The Schwa Was Here

When medical professionals took over the situation, I thought I could be out of this little drama. I figured Crawley would go off, complaining all the way, with Lexie in tow, and Schwa and I would be left to walk the dogs. Crawley, however, threw a curveball.

The paramedics got him up onto the gurney, and as they were wheeling him out, he grabbed my arm. “Anthony, you come with me.”

“What, me?”

“Is there another Anthony here?”

“I’ll come, Grandpa,” said Lexie, already getting Moxie ready for the journey.

“No. You will stay here with Calvin and walk the dogs.”

“I want to come with you!”

The paramedics rammed right into the Schwa, knocking him flat on his butt. The dogs, who had been calming down, began barking again.

“Sorry, kid, we didn’t see you.”

“Anthony—come!” said Crawley.

I turned to the Schwa and Lexie, holding back the dogs as they wheeled Crawley out. “I think my job description just changed again.”

They let me ride in the back of the ambulance with him as they ran red lights and took the wrong side of the road halfway to Coney Island Hospital.

“Why did you want me to come?” I asked Crawley. “Why not Lexie?”

“I don’t want her to see me like this.”

“She can’t.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass, you know what I mean.” He shifted positions and grimaced. “Tell them you’re my grandson at the hospital, and weasel your way into the ICU. You’re good at weaseling.”

“Thanks, I think.”

The paramedic checking Crawley’s blood pressure threw me a quick glance, but didn’t say anything. I guess whatever went on at the hospital wasn’t his business.

Then, when the ambulance pulled to a stop at the emergency room, Crawley grabbed my arm again. His nails dug into my forearm, although I don’t think he did it to hurt me, and he said: “Don’t let them leave me alone.”

I sat beside him in a little curtained emergency-room cubicle, listening to him complain about everything from the antiseptic smell to the flickering fluorescent lights that “could send some­one into a seizure.” Everything in the hospital was a lawsuit waiting to happen, and he was prepared to bring in his lawyers at any moment.

I called my parents to tell them where I was. Never open up a conversation with your mother with the words, “I’m at the hospital.”

“Oh, my God! Did you get hit by a car? Oh, my God! Is any­thing broken? Oh, my God, Antsy, oh, my God!”

She was so loud, I had to pull the phone away from my ear, and Crawley could hear every word. It was actually a comfort to hear my mother showing concern, so I let it go on for a mo­ment before I stopped her and told why I was at the hospital.

“Mr. Crawley’s really shaken up. I guess I’ll be here for a while.”

“Is he okay?” Mom asked. “Is he go

“Not if I can help it.”

Crawley let out a single loud guffaw at that. It was the first time I had ever made him laugh.

“Call when you need a ride home,” she said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get a cab.”

At the mention of that, Crawley’s eyes got a little wider, and his lips pursed a little tighter. After I hung up he said, “You leave when I tell you to leave. I’ll pay you time-and-a-half for overtime.”

“Not everyone in the world does things for money, okay?”

“You do.”

“Well, not all the time.”

“Good. Then I won’t pay you.”

“Okay, I’m leaving.”

“Aha!” he said, pointing his finger at me.

Now it was my turn to laugh.

Crawley glanced out the little opening in the curtain. Doc­tors and nurses whooshed past every minute or so, but never whooshed in. “Hospitals are the greatest failure of civilization,” Crawley proclaimed.

“You’re not the only patient. They’ll get to you eventually.”

“So will the coroner.”

I looked at him for a moment, remembering what he had been like when they wheeled him in. As soon as they had opened the door to the ambulance, he had covered his face with both hands, like a vampire afraid of the light of day, all the while calling to me in a panic.

“Why are you so scared to be alone?” I asked him.

Crawley ignored the question so I tried another.

“Why am I here instead of Lexie?”

Crawley took a long moment to weigh his answer, then sighed. This was a good thing, because when people sigh, it usually means they’re about to tell the truth. A sigh means it’s not worth the energy to lie.

“The more Lexie knows, the more she’ll tell her father—my sson,” Crawley said. (He spat it out, like it was a four-letter word instead of three.) “I don’t want my sson to know any­thing. He’s already convinced that I need to be in an ’assisted-living facility’ An old folks’ home.”

“Well, you’re an old folk.”

“I’m venerable, not elderly.” And at my puzzled expression he said, “Look it up.”

“I don’t need to. I’m sure it’s just a word that’s supposed to make ’old’ sound good, like they say ’restroom’ when they really mean ’bathroom,’ and they say ’bathroom’ when they really mean ’toilet. “Then I added, “It’s called a euphemism. Look it up.”

He waved his hand at me. “I don’t know why I waste my breath. You couldn’t possibly understand what I mean.”

“I think I do.”

I thought he’d just wave his hand at me again, but to my sur­prise he was actually listening—which meant I had to find a way to put into words what I was thinking. I began slow, just in case I flew into some speed bumps that sunk my train of thought.

“Right now everybody knows you as kooky Old Man Craw­ley, with fourteen dogs in his window and enough power to shut down the egg supply to half of Brooklyn.”

He gri

“Who could forget? But once you get put in a rest home, you’ll just be some old fart playing checkers and waiting for the aquacize instructor. You won’t be a mysterious force to be reck­oned with anymore. And that’s scary.”

He looked at me for a long time. I figured he was generating a really good insult, but instead he said, “You’re slightly brighter than I gave you credit for.”

“You know, your son will find out about this. Lexie will tell him—she probably already has.”

“Just as long as I’m out of here and back in my apartment when I face him.” Then he added, “I just hope Lexie’s all right with that lackluster friend of yours.”

“I’m sure your granddaughter and the Schwa are having a great time. They probably got their hands all over each other’s faces or something.” The image of that was just too disturbing. I had to stand up and pace in the little space, peering out of the curtains to see if the doctor was coming. The greatest failure of civilization. Maybe Crawley was right.

“My granddaughter is very upset with you.”

This was news to me. “What does she have to be upset about? She was the one who dumped me for the Schwa.”

Crawley looked at me square in the eye. “You’re a moron.”

“I thought you just said I was brighter than you gave me credit for.”

“I stand corrected.”

As it turns out, Crawley had fractured his hip again. It wasn’t bad, but a fracture is a fracture. He couldn’t keep the news from his “sson,” but as Lexie’s parents were still in Europe, their war was limited to transatlantic phone calls. They insisted he spend time in a nursing home, and he told them what they could do with their nursing home. In the end, Crawley agreed to hire a full-time nurse, but in the meantime was happy to torment the nurses at the hospital.

From his hospital room, Crawley commanded Lexie to go to school the next day rather than visit him, and he raised such a stink she did as she was told. My parents, on the other hand, let me take off school that day, since I had been up all night with Crawley, and that gave me time to take the subway down to the Academy of the Blind before school let out.