Amalee by Dar Williams Page A

Don’t deny it. So I had this plan…. I thought I could talk him into remembering himself, remembering things that make him happy. I was so determined to make him happy again, I just kept talking and talking. And look what happened!”
    â€œYou made him happy,” I said.
    She clutched my arm. “Do you think I did?” Now tears were rolling down her cheeks. “Do you think I did something wrong? Did this happen because I talk too much? Sometimes I talk too much.”
    I knew how Phyllis felt. I remembered all those times Hally stared at me when I couldn’t stop talking, becauseI felt nervous. “No, Phyllis, you don’t talk too much,” I told her. “And you didn’t talk too much.”
    Phyllis opened the door. There was Dad, half-smiling and fast asleep. We had no idea if he’d remember whatever had just happened.
    Phyllis asked, “Amalee, did you see us, or did you see a different us?”
    â€œYour voices were different.”
    â€œHow different?
    â€œIf you don’t know, I don’t know.”
    Dad woke up about four hours later. Phyllis and I sat on his bed while he told us that he’d dreamed of fighting a snake and sailing in a glass boat surrounded by angelfish, barracudas, and sharks.
    He seemed almost happy then. But in the days that followed, Dad looked terrible. He was sicker. Phyllis was panicked that she’d done something wrong, but I knew she hadn’t. When Dad perked up at all, it was when I talked about jungles, oceans, forests, or even my social studies project on the first Thanksgiving. Phyllis had helped him clear a path to his childhood, and it made him happy whenever he went there. There was nothing wrong with that. Sometimes, I wished I could go there, too.

A few days later, Dr. Nurstrom showed up with what he called an intravenous bag, or IV bag, which meant he wanted to feed my dad with a tube. Joyce promised that she could check on Dad every four hours or so. She would be sleeping in the living room. Dr. Nurstrom was kind enough to tell me to look away while he put a needle in Dad’s arm. That’s how Dad would be “fed.” I thought all eighty pounds of me were about to hit the ground in a faint. He put some tape over the needle, so I didn’t have to see what was going on.
    â€œAre you sure he shouldn’t be in the hospital?” I prodded.
    â€œYes, but I need all of you to make sure the needle is in, not just Joyce. I’ll be coming in twice a day, and you can use the beeper I gave your dad. It has my number,plus the number for Helen Forrest, a nurse who lives in New Paltz, and the one for Northern Dutchess Hospital.” He stopped as if he’d remembered something. “Uh, tonight I can’t come.”
    Joyce was standing next to him. “Why not, Robert?” I was surprised to hear her call him by his first name.
    â€œOh, it’s just a little award ceremony.”
    â€œAre you getting an award?” Joyce asked, her eyes sparkling.
    â€œWhy, um, yes. It’s an award ceremony for me.”
    â€œWell, well! This is an important night!” Joyce exclaimed.
    â€œYou could say that.”
    Dad suddenly spoke up, surprising us with the fact that he was awake.
    â€œCould my friends go?” Dad asked Dr. Nurstrom. “They make a very good cheering section.”
    Dr. Nurstrom, or Robert, was trying not to look excited. “I’m sure they could come.”
    â€œActually, the only person who can make it is Joyce,” Dad realized.
    â€œWell, in that case, I’ll seat you at my table,” Dr. Nurstrom said.
    Was my dad creating an excuse for Joyce and Dr. Nurstrom to go on a date? Somehow this whole IV bagand needle thing didn’t seem so scary if my dad was doing that! I was still scared, but I trusted Dr. Nurstrom more now, and I’d overheard him telling Joyce we just had to be patient for a while. I believed him. After all, he was an