Max-

The bright fluorescent lights of the hospital pre-op room buzz softly overhead. The walls are a sterile white, and the air is filled with antiseptic. I watch as the nurse prepares the surgical area with practice efficiently, setting up the instruments and marking Elio’s right knee with a thick, black marker. 

Elio is lying on the gurney, his face a mixture of nervousness and resignation. His right knee is propped up slightly, and the sight of it marked up with bold lines makes the reality of the situation hit home. His family is gathered around him, their faces a collage of concern and support. Mrs. and Mr. Rizzo, and Gia are doing their best to offer smiles and reassuring words, but the tension in the room is palpable. 

I sit next to Elio. I glance over at him, trying to offer a comforting smile. “Are you doing okay?” I ask. 

Elio nods slowly, her eyes flickering towards me. “Yeah, just a bit nervous. I guess it’s all hitting me now.”

I reach out and squeeze his hand, trying to convey more strength than I feel. “It’s normal to be nervous. But you’re going to be okay. You’ve got this.”

He takes a deep breath and shifts slightly, reaching up to his face. “Hey, Max, could you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” I say quickly, leaning closer.

Elio hesitates for a moment before sliding his glasses off and handing them to me. “Could you hold onto these for me? I’ll need them when I wake up.”

I take the glasses, feeling the weight of the frames and the thick lenses. “Of course,” I reply. “I’ll keep them safe. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Elio gives a small, appreciative smile. “Thanks, It's weird, but I feel better knowing you’ve got them.”

The nurse finishes up and gives a gentle tap on Elio’s foot. “All set, Elio. We’re going to start the anesthesia now, and you’ll be asleep before you know it.”

Elio nods. “I’ll see you on the other side, Max.”

“I’ll be right here,” I assure him. “I’ll be waiting for you when you wake up.”

The anesthesiologist approaches, preparing the IV with calm efficiency. Elio’s eyes are beginning to droop, the effects of the medication starting to take hold. I give his hand one last squeeze.

“See you soon,” I whisper.

As the anesthesia takes full effect, Elio’s grip on my hand loosens, and his eyes close fully. The nurse escorts us out of the room and points us towards the waiting room.

Mrs. Rizzo reaches over and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Thank you for being here with him, Max.”

I nod. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

The door of the room we just came out of swings open and a team of people begin to wheel Elio towards the OR room doors around the corner. I watch him disappear down the hallway. As I sit down in the waiting room, I hold Elio’s glasses carefully in my hands.

The waiting room is a quiet sanctuary compared to the buzz of activity just down the hall. It’s filled with the subdued hum of conversation and the occasional shuffle of feet on the linoleum floor. I’m seated in one of the stiff, uncomfortable chairs, trying to describe myself by flipping through a stack of pamphlets. They’re about as uninteresting as I expected-brochures on joint health, physical therapy, and a guide to understanding ACL injuries. 

Gia is sitting beside me, her face a portrait of quiet concern. She’s only thirteen, but she seems older in moments like this. She looks up at me with wide, questioning eyes. 

“Max, do you think Elio will be okay?” she asks softly, her voice trembling slightly. Her fingers nervously twine around the hem of her sweater. 

I put the pamphlets down and give her a reassuring smile, though my own nerves are on edge. “Yeah, Gia, he’s going to be fine. The doctors know what they’re doing, and they’re taking good care of him.”  

Mr. and Mrs. Rizzo are sitting across from us. Mrs. Rizzo has a hand resting on Mr. Rizzo’s arm. 

I shake my head gently, trying to keep my tone positive. “Nothing’s going to go wrong. Elio’s strong, and he’s been looking forward to getting back on his feet. Besides, he hasn’t had anything to eat since before the surgery. I bet when he wakes up, the first thing he’ll ask for is a meal.”

I can see Gia’s worried expression soften slightly. “Do you really think he’ll be hungry right away?”

I nod. “Definielty. He’s been talking about all the food he wants to eat once he’s out of here. I wouldn’t be surprised if he starts making a list.” 

Gia’s lips curl into a faint smile. “I hope he gets to eat a lot. He’s always so hungry after games.”

“Exactly,” I agree. “He’s going to be just fine, Gia. We just have to hang in there a bit longer.”

Ms. Rizzo leans over and places a hand on Gia’s shoulder, offering a comforting squeeze. “Max is right. We’ll be seeing Elio soon, and he’ll be on the mend. Just a little more waiting.”

The minutes tick by slowly, and every second feels like an eternity. 

Gia’s hand finds mine, and she gives it a gentle squeeze. “Thanks for staying with us, Max.”

I squeeze her hand back. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

The nurse finally emerges from behind the swinging doors, her expression softening as she approaches us. The waiting room, which has felt like a bubble of anxious silence, suddenly buzzes with a quiet anticipation.

“You can see him now.” she says gently, her gaze sweeping into over us. “He’s still waking up from the anesthesia, so he might be a bit groggy, he’s doing well.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Gia jumps up from her chair . Mrs. and Mr. Rizzo exchange a look of deep relief before we all head down the hall together, following the nurse.

When we reach the room, the door is slightly ajar. I push it open slowly, and there he is-Elio, lying in a hospital bed, looking a little pale but otherwise okay. His right leg is elevated, wrapped in thick bandages and a brace. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he looks a bit dazed, but when he spots us, a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Hey,” He say, his voice raspy.

I can’t help but grin. “Hey yourself. How are you feeling?”

He blinks a few times, as if trying to clear the fog from his mind. “Like I got hit by a truck,” he jokes weakly, then glances around the room. “Where are my glasses?”

I pull them out of my pocket and hold them up. “Right here. Safe and Sound.” I step closer and gently place them on his face, adjusting them slightly until they sit just right. 

Elio’s eyes focus a bit more now that he can see clearly, and he offers a more genuine smile. “Thanks, Max. I feel better already. I can see.”

Mrs. Rizzo steps closer, her hands gently brushing through his curls. “We’re so glad you’re okay, amore. You gave us quite a scare.”

Elio chuckles softly, though it turns into a wince when he shifts slightly in the bed. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to worry everyone.”

Mr. Rizzo pats Elio’s shoulder. “The important thing is that you’re on the mend now. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Gia, who’s been hovering near the foot of the bed, finally speaks up. “Elio, are you hungry? Max said you’d probably be asking for food when you woke up.”

Elio’s eyes brighten slightly at the mention of food, and he gives a small nod. “Actually, yeah. I’m starving. I hadn’t eaten since…yesterday I think?” He glances around the room, then back at us. “Can I get something to eat? And some water, too? My throat is really dry.”

Mrs. Rizzo looks over at the nurse, smiles and nods. “I’ll bring him some water right away, and we can see about getting a light snack for him.”

As the nurse leaves, I step closer to Elio, and grab his hand. “You had us all worried, you know that?”

Elio squeezes my hand gently, his expressions softening. “I know, I’m sorry, Max. But I’m glad you’re here.”

“Always,” I reply. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The nurse returns with a cup of water and helps Elio take a few small sips. 

“Any chance I can get something to eat now? Elio asks, a hint of his usual humor returning. “I’m thinking a sandwich, maybe?”

The nurse smiles warmly. “We’ll start with something light, but I’m sure we can find you something to snack on.”

The drive home from the hospital is a quiet one. Elio, seated in the back with his crutches propped up beside him, looks exhausted but determined. I can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy every time I glance back at him. When we finally pull up to Elio’s house, Mrs. and Mr. Rizzo are quick to get out of their car and help Elio inside. I can see the strain of his face as he moves up the steps to the front door. Gia trails behind, carrying a bag of things we might need for his recovery.

Inside, the house is a comforting mix of familiar smells and sounds. The scent of the evening meal cooking in the kitchen. It's the kind of homey environment that always made me feel welcome. 

Mom and Dad try to convince Elio to rest in the recliner in the living room, but he’s having none of it. “I want to go to my room,” he insists, his voice sounding more tired than defiant. “I’ll be more comfortable there.”

Mr. Rizzo exchanges a concerned glance with Mrs. Rizzo. “Eliio, it might be easier for you to rest downstairs. The recliner’s right here, and you won’t have to bother with the stairs.”

Elio shakes his hand. “No, I need to be in my own bed. It’ll be easier for me to rest there.”

Mrs. Rizzo sighs, clearly torn. “Alright, but we’ll need to be extra careful getting you up stairs.”

“I can assist with the stairs, if that’s okay.”

Mr. Rizzo nods appreciatively. “That would be a big help, Max. We’ll take it slow.”

We carefully make our way to the staircase. Elio navigates each step with painstaking care. Mr. Rizzo walks beside him, providing a steadying hand on his back, while I follow close behind, ready if he loses balance. 

Elio’s room is at the top of the stairs, and as we reach the landing. I take in the familiar sight. His room is exactly as I remember it-cozy and filled with personal touches. The walls are painted navy, and posters of bands,movies, and soccer and baseball teams he likes adorn the walls. His bed, with its comforter in shades of green and blue, sits against one wall, flanked by a wooden nightstand with a small and Elio’s stack of books he wants to read soon. There’s a bookshelf crammed with books, trophies, and knickknacks. 

As we help Elio into the room, he looks around with a hint of relief. “It feels good to be back in here,” he says quietly.

Mr. Rizzo helps him settle onto the bed, adjusting the pillows to make him as comfortable as possible. “Here we go. You’ll be more at ease now that you’re in your own space.”

I stand by the bed. “You’re going to get some rest now, and we’ll figure out the next steps.”

Elio nods and rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Max.”

I smile. “Of course. I’ll be here to help however I can.”

As Elio closes his eyes, I step back and glance around his room one more time. Mr. Rizzo sits down in Elio’s desk chair and Mrs. Rizzo comes by and looks in, checking on Elio before leaving to entertain Gia. As the room quiets, I sit down on the edge of the bed, until Elio falls fully asleep which doesn’t take long.

As I walk through the front door of my apartment. My parents are in the living room, their expressions shifting from casual conversation to attentive concern as they see me walk in. 

“Hey, Max,” Mom says. “How’s Elio doing? Did everything go alright?”

“He’s doing okay. The surgery went well, and he’s resting now. We got him settled in his room, and he seems comfortable. It was a long day, but at least he is in his own space.”

Dad, who’s been flipping through the mail, looks up with a nod of relief. “That’s good to hear. It’s been a tough day for all of you.”

Mom gives me a sympathetic smile. “You must be exhausted. Do you want to talk about it, or would you prefer to relax for now?”

I shake my head. “I’m okay. I just need to unwind for a bit. I’m glad we could be there for him.”

Dad sets the mail aside and looks at me with a more serious expression. “Max, there’s something we need to discuss with you. It’s not about Elio, but it’s important.”

Mom gives a small, encouraging nod. “We didn’t want to bring it up while you were with Elio, but now that you’re home, we should talk.”

“Sure, What’s going on?”

Dad motions for me to sit down on the couch, and I plop down, trying to read their expressions. Mom takes a seat next to me.

“We’ve been meaning to talk to you about something that’s been on our minds for a while,” Dad begins, his voice steady. “It’s about your future-specifically, your plans after graduation.”

“My plan? Like college and stuff?”

Mom nods. “Yes, exactly. We've been discussing it, and we want to make sure we’re all on the same page about what’s next for you.”

“Okay, what’s the concern?”

Dad takes a deep breath. “We know you’ve been focused on your studies and extracurricular activities, and we’re proud of everything you’ve accomplished. But we want to make sure you’re thinking about your future and the decisions you’ll need to make soon.”

Mom adds. “It’s not just about academics or career choices. It’s about finding the right balance and making sure you’re considering what you truly want for yourself.”

“I’ve been thinking about it. I’m just not not sure where I want to go yet. There are so many options.”

Dad places a hand on my shoulder. “That’s perfectly normal. We just want you to know that we’re here to support you, no matter what path you choose. We’re happy to help you explore your options and figure out what’s best for you.”

“We’re proud of you, Max. We just want you to make sure you’re making informed decisions and feeling confident about your future.” Mom says.

I take a deep breath. “Thanks. I appreciate that. I’ll definitely give it some more thought.”

Dad gives me a small smile. 

The evening air on the balcony is cool and refreshing, a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves of the tree outside. I’m sitting on a weathered wooden chair, my guitar resting on my lap as I strum absentmindedly. The city sounds of Brooklyn from a distant backdrop-horns honking, people chatting, the occasional siren. 

Just as I’m starting to lose myself in a rhythm, my phone buzzes. I glance at the screen and see a message from Jamie, one of my friends from school. Jamie’s always been the to-go guy for band gigs around town, and I know he is a talented guitarist in himself. I swipe open the message, curious about what’s up. 

Jamie: Hey Max, hope you’re doing well. Our guitarist for tonight’s gig had to bail, and we’re in a bit of a bind. Any chance you could fill in for us? We’re playing at The Groove tonight, we could really use your help.