All the Cuts and Scars We Hide by Garry Michael
Twenty-Five: Kai
He Loved Me
Fear. That was the best word I could come up with to describe what I felt when Wyatt told me he loved me. I loved him too, but I’d never been this scared in my life. “I ran away from home because I broke my family,” I started.
Wyatt was still looking at me, waiting for me to continue. If I crumble tonight, will is still be whole tomorrow? I closed my eyes and began to tell him the reason why I moved away from the only home I’d known.
***
Dr. Iwata, the surgeon who operated on Leilani the night after the accident, entered the room and greeted us before taking the seat closest to the computer. She turned to face the examination table where Lei was sitting with her right lower leg, wrapped in plaster. The other had a black brace with a metal rod on either side that matched the bruising on her skin. “How are you, Lei?” she asked after exchanging pleasantries with the rest of us.
“Okay, I guess,” a subdued Lei answered, her attention everywhere else but the doctor. She was playing with the cloth wrapped around her thigh and hiding behind her long black hair which hung loosely around her face.
Dr. Iwata lowered the table until it was four feet off the ground and looked between Lei’s hair. “Let’s get you out of this plaster so we can check, okay?”
Instead of answering, Lei nodded and tucked her hair behind her ears, sorrow painted on her expression. Her eyes were red from crying and had dark bags under them. Gone was the smiling face with eyes illuminated with youth and joy.
My stomach dropped, making me want to vomit because I was the one who caused that look. I wish it had been me who was sitting on that table instead of her. It was all my fault. If I hadn’t called her to save my sorry ass, she wouldn’t be there. We would never have had that accident.
Dr. Iwata put on a pair of blue vinyl gloves and pulled a pair of scissors from the pocket of her crisp white coat. She started cutting the fabric from Lei’s thigh, down to her lower leg. She placed the pair of scissors on the blue-lined metal tray next to the exam table and pulled the plaster cast open. She applied extra force to break the mold of cloth and the chalk-looking material which had hardened to protect Lei’s right leg. Gently, she pulled the plaster away, exposing Lei’s leg that was covered with patches of four by four white gauze, only they were soaked and covered with dried blood.
“I didn’t think you could cut the cast with just scissors,” Lei spoke, curiosity in her eyes temporarily replaced the gauntness that had been living in there these past two weeks.
Dr. Iwata chuckled and showed her the mold. “You can’t. This is different from a cast. You know the colorful ones? This is just a temporary plaster we put on after surgery. We leave this gap open and wrap it with bandages,” she explained.
Just like earlier, Lei just nodded.
One by one, Dr. Iwata pulled each gauze off and dropped them onto the same metal tray where the scissors were.
A sharp gasp from my mom, followed by Lei’s silent tears tugged at my soul when the doctor exposed the long incision that ran from her thigh to her lower knee that had been sewn together with black sutures.
I stood up, went around to the other side of the table, and wrapped an arm around Lei’s shoulder. She buried her face in my chest and cried. I rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head to console her. The urge to protect my little sister was stronger than the helplessness and the guilt that I felt.
“It’s okay sweetie, it’s supposed to look like that. It’ll look a lot better once we take the sutures out.” Dr. Iwata affirmed, but it wasn’t enough to stop Lei from crying. “We’ll get some X-rays before we do, okay?” She looked at my parents.
Pa put his arm on Ma who was finally able to hide the agony on her face moments before, and they both nodded.
After carefully getting Lei to a wheelchair, the nurse rolled her out of the room to get an X-ray.
A valve opened and released all the pressure of the past two weeks, and I finally broke down. “It’s all my fault. She’s suffering because of me.” I sat down on the same table where Lei had been. The sobbing made it harder to breathe. “I never should’ve called her.”
My ma stood up and lifted my chin. Her tears had smeared her makeup. “It’s not your fault, my love. Accidents happen and that crash was an accident.”
My pa sat beside me, placing his hand on my lap. “Don’t do this to yourself, son. The only one to blame was that idiot who hit you and Lei.” He trembled and balled his fists when he mentioned the drunk driver.
After I had somewhat managed to get myself together, the door of the exam room opened, and Lei was rolled back into the room and to the table. Dr. Iwata logged into the computer and pulled Lei’s X-ray up on the monitor. “Your X-rays look good. See these plates and screws?” she asked, pointing to the black and white images on the screen. “They are where they’re supposed to be and those—”
“When can I dance again?” Lei interrupted.
“It’s going to be a while. You’re going to have to wear a cast for another four to six weeks before you can start rehab.”
“So when?” Lei pleaded, a heart-wrenching sob making her words difficult to understand.
“Six to ten months.”
“No!” Lei screamed. “I’m supposed to go to Juilliard in New York this fall. I worked so hard to get there. Do you know how many girls from Hawai'i get invited to go there?”
“I’m so sorry, Lei,” the doctor sympathized.
“I was the first one in almost a decade.” Accepting defeat, Lei laid back and stared at the ceiling while tears flowed.
Dr. Iwata and the nurse gave my parents a sympathetic look.
I yanked the door open and ran out of the clinic. I didn’t stop running until I found a small garden next to the building. “I’m so sorry, Lei.”
***
“It wasn’t your fault, Kai. It was an accident, like your mother said,” Wyatt told me after I finished telling him what happened the night of the accident and the subsequent events that followed.
“Even though you say that Wyatt, it doesn’t change how I feel,” I insisted after I wiped tears from my face. “Can we just go home, please,” I begged. That was I could handle and I was thankful when Wyatt brought the truck back to life.
“I got us two mochas,” I greeted Wyatt when he approached me.
“Is it okay if we stop by Seattle before we head out for our drive?” he asked.
“Of course. Where are we going?”
“I just need to do something. Something I should have done a long time ago.”
I held Wyatt’s hand tighter and he squeezed back while we walked along the short brick walkway between two patches of green grass. The slate grey colored craftsman’s style home trimmed with burgundy window frames that matched the door was surrounded by flower beds with small white daisies on one side and red and yellow variegated dahlias on the other. The white patio was adorned with hanging baskets of violets on all four corners. The wooden swing swayed back and forth from the morning summer breeze.
The door opened and a couple in their fifties looked at us, shocked. The man wearing glasses had a white short-sleeve polo and a pair of khaki pants finished with loafers. But it was the woman who grabbed my attention. Her dark wavy hair was pulled into a neat ponytail. She wore a sleeveless, floral summer dress that flowed to her knees. She clasped both of her hands against her chest and appeared to be crying. She wiped her cheeks before rushing toward us.
Wyatt dropped my hand and met her halfway.
“Wyatt, Mijo,” she called him, falling into his embrace, and burying her face in his chest.
The man caught up with her and hugged both of them. He removed his glasses to wipe away the tears that had started to fall from his eyes. “My son!” he said.
My vision blurred. The love these three had for each other was oozing from them. I couldn’t help but think about my own family. There hadn’t been a day that passed where I didn’t think of them.
Wyatt turned toward me, his eyes red. “This is Kai. Kai this is Sophia and Carlos Martinez. They’re Jim’s parents,” he introduced everyone.
I extended my hand to shake Sophia’s, but to my surprise, she pulled me into a hug.
“It’s nice to meet you, Kai.” She released me and continued, “Let’s get you two inside.” She wrapped her arms around us both and guided us toward the open door.
“Can I get you boys anything to drink?” Sophia asked once we were inside.
We sat across from Mr. and Mrs. Martinez in the living room of their home. Pictures of a young man around Wyatt’s age, who I assumed was Jim, decorated a section of a brick wall above the fireplace. One picture that stood out was one with Wyatt. They were standing side by side wearing their camo uniform complete with helmets and even with goggles on, I could recognize them. Wyatt had his arms around Jim while Jim gave Wyatt a pair of bunny ears with his fingers. They beamed with pride and joy. It was so nice to see Wyatt free of the dark cloud that had been haunting him.
Mr. Martinez noticed me studying the picture, so he stood up and took the frame down, and handed it to me. “I love that picture, that smile of his summed-up Jim to a tee. Carefree and so goofy,” he chuckled.
Wyatt leaned closer to me to study the picture. “That was our first day in Afghanistan. Everyone was pumped to be there. We had no idea what we were in for.” He took a sharp intake of breath before continuing, “I’m sorry I couldn't save him. I promised you I would protect him and I failed.” Wyatt dropped his head low and his shoulders sagged.
After placing the frame on the armrest, I placed a hand on his lap while the other rubbed circles on his back.
“That wasn’t on you, Son,” Mr. Martinez said. “We don’t blame you.”
Mrs. Martinez rushed toward Wyatt and sat on the coffee table separating the two couches. “You can’t do this to yourself, Wyatt. I know why you’ve avoided our calls. I know why you hid in your house whenever we came to see you,” she continued.
Wyatt didn’t say anything. He let silent tears fall.
Sophia held Wyatt’s chin and lifted his face to meet hers. “We love you, you are family. You and Jim were like brothers. We already lost one son in the war, we don’t want to lose another. Do you hear me?”
Wyatt nodded, unable to speak.