LEN BIAS: CROSSOVER
A novel
By: Michael D. McClellan | September 19, 2010
"Do you think he can hear us?" John asks.
Yes - yes I can...
"No one knows for sure. The doctors want every conversation to occur as if Jason can hear everything we say. They want every conversation to be upbeat, positive and high-energy if at all possible. Everything else should be discussed outside of the room, in private. His vitals spike when I'm here - the nurses tell me that Jason's blood pressure and heart rate elevate the moment I enter the room. It's like clockwork."
"That has to be a good sign."
"I hope so."
"Jason's in there, Em. He might not be able to communicate, but he's in there."
I'm not Jason Schuler...
"You want to know what's so ironic? Jason hates to fly, you know that. He was so excited to be flying out to work that camp and see Aaron, but he didn't sleep much the night before. He kept tossing and turning, and then finally gave up around 3AM. He just went downstairs and stayed up until it was time to go to the airport. He told me that he had a bad feeling about this trip. That something was going to happen on his flight. And then he makes it out there and back safely, only to end up in a head-on collision less than five miles from home."
"Ohio is currently one of five states with no ban on cell phone usage or texting while driving. Em, I'm going to help change that. I'm working with Senator Ashford to draft a hands-free bill, and what happened to Jason is only going to bring this to a whole other level of awareness."
"I don't want to politicize Jason's injuries, John."
"We need to make our roads safer, that's all I meant."
"Understood. But this isn't about using what happened to Jason to advance a political career."
"I'm sorry, this wasn't the time or place to bring this up."
"Let's just change the subject."
John falls silent for a moment, and then: "Who's watching Marcellus?"
"The Wilsons."
"He's at their house?"
"Yeah."
"I'll bet he's missing his master."
"Very much so."
Emily pulls a photo from her purse and holds it up for me to see. There's a lake set under blue skies and rimmed with lush green trees. Emily is standing on a large rock. She's wearing a two piece bathing suit, sunglasses and a pair of flip-flops. I tanned, muscular man stands beside her in a pair of dark blue trunks. A golden retriever is on the rock with them, a tennis ball in his mouth. Below them, in the water, is a sleek motor boat.
"The doctors want me showing Jason photos of the things we talk about. It's supposed to help. Jason, can you hear me? Do you remember Marcellus? He goes everywhere with you. This was last summer, at Lake Abram. Marcellus must have dived after that tennis ball a hundred times."
Stop doing this to me - I'm not Jason Schuler...
"That's us, Jason - you and me. Do you remember that day?"
I'm not Jason Schuler...
"And that's our boat. We bought it two years ago. I didn't want it, but you love the water, love to swim. You talked me into buying it, and we use it all summer long. Do you remember going to Lake Abram over the Memorial Day Weekend?"
I'm not Jason Schuler...
A physical therapist walks in and introduces himself as Devon. He speaks with Emily about a scheduled range-of-motion session, which will be followed by a second session focusing on the stimulation of muscle tissue. Two hours in total, back-to-back. Devon explains that he'll return in thirty minutes to begin the work on my joints, and that a PT named Eric will follow him an hour later to work on the muscles. He says that the sessions will help prevent bed sores and slow muscle atrophy. Emily nods approvingly, asks a couple of follow-up questions, and says that she understands. She then thanks Devon for the advanced notice. Devon disappears as quickly as he came.
A pocket of silence falls between Emily and John. Emily tapes the photo to the wall directly across from me. She folds her arms and stares out the window. I want to scream. I try to scream. I'm not Jason Schuler. I'm not Jason Schuler. I AM NOT JASON SCHULER!
"Did you see that?" John asks, his voice rising slightly. "Em, did you see that?"
"What?"
"Jason's right arm. It just moved."
"That's normal - his muscles twitch, they do that all the time."
"That didn't look like a twitch, Em. He just raised his right arm a couple of inches and lowered it back down."
"John don't say that unless you really saw-"
I'm Len Bias, not Jason Schuler! Why don't you understand that? Len Bias! LEN BIAS!
"Oh my God..."
"There! Right there! Did you see that?"
"Jason - Jason honey can you hear me?"
LEN BIAS! LEN BIAS! LEN BIAS!"
"Em, he moved his head-"
"We're here Jason - it's Em and John - can you hear us?"
"I'll go get a doctor."
"Wait! Look, something's happening, look at his mouth he's trying to communicate with us...John he's trying to speak!"
I'm reaching them, thank God I'm reaching them. They're both leaning over me now. She's holding my hand, he's gripping the bed rail. Their faces are inches away from mine. It's everything I can do to blink, and everything I can do to finally break the dried scum of saliva that has glued my lips together.
"...bye...ussss..."
Drowning. Arms and legs kicking against the frigid water, the sounds of my friends swallowed up and snuffed out. I close my eyes and the world goes black, as the haze pours over me like quicksand.
