Shattered by Sarah N. Harvey Read Free Book Online

had moved anything except the rosary, which was now draped over Mary’s clasped hands.
    â€œI have a new friend,” I said to Tyler. “Her name’s Hazel. She has a cat named after a Japanese poet.” I pulled the rosary out of Mary’s praying hands and lay down beside Tyler on the bed. It was like lying beside a warm log on the beach. I recited the haiku. Fifty-nine times. The beads felt like shelled peas in my fingers. When I was finished, I put my hand on Tyler’s chest and closed my eyes. Up and down. Up and down.
    â€œWake up,” I whispered. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
    The next thing I knew, Nurse Rosa was standing over the bed, a smile on her face.
    â€œHe opened his eyes a while ago,” she said. “Just for a second.”
    I sat up suddenly and felt the room shift slightly. Nurse Rosa reached out a hand to steady me.
    â€œWho was here?” I asked. “Who saw it?”
    â€œJust me. But I’ve called his mother. She was pretty happy, as you can imagine. So are the doctors.”
    I nodded and gazed down at Tyler. His eyelids were still and slightly purple.
    â€œWhat does it mean?” I asked. “Is he going to wake up soon?”
    â€œIt’s usually a good sign,” Nurse Rosa said. “All we can do is watch and wait and keep him comfortable.” She looked at the rosary in my hands. “You a Catholic too?”
    I shook my head. “Nah. Just desperate.”
    She laughed. “I know how that feels. You need to go now, hon. Visiting hours are over and I need to get some things done here.”
    I leaned over to kiss Tyler goodbye. No tongue tonight, not with Rosa in the room. “See you tomorrow,” I said to Rosa, “and thanks for telling me about his eyes.”
    â€œNo problem,” she said as I left the room. “Nice shot glass, by the way. With any luck, he’ll be sipping orange juice from it soon.”

Chapter Twelve
    I didn’t know what I was going to do when Tyler woke up. I just wanted him to wake up. That was as far ahead as I could think.
    When I got home from the hospital, I wrote to Augie.
    Hey Augie,
    Tyler opened his eyes today. I wasn’t there, but a nurse told me about it. Nobody can say when or if he’ll wake up, but I’m sure he will.
    The poetry girl’s name is Hazel. I asked her for a sextina (or sestina, in case you didn’t know). She recited one by a poet name Elizabeth Bishop. You should look it up. “Time to plant tears, says the almanac.” I feel like that’s been my life lately. Planting tears. Today she recited a haiku by a poet named Basho. That one I have memorized. Seventeen syllables about how clouds give you a chance to rest from looking at the moon. Maybe that’s what I’m doing—resting from looking at the moon.
    I wonder what Hazel’s story is. Today she had a split lip and a bruise on her face. I wanted her to go to a clinic but she said no. I bring her food, but it doesn’t seem like enough. Maybe I’ll ask Mom if I can bring her home. Her and her cat, Basho. Two strays. Mom loves strays, right?
    Gotta sleep now. Love you,
    March
    The next morning when I arrived at Hazel’s corner, she wasn’t there. In her place, a young guy with filthy jeans and matted dreads sat on a flattened cardboard box. The sign in front of him said I’m hungry. Please help. I stood in front of him, coffee in one hand, a bag of breakfast bagels in the other.
    â€œWhere’s Hazel?” I asked.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œHazel. The girl who sits here. The one with the cat. The one who sells poems.”
    â€œHazel.” He turns the name over in his mouth as if it’s a hard candy. “That’s her name?”
    â€œYeah. Do you know where she is?”
    â€œDunno. You gonna eat that?” I shook my head and handed him the bag and the coffee.
    â€œHope you like cream and sugar,” I said. “Hazel