Twenty

They spoke in hushed tones by his bedside when he awoke. His mother, mortified, was one of them. The other was a doctor.

Quickly he decided not to open his eyes to let them know he was awake.

Who knew what kind of trouble he was in?

“So,” she asked quietly, but with an urgency to her voice, “you’re telling me a jellyfish stung my son? Like, a jellyfish from the sea?” She chuckled bitterly. “We are hundreds of miles from shore!”

“To be honest, Mrs. Dewitt,” explained the doctor, “I’ve been perplexed all afternoon, myself. Your son’s science teacher—the man who saved his life—told me that in Edgar’s delirium, he claimed the injury occurred in—well, this sounds totally ridiculous—but, in The Indian Ocean.”

“You’re right. That is ridiculous. My son was delirious, didn’t you say, Doctor?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But then, I saw this.”

As Edgar tried to lay as still as possible, the doctor pulled back the sheets from his wound and pain shot up and down his leg. He almost cried out, but at the last moment, he was able to bite his tongue.

“Oh my God,” whispered his mother. Whatever she saw, it did not look good.

“Yeah,” the doctor agreed.

Now they were really freaking him out.

“Ma’am,” said the doctor, turning to her, “I’m from the coast. Down there, we surf a lot. So, as a doctor and a surfer, I’ve come across many jellyfish stings, and I have treated them all. That being said, your son’s here is a particularly fascinating sting, especially given our location inland, so many hundred miles from shore. This sting is totally consistent with a specimen frequently found in the Indian Ocean, called a ‘Box jellyfish’ sting. It is extremely poisonous. Actually, Mrs. Dewitt, it’s the most venomous sting on the planet.”

Together they stood over him, marveling at his gnarly wound.

“See?” he continued, tracing an outline around Edgar’s thigh. “This is a perfect sihouette of a Box jellyfish tentacle, right here.” Ugh. With that guy poking and prodding around his wound he was about to come out of his skin. “This area here—it’s all swollen and upraised, like a cattle brand, see? Mrs. Dewitt, this is a serious jellyfish sting.”

The doctor then lowered the sheets.

“When he arrived,” continued the doctor, “I called for vinegar to pour on the wound, which, as you know, being from the South, is how you usually treat jellyfish stings. Well, strangely, your son came in smelling of vinegar already. Dr. Van Rossum told me that in your son’s delirious state, he admitted to pouring the vinegar on himself in a cabin in the woods—near your house. From there, I removed the remaining barbs from his leg and studied the size and pattern of the sting. That’s how I deduced that it does, in fact, belong to a ‘box’ jellyfish or a ‘sea wasp.’” After a pause, he added, “What you must understand, Mrs. Dewitt, is that this is not possible—not for your son to have been stung by a box jellyfish today, so far from sea, so far from a sea that box jellyfish swim around in! The only thing I can think of is he . . . well, I don’t even know . . . could he have fallen into an aquarium somewhere? Does he have any well-off friends—anyone who might have access to a saltwater aquarium?”

“I don’t think he has many friends,” she said with a dazed, contemplative note in her voice. Returning to Edgar’s bedside, he could feel her looking down and standing over him.

When he finally stirred, as if rousing from sleep, she bent slightly and brushed a bit of hair from his forehead, giving him a slight smile. He squinted up at her and blinked. She looked exhausted. She had ghoulish black circles beneath her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept in days.

“Doctor,” she asked without looking away from Edgar. “Will my son be OK?”

“I think so,” said the doctor, to Edgar’s relief. “I contacted several hospitals in California today and remarkably, there is one in Santa Cruz that has a single vial of box jellyfish anti-venom, which is very lucky for your son. In fact, they’re flying it in as we speak, special order for Edgar. It should be here in an hour or so. After that? Well, I think Edgar will be just fine, although a violent scar will remain on his leg for the rest of his life, I’m afraid.”

Edgar watched the doctor over her shoulder, who gave his mother a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said behind her, nodding. He nodded back and out the door, leaving the two alone.

Edgar returned his gaze to her, studying the circles beneath her eyes.

“You look real tired, Mom,” he said. He had never seen her so exhausted or more troubled.

Frowning, she turned and reached for a stool, then scooted it close to his bedside and sat down. Then, placing her elbows on the railing, she rested her chin on her knuckles and studied him, sighing deeply.

“Well, Edgar,” she said. “Look at us. Aren’t we a mess?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “But we’re still here.”

Nodding, she said, “So tell me, honestly. It’s the million-dollar question. How did you get that jellyfish sting on your leg?”

He rolled on his side and faced her, propping his head up with an elbow. He looked deep into her eyes and, at that very moment, decided to come clean once and for all about everything.

“Mom,” he admitted, “I was on an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean. That’s where I got stung.” Suddenly, in the catharsis of telling the truth, he felt a sudden release of burden that had weighed on him so relentlessly. Something had loosened in his knotted gut that had been wound up tight, and instead of feeling terrible about revealing his secret, like he was compromising his happy place, or like he was giving up something that made him special and wonderful and unique, he knew he had never felt more free. In all of one moment, a realization washed over him: her love and faith in him meant so much more than a tiny little island in the Southern Hemishpere.

“Hmph,” she said dryly, snatching her purse. “It’s the same old stuff.”

“Huh?” he said. His happiness had suddenly evaporated.

“When are the stories going to stop, Edgar? I don’t have time for this.”

“Mom, I swear I’m telling the truth.”

“Well. You need to rest. We will sort this out when this is all over.” She walked to the door and pulled it open. “I need to get back to the fire line,” she said. “I need to make sure they’re doing all they can do to save your father’s life. You’ll be OK,” she assured him, composing herself. “The hospital will transfer you to Sunnyslope tonight. Until then, your teacher, Dr. Van Rossum, has said he will come stay with you until I get back.” Then, with a worried, final nod, she closed the door behind her and was gone.

__________

At five-thirty, a nurse finally arrived to administer the anti-venom. The medicine, which came in a little purple bottle, was drawn out by a needle that she inserted into it and sucked out the fluid. It made for a long, sinister-looking shot, but in this case, as bad as his leg was aching, he would have stuck it in his leg himself.

The fascinated doctor stood just behind her, studying his sting, watching everything. As she prepared the shot, she looked up at Edgar and gave him a warm smile. “You know what this particular medicine is made out of?”

Edgar shook his head no.

“Sheep’s blood,” she said, giving him a wink.

“Cool,” he said, smiling at her. “Baaaa.”

She chuckled and after the hideous prick in his skin, he could feel the mysterious liquid coursing through his leg. Icy tingles worked their way around his veins, cooling the wound, and soon it felt much better.

As she was packing her equipment, she asked, “Say. How’d you get stung by a jellyfish, anyway? We’re four hundred miles from the beach!”

“Ma’am,” said Edgar, looking her in the eye, “I couldn’t even make my own mom believe me today. Sometimes I can’t believe it myself. So how could I make you believe?”

__________

Alone in his room once again, restless and tossing, he finally got up and limped to the sink. Staring into the mirror, he watched water droplets fall from his chin as he washed his face, which made him think of his dad.

Water.

That’s all his dad needed, water.

As the sink drained, he looked down and caught a whirlpool, dancing just above the drain. It was sucking and gurgling and seemed kind of like a liquid tornado. For a while he watched it dreamily, wondering what makes whirlpools whirl: was it the water? Or maybe the pull of gravity, or the rotation of the Earth?

Or maybe it was something on a molecular level?

Just then, as if on cue, Dr. Van Rossum poked his head through the door, breaking the train of thought. Smiling, Edgar waved him in.

“You’re alive,” said the man, closing the door behind him. “Good! Because who else could I possibly teach the concepts of gravity to, if you up and croaked?”

Edgar beamed. “Thank God you’re here,” he said. “It just so happens I have a pressing science question for you.”

“How surprising,” the teacher quipped.

Edgar limped toward him and offered him the stool. “This one is a physics question, actually. You might need pen and paper.”

Dr. Van Rossum took a seat and withdrew his thin eyeglasses, then crossed his legs and assumed a more professor-like position. In his most snobby, professor-like way, he gestured for Edgar to continue.

“Cool!” grinned Edgar, limping to a nearby desk. “Now,” he said, snatching up some pen and paper, placing both on Dr. Van Rossum’s lap. “Suppose you had a hole through the Earth . . . you know, like the one that goes all the way down to China.”

“Impossible,” blurted Dr. Van Rossum, “but, fine. Just so you know, there’s not any such thing and there could never be,” which, to that, Edgar giggled heartily.

“Fair enough,” said Edgar. “OK, then, let’s say there was a hole through the Earth,” he posited, taking a seat across from his teacher. “And at the other end of the world, let’s say it wasn’t China, but rather a big, vast ocean.”

“OK,” said Van Rossum. “So what do you want to know?”

“I want to know all about whirlpools,” said Edgar, wiggling his own eyebrows.

“Edgar?” chuckled Dr. Van Rossum. “You are one strange kid.”