Free A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers Page B

were you calling stupid? ” “ No one. I said it was stupid. ” “ What ’ s stupid? ” “ Dying of a bloody nose. ” “ I ’ m not going to die of a bloody nose. ” “ The nurse said you could. ” “ The doctor said you could. ” “ If we go in, I ’ ll never leave. ” “ Yes you will. ” “ I won ’ t. ” “ Oh Jesus. ”
    “ I don ’ t want to go back in there. ” “ Don ’ t cry, Mom, Jesus. ” “ Don ’ t say that. ” “ Sorry. ”
    “ We ’ ll get you out. ” “ Mom? ” “ What! ” “ You ’ ll get out. ” “ You want me in there. ” “ Oh, God. ”
    “ Look at you two, Tweedledum and Tweedledee. ” “ Huh? ”
     
    “ You want to go out tonight, that ’ s what it is. ” “ Jesus. ”
    “ It ’ s New Year ’ s Eve. You two have plans! ” “ Fine, bleed. Sit there and bleed to death. ” “ Mom, please? ”
    “ Just bleed. But we don ’ t have enough towels for all the blood. I ’ ll have to get more towels. ” “ Mom? ”
    “ And you ’ ll ruin the couch. ” “ Where ’ s Toph? ” she asks. “ Downstairs. ” “ What ’ s he doing? ” “ Playing his game. ” “ What will he do? ” “ He ’ ll have to come with. ”
    At the end of the driveway my father knelt. Beth watched and it was kind of pretty for a second, him just kneeling there in the gray winter window. Then she knew. He had been falling. In the kitchen, the shower. She ran and flung open the door, threw the screen wide and ran to him.
    I clear out the backseat of the station wagon and put a blanket down, then put a pillow against the side door and lock it. I come back into the living room.
    “ How am I going to get in the car? ” she says.
    “ I ’ m gonna carry you, ” I say.
    “ You? ”
    “ Yeah. ”
    “ Ha! ”
    We get her jacket. We get another blanket. We get the half-moon receptacle. We get the IV bag. Another nightgown. Slippers. Some snacks for Toph. Beth puts everything in the car.
    I open the basement door.
    “ Toph, let ’ s go. ”
    “ Where? ”
    “ To the hospital. ”
    “ Why? ”
    “ For a checkup. ”
    “ Now? ”
    “ Yes. ”
    “ Do I have to go? ”
    “ Yes. ”

 

     
     

    “ Why? I can stay with Beth. ”
    “ Beth ’ s coming with. ”
    “ I can stay alone. ”
    “ No, you can ’ t. ”
    “ Why? ”
    “ Because you can ’ t. ”
    “ But why? ”
    “ Jesus, Toph, get up here! ”
    “ Okay. ”
    I am not sure I can lift her. I don ’ t know how heavy she ’ ll be. She could be a hundred pounds, she could be a hundred and fifty pounds. I open the door to the garage and come back. I move the table away from the couch. I kneel in front of her. I put one arm under her legs, and the other behind her back. She has tried to sit up.
    “ You ’ ll never get up if you ’ re kneeling. ”
    “ Okay. ”
    I get off my knees and crouch.
    “ Put your arm around my neck, ” I say.
    “ Be careful, ” she says.
    She puts her arm around my neck. Her hand is hot.
    I remember to use my legs. I keep her nightgown between my hand and the back of her knees. I do not know what her skin there will feel like. I am afraid of what is under her nightgown— bruises, spots, holes. There are bruises, soft spots...where things have rotted through? As I stand up, she reaches her other arm around to meet the one around my neck, and grabs one hand with the other. She is not as heavy as I thought she would be. She is not as bony as I feared she would be. I step around the chair next to the couch. I had once seen them both, my mother and father, on the couch, both sitting there. I head toward the hallway to the garage. The whites of her eyes are yellow.
    “ Don ’ t let my head hit. ”
    “ I won ’ t. ”
    “ Don ’ t. ”
    “ I won ’ t. ”
    We pass the first doorway. The wood molding cracks.
    “ Ow! ”
    “ Sorry. ”
    “ Owwwwwooooooh. ”
    “ Sorry, sorry, sorry. You okay? ”
    “ Mmmmm. ”
    “ Sorry. ”
    The door to the garage is open.