There’s something to say about spending a Saturday night at the hospital waiting for someone to die. And there’s something to say about getting the call that you need to go the hospital while sitting at the Barnes & Noble cafe sipping lattes with a friend.

But, I can’t find what to say. Not really… I’m still struggling.

Sarah and I went to Chili’s last night. It was one of our Saturday night dates because I’m practically single, and she’s recently single. This predicament means that if we aren’t careful with our weekend evenings, we’d end up drunk at some nightclub trying to find someone to fill the loneliness with (because, well, we absolutely cannot consider each other for that, and considering various other matters, it would just be wrong.) We’re like siblings. So, no.

After dinner, we both decided that a caffeine fix was in order. We walked around the warehouse of books with our frilly little drinks, and while I bitched about missing my girlfriend, she bitched about her current episode of complete self-loathing because some P-O-S man-freak recently decided to drop her for a skank. (This is the type of language you learn to use when one of your closest friends is female.) We happened upon self-help books that made light of our little microcosms, and I gave in to my obsessive-compulsive need to check and see if any change had occurred to the copies of The Book of Ti’ana that were stocked on the shelf. (1 BoT, paperback; 1 BoD, hardback; 1 BoD, paperback). As this was down from 2 paperback copies of Ti’ana being there previously, I assumed (a symptom of my constant state of panic) that either a) someone we knew picked it up; or, more likely, b) that someone else in South Bend had snatched up the copies to complete research for a movie script adaptation. Adrian and I watch that shelf like hawks awaiting prey.

My cell rang. It was Adrian - he was looking for something to fill the evening and decided to join us and listen to the bitching. Five minutes after he got to B&N, my phone rings again:

It’s Jill. Apparently, this is it. I am to get to the hospital immediately.

In one calm motion, I inform Sarah and Adrian of what’s going on. This has almost become habit - so many scares. Because they’re transporting Mom from the nursing home, we have a few minutes - but I have to get Sarah back to her car, and run home and put my left overs from Chili’s in the fridge. (Why this was important, I have no idea - but it seemed absolutely, irrefutably necessary in the moment - perhaps to kill time.) Sarah asks if I want her to go along - Adrian is. I say, no - thanks - but this will most likely go on all night. And, all I’ll be doing is pacing and smoking outside of the emergency room.

The ride home is uneventful. Penny was asleep - she greets us when we walk in, and I start cleaning up the kitchen after putting the food away. Adrian asks me if we should get going. My response: do you have any idea how long it takes for an ambulance to transport someone 3 miles? I have become a pro. I call Christine and she’s nowhere to be found. I leave a message - not sure where you are, but um, yeah Mom’s dying so call me. Everything is really sharp. I’m sharper.

We take the long way downtown and pull into the hospital. We pass a car in the parking lot. I see the driver holding a lighter to a glass pipe and I stare in fascination. Adrian tells me to look away as I’m about to hit something. Bam. Just the curb.

In the next several hours, many things happen. We sit awaiting more family to show - everyone is convinced that this is the end. I spend time watching the TV. Drunk people come en mass seeking treatment for everything from alcohol poisoning to accidents with fireworks (ND beat Michigan 28-20). We hear nothing. 90 minutes and Mom’s still not even there, yet. 3 miles is such a long way. Dad sips coffee and I go outside to try to throw up. Adrian follows. After I finish dry-heaving into a bush aside the parking lot, I jump up to sit on a brick retaining wall and this is when I decide that it’s time for a serious discussion about the script.

More people need to die, I say.

I wouldn’t say that too loudly, considering we’re at the emergency room. (A young woman walks behind us and coughs. I throw my cigarette butt at her. I miss.) Dude. What are you doing?

Trying to figure out how to adapt a book. I know everyone dies, really. That’s the end of the story. But there are too many characters - that’s clear in script for the trailer. Too many old guys to track who are all saying the same thing. Can’t we just kill a bunch of them? Or write them completely out of existence? Turn The Five into The One - a patriarchy. He can listen to seven guys who are known as the council members and that way we don’t have to deal with all of this political crap just being tossed around between a bunch of talking heads. I mean Rak dies, let’s just kill everyone.

Adrian considers the very apparent connection that I’m making in my head: I think our present situation here may be messing with your judgment a bit. We probably shouldn’t talk about this right now.

My phone rings. It’s Chris. She asks me what’s going on. I’m trying to kill everyone, I say. She panics and asks what I’m talking about. The following moments are filled with tears and panicking and her asking if she needs to get on a plane right now. The words are a jumbled mess in my head unable to escape. I tell her to wait.

A little while later, Mom finally arrives. Adrian and I had already given up discussing the script, so I quickly walk face first into a glass door at which point Adrian asks if he needs to carry me. Mom’s up and chatting and I’m invited with the rest of the family to see how she’s doing. Adrian stays behind watching an E! True Hollywood Story. A severe bronchitis has developed in what remains of her lungs compounding with the CO2 poisoning that persists as a daily threat. Her blood gas is low.

Is she dying, I ask one doctor who turns out to be too busy to answer. My sisters take offense to the sharpness of my question; I feel it’s quite appropriate. I don’t like dancing around this issue.

Today doesn’t seem to be the day, everyone says - just another bad scare. Mom asks how the grandkids are and if Christine is still coming up on Saturday - she wants to see her and Micam. Then she asks if we’re still starting story-boarding this week (we can’t give up on this project, she’s said). A half-hour passes and the family starts leaving to go back home to sleep, to work, to live. Adrian drives back home with me to crash for the night. It’s 6am.

During the drive home: I still really want to kill everyone, I say. Everyone.

11:14 am

tags: barnes and noble, chris, drunk people, football, hospital, micam, mom, notre dame, sarah, the five