Convergence, Chapter 1

Alexander Prescott forced himself awake.
His surroundings filtered through his eyes. This was not his bed; this
was not his room; this was not his elevated leg in a cast. The
eighteen-year-old had not been wearing this green smock when he last
closed his eyes; he had never seen the curtain dividing this room
before, or the half-naked, moaning elderly man in the bed across from
him; he had no recollection of the women he saw buzzing about the room
and the hall in the distance. Nurses?
Alex then spied the only cord to the world he knew, his father, gazing
hard out a window he had never seen before. He dragged his gaze up to
him and called, "Dad."
Sam Prescott whirled around. "You're up," he said. "Goddamn it, you're
up."
"Dad, what's going-"
"I should get your mother. Your sister is somewhere around-"
"What hap-"
"It was a few nights ago. You were-"
Alex waved him off, the flashes of that night surging through him. The
lane change. The boom on the driver-side. The car flipping-
"It was an accident," Sam said. "A few days ago. You've been out three
days. I should get your mother-"
"Three days? What the hell?" Alex paused as he looked at his elevated
leg. "Dad, my leg..."
"It's broken."
Alex wasn't surprised at the curtness. "Broken?"
"It's not too bad. It should be fine in about six weeks. Maybe you'll
walk down the aisle at graduation without crutches."
"Yeah, maybe."
Sam turned back to the window, heaved a sigh, and then turned back
around. "I have to ask you something."
"Yeah?"
Sam looked his son in the eyes. "Were you drunk?"
"What?"
"I wanna know if you were drunk the other night. Tell me the
truth."
"What the hell? Are you kidding me?"
"Do I sound like it?"
"You know, you really are something else. Would you be asking me that
at my funeral?"
"Hey, I just wanna know. I mean, I don't know anything anymore."
"Oh, you got that right."
"Don't give me that."
"No, I wasn't drunk. Happy?"
"Are you sure?"
Alex turned away from Sam. "Just leave me alone."
"Will you-"
"No, will you? Leave me alone."
"It's important, all right?"
"Maybe for you. Look at yourself."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Alex rolled his eyes. "That's enough. Just... go."
Sam stared at his son for a moment before shaking his head and walking
away.
As he left the room, Alex managed a last glimpse of his father. At
forty-two, he was every bit the imposing figure he remembered at
thirty-two and assumed he must have been at twenty-two, and twelve, for
that matter. The man stood five-foot-eleven and weighed in at one
hundred ninety pounds, built just right for his construction job, even
with his pot belly. His shoulders were squared and well-defined, his
forearms were thick, his biceps meaty, his legs aging tree trunks. His
construction work had cracked his hands, dirtied his fingernails,
hardened his face speckled with graying reddish-brown beard stubble.
Sam's reddish-brown hair had not a trace of gray, and a good deal of it
was still on his head. His brown eyes could explode in ferocity at a
moment's notice.
Alex struggled to turn on his side. A bolt struck him the instant he
closed his eyes- the lane change, he had cracked his blinker and nosed
over, it was clear- He opened his eyes and closed them again. Another
bolt- the impact on his side, the car spinning and then flipping, the
glass scattering all over his face-
"He's up!" a girl's voice yelled from the door. In an instant, Ashley
Prescott, fifteen years old, dashed across the room and threw her arms
around her brother. "Thank God," she whispered.
"'Sup, shorty," Alex said, straining to smile.
"I missed you, Xander," Ashley whispered.
"Don't call me that." Alex winked at his sister, glad to see her
pin-straight brown hair, her gentle green eyes, her slim frame. "I
missed you too, Ash."
"There he is!" yelled Abigail Prescott, rushing into the room with
Sam. She nudged Ashley aside to embrace her son as Sam assessed the
boy.
"I hear I was out awhile," Alex said as he eyed his father from behind
the four arms around him.
"Too long," Abby said, letting go.
"They thought you were dead for sure," Sam said. "But you fought
back."
"They thought I was dead?" Alex asked.
"Not the way he made it sound," said Ashley. "God, Dad, be a little
sensitive."
Sam threw up his arms. "They knew you were alive the whole time," said
Abby. "It never got that bad... but you were... what was it?"
"He was in critical condition, Abby," Sam said. "How could you not
remember that?"
"Give her a break," Alex said. "That's not important anyway."
"He's already starting," Sam groaned to Abby.
"Why don't you and Ashley go get something to eat?" Abby said.
"Fine by me." Sam stormed out of the room.
Ashley looked after him, then at her mother, then apologetically at
Alex. "See you later, Xander," she said, leaving the room.
"Don't call me that!" Alex tried to shout, smiling.
"Will you go easy on him?" Abby said.
Alex's smile evaporated. "Why should I?"
"He was just as scared as any of us."
"I'll bet."
"You'll bet, is right. He was. Come on, he's still your father. He was
worried sick."
"Good for him."
"You know, I would think that coming out of this, you wouldn't be
so... cold."
Alex studied his mother. Maybe she was the one who was cold... He
could see it in those melancholy blue eyes. She was an older version of
Ashley, standing five-six like her, with the same slim proportions and
same light brown hair. In terms of the way she carried herself, she was
an older version of an already old Abigail Prescott.
"Look," Alex said. "Just don't lie to me and try to tell me he gave a
damn about me up in here."
"Think whatever you want."
"Fine by me."
"Still the same, I guess," Abby remarked, a pained smile cutting
across her face.
"You should go eat with them."
"That's okay... I'll stay with you." Abby stroked her son's
hair.
"Mind if I sleep?"
"You just woke up!"
Alex stopped to consider it. "Goodnight, Mom."
"Goodnight." Abby paused. "Hurry back," she whispered as the boy was
closing his eyes.

"Alex the Great! What's up?" a familiar voice called in a Dominican
accent, yanking Alex from his sleep.
Alex's eyes shot up to the sight of Ricky Serrano, Kurt Hansen, and
Maria D'Angelo.
"You didn't think we were just gonna let you lie in here, did you?"
asked Ricky.
"We came to get you the hell out of here, man," said Kurt.
"Sounds like a plan," Alex said.
"Thank God you're okay," said Maria.
"Yeah, thank God."
"I missed you."
"Aww, how sweet," Ricky teased.
"Shut up, jerk-off," Alex said.
"So are you ready to get out of this goddamn place, or what?" asked
Kurt.
Alex glanced at his broken leg. "What do you want me to do,
fly?"
"Damn," Maria said, running her hand over the cast. "Does it
hurt?"
"Either I'm in so much pain I can't feel a thing, or I feel like a
million bucks."
Maria kissed him on the forehead. "You'd better feel like a million
bucks."
"Aww!" teased Ricky and Kurt.
"You guys are such losers," said Alex, laughing.
Alex looked up at the trio in his room: Ricky, with his tan face, hair
buzzed almost to baldness, bright red shirt, and baggy jeans; Kurt,
with his thin red goatee, short hair dyed lemon-yellow, t-shirt of some
local band no one had ever heard of, and cargo pants; and Maria, with
her tan complexion, long brown hair, three-quarter length t-shirt, and
low-slung jeans.
Alex took Maria's hand. "It's good to see you assholes," he said to
Ricky and Kurt.
He looked into Ricky's eyes, and he remembered a fire escape and a
crowbar- crouching- his fourteen-year-old body jumping into a crowd of
sixteen-year-olds and cycloning through the thugs who had broken
Ricky's arm over a girl.
And Kurt. Since the day in sophomore year Alex spotted him in the
corner store wearing a t-shirt with the word "Infest" stamped across
it, he'd been his boy, and since the day Kurt showed up on the scene
waving a garbage can at a group ready to beat up Alex and Ricky, he'd
been-
"Man, will you get that gay look off your face?" Ricky said.
"Come on, Ricky, he's in deep thought," Kurt said, laughing.
"Shut the hell up," Alex said.
"Leave him alone," Maria said, hooking her arm in Alex's. "He's
tired."
Alex patted Maria's hand and smiled at his on-again, off-again
girlfriend, fighting back the urge to groan that she was now "on." "So
what's up?"
"God, nothing but you," said Maria.
"Hey, I had to do something to get noticed."
"Yeah, almost dying was a good start," said Kurt.
"Why am I the only one who doesn't know I almost died?"
"Well, I don't know," Ricky said. "How do you feel?"
"I don't know, like I'm hung over, I guess."
Ricky and Kurt looked at each other and laughed. "Yeah, so do we,"
Kurt said.
Alex looked up at Maria. "Did these pricks party while I was in
here?"
Maria laughed. "Don't listen to them... They're just immature."
"Okay, okay, we took a little break," Ricky said.
"Good to know," Alex said, smiling.
"I'm hungry," Maria said. "Is there anything good to eat here?"
"Yeah, whatever the hell this is." Alex tapped his IV tube.
"So that's how he keeps the brews coming!" Ricky said to Kurt.
"So immature," Maria said. "I'm gonna find a vending machine. You want
anything?"
"Yeah, a Corona would be nice," Alex said.
"Expensive taste... That's why I love you. I'll be right back,
sweetie." Maria kissed him on the cheek and left.
"So have I told you how much I love driving with Maria?" Kurt asked
Alex.
"About as much as I love getting my car flipped by some prick... but
it's all good. It's good to see her... Damn, it's good to see
anybody."
"Goddamn, you freaked us the hell out," Kurt said.
"Yeah, freaked us," Ricky mocked.
"Shut up!"
"All right, take it easy," Alex said.
"On the real, though," Ricky said. "Welcome back, kid."
"Hey, we'll sign that piece," Kurt said, looking at the cast.
"Later," Alex said.
"Why?"
"'Cause I don't wanna look at the damn thing."
Ricky looked at his watch. "We gotta bounce... Visiting hours are
ending."
"We'll be back tomorrow," Kurt said.
"We will," said Maria, walking back in.
"Count on that shit," Ricky added.
"I will... Peace." Alex kissed Maria and slapped hands with Ricky and
Kurt.
The trio started filing out the door. "Alex?" Maria called, turning
back to him. "Your leg..."
"Broken."
"Oh." Maria frowned. "Well get it better... We can dance at the
prom."
Alex looked up at the brown eyes, silky hair, and slim frame that had
always bedeviled him. "Yeah," he said. "That would be nice."

He had trouble falling asleep that night after he sent his family
home. It had been a long day- four days in a single day, really.
As soon as he closed his eyes, he was out on the Garden State Parkway,
zipping home after another boring night at the bakery he worked at. He
slapped down the left blinker, checked the side mirror, headed over...
and then the crunching glass. It was the first and only sound he got to
hear. Every time he opened his eyes and closed them, another crunch.
I'll get that son of a bitch who hit me, Alex thought.
He looked around the room, coated in a thin veneer of light. The rails
of Alex's bed shimmered under the dim bulb they kept on at night. His
eyes traced the path of the tubes sticking in him to a clear bag
hanging on a rod that had the same dull shimmer to it. The old man was
still in the bed across the room diagonally from him, shivering.
Alex was restless. He spied a pair of crutches propped up against the
wall. He decided to put them to use.
He struggled against the tubes that were sticking in random parts of
his anatomy. He pulled them out and got his broken leg down. Alex
wasn't prepared for the weight of the cast, jerked his body back in
pain as it crashed on the bed.
He bit his lip and slid off the bed in a rolling motion, landing on
his good right leg. Steadying himself against the bed, he dragged
himself to the wall and grabbed the crutches.
Alex took a couple of tentative hops, liked the results, and headed
towards the door. Then he stopped at the old man's bed.
He bent over the shivering figure, and suddenly he shivered himself.
He felt a pit open in his stomach as he studied the man's unshaven,
flaking face and bald scalp. He noticed a bare, hairy shoulder blade
sticking out from under his gown, from under his skin. Feeling flushed
and little dizzy, Alex pulled the blanket up around the old man's
shoulders, tucked it, and crutched away.
He went out the door and wandered up and down the hospital hallway
until he found a sign for a dressing room. Then he let himself in and
took a long look at the full-length mirror inside.
Alexander Prescott stood five-foot-ten, slim and muscular, a Sam
Prescott not yet filled out. His hair was buzzed, not as close as
Ricky's, but close enough for his mother to lament that he was wasting
a beautiful head of hair. His tan face had four days' worth of beard
stubble, but one shave would restore it to its baby freshness. Alex
looked closer. Three lacerations snaked around his face, and he had a
black eye. "Fuck," he muttered.
Alex took a second to look deep into his brown eyes, "that goddamn
shit-brown," as Ricky had once described them. He was probing them,
just as he had in the bakery bathroom just before he'd left work that
night. He turned away. Still no sparkle.
He looked over the old man as soon as he got back to the room.
Sleeping soundly. No shivering.

Sam's words welcomed Alex to the next morning:
"What the hell did you do last night?"
"What?"
"Don't play innocent," Abby said. "The nurses and the doctor weren't
happy."
"About what?"
"You took a little walk last night."
"So what?"
"So," Sam said, " you can at least take care of yourself."
"I got up and walked around, Dad. Big deal."
"What if you fell?" demanded Abby. "What if you were just lying in the
hallway and nobody knew where you were?"
"What if you actually needed those tubes?" Ashley added, winking at
Alex.
"I guess I'd be out of luck, Ashley!" answered Alex, winking
back.
"Fine, make a joke," huffed Sam.
"No fooling around with that leg," decreed Abby. "Once you're home,
you're following doctor's orders. I don't care if it's six weeks on
crutches, or six years."
"Whatever."
"You can 'whatever' all you want. How did you even get up last
night?"
"Easy. I got up and walked out."
"Fine, don't even tell us," Sam said.
"But I-" Alex stopped himself. "Fine, forget it."
"We're getting breakfast. If you want anything-"
"I don't."
"I'll stay with him," said Ashley.
"You're not hungry?"
"I'll eat later."
"Alright, then. Try to talk some sense into your brother while we're
gone. Come on, Abby." Mr. and Mrs. Prescott left.
"What a pain in the ass," Alex spat.
"Just forget about him," Ashley said. "Before you get a heart
attack."
"What was their problem, anyway? Shouldn't they be happy I got the
hell up?"
"Who knows... I think Dad was mad because you could've got hurt more
and ran up the bill."
"Makes sense," Alex said. "And Mom?"
"Hello, I was kidding! They were just mad because... because, like Mom
said. What if you fell?"
"Then maybe it'd knock some sense into me, like Dad wants."
"No chance of that... So, glad to be back?"
Alex paused. "Not at all."
"Stop it. Why would you say that?"
"I was kidding, Ash. It's good to be back."
Ashley frowned. "I wish I could believe you."
"What? Why?"
Ashley paused. "I don't know. I-"
"Where's that old guy?" Alex interrupted, noticing the man wasn't in
his bed.
"What? Who?'
"The old guy who's in the room with me... Where's he at?"
"I have no clue."
"Oh... Okay." Alex shook his head. "My bad. What were you
saying?"
"Never mind. I came here to read to you."
"Read? Oh no, you mean-"
"Your favorite, Xander!" Ashley said, producing a book. "Jane
Eyre!"
"You are such a loser, you know that? God, who the hell reads?"
"Oh, I guess Penthouse is okay!"
"Hey, as long as the letters are true."
"Anyway." Ashley cleared her throat.
"Oh, God," Alex moaned.
Ashley read: "There was no possibility of a walk that day. We-"
Alex closed his eyes and feigned snoring.
"Come on, Alex, it's a good book!"
"Damn, and it's a chick book, too!"
"Whatever. I'm gonna read, and you'll like it. You dig?"
"Dig?" Alex repeated, taken aback. "Yeah, I dig."
Ashley cleared her throat again. "There was no possibility of a walk
that day. We had been wandering, indeed..."
Alex instantly stopped paying attention. Were you drunk, he recalled.
Were you drunk. Were you drunk the day you knocked over the cake at my
birthday party and passed out, prick?
"Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand," Ashley
went on. "To the left were the clear panes of glass-"
"Good news," Abby said, rushing in.
"What happened to breakfast?" asked Alex.
"I'm not gonna have it in this hell-hole," Sam said.
"Not when we can have lunch at home," Abby said. "With you."
Alex smiled and pumped his fist. "Hey Ash, holla at your boy!"
Ashley giggled. "Holla!"
"What the hell..." Sam said. "Anyway, they said we can get you out of
here in a couple of hours."
"Good. Hey, what the hell is today's date, anyway?"
"The sixteenth."
"Okay, April sixteenth... Damn, all I can remember is the
twelfth."
"That's right. The night of the twelfth."
Two hours later, Alex was discharged. The doctor informed him his leg
would be in a cast for twelve weeks; it didn't surprise him that Sam
had misheard, misunderstood, or simply made up the total of six weeks.
The doctor concluded by telling him that the contusions on his face
would heal perfectly within a couple of weeks.
"Where's the old guy?" Alex asked the doctor.
"What? What old guy?"
Alex gestured to the empty bed across the room. "My roommate over
there."
The doctor paused. "He... He passed away late last night."
"Oh no," Abby said.
Alex felt the pit reopen in his stomach. "Let's get the hell out of
here," he said.