Chapter 3: The Sister I Never Had...

August 2, 1980

A nurse awakened me early. 7am, by the clock. They wheeled in an EEG machine and hooked me up. Something I was familiar with. This was an odd piece of normality; I’d never seen a post-1980 EEG machine, so this one seemed normal to me. Of course, this version of me had, apparently, never seen one at all, so I tried to appear curious.

The machine scribbled its lines for ten or fifteen minutes, then they took it away and removed the leads.

“Thanks, son. You can rest again. We just needed to get some readings before you’re up for the day.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.” And I did. I was out like a light in a few minutes.

I awoke to find Dad there, shaking my shoulder. “Wake up, Steve. My goodness, it’s good to see you looking better. You really had your mother and me scared.”

I blinked, then looked up to him. “I’m sorry. I really am. I mean it. What I did was dumb. You and mom give me a lot of freedom and I really appreciate that. I’ll do better, I really will. I don’t know what could’ve happened, but I’m just glad it’s not worse. I know how scared...”

I stopped. I did not know how scared they were when my appendix ruptured and I nearly died. I did not know that because it never happened. I had come half a sentence away from saying it to my dad, though. When that happened in the first go-round, it terrified them. I didn’t know that then, because, like most anyone suffering a painful, life-threatening condition with a high fever, I was both loopy and self-centered. To my credit, I figured out they were terrified well before I’d recovered, though, and did my best to keep them calm that time.

But none of that ever happened. So I could hardly mention it.

“ ... you must have been, with me barely able to stand and dizzy and vomiting and bloody. I just ... I really want to apologize.”

He blinked at me. I was pretty sure he’d caught the stumble but wouldn’t guess what it meant, and I was also pretty sure the rest of it was surprising. I was, especially at fourteen, a ‘good kid’. My only trouble in school had been conduct grades, and only then because half my classes were very boring and I didn’t know how to cope. That got better in high school, anyway. And I needed to fix the boredom part, somehow, because it fucked up my life later.

“Thank you, son. That means a lot to me. We’re still going to ground you.” Grounding was a common punishment. They were often lousy at sticking it out. But I didn’t care — with my memories of my friends a wreck anyway, the best thing for me they could do was to give me an excuse to see if I could rebuild memories before seeing other people. “But it won’t be for that long,” he hedged.

“I figured you would. I’ll manage. I’ve got plenty of reading, and my room won’t clean itself.”

He gave me a puzzled look. What had I stepped in now?

“Your room is fine. You took care of that when Angie was moving in. Don’t you remember?”

I shifted, playing up the nerves a little. “Um ... I ... maybe? I’m sorry, it’s ... I’m still shaky on the last few months.”

He nodded. “That would scare me almost more than how you were doing yesterday, but Doctor Simmons says it’s to be expected with the sort of bump you had. It’ll come back. I’m sure it will.”

“Me, too. Dad? Look, I told Mom this earlier; I should say it to you, too. You are both the best parents I could have asked for. I know this is hard for you. I’ll do my best to stay out of trouble in the future.”

Behind Dad, a face appeared. Blond, heart-shaped, with amazing blue eyes. Angie’s face. The finger she was mimicking shoving down her throat told me her opinion on what I’d said. But, hell, it was sappy. I knew that. True, but really sappy. She didn’t know I’d never said anything like that to him before.

Dad, not seeing Angie’s little pantomime, leaned in and hugged me. He said nothing; he was the sort of person who kept his feelings close. Outgoing, social, the extrovert’s extrovert, that was my dad. But deeper feelings? Muted, until he was very old. We knew he loved us, though — he was clear about that.

I glanced at Angie again. She was smiling, inscrutably, having stopped miming gagging. She stepped out from behind Dad and I got my first look at the rest of her. A bit tall, perhaps 5’5” or so — and I doubted she’d finished growing yet - with medium-sized boobs that looked just perfect on her frame. She had long legs — always had - and a pretty smile. Was she more beautiful this time? I’m not sure; it might be just that I hadn’t seen her beyond this age except when she was in mourning, and even those were memories that had faded over almost forty years.

Dad turned to her. “I brought your sister, Angie, along. Maybe she’ll help remind you of things.”

Angie smiled, looking a trifle shy. “Hi, big brother. Are you OK? I want you to be OK. OK?”

“Hi ... um ... sis? I’m OK, I think. I’m still getting used to this ... I guess I still would be anyway, but ... it’s really good to see you.”

She came over and gave me a hug. It felt genuine, not forced. Also - and of course I noticed - her boobs felt like real boobs. After a moment’s thought, I realized that it was very likely that hers were the first teenage boobs ever to be involved in a hug with this version of me. I wasn’t a huggy person and hadn’t had that many female friends, especially ones prone to hugging. That part changed when I got older, at least.

I hugged her right back, gently.

Dad pulled over a chair and talked for half an hour. Angie did the same, sitting next to Dad. She pretty much just watched me and listened to Dad. I couldn’t read her even a little. At least she wasn’t frowning or making faces or looking sullen. She looked truly interested.

Dad wanted to know how was I doing, and how the food was. He was happy to hear I’d gotten out of bed and was OK to take a walk, happy to know the doctor was keeping tabs on me. He looked quite tired. I realized again just how terrified he must have been and how little he must have slept.

After a while, he offered to go get us both a Coke. Fourteen-year-old me loved Coke. Eighteen-year-old me figured out just how many empty calories were in a can and switched to diet sodas and then to tea and water, but that was in the future. I couldn’t turn one down. I smiled, told him that was great, I’d love one. We both knew it was an excuse to let me talk to Angie. Well, that, and like I said, he knew ‘I’ loved Coke.

Angie scooted her chair closer. “So, how are you? Really?”

“Really? Same as I told Dad. My head hurts off and on, I’m sore, I can’t remember a bunch of things, tests say my brainwaves are weird, but all of that will get better. It’s not a permanent injury, but I need to be careful about bumps for the next year.”

“So ... no football for you, then?”

I laughed. I wasn’t the football type. Never even considered it. I could have seen trying to change that, but with a concussion already hanging over me? I knew full well the risks football players suffered with repeated head injuries. No, thank you.

“Nope, I’m pretty sure Doctor Simmons would veto the whole idea. I expect to have PE restrictions for a while.” That was a safe bet. Elementary school PE was a lot less prone to contact and injury and, after my concussion back then, I’d been babied for a year. I figured this wouldn’t be as bad, but I’d still need to be careful.

“OK, so, how much do you remember? Remember, I hit my head, too, and I know it can be all foggy at first.” Angie had hit her head? I should remember that? I couldn’t remember a thing about Angie ever having had a head injury. I’d need to understand this, later.

“I ... dunno? A lot. But maybe you should just tell me like it’s new, in case it’s something in the middle I don’t remember.” She didn’t seem bothered by that. Good.

“OK, so. Um. I’ve ... been here ... since March, you might remember some of that.” I nodded. No, I didn’t, but I couldn’t let on just how much I didn’t know. “Dad ... I mean Frank ... um ... you know.” I nodded again, trying to look like I knew this stuff. “My ... uh ... mother is a fucking whore who couldn’t be bothered. And that’s being generous.” I blinked. Was this the bitchy Angie coming out? If so, it sounded like she had a good reason. “Your mom and dad ... um, fuck, I mean, our mom and dad ... are saints. Bringing me here, helping me through the worst of it. Well, I hope it was the worst. And, dear god, I didn’t want to go to Robert. That man cannot laugh at anything! But I never expected to go here. It’s way too fucking hot, the kids are all ... I mean, I don’t know anyone, almost, just a couple of girls ... but, I mean, saints.”