“Get your goddamn phone!” Nick barked from the top bunk.
Joe sawed out one final snore, his hand flopping to the ringing offender on his nightstand. “Hello?”
“Good morning Joey!” said his mother cheerily. “Where are you?”
“In bed,” he said, sitting up halfway. “Everything alright?”
“Absolutely fine! Your Aunt and I are coming to take you to breakfast!”
“Oh. Is dad with you?”
“No honey, he needs to stay and watch the little ones. We’ll be there in an hour. And Joey?”
“Thank you again. For everything.”
“Of course. See you soon.” He hung up and swung his legs over the bed. His mom hadn’t invited Nick, which was just as well because Nick had already returned to sleep, dead to the world. He probably had plans with Amy anyway.
Quietly, he walked to his computer. Gwendolyn deserved some kind of closure. She was a nice girl, really. And Joe couldn’t shake the feeling that, by befriending her, he had set her on a course that would irrevocably change her life from the way it was supposed to unfold. Another life ruined . . .
“Hi Gwen,” he typed, “I apologize for not getting back to you sooner. I had some family stuff going on. But my Aunt is doing well. She and my mother are coming to take me to breakfast today. I would like to see you after if you’re free. I’ll give you a call when I get back. Please let me know if this works. Sincerely, Joe.”
He clicked “Send” and sat back, wondering about the email’s tone. Was it too friendly? Too formal? Too dry? He didn’t want to give Gwendolyn the wrong idea. Wrong idea about what? he thought, feeling more confused than he was about the time travel.
Shaking his head, he stripped down and gathered his things for the shower. Before long, he was sitting on a stone bench in the quad, enjoying the sun on his face and trying hard to think of things other than planes crashing into buildings.
* * *
The ringing in his head exploded when he saw his mother’s red SUV pull up to the curb; he almost fell off of the bench , his vision shaking like some malevolent force was using his head as a maraca.
He managed to get back to a sitting position, clinging to the bench with a grip as tenuous as his hold on sanity. It was his mom and his aunt. It had to be. There was something about coming into contact with loved ones he knew so well that was setting his mind off like a bomb. If it didn’t stop, he feared his brains would start leaking from his ears.
Both Mom and Aunt Gina rushed out of the car, followed by ten-thousand after-images. He thought he heard them yelling his name. He also thought he said “I’m fine,” but all that came out was a thin stream of pale vomit splattering on the pavement between them.
He felt a little better after that, glad he hadn’t eaten much lately. The rattling subsided just enough for him to hear the sounds he was making, a meaningless “bar bar bar,” like an ancient Persian trying to speak to an Athenian. He held up a hand, but could not scrape together the equilibrium to stand.
“My God Joey,” yelled his mother, “what’s wrong?”
“Seizure! He’s having a seizure!” said Aunt Gina hysterically.
His mother sat on the bench and put an arm around him, trying to hug him into submission. His aunt did the same on the other side. Joe felt his teeth rattle so hard his jaws hurt; it sounded like a skeleton falling down the stairs. “F-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-fine,” he managed to say.
“Oh my God, you are not fine,” said his mother. “Gina, call 9-1-1!”
“N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no!” Joe said, spittle flying. “F-f-f-f-f-f-fever. S-s-s-s-s-s-s-started last n-n-night.” The shaking in his head subsided like an ocean of molasses, but ebb it did. “Th-th-th-th-thought it would g-g-g-g-go away. I’m c-c-c-c-c-cold,” he said. His strength returned enough for him to lift an arm and wipe his mouth. “God, my head . . .” It felt like a bowling ball had been lodged in his sinus cavity and was expanding like a balloon, determined to blow up his face like a Pelean eruption.
He felt his mother’s reassuring hands rubbing his shoulder. “Joey, let’s go to the hospital.”
“N-n-n-n-no. I th-th-think breakfast will do the t-t-trick.” He clenched his jaw to stop the chattering until the muscles hurt. “C-c-c-coffee always helps.
“That’s the Italian side of you,” Aunt Gina said. “The side that never says die. Just look at me!”
Joey did. She was his mother’s twin sister. They looked identical, right down to the reddish hue they dyed their hair, Aunt Gina being slightly thinner. Although Joe looked like a Gallagher, all rounded face and blue-eyes, his mother like to claim he had inherited all of the Rossi common sense and none of the Gallagher temper.
“How are you feeling?” Joe asked his Aunt.
Aunt Gina gave his cheek a strong pinch that made him wince; the woman had a death grip that could rival a C-clamp. “That’s just like you, thinking of everyone else but yourself. I’m doing great, Joey. I couldn’t feel better, now that I’m face to face with my savior.” She took his face with both hands and planted a loud kiss on his forehead.
“Let’s not get blasphemous, Gina,” said Joe’s mother. “I love him, but get a grip.”
Aunt Gina waved a hand. “You know what I mean. But he didn’t just save my life. He saved that other boy’s as well.”
“Oh God, what happened to your cheek?” his mother said.
“What’s on my cheek?”
“Those bruises, Joey.”
“Oh, right. We played basketball last night and I kind of ran into somebody’s elbow.” He managed to stand, steadying himself with a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Shall we go? Smith’s has the best breakfast in town . . . so I’ve heard. We can walk there.”
“No, let’s drive,” his mother said.
“Lazy!” said Aunt Gina. “I’m the one with cancer, and you want to drive?” She rolled her eyes. Continue reading “Reset: Chapter 29: Saturday, September 8, 2001 (2)”