I need a phone. I need to make calls.
First to my mom, then to Leo.
I need to find my people.
“I want to call my mom.”
“The phones aren’t working. I know it’s frustrating, but—”
“I want to try.”
“Okay, Ruby.” Nurse Cathy goes to the workstation. Comes back. Hands me a cordless phone. She leaves again to give me privacy. I dial. And wait.
When I dial my mom, nothing happens. Not a busy signal. Not a ring. Nothing. I call our landline next. It rings and rings and rings. But it’s an old-timey ring that doesn’t sound normal. Like it isn’t real. I imagine that ring echoing through our empty house. I don’t get sent to voicemail, either. Proof it’s not working. I redial her cell. Then home. I am a ping-pong ball going back and forth. Cell. Home. Cell. Home. My fingers shake, slip. I punch the numbers wrong and have to start over again. I grip the phone harder, willing my mom to answer.
Cathy pokes her head in. “Anything?”
“Not yet.” Every unanswered ring is a punch to my gut. I can’t look at Nurse Cathy. I can’t look through the sliding glass doors. Or at the woman in the yellow shirt. I can’t look at any of the things I’ve been looking at since I woke up here. I can only focus on the pile of white sheets covering my legs. I grab a handful of the soft cotton and squeeze. I channel all my frustration into that bunched-up heap in my hand while my other hand grips the phone.
Our home phone rings endlessly.
I let it keep going.
I rock. Back and forth. The sheets move with me.
I want some part of my old life to answer. To pick up. To be alive.
To be okay.
Nurse Cathy watches me rock. “Is there someone else, maybe?” There’s an underlying note of worry in her tone. The way Charlie sounded when he got nervous in the rubble.
I should try to call someone else, but I don’t know any numbers from my contacts list. Who does? I’d seen Leo’s name light up my screen thousands of times in the last seven months, but it didn’t show his number. And the landline numbers of any of my friends? No way. How did I not pay attention to any of this stuff before?
I want to call Coach, but I don’t know his number by heart, either.
I remember being told during an earthquake drill at school that family members should all check in with a designated family member living out of state. I’m sure my mom would call her mom, but I don’t know my grandma’s phone number in Seattle any better than I know Leo’s.
I want to pull my hair. I’m so mad at myself for not knowing anything that can help me.
Emergency plans assume something. They assume you’re in a place where you have access to everything you need. Food. Water. Phone numbers. A change of clothes. Your mom. Your house. They assume family members are all together. That the car has a full tank of gas. That you have a pocketful of cash. That you have tampons and a toothbrush. They assume you have a plan.
Or maybe it’s me who assumed.
I rack my brain for something else to do or someone else to call.
I actually do know Mila’s number by heart because I’ve known her since before we were allowed to have cell phones. I’ve called Mila’s house a million times.
I don’t care if the only words she’s said to me since New Year’s Eve have been mean ones.
I dial her and wait. It rings and rings with that same old-timey sound our landline had. I hang up. Try again. Repeat. What if Mila isn’t okay? What if we don’t get a chance to talk again?
Stop. I can’t go there.
“A lot of folks couldn’t get back into their homes,” Nurse Cathy says. “Too much damage. It’s hard to know exactly where everyone is. Shelters. The street.”
My insides bubble. I’m frantic and helpless at the same time. A volcano ready to combust.
This is useless. I’m useless. I remember that moment in the rubble when Charlie said he was useless and I promised him he wasn’t. But now I know how he felt. Now I get it.
I’m here because of luck.
And Charlie. My new friend helped keep me alive.
“Maybe you can try again later,” Nurse Cathy says.
I want to yell at her even though it isn’t her fault. I’m her patient. She doesn’t want me to freak out because it’s her job to help me get well. I understand all of this. But right now, all I want to do is throw this phone into the sliding glass doors hard enough to make them shatter. Maybe it will make the woman in the yellow shirt turn around. Maybe she’ll see me. Maybe she’ll comfort me since my own mom can’t.
I sink back into the bed. Nurse Cathy refills my cup of water. Holds it out to me, lets me take it in my own hands this time. I suck down half of it without taking a breath.
“Is everything gone? Outside of here. Is it all gone?”
“It’s bad.” She winces. “Unrecognizable, even.”
I regret asking.
“We’re one of the few hospitals still up and running since we’re farther away from the epicenter. The closer hospitals are too damaged to take patients. So the injured keep coming here. Like you.” She shakes her head like she’s had a hard time processing it all. “Days later and they keep finding people.”
“Where were you when it happened?”
“Grocery store.”
“Is your family okay?” Is she working at the hospital, helping other people, when her own family needs help? Are they missing, too?
“My people are all good. You’re sweet to ask.”
“Do you have kids?”
“I do. Twins. Kindergarten.”
“What would you do if one of your kids was missing?”
She takes my water cup. “The same thing I’m sure your mom is doing: move mountains to find them.”
“If she even can.” It’s the first time I’ve said the words out loud. I want to shove them back into my mouth and swallow them. What if saying them out loud could make them real? “I didn’t mean that.”
“I know.” Nurse Cathy smiles at me. “How about this? How about you do what Doc Patel asked and work on getting better. So you have the strength to find your mom. To help. Cool?”
“I can do that.”
“That makes me real happy to hear, Ruby. Your mom will be proud of you.”