An Illusion of Control

by Cecelia Earl

  The bathroom door opens behind me, and reflexively I turn at the sound.

  Jax.

  His face looks like he walked into a glass door that he didn't expect to be there, shocked, pained, and confused.

  When he sees me, he shakes his head, moving his head side to side in slow motion.

  I rush to him, take his elbows in my hands. He doesn't remove his hands from his pockets.

  "They said there's nothing else they can do for my dad."

  My mouth goes dry. My throat closes up. My chest constricts.

  "I didn't want to torture him anymore, but they said he can't feel anything anyway."

  "Jax," I whisper.

  "His brain. There's nothing."

  "Jax."

  "There's nothing there."

  I love you. I'm sorry, I think.

  "We told them to pull out the breathing tube. To stop everything."

  I'm sorry. I love you, I think. I blink away tears. He’s so robotic, pale, unemotional.

  "He didn't flinch. Didn't cough. It was the worst sound."

  St. Jude. St. Jude. God, if you're there. Help this boy. Help me help him.

  "I had to leave. For a minute. I have to go back."

  He's walking now, and I'm following, by his side. Somehow we're side by side, but I'm trailing behind him. I can't keep up, don't know how to be near him. We turn left at the reception desk and Jax's mom is in the hallway, hands out, motioning for Jax.

  "Jax!" she cries out. "Jax," she falters. "Where were you? He's gone. Your dad's gone. You missed it."

  33

  second chances

  They'd called nobody else to come while they'd waited for his body to shut down. He'd gone faster than they'd expected, which is why Jax missed seeing his dad's final breath.

  "I'd been afraid, anyway. Maybe he knew that, so he went while I was out."

  He looks up at the ceiling. I wonder if he's thinking about where his dad is now, if he's hovering above us, looking down. I'm glad he has faith in God and Heaven. I hope that brings him peace. He hasn't looked at me since he stepped out into the hallway to give his mom privacy to say goodbye.

  I’m standing here, unable to move, unable to speak, not knowing what to do or say. As he continues to avoid my eyes and keeps his distance, I begin to feel in the way. I chance touching his arm, remembering the times I thought I'd brought him some peace, relaxed his constant energy. He shifts away, putting weight on the opposite foot.

  "I'm going to go back in there."

  I nod. He steps through the curtain, and again I'm frozen until I see his tall form lean over the bed and hear him cry out, "Dad! Dad, no." And then he's sobbing, and my heart tears in two. The pain is so unbearable I need to retreat to my green chair. I need to sit so I don't pass out. While sitting there with my eyes closed, I try to feel his dad somewhere. Try to imagine that Jax's faith is founded in truth. But I feel the same nothingness I've always felt. Life is life, and in death life is no more.

  Like the clouds that covered the setting sun earlier tonight, Jax's life has covered me. No matter how hot and bright I'd been for him, my influence has become nonexistent. There's nothing I can say or do to bring his dad back, nothing I can say or do to bring him comfort.

  I'm helpless.

  He's tormented.

  When he and his mom walk down the hall later, only the two of them, leaving his dad forever behind, I trail them, watch them hug a couple of nurses, listen as they say thanks, and goodbye. I make my way down to catch a final glimpse of them outside.

  After they disappear into the parking garage, I sit on the white bench, a faded gray in the dark of night. I lean against Betty's plaque, wonder where she is, if she's with Jax's dad now.

  Wonder what it would be like to have someplace to go after life is done. Imagine a paradise of sand and sun, happiness and peace. Never-ending love.

  May's family goes to church. Her uncle is a pastor. Years ago she used to talk about her beliefs, but when I had nothing to offer the conversations, they dwindled over time. If everyone who believes goes somewhere when they die, I don't want to be left behind. It'd be like my dream, everyone on one side of the glass in bliss, and me, alone and amidst nothingness.

  Jax's car passes me. He's driving and his mom's head is leaning in her hand against the door window. They have to go home and tell Margaret and his aunt now. And then call everyone they know. Their week will be full of arrangements. I have a vague, child's view memory of the week after my grandpa died. There were plants and lots of lasagne. A lot of people came to hug us. It was the first time I'd seen someone after they'd died. Mom held me back when everyone walked by Grandpa in the coffin. I hung out in the corners of the funeral home and in the child room downstairs with my brother and Aunt Margie's daughter, Elsa. She liked to babysit, but mostly she liked to boss us around. They'd come to support Mom, though they hadn't known Dad's side of the family well.

  I sit there a long time, shivering in the cold. A person here, a couple there, a small family once, pass me and enter the hospital through the revolving doors. They are quiet, sometimes whispering among themselves. Mostly they overlook me, don't notice me. It's a polite thing, a passive thing to ignore others. I do it, too. But as I sit here feeling invisible, I wonder if it's the best way to be. I'd feel better if they'd nod at least, maybe afford me a tiny smile. I need to change, I think. Be kinder to people. Notice them.

  A woman approaches. She glances at me and nods at the space next to me.

  "It's open," I say.

  She sits beside me, a foot away. She's got boy-short hair, a black vest and scarf wrapped round and round her neck. Her hands are in her vest pockets, reminding me of Jax's hands. I almost expect her knee to start bouncing, but instead she crosses her legs and leans back, turning her dark eyes on me.

  "You okay?" she asks.

  I nod, look down at my hands.

  "It's cold for May," she says. "Dark."

  I nod again. "Yeah."

  "Tomorrow will be warm again, and sunny."

  I look at her profile. Something about her seems familiar, like I’m experiencing deja vu.

  "Sorry. Have I seen you before? In the hospital?"

  She shakes her head. "I haven't been in there for a while now. A couple of years."

  "Oh, you looked familiar."

  She smiles at me. "If I remember correctly, a few weeks inside the hospital the days and people all start to blend together. I got lost inside the monotony, and the abrupt change."

  "Yeah," I say again.

  "Sometimes I come back, to remember. To think back on those days."

  "Good days?"

  She shakes her head, her lips drooping. "No. Life changing, though."

  She looks over at me, tilts her head. "If you get a second chance, you should make the most of it. Of all second chances. Be sure to recognize them when they show up."

  I think about Jax passing me by, about how I knew we were ending even when he didn't have a clue.

  I think about his dad, gone now. There's no second chance there. Unless he has a second chance in the Heaven that Jax and May believe in.

  I nod.

  "I didn't." She wraps an arm around the back of the bench, her fingers reaching toward the plaque.

  "Thanks. I'll try."

  She nods and I stand, too cold to chat any longer. My teeth are chattering. After I rise and take a step back, her fingers trace the grooves in the plaque, trace the letters in Betty's name. It's only then that I notice the small print beneath her name and I wonder what it says.

  "Good night," the woman says.

  I blindly enter the revolving doors and follow the invisible path of the many footsteps that have gone before me, mine and other people's, up to the fifth floor.

  I come upon a flurry of movement when I get to Dad's room. Jax's dad's room is already empty, being prepped for another patient. Mom is standing in the hallway.

  "It's time," she says. "They've found a donor."

  I st
are at her, mouth open, my skin feeling like it's being poked and prodded with tiny pins and needles.

  "Your dad's being taken for transplant surgery. He's going to get a kidney."

  I continue to look at her, unable to see her or comprehend her words. She takes me by the shoulders, shakes me.

  "Tonight, Lainey. Tonight's the night."

  34

  sympathy votes

  We kiss him, hold his hands, then he's whisked away. We're hustled out, back to the family center where the news is always on, and the blue-lidded lady sits perpetually drinking Diet Coke and talking on the phone. Another family is being shown to the large room we slept in the first two nights, so long ago and yet so very recent. I imagine Jax sitting here that night, where I now sit, leaning down on my legs as he was. I look up, pretending that it's him walking in now, as if we could meet again for the first time, with our roles reversed.

  Only there's nobody standing in front of me. Nobody pouring a cup of coffee in the dead of the night.

  Mom sits next to me, tapping her teeth-bitten nails on her knee.

  She's called Brady and her family once more. They're on their way. We don't know how long surgery will last, or if he'll survive, or if he'll survive the days, weeks, or months afterward.

  We don't know anything at all.

  The cloudless night passes, and I once again awaken with a crick in my neck. Mom's pacing, the morning news announces the date and the weather: sunny with ten to fifteen mile-per-hour winds and a high of seventy degrees.

  I call Chase, walk into a cubicle area and mimic my mom's pacing.

  "It's Laine. I can't come home today to work. My dad's in surgery. He's getting a new kidney as we speak, and I can't leave my mom, or him . . . in case—"

  "Of course not! Stay there. Do you want me to come down? May and I can come right away. Moral support."

  "No, no. That's okay. It's just a lot of sitting around. Staring at the carpet and my mom. There's nothing to do but wait."

  "I can bring a goody bag, a basket of crossword puzzles or something."

  "Thank you, but no. I just don't want to lose my job."

  "My mother adores you. She loves your work ethic. Your job is safe. Don't worry about that."

  "Is there something I should worry about?"

  Silence.

  "Chase?"

  "Minor setback."

  "What's a minor setback?"

  "This probably isn't a good time."

  "Well, it's a bit late for that now. Tell me."

  Silence.

  "Chase."

  "May contacted Epic Showdown, to go over arrangements for Thursday, that's all."

  "Arrangements?"

  "Equipment check. Price. Song options. Time. That kind of stuff."

  "And?"

  "They misunderstood the date."

  "The date?"

  "The date you gave them. They didn't know it was for next Thursday. They thought you meant June."

  "Why would they think that?"

  "I guess because you'd asked them to play on the 17th. And they assumed you meant June . . . ."

  "Assumed?"

  "Guess it's true what they say."

  "About what?"

  "When one assumes it makes an ass of you and me."

  Silence.

  "Laine?"

  Silence.

  "Not a good time for a joke. Sorry. My bad," he says.

  "No, it’s okay. I was thinking." I bite my bottom lip until it hurts. "Don't tell anyone yet."

  "What?"

  "Did you already announce that they're a no-show?"

  "Well, no."

  "Don't."

  "Laine—"

  "I have to go. Thanks for everything, Chase. I mean it."

  "Laine—"

  I hang up and scroll through my contacts. Paige Wheeler.

  "Hello?"

  "Paige? Hi, it's me. Laine Carroll."

  "Laine?"

  "Yeah. I was—"

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing. I was hoping—"

  "Whatever it is, I didn't do it."

  "No, that's not why—"

  "Seriously. It was probably Sam. Or Michael."

  "Really, please. Listen."

  "Or Tessa. I know she's not always thinking things through."

  "Paige. Enough." I sigh. I hate taking out my I-mean-business-voice, but at least she stops interrupting me and blaming others for nothing. "Please. I made a mistake."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I messed something up, and I was hoping you might be able to help me. I'm still in Milwaukee. I don't know if you know, but my dad is really sick and having surgery . . . . Anyway, I can't get home for a few days, and I really messed up and need . . . your . . . help." There. I'd said it. Breathe, Laine. Breathe. "Paige?"

  "Um. Yeah. I'm still here. Are you sure this is Laine, or is this some practical joke?"

  "Paige. Focus. You're the treasurer. I need to know how much money we have left in our account." I've been student council president all four years, hence my involvement with all things school spirit and service oriented. Okay, well, as of late I realized there were other committees and services going on I was unaware of, but I did a lot.

  "You don't know?"

  "I could probably figure it out, but I'm asking you to help me."

  "I know you are, and, sorry to say this, but that's where I'm confused."

  "I'm asking for help. I'm asking you to do the job the class voted you to do."

  "Okay." She’s finally over her shock. "We have eleven hundred dollars."

  "Great. Thanks so much."

  "Can I ask how you messed up?"

  I almost tell her, trust her, but the last thing I want is for her to blab about Thursday being messed up. My vote is riding on that night being all I promised, and I can't plant any doubt.

  "Miscommunication, but it's almost settled. I'll fill you in when I'm back in class next week."

  "You'll be back?"

  "I'll be back," I tell her. "Most definitely."

  "Okay. Well, if you need anything else . . . let me know."

  "Thanks, Paige. I appreciate it."

  Next, I call Epic Showdown and pull out all the stops. I'm seductive, flirty. I'm 300 percent convincing. That, and I offered to pay double what their May 17 engagement is paying. Score.

  "Thank you so much. We'll see you this Thursday then. West High School gymnasium."

  "We'll be there."

  I text May and Chase. Let them know everything is back on track.

  Twenty minutes later, Chase texts asking what I did to Paige.

  "Nothing?"

  "She's singing your praises. Throwing you sympathy votes left and right."

  "What? I didn't ask for that."

  "Well, she's all spreading news via every format about how your life is in shambles and you need our help now more than ever. She's a better spokesperson than May and I could ever be."

  "Okay."

  "Okay? This is great news."

  Is it? I don't want to use my dad's situation to get the valedictorian vote. He wouldn't have wanted that. I earned it over all my years of hard work, my studying, my student involvement. I don't want to get it on some fluke at the last minute. Not when my dad's life is at stake.

  Not when my life is at stake.

  I can't stop seeing and hearing Jax as he leaned over his dad's lifeless body, how he screamed out for him.

  The pain I felt at his pain was unbearable.

  How could I even stand it if it happened to me? If it happens to me?

  We're not out of the woods. Everything could still go all wrong.

  Everything could still change.

  It dawns on me how quickly life changed for the better with Jax.

  And how quickly it changed for the worse for him.

  My seesaw is still teetering over the edge of that cliff, unbalanced and unpredictable.

  Overhead there are no stars; they've fallen, dropped into the abyss, leaving
trails of wishes and hope in their bleak wake.

  One breath. One wrong breath and it could knock it all out of sync.

  Please, I pray again. If there's anyone out there. Please. Help me.

  Help us all.

  35

  being stupid

  I don't know how much time passes before they finally come in to tell us that the surgery was a success and that Dad's resting. It's sometime the next day. I don't know if it's dawn, midmorning, or noon. My stomach has stopped notifying me.

  We're sitting throughout the family center, spread out in clumps. Grandma, aunts, uncles, Elsa, Brady, and some girl of his I've never met or heard about. I keep eyeing her, watching them together to analyze their body language. I don't know why it bothers me that he brought somebody here. That he has somebody to bring. That I know nothing about my own brother's life.

  In high school he had this group of annoying friends. They were loud and smelly. They picked on me by pretending they were flirting. Come to think of it, that drove my brother crazier than it drove me. They embarrassed me every time I walked through the hallway, announcing that Brady's sister was coming, along with some other crass comments. Every. Time. May thought it was cute the way they paid attention to me. I asked her how cute she'd think it was when boys announced to an entire busload that you didn't even need to wear a bra because you're so flat. That shut her up as she was immensely proud of her physique.

  Now my brother looks kind of like a gentleman, arm draped over her shoulders, leaning in to listen to whatever she's saying. He's even smiling at her and giving her these adoring eyes. I don't know if I should be grossed out, impressed, or jealous. Maybe it's even a little endearing, and I'm a little proud of him, happy for him.

  Mom goes over to chat with them, and there's a little light in her eyes. Thankfully she went to my aunts' hotel room earlier and showered. She moved with lightning speed to get back here, of course, but she's clean, oil-free, and no longer smells like a dirty sock pile.