Free Tunnel Vision by Gary Braver Page A

was. “Good, Zack. I know this is confusing to you, but I want you to tell me your name.”
    Incredibly, Zack looked directly at Heather and said in a voice rough from disuse, “Zack.”
    “That’s great. Now tell me your full name, last name, too.”
    “Zachary Kashian.” Then he rolled his eyes toward Emma. “Where’s my dad?”
    Emma tried to repress the tremors passing through her. “Your dad?” she squealed.
    “He was just here.”
    “There was nobody else here,” Heather said.
    “I think you were dreaming,” Dr. Andrew said.
    “No. He was here.” Zack closed his eyes again and turned his head away.
    “Zack!” Heather cried. “Open your eyes. Please open your eyes again.”
    Zack didn’t respond.
    “Zack,” said Dr. Andrew, “don’t be alarmed, but you’re in a hospital. You had an accident that left you unconscious for a while. But you’re a lot better, and the great news is that you woke up.”
    Zack slit open his eyes again. And Dr. Andrew was quick to catch them. “Zack, look at me, okay? Move your feet.”
    His feet, still in new sneakers, stuck out from the bottom of the bedding. Zack rocked them back and forth, knocking the shoes together.
    “Good job. That’s terrific. Now I want you to tell me where you live.”
    “Magog Woods.”
    “Where?”
    Emma knew from his chart that he lived in Boston near the Northeastern University campus.
    “Magog Woods.”
    “Where’s that?” Heather asked.
    Zack closed his eyes again.
    In a sharp voice, Heather said, “Zack, open your eyes. Come on, keep them open and talk to me. Tell me where you go to school.”
    No response.
    “Zack,” the doctor said, “you had an accident on your bike and were brought to the hospital. Remember that?”
    “Sand.”
    “Sand? What about sand? Did you skid on sand? Tell me about it. Zack, please open your eyes. You can’t go back to sleep again. Please. You’re doing great.”
    “Hit my head.” He opened his eyes.
    “You hit your head? Tell me what you remember, Zack. Tell me how you hit your head.”
    He closed his eyes again and rolled his head away.
    “Come on, Zack, open your eyes. You can’t fall asleep again. Tell me how you hit your head. Did you fall off your bike?”
    But Zack kept his eyes closed, and Heather and the doctor continued coaxing him to open them again, fearing that he would slip back.
    But after several seconds, his eyes opened again. He looked at his arms with the IV connections and the monitors attached to his chest and tubes running from his body to bags and feed tubes. “How long?”
    “Well, it’s been a few weeks.”
    Zack stared at her, his eyes blank but his mind working on what she had just said. He winced and closed his eyes again.
    Heather moved closer. “Zack, keep your eyes open.”
    “He’s here,” he whispered.
    “What’s that? Who’s here?”
    But Zack had slipped back into sleep.

17
     
    At eight the next morning, Nurse Heather came into Zack’s room. “Hey, Zack, how you doing?”
    “Okay.”
    “You ready for company?” Heather was beaming. “Your mother’s here to see you.”
    Several hours had passed since Zack had woken up. He felt more centered and less fatigued. They had kept him awake by plying him with questions to assess his cognitive functions. It took a while to sink in that he had been in a coma for twelve weeks—that he had missed spring break and March madness, not to mention nearly three months’ work on his thesis, which had been due April 1. (He’d have to get an extension.) What amazed him was how in so short a time he had lost nearly twenty pounds. More startling was how weak he was. Lifting his arms took effort. But the nurses said that was expected, and because he was young he’d be back to normal after a few weeks of physical therapy.
    Nurse Heather rolled up the bed slightly and gave him a few sips of orange juice. In a day or so they would remove the G-tube so he could eat normally, beginning with soft foods and