Humans have a tendency to take things for granted, but life can change so quickly. It’s so short, so unpredictable, and that makes it scary. Rio could go to sleep tonight, and not wake up tomorrow. Anybody could. This is why it’s so important to spend all the time you can with people you love. Rio didn’t really understand this fully until after Cassia was gone. The people you love are always there: until they’re not. Since then, he’s always tried to remember to put effort into counting his blessings.
Outside, rain comes down in buckets. Rio sits in the hospital for an hour, and then two, and then three. He has many missed calls and unread texts - sometimes it’s hard to be popular. The waiting room is filling up. It’s the middle of the night.
Three years ago, Rio’s grandmother died of heart disease. She’d been sick for a long time, but this didn’t make her passing any easier. His grandmother, Fabiola, was a kind and doting woman, and loved to provide for her family and her community. He remembers standing in her hospital room after her death, listening to his father speak to the nurse. Since this occasion, Amani hasn’t cried once.
“It’s okay to cry when you’re sad, Papa. Remember? That’s what you say to us when we’re sad.”
Amani is a stoic and macho man. He dislikes being seen as incompetent, and struggles to express himself. His determination to teach his children emotional vulnerability was for his benefit just as much as it was for theirs. Surya, who was raised much differently than his husband, was always slightly better at the emotional aspect of things. Rio has cousins nearly twice his age. His aunt, Iksha, was a child bride in 1980, when she was fifteen years old. His uncle was forty years old at the time, and paid a type of dowry to her lower-class parents in exchange. There’s a lot about Surya’s past that Rio doesn’t know.
There was a drunk driver in the university parking lot. The roads are slick and wet, and alcohol gives many people false confidence. Rio likes drinking and speeding as much as the next guy, but he’d never do both at once. He’d watched from the sidewalk as a large van zoomed around the corner in front of the school, far too fast for the area. Ivo isn’t very big, and he hit a lamp post hard. It wouldn’t take much to knock him over. Like most car collisions, Rio would have missed it if he looked away for a split second.
When they arrived at the hospital, Ivo was found to have internal bleeding in his chest, and was taken into surgery almost immediately. This was the most frightening part.
In his free time, Rio has been studying Dutch. There’s no reason for this except wanting to impress Ivo, which is odd in itself. Things certainly have changed in the past seven months. Usually, he’d be long gone by now. He got a motorcycle license. It wasn’t hard; he’s a good driver. Maybe a bit reckless, sometimes, but he’s never gotten into an accident, and he always watches out for other people.
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The van had never stopped. It swerved out of the lot, tires slipping in the puddles on the pavement. At first, Rio suspected Four-Eyes was dead. After being tossed by the speed of the van’s front end, he lay on the wet pavement in a strange position: with a badly bloody nose and deep scratches on his neck. He was disoriented: slipping in and out of consciousness, struggling to breathe. Rio’s never been in an ambulance before. When the medics arrived, they brought a neck brace, which was large and bulky. They’d said it was crucial to stabilize the spine after an injury like this, and they’d praised him for not trying to help Ivo up. He’d been allowed to sit in the back of the ambulance for the ride to the hospital, which was short and loud, and mostly consisted of trying to keep Ivo awake. This was very hard.
Rio’s hair is loose and tangled, falling limply into his face. He knows a bit about medical issues, and he’s pretty good at staying calm under stress. This is something that took practice. When a nurse approaches, Rio sits up on the edge of his seat. It’s the same nurse as before, the one who admitted Ivo to the operating room. He’s dark, wearing a blue gown and a disposable mask. There were several crushed bones in Ivo’s back and arms, and extensive damage to nerves around his spine and brain. It’s hard to know, now, if his injuries will be severe. The doctor says, from the speed of being thrown through the air, and the force of slamming into a metal post, it’s a wonder that Ivo has any feeling left at all. In the ICU, he’s very bruised and tired, connected to a ventilator and several tubes. Shortly after arriving at the hospital, he stopped breathing and had to be resuscitated.
On either side of the bed, nurses do tests using safety pins or feathers. They need to test sensory function, they say, to determine the extent of the injury. Ivo can’t speak on a ventilator, or move his head under the weight of the brace; the nurses get answers from him via blinks. He can’t feel his legs, fingers, stomach, hands, feet. That seems like a lot. This could change, the nurses say, once he recovers more. After this, they test muscle strength and motor function with another combination of tests.
He’s asleep. Rio has seen him sleep before, but he looks different today. There’s no reason for him to be here. When Rio spends too much time around someone, he gets bored. Most humans are predictable, and he hates routine.
Loki spoke to Rio for the first time when he was fourteen. He’s a mischievous god, and certainly doesn’t leave life boring. He’ll send spiders, or hide important items, just to be a nuisance. Sometimes, Rio puts an object down, and finds it several days later in a completely different place. This type of relationship isn’t for everyone, but it leaves his life exciting and unpredictable. Loki isn’t a picky god. He enjoys sweet things: candy, alcohol, cookies, caramel apples. He’s also fond of toys, and things relating to the sea, which Rio enjoys leaving on his altar. When in doubt, there’s nothing like a good, hard liquor.
Sage recently got an unrestricted license. In celebration, they plan on making the trip to Rio’s to stay with him for the weekend. It’s a five hour drive: a very long distance for their first solo trip. It’s his fault they seldom see one another. Sage misses him. It’s been a year or so since their last visit.
The hospital room is cold and plain, one small bed in the middle of a melancholy room. After the nurses have finished checking in, they leave the boys alone. Rio sits beside the bed, his face close to Ivo’s, speaking to him in low tones. He’s alive, at least. Knowing this, Rio feels relief. No one really knows what life will look like from now on.