CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise
And then if we are true to plan
Our statures touch the skies
Emily Dickinson

Lee relaxed against the comfort of his mother’s strong arms and looked up into the stars. She was saying things to him, asking him questions, but, for the moment, words were nothing compared to the pull of the stars and the moon. His body felt the same way his arms once did after trudging home from the store with the Christmas grocery bags loaded with a twenty-five-pound turkey and two ten-pound bags of potatoes—when he finally put the bags down, his arms felt like they might float right up to the ceiling, regardless of what plans he might have for them. The same sensation filled him now. Lee felt that his body might float all the way to the moon if he let it.

By the time the paramedics arrived, Lee was feeling a little more anchored—back in the real world, where mosquitoes had no intention of letting him forget he had a body.

“Here, let’s put this blanket around him,” said one of the paramedics to Gertrude. Lee scratched at his swollen eyelids. Ouch. He asked Santiago to lick his face, and her gentle tongue made him remember how he used to believe that Santiago’s spit could cure him of anything, if necessary. The paramedic gently pulled Santiago away from Lee’s face, gave her a gentle pat on the rump—“you’re a beauty, aren’t you?”—and turned his attentions to Lee. He examined Lee’s eyes, checked his pulse, asked him some questions.

“How many fingers do you see? Are you injured anywhere? Have you had any food or water since this morning?” He whistled when he saw Lee’s raw hands and shoulder. “Mama Mia. How long have you been sitting there holding that bucket, buddy?”

“Close to twelve hours, I’m guessing,” croaked Lee.

“Good Lord, where did you find the strength?”

Lee winced as the paramedic applied ointment to his wounds and insect bites with kind and caring hands. Then the man smiled, tousled Lee’s hair, and asked if he felt strong enough to stand up and make it to the ambulance.

“I’m staying right here,” said Lee. “I’m not moving an inch till Rhonda’s out.”

Gertrude and Agnes hovered around him, touching his cheek, his forehead, rubbing his blanket-covered arms to keep him warm, whispering how brave he’d been, how amazing he was. Santiago rested her chin and one paw on Lee’s lap, as if to claim ownership. “This is my boy. This is the boy who loves me.”

Slang went missing for a minute or two, but came sprinting back from his car with the team shirt held between his hands like a victory flag. “You’re number one, kid,” he said, and just about gave Lee the usual punch in the shoulder before remembering it might not be such a good idea.

But then Lee saw an apparition that made him wonder if he was still in la-la-land after all. She appeared out of nowhere. Gorgeous Charlotte Bailey. Yep, I’m hallucinating, for sure, thought Lee, but he didn’t mind. Not one little bit. Lee noted that Charlotte looked even more gorgeous in his hallucinations. Like an angel. She didn’t say a word. She just knelt down beside him, gave him a smile he would never forget, then took his hand and placed something in it. He looked down to find himself holding Charlotte’s purple hair ribbon—the one from his bicycle handlebar. “Hey!” he called, but Charlotte was already slipping back into the shadows. Mr. Bailey looked over his shoulder, but Charlotte gave Lee the “quiet” sign with one finger on her lips, and ran off in the direction of the car.

Just when I think that I’m alone
It seems there’s more of us at home
There’s a multitude of angels,
And they’re playing with my heart.

– Annie Lennox

Without love, what are we worth? Eighty-nine cents! Eighty-nine cents’ worth of chemicals, walking around lonely.

– Hawkeye Pierce, M*A*S*H