The Hardest Part Is Letting Go of Your Dreams

“ I’ve got exactly twenty minutes before our manager has a total shit fit. ” Brooke Vega’s raspy voice booms in the hospital’s now-quiet lobby. So this is Frank’s idea: Brooke Vega, the indie-music goddess and lead singer of Bikini. In a trademark punky glam outfit—tonight it’s a short bubble skirt,
fishnets, high black leather boots, an artfully ripped-up Shooting Star T-shirt, topped off with a vintage fur shrug and a pair of black Jackie O glasses—she stands out in the hospital lobby like an ostrich in a chicken coop. She’s surrounded by people: Liz and Sarah; Mike and Fitzy, Shooting Star’s rhythm guitarist and bass player, respectively, plus a handful of Jersey hipsters who I vaguely recognize. With her magenta hair,
she’s like the sun, around which her admiring planets revolve. Frank is like a moon, standing off to the side, stroking his chin. Meanwhile, Lindsey looks shell-shocked, like a bunch of Martians just entered the building. Or maybe it’s because Lindsey worships Brooke Vega.
In fact, so does Frank. Aside from me, this was one of the few things they had in common.
“ I’ll have you out of here in fifteen, ” Frank promises, stepping into her galaxy.

She strides toward him. “ Frank, baby, ” she croons. “ How you holding up? ” Brooke encircles him in a hug as if they are old friends, though I know that they only met for the first time today; just yesterday Frank was saying how nervous he was about it. But now she’s here acting like his best
friend. That’s the power of the scene, I guess. As she embraces Frank, I see every guy and girl in that lobby watch hungrily, wishing, I imagine, that their own significant other were upstairs in grave condition so that they might be the ones getting the consolatory cuddle from Brooke.
I can’t help but wonder if I were here, if I were watching this as regular old Gerard, would I feel jealous, too? Then again, if I were regular old Gerard, Brooke Vega would not be in this hospital lobby as part of some great ruse to get Adam in to see me.
“ Okay, kids. Time to rock-and-roll. Frank, what’s the plan? ” Brooke asks.

“ You are the plan. I hadn’t really thought beyond you going up to the ICU and making a ruckus. ”

Brooke licks her bee-stung lips. “ Making a ruckus is one of my favorite things to do. W at do you think we should do? Let out a primal scream?Strip? Smash a guitar? Wait, I didn’t bring my guitar. Damn. ”

“ You could sing something? ” someone suggests.

“ How about that old Smiths song ‘Girlfriend in a Coma’? ” someone calls.
Adam blanches at this sudden reality check and Brooke raises her eyebrows in a stern rebuke. Everyone goes serious.

Lindsey clears her throat. “ Um, it doesn’t do us any good if Brooke is a diversion in the lobby. We need to go upstairs to the ICU and then maybe someone could shout that Brooke Vega is here. That might do it. If it doesn’t, then sing. All we really want is to lure a couple of curious nurses out, and that grouchy head nurse after them. Once she comes out of the ICU and sees all of us in the hall, she’ll be too busy dealing with us to notice that Frank has slipped inside. ”

Brooke appraises Lindsey. Lindsey in her rumpled black pants and unflattering sweater. Then Brooke smiles and links arms with my best friend. “ Sounds like a plan. Let’s motor, kids. ”

I lag behind, watching this procession of hipsters barrel through the lobby. The sheer noisiness of them, of their heavy boots, and loud voices, buzzed on by their sense of urgency, ricochets through the quiet hush of the hospital and breathes some life into the place. I remember watching a
TV program once about old-age homes that brought in cats and dogs to cheer the elderly and dying patients. Maybe all hospitals should import groups of rabble-rousing punk rockers to kick-start the languishing patients’ hearts.
They stop in front of the elevator, waiting endlessly for one empty enough to ferry them up as a group. I decide that I want to be next to my body when Frank makes it to the ICU. I wonder if I will be able to feel his touch on me.
While they wait at the elevator banks, I scramble up the stairs.
I’ve been gone from the ICU for more than two hours, and a lot has changed. There is a new patient in one of the empty beds, a middle-aged man whose face looks like one of those surrealist paintings: half of it looks normal, handsome even, the other half is a mess of blood, gauze, and stitching, like someone just blew it off. Maybe a gunshot wound. We get a lot of hunting accidents around here. One of the other patients, one who was so swaddled in gauze and bandages that I couldn’t see if he/she was a man or woman, is gone. In his/her place is a woman whose neck is immobilized in one of those collar things.
As for me, I’m off my ventilator now. I remember the social worker telling my grandparents and Aunt Diane that this was a positive step. I stop to check if I feel any different, but I don’t feel anything, not physically anyhow. I haven’t since I was in the car this morning, listening to Beethoven’s Cello
Sonata no. 3. Now that I’m breathing on my own, my wall of machines bleeps far less, so I get fewer visits from the nurses. Nurse Ramirez, the one with the nails, looks over at me every now and again, but she’s busy with the new guy with the half face.

“ Holy crud. Is that Brooke Vega? ” I hear someone ask in a totally fakey dramatic voice from outside the ICU’s automatic doors. I’ve never heard any of Frank’s friends talk so PG-13 before. It’s their sanitized hospital version of “holy fucking shit.”

“ You mean Brooke Vega of Bikini? Brooke Vega who was on the cover of Spin magazine last month? Here in this very hospital? ” This time it’s Lindsey talking. She sounds like a six-year-old reciting lines from a school play about the food groups: You mean you’re supposed to eat five servings of
fruit and vegetables a day?

“ Yeah, that’s right, ” says Brooke’s raspy voice. “ I’m here to offer some rock-and-roll succor to all the people of Jersey. ”

A couple of the younger nurses, the ones who probably listen to pop radio or watch MTV and have heard of Bikini, look up, their faces excited question marks. I hear them whispering, eager to see if it’s really Brooke, or maybe just happy for the break in the routine.
“ Yeah. That’s right. So I thought I might sing a little song. One of my favorites. It’s called ‘Eraser,’ ” Brooke says. “ One of you guys want to count me in? ”

“ I need something to tap with, ” Liz answers. “ Anyone got some pens or something? ”

Now the nurses and orderlies in the ICU are very curious and heading toward the doors. I’m watching it all play out, like a movie on the screen. I stand next to my bed, my eyes trained on the double doors, waiting for them to open. I’m itching with suspense. I think of Frank, of how calming it
feels when he touches me, how when he absentmindedly strokes the nape of my neck or blows warm air on my cold hands, I could melt into a puddle.

“ What’s going on? ” the older nurse demands. Suddenly every nurse on the floor is looking at her, not out toward Brooke anymore. No one is going to try to explain to her that a famous pop star is outside. The moment has broken. I feel the tension ease into disappointment. The door isn’t going
to open.
Outside, I hear Brooke start belting out the lyrics to “Eraser.” Even acappella, even through the automatic double doors, she sounds good.

“ Somebody call security now, ” the nurse growls.

“ Frank, you better just go for it, ” Liz yells. “ Now or never. Full-court press. ”

“ Go! ” screams Lindsey, suddenly an army general. “ We’ll cover you.”

The door opens. In tumble more than a half-dozen punkers, Frank, Liz, Fitzy, some people I don’t know, and then Kim. Outside, Brooke is still singing, as though this were the concert she’d come to Jersey to give.

As Frank and Lindsey charge through the door, they both look determined, happy even. I’m amazed by their resilience, by their hidden pockets of strength. I want to jump up and down and root for them.
It’s hard to believe, but watching Lindsey and Frank in action, I almost feel happy, too.

“ Where is he?” Frank yells. “ Where’s Gerard? ”

“ In the corner, next to the supply closet !” someone shouts. It takes me a minute to realize it’s Nurse Ramirez.

“ Security! Get him! Get him! ” the grumpy nurse shouts. She has spotted Frank through all the other invaders and her face has gone pink with anger.

Two hospital security guards and two orderlies run inside. “ Dude, was that Brooke Vega? ” one asks as he snags Fitzy and flings him toward the exit.

“ Think so, ” the other answers, grabbing Sarah and steering her out.

Lindsey has spotted me. “ Frank, he’s here! ” she screams, and then turns to look at me, the scream dying in her throat. “ He’s here, ” she says again, only this time it’s a whimper.
Adam hears her and he is dodging nurses and making his way to me. And then he’s there at the foot of my bed, his hand reaching out to touch me.
His hand about to be on me. Suddenly I think of our first kiss after the Yo-Yo Ma concert, how I didn’t know how badly I’d wanted his lips on mine
until the kiss was imminent. I didn’t realize just how much I was craving his touch, until now that I can almost feel it on me.
Almost. But suddenly he’s moving away from me. Two guards have him by the shoulders and have yanked him back. One of the same guards grabs Lindsey's elbow and leads her out. She’s limp now, offering no resistance.

Brooke’s still singing in the hallway. When she sees Frank, she stops. “ Sorry, honey,” she says. “ I gotta jet before I miss my show. Or get arrested.” And then she’s off down the hall, trailed by a couple of orderlies begging for her autograph.

“ Call the police,” the old nurse yells. “ Have him arrested. ”

“ We’re taking him down to security. That’s protocol, ” one guard says.

“ Not up to us to arrest, ” the other adds.

“ Just get him off my ward. ” She harrumphs and turns around. “ Miss Ramirez, that had better not have been you abetting these hoodlums. ”

“ Of course not. I was in the supply closet. I missed all the hubbub, ” she replies. She’s such a good liar that her face gives nothing away.

The old nurse claps her hands. “ Okay. Show’s over. Back to work. ”

I chase after Frank and Lindsey, who are being led into the elevators. I jump in with them. Lindsey looks dazed, like someone flipped her reset button and she’s still booting up. Frank’s lips are set in a grim line. I can’t tell if he’s about to cry or about to punch the guard. For his sake, I hope it’s the
former. For my own, I hope the latter.

Downstairs, the guards hustle Frank and Lindsey toward a hallway filled with darkened offices. They’re about to go inside one of the few offices with lights on when I hear someone scream Frank's name.

“ Frank. Stop. Is that you? ”

“ Willow? ” Frank yells.

“ Willow? ” Lindsey mumbles.

“ Excuse me, where are you taking them? ” Willow yells at the guards as she runs toward them.

“ I’m sorry but these two were caught trying to break into the ICU, ” one guard explains.

“ Only because they wouldn’t let us in, ” Lindsey explains weakly.
Willow catches up to them. She’s still wearing her nursing clothes, which is strange, because she normally changes out of what she calls “orthopedic couture” as soon as she can. Her long, curly auburn hair looks lank and greasy, like she’s forgotten to wash it these past few weeks.
And her cheeks, normally rosy like apples, have been repainted beige. “ Excuse me. I’m an RN over at Cedar Creek. I did my training here, so if you like we can go straighten this out with Richard Caruthers .
”
“ Who’s he? ” one guard asks.

“ Director of community affairs, ” the other replies. Then he turns to Willow. “ He’s not here. It’s not business hours. ”

“ Well, I have his home number, ” Willow says, brandishing her cell phone like a weapon. “ I doubt he’d be pleased if I were to call him now and tell him how his hospital was treating someone trying to visit his critically wounded girlfriend. You know that the director values compassion as much as
efficiency, and this is not the way to treat a concerned loved one. ”

“ We’re just doing our job, ma’am. Following orders. ”

“ How about I save you two the trouble and take it from here. The patient’s family is all assembled upstairs. They’re waiting for these two to join them. Here, if you have any problems, you tell Mr. Caruthers to get in touch with me. ” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a card and hands it over. One of the guards looks at it, hands it to the other, who stares at it and shrugs.

“ Might as well save ourselves the paperwork, ” he says. He lets go of Frank, whose body slumps like a scarecrow taken off his pole. “ Sorry, kid, ” he says to Frank, brushing off his shoulders.

“ I hope your boyfriend’s okay, ” the other mumbles. And then they disappear toward the glow of some vending machines.

Lindsey, who has met Willow all of twice, flings herself into her arms. “ Thank you! ” she murmurs into her neck.
Willow hugs her back, pats her on the shoulders before letting go. She rubs her eyes and winces out a brittle laugh.
“What in the hell were you two thinking?” she asks.

“ I want to see Gerard, ” Frank says.

Willow turns to look at Frank and it’s like someone has unscrewed her valve, letting all her air escape. She deflates. She reaches out and touches Frank’s cheek. “ Of course you do. ” She wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand.

" Are you okay? ” Lindsey asks.

Willow ignores the question. “ Let’s see about getting you in to Gerard. ”

Frank perks up when he hears this. “ You think you can? That old nurse has it in for me. ”

“ If that old nurse is who I think she is, it doesn’t matter if she has it in for you. It’s not up to her. Let’s check in with Gerard’s grandparents and then I’ll find out who’s in charge of breaking the rules around here and get you in to see your boy. He needs you now. More than ever. ”

Frank swivels around and hugs Willow with such force that her feet lift up off the ground.
Willow to the rescue. Just the way she rescued Henry, Dad’s best friend and bandmate, who, once upon a time, was a total drunk playboy. When he and Willow had been dating a few weeks, she told him to straighten out and dry out or say good-bye. Dad said that lots of girls had given Henry ultimatums, tried to force him to settle down, and lots of girls had been left crying on the sidewalk. But when Willow packed her toothbrush and told Henry to grow up, Henry was the one who cried. Then he dried his tears, grew up, got sober and monogamous.
Eight years later, here they are, with
a baby, no less. Willow is formidable that way. Probably why after she and Henry got together she became Mom’s best friend; she was another tough-as-nails, tender-as-kittens, feminist bitch. And probably why she was one of Dad’s favorite people, even though she hated the Ramones and
thought baseball was boring, while Dad lived for the Ramones and thought baseball was a religious institution.
Now Willow is here. Willow the nurse. Willow who doesn’t take no for an answer is here. She’ll get Frank in to see me. She’ll take care of everything.

Hooray! I want to shout. Willow is here!
I’m so busy celebrating Willow’s arrival that the implication of her being here takes a few moments to sink in, but when it does, it hits me like a jolt of electricity.

Willow is here. And if she’s here, if she’s in my hospital, it means that there isn’t any reason for her to be in her hospital. I know her well enough to know that she never would have left him there. Even with me here, she would’ve stayed with him. He was broken, and brought to her for fixing. He was her patient. Her priority.

All anyone in that waiting room is talking about is me, how they are avoiding mentioning Mom or Dad or Mikey. I think about Willow’s face, which looks like it has been scrubbed clean of all joy. And I think about whatshe told Frank, that I need him now. More than ever.
And that’s how I know. Mikey. He’s gone, too.

When he was a baby and going through his nightly fussy period, he’d only calm down after I sung some Joy Division. When he started getting into Harry Potter, only I was allowed to read a chapter to him every night. And when he’d skin a knee or bump his head, if I was around he would not stop crying until I bestowed a magic kiss on the injury, after which he’d miraculously recover.
I know that all the magic kisses in the world probably couldn’t have helped him today. But I would do anything to have been able to give him one.