I Want to Live

by Lurlene McDaniel

  “This summer.”

  “August,” Darcy added.

  Rob said, “We want to go back to college in the fall as husband and wife. We’ve already begun to check on apartments in East Lansing.”

  “It isn’t easy supporting a wife and finishing your degree,” Mr. Rochelle cautioned.

  “I’ll still have my scholarship, plus my part-time job at the menswear store.”

  August! Dawn thought. Why, that was only five months away!

  “Dawn,” Darcy said, looking uncomfortable. “If you’re feeling up to it . . . that is, if you can handle it . . . ,” Darcy stopped and swallowed hard. “Would you like to be a bridesmaid?”

  “I—I don’t know. . . ,” Dawn mumbled. Darcy doesn’t really want me to be in her wedding. Dawn thought. She just feels sorry for me.

  “How many brothers have you got who are getting married?” Rob teased. “We want you in the wedding, don’t we, honey?” He slipped his arm around Darcy’s shoulder.

  “Of course, we do.”

  “Well, we’ll see how I’m doing in August.” Dawn hadn’t wanted to use her leukemia as an excuse, but it seemed the only logical way to stop Rob from making Darcy do something she didn’t want to do.

  “Of course,” Rob agreed, his eyes looking softly at Dawn.

  The table began buzzing again with plans, and the awkward moment passed. But Dawn knew she couldn’t forget how uncomfortable Darcy looked when she asked Dawn to be in her wedding. Perfect girls with perfect smiles had perfect weddings. They didn’t have bridesmaids whose hair might fall out from chemotherapy or who might get sick and embarrass the bride.

  That night, she wrote in her diary:

  Rob asked if I’d mind having him hanging around Columbus this summer so Darcy and he can make wedding plans. He hasn’t lived at home for two years, so it’ll be fun having him here again. By the time I get back from camp, there’ll only be six weeks left before the big day. I’m still trying to think of a way to get out of being in the actual wedding. I could tell by the look on Darcy’s face that she would rather I not be in the ceremony.

  She reread the words and almost scratched them out because they sounded petty. But that’s how she felt. If she died, maybe she’d request to have her diary buried with her. It was a morbid idea, but she chuckled in spite of it.

  * * * * *

  Dawn walked down the empty halls of her school building. The click of her heels on the cement floor of the corridors was the only sound. It was the last day of school. The moment the bell had rung, the halls had been filled with rushing, shouting kids, tossing papers and tattered notebooks into garbage cans.

  Now, almost an hour later, the rooms were deserted, and the halls were vacant. Why had she stayed? She had told Rhonda that she needed to clean out her locker and that she’d see her later.

  “Are you sure?” Rhonda had asked. “I don’t mind helping you.”

  “I need to see Mr. Blake about my algebra exam, too. I was at the clinic the day of the test, and I had some questions.” The excuse had sounded lame. After all, she’d passed the test, and she knew it.

  “Okay. We’ll save you a seat at the Pizza Palace.” Rhonda had scurried off with Jill and Kathy.

  For some reason, she wanted to be alone inside the school where she’d spent her last two years. She did have to clean out her locker. But it was more than that. She knew in her heart that she wanted to say good-bye.

  “Next year, ninth grade,” she said into the empty hallway. Would she be around to return in September?

  On one locker, someone had scribbled “Mark loves Pamela.” Dawn rubbed her thumb over the letters and watched them smear.

  Dawn sighed and spun the combination lock on her locker. She looked inside and wrinkled her nose. So that’s where she’d left her other pair of sneakers.

  “Hi, Dawn.” The unexpected male voice startled her. She whirled around and stared straight into the brown eyes of Jake Macka. Her knees went weak.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought I was the last one here.”

  “No. I just couldn’t bear to leave.” She held her body dramatically against the lockers.

  He grinned and her heart did flip-flops. “It’s funny knowing I won’t be coming back here next year.”

  “Yeah. Adams Junior High won’t be the same without you.” Stupid comment, Rochelle, she told herself. Why not throw yourself at his feet?

  “The real question is: Is Cincinnati ready for Jake Macka?”

  A knot settled in her stomach. “Don’t you want to move? It might be sort of fun.”

  Jake gripped the top of her locker door and glanced inside. “Moving isn’t fun. But we do it every time my dad gets a job promotion. What died in there?”

  She giggled. “Sneakers and an apple core.” He plucked out the shriveled brown core and heaved it down the hall. “That thing’s a health hazard.”

  Their gazes tripped over one another. “Well, I hope you have a good time in your new school.” Why do I always say such dumb things?

  “Dawn, I—uh, I’ve been wanting to ask you. Are you all right? I mean . . . healthwise?”

  She shrugged. “The doctors say my tests look perfect. That is, perfect for a sick person.”

  Jake averted his eyes. Dawn felt her palms grow clammy. Why couldn’t she say anything right today?

  “I—uh—I’m glad your hair’s growing long again.”

  She touched it, wishing it were longer. “Me, too. It takes such a long time to grow.”

  “I remember when you used to sit in front of me in English last year—before you got sick. I used to stare straight at the back of your hair. It always looked so soft.” Jake’s voice dropped, and she had to lean forward to catch his next words. “I sometimes wanted to touch it to see if it was as soft as it looked.”

  Dawn thought her heart would hammer through her chest. Her mouth went dry. “You can touch it now. I mean, since you’re moving and all, and I’ll never see you again. I don’t mind if you touch it.”

  Jake’s hand rose, and he caught the ends of her hair in the tips of his fingers. “I was right. It is soft.”

  His eyes were a deep shade of chocolate, and she wanted to touch his face. He lowered his hand, brushing her shoulder. “Thank you.” He took a step backward. “I hope you never get sick again. I hope your hair grows all the way down to your waist. Good-bye, Dawn Rochelle.”

  Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. All she could do was watch him walk hurriedly down the hall.

  Good-bye. Good-bye, school. Good-bye, Jake. Good-bye, Sandy. Why did it seem like she was always saying good-bye?

  Dawn snatched her sneakers, raked old papers onto the floor, and rushed toward the outside door of the huge, empty school building. She never looked back.

  Six

  “DAWN! Dawn Rochelle! Over here.” Dawn scanned the crowded room and the scores of campers for the person who had called out her name. She almost tripped over the duffle bag of the girl next to her and wished that all the parents would leave and let the kids settle into the camp for the next two weeks on their own.

  “Hey, Dawn. How are you?” Mike McConnell, the boy she’d met the previous summer who’d lost half his leg to bone cancer, hobbled over to her on crutches. “I thought that was you.”

  Dawn hugged Mike impulsively. Then she stepped back self-consciously. “Hey, yourself. Why the crutches? Where’s your prosthesis?”

  “Got a sore spot, so Dr. Ben told me to leave it off for a few days.” The mention of the camp director’s name caused Dawn to giggle inwardly. Dr. Ben had always been able to act like one of the kids and yet maintain his authority at the same time. Mike added, “You look super. Let’s get out of this crowd and walk down by the lake.”

  They wove their way through the clusters of people and their luggage. In a few minutes, they were walking along the familiar leafy trails toward the blue lake that rested in the center of the camp complex. The sounds of activity soon faded into
the sounds of the surrounding woods.

  “I was hoping someone would be here that I knew,” Mike said.

  “Didn’t Greg come?” Dawn’s heart skipped a beat. Had something happened to Greg? They hadn’t written since Christmas. Was he all right?

  “He got a swimming scholarship at UCLA and went out in June to begin training. Yeah, I’d say old Greg is sitting on top of the world.”

  “Then he must be . . . cured.” She said the word slowly, almost enviously.

  “Let’s just say that he beat the odds.”

  “Too bad Sandy didn’t.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for writing and telling me. It depressed me, but I’m glad you let me know.”

  The buzz of insects hummed in the air as they reached the edge of the lake. The water lapped at the shoreline. “The lake’s down,” Dawn said.

  “It’s been a dry summer,” Mike said. Then there was silence for a while. Mike broke it with, “Going to the campfire tonight?”

  Dawn nodded, hugging her arms to herself. “I think that’s why I came this year. Sandy sent me her matchbox full of ashes, and I felt I needed to return them to the bonfire. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Sure. It’s like some kind of unfinished business.”

  “Mike . . . ,” she paused. “If things go sour for me—they’re fine, honest—but just in case—would you bring my bonfire ashes next year?”

  “Hey.” He poked her arm playfully. “You’ll be here.”

  “I know. But just in case . . .”

  Mike prodded a stone with the tip of his crutch. “Of course, I will. But I expect to see you here next summer. Besides, who else can I count on to help me pull another trick on Dr. Ben?”

  She smiled sheepishly, relieved to have the conversation turn to a lighter subject. “Yeah, who else would be crazy enough to try to outsmart Dr. Ben two years in a row?”

  Her gaze met Mike’s, and they both grinned devilish smiles. “Got any wild ideas?” Mike asked.

  “I might. Come on. Walk me back to my cabin, and we’ll think up a way to get him like we did last year with the water balloons.”

  “It’s going to be a hard act to follow,” Mike said with a sigh.

  “We’re up to it. After all, what are friends for?”

  Mike started up the trail in step with Dawn. “Right. What else are friends for if not to get into trouble together?”

  They returned to their respective cabins, devising pranks and schemes, the soft cocoon of summer seemingly turning back the hands of time.

  * * * * *

  The bonfire ritual that night was just as Dawn remembered it. The sun set in a fiery ball over the lake. Clusters of campers settled expectantly on logs facing an enormous pyramid of twigs and sticks. Dawn sat next to Mike, feeling the warmth of his shoulder brushing hers. Whispers from other kids buzzed in the gathering darkness, then dwindled as they all watched a canoe slip through the dark waters of the lake toward the shoreline and the wooden pyre.

  Two people, dressed as Indians, complete with moccasins and feathers, guided the boat onto the shore and climbed out. They walked silently up to the bonfire. When Dr. Ben, dressed in shorts, a T-shirt, and his familiar baseball hat that said “Top Dog” stood, Dawn felt a warmth for the man who watched over his charges every year. He said solemnly, “The Indians were the first to see this land, the first to travel across this lake, the first to hunt and fish this area. We pay tribute to them and their spirit of harmony with nature.”

  One Indian lit a torch and held it high into the star-studded sky. “Each year, our ritual is the same,” Dr. Ben told the campers. “We light the bonfire, gather ‘round, roast marshmallows, and watch the fire burn low. Once the embers cool, each of you will gather some of the ashes in a box, take them home with you, and guard them until next year.

  “When you return next summer, bring them and toss them onto that bonfire. In this way, each of us comes back to this place, bringing some of the past, taking some of the future. Will you who have ashes from last year please come forward?” Dawn’s heart thudded as she stood, clutching both hers and Sandy’s boxes of old ashes in her fist. She felt Mike’s reassuring pat on her back as she stepped forward to join a line of other kids.

  One by one, the groups filed forward, dumping their boxes onto the pyramid of sticks.

  “This is for Tracy McElroy, who died last February,” one girl said as she emptied her boxes.

  “This is for Martin Clark, who’s in the hospital right now,” a boy said, following the same routine.

  Dawn shuffled forward, staring into the tangle of wood. It was her turn. She pulled open the boxes and shook out their contents. “This is for Sandy Chandler who—” she heard her voice catch. “—who went home to God last October.” The ashes fluttered onto the pile.

  She stepped back and watched as the others went through the line. Every now and again, she’d recognize a name or remember a face. Once the procession was complete, the Indian with the lighted torch advanced and touched his burning flame to the base of the wooden pyramid. The fire caught, and soon the rubble of wood burned brightly, crackling and snapping in the summer light. Dawn felt the heat and watched as the flames licked against the canopy of black sky.

  Whoops and shouts broke out. The Indians retreated and marshmallows appeared. Dawn tried hard, but she couldn’t bring herself to join in the fun. She felt cut off from the others. All she wanted to do was stare at the golden flames. Mike leaned over her, balancing on one crutch. “Could you give me a hand with this marshmallow? It’s got a mind of its own.”

  Dawn focused on the gooey blackened glob attached to the end of a coat hanger. She shook off her mood. “I don’t think you can salvage that one, Mike. Here, let me show you what real talent can accomplish with one of those things.” She grabbed the hanger and put a fluffy marshmallow on it. Then she stretched it over the yellow fire, browning it to perfection. “Here,” she said as she pulled it off the wire and popped it into his open mouth.

  “Scrumptious,” Mike declared. He draped his arm over her shoulder and squeezed the base of her neck. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m all right.”

  Firelight glanced off the side of his face as she looked up at him. His eyes reflected concern in the dancing flames. “Can I roast you another one?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. What are friends for?”

  She smiled and echoed, “What are friends for?”

  Seven

  “What’re you reading?” Mike asked Dawn, two days later in the camp’s giant mess hall. He slid his crutches onto the floor and sat down beside her.

  “A letter from my brother Rob,” she answered, glancing up from the page.

  “Is that the one you told me about who’s getting married?”

  “Yes. I’m glad I’m at camp. He says that being around Darcy and our mother is like living in a circus. Darcy’s coming to stay for a few days after I get home from camp to make more plans.” Dawn rolled her eyes. “Rob says I should elope when it’s my turn to get married.”

  Mike chuckled. “I’ve got two sisters, but they’re five and nine. So I guess we don’t have to think about weddings for a while.”

  “What about you? Or are you going to just date forever?”

  A strange look flitted across his face. He hunkered down and shrugged his broad shoulders. “Not too many girls are hot to go out with a one-legged guy.”

  Dawn could have bitten her tongue. What a stupid thing to say to him. She’d known he was sensitive about his leg from the previous summer when he wouldn’t go swimming. She remembered how Sandy had accepted him and made him feel accepted by others, too. And Dawn certainly understood how it was to be “different.” No guy in her school seemed interested in her as a girlfriend. Jake had been nice to her, but he’d never asked her for a real date. “I felt the same way when I was bald and ugly from chemotherapy. I shouldn’t have asked. Sorry.”

  “No big deal. So have you come up with a plan to get Dr. Ben?” He
changed the subject.

  “I’m formulating one.”

  “I’m all ears. When do we strike?”

  “After skit night next week. Right before we all have to go home. He’ll be so busy concentrating on skit night, he’ll have his guard down.” She knew that each cabin was secretly planning entertainment skits for trophies and prizes. “What are you guys doing anyway?”

  Mike grinned impishly. “It’s a secret. But we plan to steal the show.”

  “Don’t count on it. Our cabin is onto something really hot.”

  Mike waved his hand in dismissal. “You don’t stand a chance.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Dawn huffed, then tugged on a hank of Mike’s hair. “Come on. It’s time for arts and crafts.”

  Mike made a face. “Where can we hide to escape?”

  Just then Dr. Ben bustled into the mess hall. “Ah, there you two are. Just in time to help me with crafts for the seven- and eight-year-olds.”

  Mike groaned, and Dawn slouched. Too late.

  “You two owe me,” Dr. Ben said with a wag of his finger. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten last year. I’m glad you’re taking it easy on me this year and acting like adults.” He smiled.

  Dawn put on an innocent expression and looked at Dr. Ben’s blue eyes. “Why, Dr. Ben, . . . we’ve matured since last summer. We’re too old for silly kid pranks. Aren’t we, Mike?”

  “Much too old.”

  Dr. Ben cocked his head to one side. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  Dawn leapt to her feet, and Mike struggled up beside her, leaning on his crutch. “I’m putting my prosthesis on tomorrow, and then who knows? Maybe I’ll turn into a kid again.”

  “Is that a warning, McConnell?” Dr. Ben’s eyes twinkled.

  “Naw. Like Dawn said, we’re too old for pranks.” They followed the camp director outside. The sunshine was warm, and the air smelled fresh and clean. Dawn breathed in and felt a kind of contentment.

  * * * * *

  “Sh—sh!” Dawn commanded, crouching behind a long table in the darkened mess hall kitchen. “Mike,” she whispered, “turn on the flashlight, but keep the beam low to the floor.”