Becoming Who We Are Ch. 09

"Maybe we should clean up while we're still wearing these clothes," he mused.

"How can you think of cleaning at a time like this?"

"Can't help it. Mom has us trained."

"Your mom has big problems," Melina began hotly.

"Tell me about it. I've lived with her weirdness my whole life. So are you going to help me or do you just want to get some warm clothes on?"

"Oh, I'll help. But I still think your mother needs even more help."

"But that isn't the Tang way," Mark said, bending over to pick up the dirty towels. "You're supposed to deal with your problems yourself, and not ask for help."

"Well, that's just stupid. Look at where that attitude's gotten your family."

"I didn't say it was right. I just said it was how we handle things."

"I'm sorry," Melina said, touching his arm in remorse. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm just mad at your mother, I guess."

"You and me both," Mark said, acknowledging her apology with a tight little smile. He turned back to face the bathroom. "I guess we can wipe down the walls with a sponge."

They had nearly finished the job when the telephone rang. Thinking it might be the hospital, Mark ran to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Patricia Cowden. Is that you, Mark?"

"Yeah," he said, fumbling for words. "Um, what's up?"

"I was just trying to reach your brother. Is he available?"

Mark swallowed, trying to decide what to say.

"Well, no. He's... in the hospital."

"But he was in school today," she said, concerned. "Has there been an accident?"

"No." Mark paused. He liked the teacher, and he knew Luke practically worshipped her. Abruptly, he decided to tell her the truth. "Actually, Mrs. Cowden, he slit his wrists this afternoon."

"Dear Lord in heaven," Mrs. Cowden breathed. "Is he...?"

"I don't know. My mother's supposed to be on her way there, and I'm supposed to stay here. In fact, I thought you might be the hospital calling."

"Sorry," she said absently. "Here's my number," she added in a firmer voice. "Call me when you know, one way or the other."

"Okay."

"And Mark, dear, I'm very sorry about this. I'm extremely fond of Luke."

"Oh. Uh, thanks."

Patricia Cowden stared at the silent telephone in dismay. Luke was such a nice kid, and so talented. How could he even think of taking his own life? She shivered. How could she not have seen this coming?

She glanced down at the letter in front of her.

"We are pleased to inform you that "Gold Mountain," White Rose High School's entry in the Pennsylvania Heritage Writing Contest, has been awarded first place in the general fiction category. As the winner, Luke Tang shall receive a one thousand dollar prize and an award certificate, to be presented by the governor at a ceremony in Harrisburg.

"The ceremony will take place at 1:30 p.m. on Monday, February 12, at the State Capitol, after a special luncheon for the winners and their families and friends. Enclosed please find eight tickets for Mr. Tang and his guests, and eight tickets for representatives of your school and school district.

"Please acknowledge receipt of this letter by Jan. 31 and indicate how many people will attend in both parties.

"The governor, as well as our board members, look forward to welcoming Mr. Tang and congratulating him on his fine work. His story placed first among three hundred and fifty-five entries.

"Other winners were: Karl Wilhelm, Pittsburgh City Schools, Pennsylvania fiction; Maria Sottile, Philadelphia Suburban Schools, general non-fiction; and Donna McCardle, Wilkes-Barre Suburban Schools, Pennsylvania non-fiction."

The final paragraph blurred before her eyes. Luke had to be okay! He just had to! She couldn't stand the thought of such a talented boy ending his own life.

She stood, wiped her eyes and thrust the envelope into her purse. She'd go to the hospital and tell Luke the news, whether or not he was conscious. He deserved to know. And if his parents just happened to be there, so much the better. Maybe the contest victory would open their eyes at last.

**

Lucy Tang strode into the emergency department, torn between fury and concern. She marched to the registration desk, head high, lips pursed, fists clenched.

"I'm Lucy Tang," she announced to the nurse at the desk. "An ambulance brought my son, Luke, here."

The nurse tapped on a keyboard.

"Ah, yes," she said. "Tang, Luke. He's being treated now over in the emergency department. Before you see him, we need some information, Mrs. Tang. Could you fill out this form for us?"

Lucy Tang was in no mood to fill out any forms.

"My daughter, Mary, was treated here just a few months ago. Can't you get the information from her file?"

The nurse's eyebrows arched in surprise, but she said nothing, instead typing the new name into the computer.

"Here it is," she said. "If everything's the same, Mrs. Tang, this will do just fine."

"Nothing's changed," Mrs. Tang snapped.

"Well, then, why don't you take a seat in the waiting room?" the nurse suggested. "The doctor will be with you as soon as possible."

"Do you know how long it'll be before Luke's ready to go home?" Mrs. Tang asked. "I need to get back to work."

"I really couldn't say, Mrs. Tang," the nurse said, her expression blank.

Scowling, Mrs. Tang found a seat well away from everyone else. As she drummed her fingers on her chair's arm, her mind focused on her fury. Trust Luke to disrupt everyone's day completely. She sat fuming for fifteen or twenty minutes before a woman in a white lab coat approached her.

"Mrs. Tang?" she asked.

Lucy Tang jumped. "Yes?"

"I'm Dr. Ebraheim. I've been treating your son. Will you please come with me?"

Lucy had no choice but to follow the tiny doctor to a cramped conference room. The women sat down on opposite sides of the table. The doctor flipped open her folder.

"Well, now, Mrs. Tang, your son is a very lucky young man. We were able to get to him in time to save him, and I understand we have your younger son to thank for that."

"Mark's a smart boy," Mrs. Tang said, grasping at the more pleasant topic of her other son. "He's very bright -- even wants to be a doctor."

"I'm sure he'd make a fine one," the doctor smiled. Her face grew serious again as she continued. "As for Luke, we believe he's out of the woods physically. He had lost a lot of blood, so we gave him several units and stitched up his wounds. He also had a broken nose, a black eye and several contusions, which I'm at a loss to explain. They appear to be the result of a severe beating earlier today. Do you know anything about them?"

Lucy Tang's mouth sagged open.

"No. This is the first I've heard about them."

The doctor watched the woman closely, but she seemed to be telling the truth.

"Do you know if he has been beaten before?"

Mrs. Tang frowned.

"No. I don't think so."

The doctor scrawled a couple of notes.

"Well, then. Once your son's condition is stabilized, we would like to transfer him to our mental health unit."

"What? Why would you want to do that?"

"Your son tried to commit suicide, Mrs. Tang. We take that very seriously here."

"I hardly think that's necessary. He's only trying to get attention."

"Mrs. Tang, I have practiced medicine for the last fifteen years. I know the difference between a half-hearted suicide attempt and a serious one. In my opinion, your son definitely meant to take his own life."

"I don't believe it."

The doctor pulled a small notebook from her folder and held it up.

"Is this your son's handwriting?"

Ms. Tang peered at the page.

"Yes."

"Please read it. This is a note Luke wrote before he made his attempt. I'll leave you alone if you need some privacy."

"I'm sure I don't, doctor," Mrs. Tang said, her back erect and shoulders stiff.

Dr. Ebraheim observed the woman closely as she read. When Mrs. Tang's face crumpled, she knew the woman believed her at last. The doctor rose noiselessly and slipped out of the room.

A tall woman carrying an enormous handbag nearly barreled into the doctor as she crossed the waiting room.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, uh, doctor," the woman apologized.

"No problem," Dr. Ebraheim said. "Can I help you?"

"Well, I'm here because one of my students, ah, injured himself this afternoon. I wanted to make sure he's all right and pass along some very good news that may perk him up a bit."

"What's his name?"

"Luke Tang."

Dr. Ebraheim had learned long before medical school how to maintain a pleasant but unreadable countenance. Even as she sized up the taller woman, she kept her face bland. She had already spoken to the boy's next of kin, so she could, in conscience, talk with this teacher. She gave one decisive nod and ushered Mrs. Cowden into another conference room.

"Frankly, Ms...."

"Cowden. Pat Cowden. I'm Luke's history teacher."

"Farida Ebraheim."

The two shook hands.

"Frankly," the doctor repeated, "I'm glad you're here. I hope you can tell me a little about this family."

Their eyes met in perfect understanding.

"Well, doctor, may I assume this conversation will be kept confidential?"

"On both sides, I hope."

"Certainly. As far as I can tell, the family dynamic is a bit odd. Luke is the eldest son. He has a brother, Mark, who's a year younger, and I believe a much younger sister as well. I've spoken to the mother on a few occasions, and I get a strange vibe from her. It's as if she dismisses Luke's talents altogether."

"And is he talented?"

"Oh, yes. In fact, that's the good news I have for him. A story he wrote has just won a very prestigious statewide competition. And that'll be news to Mom, as she refused to pay the entry fee, saying they didn't have money to waste on such frivolities."

"So where did you get the fee?"

"I paid it myself."

The doctor blinked.

"I know, but the circumstances were unusual," Patricia explained. "It was such a good story, I felt sure it would at least place, if not win."

"And you are the only one who knows about this?"

"For now, yes."

"Strange," the doctor mused, reverting to the topic of the family's financial status. "She's well-dressed, and doesn't seem to lack money."

"Exactly. And from my understanding, the family is 'poor' only when it comes to Luke. His younger brother, who's a real doll, by the way, wears nice clothes and plays a very expensive saxophone."

Two furrows appeared between the doctor's eyebrows.

"Well, we'd have to get a social worker in anyway," she said cryptically.

"Because of how Luke injured himself?" Patricia guessed.

"You're a very astute woman," the doctor said with a smile. "You've been most helpful."

"Thanks. Now, in your professional opinion, how quickly will the child recover?"

"Physically, it should not take too long. Mentally... who knows? So much depends on the emotional support he receives from his family and friends. Judging from the note he wrote, I'm not sure how much he has."

"He has me and all the help I can give him," the teacher declared. "Speaking of which, do you think it would help him to know about the contest?"

The doctor brightened.

"Definitely. If that isn't validation of his talent, what is?"

"Would it be possible for me to see him?"

"I don't see why not. In fact, seeing a friendly face would probably do him a lot of good. But we'll have to keep it short. Technically, I'm only supposed to let family see him, and we'll probably have to let his mother go first."

Dr. Ebraheim extended her hand.

"Thank you, Mrs. Cowden. You've been most helpful. And may I add, I'm glad the boy has people like you in his life. That makes his prognosis a lot brighter."

"Thank you, doctor. You can be sure I'll do everything I can to help."

Their eyes met again before the doctor opened the conference room's door. She returned to the treatment while the teacher looked around the waiting area. Mrs. Cowden spotted a woman who could only be Luke's mother. Straightening her spine, she walked over to introduce herself.

"Mrs. Tang?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Patricia Cowden. Luke's history teacher."

"Oh," Mrs. Tang replied, her tone frosty. "What are you doing here?"

"I called your house with some good news for Luke, and Mark told me what happened."

"He shouldn't have done that," Mrs. Tang said angrily. "Family business should stay in the family."

"Well, what's done is done, and I came as quickly as I could. Mind if I sit down?"

Lucy gave a grudging little nod, which Patricia pretended not to notice.

"Anyway, given that Luke is... unavailable right now, I thought I'd share the news with you," Patricia continued.

"What is it?"

I don't know if you recall, but last fall, Luke wrote a story called 'Gold Mountain.' He asked me what my opinion of it, and frankly, I thought it was good enough to enter in a statewide writing competition. You may recall we spoke about that."

"I seem to recall that."

Mrs. Tang was certainly not the easiest person in the world with whom to chat, Patricia thought idly.

"Well, to cut to the chase, I entered the story in the contest and I just received notice today that it won first prize."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Luke's story took the first prize in the statewide writing contest. He beat more than three hundred and fifty other students around the state."

Mrs. Tang closed her eyes and swayed in her seat. She felt the other woman grab her arm.

"Are you all right?" Patricia asked, not liking the woman's sudden pallor.

"I... I think I need to be alone for a few minutes, if you'll just excuse me."

"Of course."

Lucy stood, wobbly in her heels for the first time since, well, she didn't know. She made her way to the bathroom, locked the door, and leaned against the wall, heedless of the possible damage to her suit's jacket. This entire day seemed surreal. Perhaps she was dreaming and would soon wake up.

The mirror caught her eye and she noted her pale skin and hollow eyes with a pang. She flicked her gaze downward. Her throat felt as if she had just swallowed a cup of dirt and her heart seemed to have changed positions in her chest. She ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head. Surely she could not have been wrong about Luke all these years?

Yet -- he had won the contest. Despite her vagueness to Mrs. Cowden, she remembered perfectly the conversation they had had about the competition. It seemed impossible that he could have won. Maybe someone had made a mistake.

For a long moment, her mind blanked, then she slowly brought her gaze up to the mirror again. Yes, someone had made a mistake, and she knew exactly who that someone was.

Hugging herself, Lucy bowed her head, willing herself not to cry. She had lost one son, and nearly killed another. A moan rose from deep in her belly. She couldn't bear it! Her hands moved to her face as the tears came. Gasping, she slid down the wall until her tailbone touched the floor and sobbed for several minutes. Although she had not truly prayed in almost a decade, after a while, a sort of holy chant came to her. Please, God. Please, God. Please, God.

Please, God.

Please God.

Her tears slowed as she sensed a sudden lightening in her mind. Her spirit felt clear and clean, like the sky after a thunderstorm. She sat that way for a long time, letting serenity and warmth flood through her soul, and quiet her pounding head and heart.

Rising, she almost laughed when she looked in the mirror. Good Lord, she was a mess! A sort of giggle escaped her. She had always believed in a solemn, remote God that dwelled in cold churches. Who knew He lurked in hospital bathrooms? Still chuckling, she dashed water on her face, until the last of her ruined make-up ran down the drain.

Fumbling for the doorknob, she glanced up at the ceiling. Thank you, she whispered. She stepped out of the bathroom and crossed the waiting area to the nurse's desk as a slight, dark girl with dog hair on her coat entered through the automatic doors.

"I'm Mrs. Tang, Luke's mother. Please -- can I see my son now?"

**

Every so often, February produces a spring day, a promise that the raw cold won't last forever. Mark and Melina intended to make the most of it.

After promising he'd get home in time for dinner, Mark grabbed his backpack, donned a sweatshirt and walked briskly to her house.

She met him at the front door, already wearing her own gear.

"You sure about this?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he said.

"Well, let's go, then. The bikes are in the garage."

Not until he had his hands on Julie's old bicycle did he feel any misgivings. Years had passed since he had ridden a bike. What if he had forgotten how? He took a deep breath, shoved the thought to the back of his mind, and wheeled the bike into the sunshine. He fiddled with the helmet straps and swung his leg over the seat.

"Do you need to raise that? Julie's a few inches shorter than you."

He flexed his legs. The seat was probably a couple of inches too low, but he hated to postpone this ride any longer.

"I'll manage."

She rolled her eyes.

"Right. Get off and let's raise it. It's not that hard."

With a couple of practiced twists, she undid the knob that held the seat in place, raised it about three inches, and twisted the knob again.

"How's that?"

He tried it again.

"Perfect."

Melina swung her leg over her own bike's seat and settled onto it.

"Seeing's how it's been a few years, let's go around the block first."

Anger at her assumption prickled for a second.

"All right, Mommy."

"Don't argue with your mother, sonny boy," she said equably. "She knows best."

A smile quirked her lips and his anger receded.

"Lead the way," he said.

She replied by inserting her foot into the toe clip and pushing off. Mark fumbled for a few seconds with the toe clips on Julie's bike before flipping the pedals over and ignoring the clips altogether. He wobbled as the bike moved forward and put his foot down. He glared at the handlebars. This would never do. Inhaling, he relaxed his shoulders and tried again. The first few revolutions felt choppy, but he quickly found a rhythm. The breeze cooled his cheeks, and he grinned. Success!

Melina looped back to join him, and they made their way toward the college, basking in the balmy air. The silver in Melina's earrings flashed in the sunshine. Mark smiled again, remembering.

She had been truly magnificent on that awful day, nearly a month ago now. He had never known anyone who knew how to do so many things, and do them well. Mentally, he snorted. He'd probably still be trying to break the door down! And yet, even though she was so self-reliant and independent, she still claimed she needed him. For what, he had asked. For love, she had replied.

They entered the college's grounds and slowed, navigating the speed bumps carefully. Both carried half a picnic in their packs, and they hated to jostle the food and drinks any more than necessary.

"So what's your family doing today?" she asked as they wended their across the parking lot.

"Dad's working until three, then coming home to fix a special dinner. That awards ceremony in Harrisburg's tomorrow, but they wanted to do something special first."

"That's a switch."

"Tell me about it! But it's a good one. I can't believe how different it's been."

They found a sunny spot and set up their Sunday picnic. Mark dished up the food his father had prepared, which had remained warm enough to send up a wisp of steam, and passed a bowl and a pair of chopsticks to Melina. She poured them both a cup of tea. They sat cross-legged as they ate, enjoying the food, the scenery, and the company.

"You looked good on the bike," Melina said as she tried to capture the last grain of rice with her chopsticks.

"So did you. I guess what they say about riding a bike really is true."