Dr. Penrose is a dumb fucking name, Owen thought. It’s a dumb fucking name on a dumb fucking face in a dumb fucking hospital, and if Owen had to listen to this shit for one more second, he was going to lose his mind.

“Doc, I get what you’re trying to do here, and I’m thankful,” Owen said. “But, let’s just skip to the part where you’re disappointed that I keep kicking the can down the road and won’t give you an answer, and then I can go back down the hall to be with my kid.”

“Mr. Graves, I really don’t want to say this to you, but you are ignoring the only important thing in your life right now.” Dr. Penrose said.

Owen shot to his feet, shoving his finger in the fucking doctor’s face.

“Don’t fucking tell me what’s important.” Owen seethed. “I decide what’s important. We have only been here for a year. I’ve read tons of stories about people who wake up from comas after more than a decade. I won’t abandon my son.”

“Owen, Jesus Christ.” Dr. Penrose said. “Sit down. Nobody is saying you’re abandoning Brian. But you need to get a grip. I have watched you walk through those doors every single day for a year. And every day you walk straight to the room of your unresponsive son and tell him stories.”

“He’s in a fucking coma, doctor.” Owen screamed at the man. “We aren’t unplugging him. And I sure as shit won’t sit here and have this argument again.”

Owen spun on his heel and left the doctor and his dumb fucking face behind as he stalked down the hall to his son’s room.

****

Brian’s headache peeled him out of his bed. Rubbing his temples, he tried smashing the off button on his alarm clock, but in his post-sleep grogginess, he merely knocked it off the nightstand.

“Have you noticed the weather hasn’t really changed much this week?” Brian said to his mom and she fussed behind him, making his bed, picking up his dirty clothes.

“You know, come to think of it, I haven’t really paid attention,” she said.

For four straight days, Brian had woken up in his bedroom, wearing the same t-shirt and shorts, with the same birdsong outside his window, and with the same perfect blue sky beyond it. And, maddeningly, with the same, dull beep coming from his alarm clock.

“Mom, I can’t get my alarm clock to stop beeping,” Brian said. “It’s been driving me nuts.”

“Just unplug it,” she said.

He walked to his nightstand, reached down, and fiddled with the cord until it came out of the wall. As he turned and headed for the door, a dart of pain shot through his head and he paused.

Had it really been four days? No, maybe not. Maybe it had been longer. He’d ask his mom when they got downstairs and ate breakfast.

As his feet hit the top stair, his alarm clock beeped.

****

Owen lay draped over his son on that damnable hospital bed and sobbed.

These weren’t Brian’s clothes, weren’t his sheets, wasn’t his bedroom. And despite it all, everything still smelled like Brian. Owen could never forget what his son smelled like. Not while either of them were still breathing. He would die before he let that scent leave him. He wouldn’t forget like he forgot her smell.

A nurse appeared behind him, gently laying a hand on Owen’s shoulder. “Mr. Graves, it’s midnight. We’re changing shifts, and you need to go home,” the nurse said.

The tight confines of this hospital room pressed in on Owen’s heart. “Please,” Owen pleaded. “Just let me tell him one more story.”

“Two minutes, Mr. Graves.”

His words tumbled out easily. “Once, your mom and I were out for dinner. This was before you were born and I wanted to impress her badly. So, I found this hole-in-the-wall Mexican spot. They served arepas, and it was something I had always wanted to try. I fumbled through the menu, pretending as best I could to examine every option.

“Your mom, though, didn’t once open the menu. She just stared at me, a half-grin on her face and eyes that said ‘You’re an idiot. You know that, right?’

“ I ordered my arepas, and the waitress turned to your mom and asked what she wanted. In perfect Spanish, she told the waitress that her idiot boyfriend couldn’t wait to try the arepas, so she might as well have them too.

“I never knew she spoke Spanish, and neither did I. But I knew a couple words, and I did know the word for boyfriend. That was the first time she called me her boyfriend.”

****

Brian woke up to birdsong and a dull alarm. Again. He was awake, he thought, and yet his body felt as if it were in suspension. As if swimming.

His annoying wont-shut-the-heck-up alarm clock bleated at him from his bedside. Today, the only thing different was the smell of pancakes wafting up from the kitchen.

He listened to the clatter of plates as they went from cupboard to table. “If you don’t get down here soon Brian, it’ll be the last time I make these pancakes for you,” his mom shouted at him up the stairs. “They’re getting cold.”

A bit off balance, Brian ambled downstairs and up to the table, where only two plates were set.

“Where’s dad’s plate? I thought he was here,” Brian said.

“He can’t join us today,” she said, before adding quickly “… he …umm … he comes back from his business trip tomorrow.”

”Should we save him some? You know how he loves cold pancakes with peanut butter,” Brian said.

His mom shook her head, chuckling as she walked over to the fridge. Opening the door, she bowed like a magician during the reveal of a great trick. On the center shelf sat a plate of four banana and chocolate chip pancakes, sheltered inside plastic wrap.

Atop the pancakes, folded into a neat little tent was a three-by-five card, the front of which bore the words “We love you, dad!”

****

Owen’s knees buckled. Shit, he thought. Here we go again.

This memory bore through him like a freight train. Every time it reappeared, his body revolted, as if fighting a sudden disease infecting his every pore.

This time was no different. It barreled into him. Through him. Every time he thought about the accident, it gained new power. And here he was again, reliving that night two years ago:

“Mr. Graves, I think you should sit,” the doctor said. “Your wife sustained severe trauma in many places. We did what we could, but the bleed on her brain was too much.

“She’s gone.”

Owen gaped at the man. He knew it would be bad. The driver hit his wife and son’s car head on. He was prepared for stories of broken bones, maybe even an amputation. Not gone. Can’t be gone.

Owen stared at the blue-and-gold paint splatter pattern on the fabric of the hospital chair as the doctor enumerated the injuries his wife endured before dying. Odd stylistic choice for a hospital emergency department, Owen thought.

”My son?” Owen asked.

”Brian is stable, but I need you to understand,” the doctor said, “he’s by no means out of the woods. He too has a very severe head injury. He’s broken his leg, and some ribs, and there are numerous lacerations on his face, but we are very worried about his brain. It’s swelling, and we’re doing all we can. If we can’t get this swelling under control … I just want you to know exactly what’s happening. We’re going to try to get this swelling down.”

Owen burrowed inward, into himself. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to move.

”There’s one last thing,” the doctor said. “Brian’s in a coma. There’s no way to tell how severe his brain injury is unless he wakes up. So, until then, we fight to keep this swelling under control and we pray.

“You should pray, Mr. Graves.”

****

Brian flew through the house, ripping cupboards open as he went. “Mom, where are the car keys?” He couldn’t stand one more day of sameness. No more banana chocolate pancakes. No more perfect weather. And no more fucking alarm clock that wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

“Mom?!” Urgently this time. Louder. “MOM!”

“Brian, I have no idea where the car keys are,” she said. “Let’s just sit and eat breakfast.”

“I’m sick of banana and chocolate chip pancakes,” he said. “I want to leave right now, and I want to find dad. Now help me find the car keys.”

“Brian, honey,” her voice like that of the breeze outside his window every morning. “Why don’t you come to the couch. We need to talk.”

“Mom, I love you, but I don’t want to go to the couch and have a talk. I want to find the car keys, and I want to leave the house. Why won’t you let me leave the house?”

Brian watched his mother walk from the kitchen to the front room and settle delicately on the couch. He saw her throat catch, almost as if she were fighting to prevent something from spilling out of her. She met his gaze with hers, and beckoned him to sit.

“I want to tell you a story, and then you can leave,” she said. “In fact, I’ll even let you drive by yourself this time. You can go pick up dad, and I’ll stay and get dinner ready. Will you sit with me?”

Brian plopped on the couch next to his mom.

“I’ve never told you this story,” she began. “And Owen would kill me if you ever found out, but you need to know this before you leave.”

Brian’s brow furrowed, concern flashing on his face. “Ok …” he said.

“When I married your father,” she began, “I never wanted children. And I never told him.I was so scared because your father and I loved each other so much. I couldn’t bear what that would do to him. He wanted kids so badly, and one day I finally drew up the courage to tell him. We had been married for almost a year at that point.”

This definitely wasn’t a story Brian had heard before. And his dad definitely would be pissed if he knew this story was being told.

“I had never seen your father so angry,” she continued. “He didn’t yell; in fact he never yelled. He was silent for a very long time. Finally, he looked me in the eye and said ‘I know you’re afraid. And that’s ok, I am too. But from the moment I saw you, I knew you were going to be an amazing mother. I just … I want to share you with a kid. I want to see you play jokes on them like you do on me. I want to watch their wonder as you tell them bedtime stories and patch up scraped knees.’”

Brian didn’t know what to say, and he dared not move.

“It took us a very long time to come back from that,” his mom said. “But, eventually we did, and over time, I began to feel differently. I did want kids, and I wanted Owen’s kids.”

“How did you tell him you had changed your mind,” Brian asked.

“I got into an argument with him about what we would name you.”

*****

Dr. Penrose and Owen had been arguing for nearly an hour.

“I don’t know what you expect, Owen.” the doctor said. Dr. Penrose no longer referred to him as Mr. Graves. “There isn’t enough electrical activity in Brian’s brain for us to be convinced he’ll ever wake up. At some point, you need to think about how long this goes. Do you even have the money to cover his long-term care?”

Owen’s rage pulled his words down into his stomach, preventing him from lashing out. His wife would catch him right at this kind of moment. She’d pull him out of the pit of anger with some joke. Now, he was alone with his anger and with a doctor hell bent on convincing Owen to pull the plug.

Owen’s gaze bore down on the doctor, but Penrose wouldn’t budge.

“We all want to see Brian wake up; but you need to listen to me,” the doctor said. “ There is a less than 1% probability Brian ever opens his eyes. And in that 1% outcome where he does wake up, it’s likely he’ll be a vegetable. You are avoiding this; so I am going to spell it out for you.

“Here is your choice: go bankrupt and keep Brian hooked to sensors and monitors and sponge bathing him and changing his feeding tubes for eternity. Or, find your courage, and let him join his mother in whatever awaits us after this world.”

****

“Let me get this straight,” Brian, still seated on the couch next to his mom said, “you delivered the best news dad could possibly hear by getting into an argument with him?”

Brian’s mom smiled. “Yep. I picked up his wallet, took out a $20 bill and placed it on the table. I took your dad’s hat and plopped it over the money and I said, ‘I’ll bet you this $20 that I can pick it up without touching your hat. And if I can do that, you have to promise that we’ll name our child Brian.’

“He protested, of course. Thought I was being silly, but I held out my hand and told him I wasn’t giving up until he shook it and took my bet. I also reminded him that all bets were final. So, your father watched as I stood, pranced around, wiggled my fingers at the hat, said some abra cadabras, and when I finally sat down, I put one hand behind my back and said, ‘I now have the money behind my back. Go ahead and check to see whether it’s still there.’

“I knew he fell for it immediately. He thought he had it in the bag. He jumped to his feet and screamed ‘NO WAY, NO FREAKING WAY.’ He then picked up the hat, at which point I swiped the $20 from the table and grinned at him.

“Thanks for playing, hun. We’re naming him Brian.

“He said, ‘We don’t even know the gender!’

“I told him it didn’t matter. Then I put the $20 in my pocket.”

****

Monitors across the hospital room bleated and croaked. Owen sprung to Brian’s bedside. “No, no, no, no, no. Hold on buddy.” Owen reached down and held Brian’s hand. “Just don’t … please … I …”

As Owen opened his mouth to scream for help, the door burst open and into the room flooded all manner of experts. A neurologist he argued with last week leaned over the foot of Brian’s bed angling to watch some reading on some screen. Three nurses spoke urgently with one another, their words climbing atop each other as if they were divers scrambling for some unseen surface.

Owen felt himself begin to slip into the chaos. Time slowed. Someone grabbed his hand, feebly. An all too gentle attempt to calm him and bring him back to reality. Just as his wife always did. When Owen turned his head, he saw her eyes staring into his.

Brian had his mother’s eyes.

“Hi, dad,” Brian croaked. “Mom said she was sorry, but she won’t be able to pay you back that $20.”