry. I had cried more in the past two weeks than I had ever cried in my entire life. More than I ever thought I could. But, as I stood there, clutching his pillow, the tears started up again. I lay down on his bed, tears silently streaming down my cheeks.
Sixteen days ago, everything had been normal. It was the last night of the tour, and we were home in California. We’d decided to really go crazy at the end of the show, busting up everything short of each other. There had been debris everywhere, and half of what was demolished as well as half of what wasn’t, was lit on fire. I’d been busy busting up John’s guitar when I heard Ginger let out a small shriek. The flaming drum riser, which he had safely escaped, came crashing down. It sent what was left of the drums raining down, right onto Twiggy. As he tried to escape, he didn’t look at where he was going, and fell from the stage, onto the security gate. On his head.
We’d been so shocked and mortified that it hadn’t sunk in, until we were all standing in the hospital waiting room, and the doctor came out and told us that Twiggy had fractured his skull. There was so much swelling that they didn’t know how bad things were. We would have to wait a few days to see.
Days passed, and the swelling went down. Twiggy opened his eyes, but he was vacant inside. He wouldn’t speak. We didn’t know if he could, or if it was an impossibility. He just stared blankly at everything.
Every day, I would work with him on trying to get him to remember and to communicate. I would tell him stories, show him photographs of his friends and family, bring him things from home that meant something to him. John would even bring photo albums from all of the places we’d been on tour, and he’d work with him, too. But neither of us was sure that it was actually accomplishing anything other than helping us to pass the time.
By the end of the first week, he was making small noises when he needed something. I knew him better than anyone, so I always knew what he needed when he’d start to whimper. I never forced him to ask. Part of me was afraid of the truth, that if I put him in the position that he needed to speak, we would find out that he couldn’t.
I knew that I couldn’t live in this bubble forever. Sooner or later, they’d make him undergo all sorts of what were probably frightening and painful tests. All I could do was help for as long as I could. I was really afraid that when they tested him, they’d find that the damage was permanent and severe, that he had no memories, and that he’d never talk again. But, the hospital staff was more optimistic than I was. They said that since he was able to move and walk, he wasn’t completely helpless and gone.
I tried to sleep on his bed that night, but sleep never came. To tell the truth, I hadn’t slept for more than ten hours since all of this had began. I would have nightmares, violent and terrifying, if I tried to close my eyes for too long.
Sunlight streamed in through the window in Twiggy’s room. I got out of bed, put on some clean clothes, and went back to the hospital. Today, John was sitting in the chair by Twiggy’s bed. It didn’t surprise me. He was a good friend to Twiggy, and he tried to visit as much as he could, especially in the mornings, when Twiggy was usually at his best for the day after a night’s sleep. At least Twiggy was able to sleep through all of this.
“Hi,” John said softly.
I nodded.
“Did you sleep at all?”
I shook my head.
“Did you at least have something to eat?”
I shook my head again.
“You have to eat, you know.”
“Yes, John, I know.” I did know, I just didn’t do it. I knew that I must’ve looked like Hell. I’d lost so much weight in the past two weeks that the clothing just hung from my body. It’s funny how your best friend nearly dying makes a person care less about eating.
“The nurse came in a while ago. She said that he did okay last night.”
“Good.” That was progress.
For the first two weeks, I’d never left Twiggy’s side for more than a few minutes. Two nights ago, they’d forced me to leave at night, to start taking better care of myself and to see how Twiggy fared without me. The first night, he’d apparently screamed bloody murder, refused to take his medication, and had wet the bed.
“Twiggy, look who’s here,” John said brightly, tapping him on the arm.
Twiggy looked at me. At least, I thought he did. He seemed to be clearer this morning than he had been since he’d been in the hospital.
“Remember who this is? We talked about him a little while ago.”
His warm, chocolate eyes definitely looked at me. He held his arms up, as if he were expecting either to be hugged or picked up.
I hugged him. Gently, of course.
“I brought the photo album again today. He seems like he’s paying attention. Do you think it’s okay to bring Ginger and Pogo to see him today?”
“Yeah. I think he’d like that.”
“It’s not too much?” John looked genuinely concerned.
“I don’t think so.”
I pulled up the second chair, and sat on the opposite side from John.
“Should I leave? I don’t know what to do, really. I feel like he knows me, but it’s weird.”
“You should stay, if you want to. It can’t hurt, having you here.”
“But it may not be accomplishing anything. Maybe it’s confusing for him, to have me here.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s just…he seems like he’s searching for something when it’s me who’s sitting here and not you.”
“I don’t know that he’s really aware of his surroundings.”
“He has to be. He’s not brain dead, you know.”
“I do know, but they’re not sure how much he can really process. We’d know more if…” I let myself trail off. John already knew all of this without me having to say anything further.
“The nurse said that he still isn’t speaking.”
“Maybe they’re not trying hard enough to get him to focus.”
“I don’t think that’s it.”
I felt suddenly determined to prove John wrong. I tapped Twiggy on the shoulder. “Hi, Twiggs. Will you do me a favor?”
He turned his head, either looking at me or above me.
“Will you please say something?”
He opened his mouth, and for a moment, I truly thought he was going to speak. But, I was wrong. He only yawned.
Frustrated, I shook my head. “I’m going to go walk for a few minutes.”
John nodded. He was used to that when he was there, I’d go pace the hallway outside of the room just to clear my head for a few minutes. It was the only way I could cope with the situation we were all in.
Outside, I could hear wailing. I assumed that it was coming from the room next door, where a little boy who’d been in a horrific car crash was. I looked in through the little window to the boy’s room, but I could see that he was alone, and that he was sleeping. I peeked into Twiggy’s room, and he was sitting up in bed, arms outstretched, tears streaming down his face.
“Shh, Twiggy, it’s okay,” John said soothingly, trying to calm him. He tried to hug him, but Twiggy violently shoved him away.
“Brian! Brian!” Twiggy cried. His voice was hoarse, frantic, and haunting.
“He’s here, Twiggy. Calm down,” John tried again.
I couldn’t stand it. I walked back into the room.
“Brian! Brian!” Twiggy called to me, looking directly at me.
I walked to his side, and let him wrap his fragile little arms around me. He clung so tightly that I could barely breathe.
“I don’t know what happened,” John said quietly. “He went berserk when you left.”
“Brian, don’t leave,” Twiggy whispered, his face buried in my side.
I gently rubbed his back. “I’m right here. I promise, I won’t leave you. I was only in the hallway.”
“Should I get the nurse?” John asked timidly.
“Why?”
“Because he’s talking.”
“Oh. Uh…I don’t think so. Let’s see if he keeps it up.”
I wanted to sit down, but Twiggy wouldn’t let go of me. I had to pry myself loose to sit in the chair.
“I want to go home.”
John and I both gazed at our bandmate.
“When can I go home?”
“I don’t know,” I replied honestly.
“Twiggy, do you remember what happened?” John asked.
“Yes. I fell on my head.”
“That’s right. How do you feel?”
“It hurts.”
I smiled. “I’m sure that it does.”
“I think I should get the nurse,” John murmured.
“Well, it sounds to me like you’re back,” I told Twiggy, patting his hand.
“Back from where?”
“You haven’t spoken in sixteen days. We were getting worried that you couldn’t.”
He looked at me, completely focused. “I’m sorry. I wanted to. I don’t know why…”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re talking now. I think you’re going to be okay.”
He smiled up at me. A genuine, warm smile. All of the fear I’d been harboring for the past two weeks began to melt away with that single smile. That one smile meant that there was nothing serious to worry about. Twiggy was going to be just fine.