by Emily Asad
Chapter 15: Friends Forever
“It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.” –Samuel Butler
Mom made pancakes for us in the morning. She had gotten up earlier than usual, just for me. I bragged about Mom’s amazing pancakes, and Darcy had to agree after tasting them. Mom seemed to enjoy the compliments.
Darcy helped me do my morning chores, even though she had decided to wear a ‘girlie’ outfit that day and her slip-on shoes were not barn-wear material. They clicked nicely on the cement, though, and she did a routine from her tap dance lessons. We had some extra time, so she taught me a few rhythms.
“You’re a fast learner,” she commented.
“I love dancing. Show me another move.”
Before we exited the barn, she kissed my horses good-bye. “I wish I had more time with them,” she sighed.
“Yeah. An overnighter isn’t enough time. We have to plan for a weekend.”
“You mean you want me back?”
“Of course! I had the best time last night. I can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun. It’s nice to have a friend.”
She beamed at me. “It is nice to have a friend. You’re a good one.”
“You are, too. I’m really glad you decided to come.”
“I’m glad you asked me. You were pretty brave.”
“Yeah, you’re so frightening I had to work up a lot of courage to ask!”
The bus ride was over too quickly, and then we were at school. I carried her backpack to her locker for her, since she had her heavy duffel bag to deal with.
“Okay, well, see you later,” she said.
I couldn’t resist hugging her. She really filled an empty spot in my heart. I was grateful more than I could possibly express. “Thanks for coming over.”
Who should happen by but Naomi Bell, and of course she saw the hug. “Ooh, lesbians!” she said loudly enough for everyone to hear. They immediately turned and stared at us.
We caught each other’s eyes and burst into laughter. Naomi was so predictable.
“See you later,” we said.
I did not see her later. She went home before lunch and didn't return. She was gone on Friday, too. And on Monday. I thought about calling or emailing her, but I didn’t have her email address or phone number.
I began to worry. Maybe riding Charlie had overexerted her and made her sick. It hadn’t been very cold in the exercise area, but if she wasn’t used to it, maybe it had given her pneumonia or something fatal.
My fears were increased on Tuesday, when the school nurse came to my choir practice. She had a note in her hand. “It’s from Darcy’s parents,” she said, and left. The whole class heard her.
I took the note back to my seat and read it quietly.
My heart skipped a beat.
“Notes from your gay lover?” inquired Naomi.
Her friends tittered.
I could not answer. I was stunned by the note.
“Planning an orgy with other lesbians?” she persisted. “Or did your friend give you AIDS and the nurse had to bring you the test results?”
I faced her. My voice trembled and rose in pitch. “You little witch! Darcy’s not gay. She has cancer. And she’s dying! You don’t know when to quit, do you?”
Her face turned white.
Mrs. Crofton jerked her head over in our direction to see what was happening. In fact, the entire class watched the exchange.
I threw the note on at her feet. “What does the note say, Naomi? You read it for yourself and see if I’m making it up.” Tears flooded my eyes. I collected my book bag and ran out of the room.
The hospital was only a few blocks away. I signed out at the front office and walked as fast as I could. Someone at the nurse’s station gave me directions to her room. It seemed surreal. The stale odor of urine filled my nose as I hurried past the Dialysis room, even though smell of disinfectants was strong too. I was aware of the way my shoes clicked on the linoleum and echoed off the bare walls. The air was slightly chilly, causing my goosebumps to prickle even more.
I arrived at her room. The door was open. Her mother and father – I recognized them from her photo album – and older sister were clustered around her bed. A doctor stood at the head of her bed, and a chaplain sat quietly in a corner.
She looked worse than ever, especially attached to so many tubes and devices. She saw me standing in the doorway and sat up, smiling at me.
“Hey, Margerly,” she called, using my secret nickname. “Glad you came!”
The effort of sitting must have been too much for her. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She collapsed, stretching flat on her back.
A flurry of activity erupted in the room. Monitors went off, the priest began to pray, and the doctor didn’t seem to be doing much to help.
A nurse tugged me away and closed the door. I was really scared.
“You need to stay in the hall,” she said.
“But… I’m here to see Darcy… her parents sent for me…”
She looked sympathetic but very professional. “I’m sorry, honey. Darcy just passed away.”
My breath swooshed out of my lungs. “What?”
“Sit down, sweetie. You don’t look so well.”
“No! She can’t be… she can’t…”
“I’m going to bring you some water. You stay here.” The nurse walked away, her cushioned feet treading soundlessly on the cold floor.
There was no sound, but I heard the footsteps. And then I realized that I was hearing my heart beat. I held my head in my hands, trembling. It wasn't possible!
A dreadful thought entered my head. It was my fault. I should never have invited her out to my house and let her ride my horse. I had killed her.
Panic gripped me. When Grandpa had died, I was only eight years old and didn’t really understand death. Plus, I never really knew the man, and Mom never talked about him.
I didn’t know Darcy that well, either, but we had been friends. Honest, affectionate, intimate friends. We had bonded. And now she was gone. It was my fault.
I must have sat there for at least half an hour before anyone noticed me. The nurse never did return with that water. Eventually, Darcy’s parents left her room and stood around in the hallway. Mr. Russell noticed me first.
“You must be Beverly,” he said in a strangled but kind voice.
I nodded, mute, and stood up.
Mrs. Russell hugged me. “Darcy talked about you so much this last week. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Christie, the older sister, did not look at me. She just leaned against the wall for support.
“I don’t know what to say,” I gasped. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. She’s been fighting this for a long time.”
“But I let her ride my horse in the cold weather. I must have made her sick somehow.”
Mr. Russell looked at me sharply. “No. You stop thinking like that right now. It’s not your fault. Do you hear me? Darcy had so much fun with you that she almost considered you a sister. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Tears flowed down his cheeks. He made no attempt to stop them. “You’re all she talked about. You’re the best thing that happened to her in a long time.” He joined Mrs. Russell in the embrace.
Salty drops stung my eyes. Another dam burst within me. “She was my only friend,” I sobbed.
We cried for a while, the three of us, while Christie rocked back and forth in stoic silence. She got up, suddenly, and walked toward the elevator.
When the tears subsided, we relaxed our embrace. It was kind of awkward, being among strangers, but we shared a strong common love: Darcy.
Christie returned moments later carrying a plastic bag by the handles. “Darcy wanted me to give you this,” she said, withdrawing the chessboard. “She said that you make your own strategies in life, and that you don’t have to be a statistic. She wanted you to remember that. And she said you’re not a quit
ter and that she’s proud of you for playing chess with her. It’s a hard game but so is life.” She thrust the board into my hand almost angrily, and then tramped away to the waiting room.
I held the board gently, reverently. A fresh wave of grief overwhelmed me. “I only spent a day with her.”
“She appreciated it. We do, too.” Mrs. Russell’s face screwed up in an agonizing expression but she caught herself. “Will you be coming to her funeral?”
I nodded.
After a while, I took the elevator downstairs and called my mother from the courtesy phone. It was hard to keep my voice steady. “Mom? I need to talk to you about Darcy.”
“Who’s Darcy? Oh, yes. That girl from the sleepover. Are you all right? You sound like you’ve been crying.”
“I’m at the hospital. Darcy just died.”
“Died?” There was a sudden silence as Mom registered that information. “Oh, Beverly. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Wait for me in the lobby.”
I sniffled an answer and hung up.
I was not cold, but I pulled my coat around me tightly as I waited. Mom found me huddled in a corner, as squished in between the two protective walls as I could make myself without being obvious. What I really wanted to do was to go to sleep and crunch way down underneath the covers, where imagined boogiemen could not reach me.
Mom stood right in front of me, a worried expression on her face. “What happened?”
I thought she was angry with me for skipping school. “The nurse gave me a permission slip. I signed out at the office,” I said, somewhat defensively.
She sat down beside me. “No,” she said more gently, “I meant what happened with Darcy.”
I held out my hands, palms up, in despair. “Her cancer returned so fast there was nothing they could do about it. Mr. Russell told me it wasn’t my fault… but I feel so guilty… I let her ride in the cold air…” I turned my agonized eyes up to her blue ones and was surprised at the depth of sympathy in them. The support I found there encouraged me to admit everything to her. “And I’m so afraid! She was only sixteen. She’s my age. What if I get cancer? What if I die tomorrow? There are so many things I wanted to do! She’ll never be able to finish the things on her list… And I’ll never, ever, never be able to find another friend like Darcy…”
“Shh,” Mom said, taking me in her arms.
“And Grandpa died of cancer… What if I’m next?”
“That’s ridiculous. You don’t have cancer. Grandpa was a smoker. He died from lung cancer. You don’t inherit lung cancer.”
Her logic was sound, but I was inconsolable.
For a girl who had only cried a handful of times in her life before, I seemed to be doing it as often as a newborn baby. Mom let me sob myself dry, and then she took me home. She called the school and excused my absence. She fixed me hot tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. Before she left, she hugged me again. She hugged me. I never knew she could be so sensitive and supportive, but she was just perfect. Everything she did was perfect.
“It hurts now, and it probably will for a while. If you want to talk about it, you can call me.” Then she returned to work.
The blizzard that was beginning to brew outside seemed symbolic of my swirling emotions. I meandered out to the barn anyway, letting the snowflakes bite at my cheeks and nose.
Why did all my friends have to go away? In all the houses I had lived in, I made friends with the neighbor kids and then we had to leave. I never saw them again, usually. Saying goodbye always tore my heart out and made it feel like I was just giving chunks away. That was the primary reason I avoided getting close to anyone. It was too painful to undergo the inevitable goodbye.
The New Me project was a big waste of time; right then and there I vowed to remain isolated from society for the rest of my life. It would hurt less that way.
