by Anne Eliot
I even went so far as to suggest the food-truck idea to Mom and Nash.
Only, because my life is not a movie, and because everyone is endlessly worried due to the lack of sleep and stress my situation has caused them, that suggestion went rather badly.
Nash threw a fit and called me irresponsible, reckless, and selfish!
Mom—of course in a more gentle way—said my idea was obviously too expensive and too impossible. Worse, she layered on doubts, like there’s not even any guarantee that Cam’s still near Vancouver. Patrick made it worse by reading Cam’s breakup text (which I’d stupidly saved on my phone) out loud to me. Over and over he’d drawled out words like: “It was ONLY TWO WEEKS…” and, “Don’t wait for me, I’m not coming back.” Patrick then acted like I was stupid to not just simply be angry with Cam. Worse, he and Laura cornered me and showed me this horrible YouTube video that had gone viral. It was of me getting squished and then broken. Posted the day of my accident by some witness. They showed me that video so I could see just how horrible all of this really was for all of them and for me—and of course to lock in the reasons as to why Cam wasn’t coming back.
Like…it was possible if he did return he’d be arrested or stoned to death by strangers who’d seen the video.
I open my eyes and sit up with a sigh, trying to shake off the memories of that fabulous video, and I’m already giving up my starvation idea because…
“Did you say they’re bringing me maple doughnuts?”
“There’s my girl.” Mom walks back to my bed and fixes the pillows behind me.
“Thanks, Mom.” I’m too hungry to starve. “So…is it my birthday?” I try to joke. “I’m really going to have treats, and clean hair and Patrick and Laura here all at the same time?”
My stomach growls loudly in the quiet room.
“Wow.” Mom laughs. “I’m taking that sound as a sign that you’re looking forward to your day?”
“Yeah. I guess.” I force another smile. I could never do what Gandhi did. Besides, if I starve, I will be weaker than ever. I won’t be able to complete my puny physical therapy assignments for the day. Any work I do takes me closer to removing these double-broken-leg casts and pins out of my skin and off my body. Once I’m there, I will be working even harder to walk out of the fancy sports-car-looking wheelchair Nash rented for me—to go with the hateful ramp.
*Vows to drive that dumb wheelchair down the highway to find Cam by myself if I can think of a non-selfish way to pull it off.*
*Prays for more patience than ever before.*
I was the one who told Cam to be patient. I wish I’d never said those words to him, because now I feel like I’m being forced to eat them every single day. Truthfully, they taste terrible. Waiting and wishing and hoping for patience sucks!
I try to move my legs to test how I’m doing today. The bad leg spazzes hard because I’ve moved it too quickly. I gasp in surprise as my calf muscle balls up at the same time my thigh muscle does. That’s when my foot curves into a rigid half-moon shape that vows to never unclench. Apparently…I’m not doing as well as I’d hoped.
The pain from it all slams me back into my pillows, and a sheen of sweat breaks out on my forehead. “Mom,” I grit out. “Can you…help…”
“Sure. Yes.” She’s already there, cracking open the arnica gel, which is this special natural cream that seems to help loosen the muscles, then keep them loose. She puts a huge glob of it on my hand before lathering some herself into my calf. She helps me move aside the covers, and I slowly massage my gel into the parts of my thigh I can reach without moving too much. Mom takes up my calf, shaking her head sadly when she sees just how tightly the muscles are straining.
“I don’t know how you go through this every day without crying, Ellen.” Her voice starts shaking as she pushes her thumbs into my calf. “Is this okay? Should I call the nurse?”
I shake my head, trying not to cry out or wince, but this one’s a killer, so it’s hard to keep a straight face. When the calf muscle loosens under my mom’s gentle massaging, she meets my gaze and I see tear tracks going down her face.
“I don’t have to cry, Mom. You always feel too much for me. We’ve gone through this together after every surgery. You know I’ll get through this.”
I try hard to keep the tears in, but my mom is like a broken water faucet.
“I just don’t know how you can be so strong,” she sobs out.
I leave off telling her the truth. That I cry when they aren’t around because last week I caught Patrick and Nash getting all blubbery over me just like Mom is doing now.
I can’t take how bad it hurts to see them all so broken up anymore.
I give myself the silent all of this is going to be just fine pep talk. I will get through this and I will figure out what happened to Cam, or, more realistically, what Cam’s horrible father did to keep him away from me. And then Cam and I will get back our fairytale.
We will. We just will. Everything is going to be just fine.
“Mom.” I hold back another wince and reach for the arnica gel. “Would you mind doing my foot as well? It’s…also bad.”
Mom wipes her face dry and wordlessly takes up the cream and works it into my foot until that also slowly releases.
“I’ll do the other foot, too. Will that be nice?”
“Thanks Mom.” I nod. “I’ll pay you back some day for all of this.”
“Yeah. You do that. Right after I figure out who to blame for letting you be born with CP.” She winks, wiping away the last of her tears.
I breathe a sigh of relief and relax into the pillows, closing my eyes and willing the remaining pain away from me, all while visualizing myself getting better and better.
*Repeats Cam’s name to drown out all people talking in the hall, the hospital’s beeping machine sounds, and how my mom’s launched into chattering about her holiday plans. It’s all plans and meals, activities and future moments that will happen before I have to return to school. All things that don’t involve me being with Cam. Cam, Cam, Cam….*
“Ellen?” Mom pauses her massage.
“Mmm?”
I hear paper crackling.
“I—um—have something to show you. A letter came to the house yesterday. It was all tattered and messed up, like it had been caught in one of the postal machines. As much as Nash and I think it’s a very bad idea to give this to you, I think you'll want to see it.”
My eyes pop open and my heart starts racing so fast I wonder if I’m going to set off some of the machines hooked up to me. It takes all of my energy to stay completely still and not reactivate my still-twitching calf into a new spastic event.
“It’s from…” She looks away as her voice cracks.
“Cam?” I ask, working to sit up again, rejecting Mom’s offered helping hand. I’ve decided if I don’t need anyone’s help, then I’m that much closer to getting out of here. “I knew it. I knew he couldn’t stand to stop talking to me. I knew it!”
“It’s not what you think.” Mom’s shaking her head. She’s scooted just far enough out of reach that I can’t easily grab the envelope like I want to. “Like I said…I almost didn’t bring it to show you. Even now I want to not let you see.”
“Why would you not want to show it to me?”
She sighs. “Because I can’t lie to you. And because what’s inside here is so sweet and beautiful that it’s going to make you happy and break your heart even more, that’s why. Nash and I think it’s everything you want to hear and everything you shouldn’t have in your head while trying to get over him.”
“You—guys—read my mail? Mom!”
“I thought it was junk mail or one of those fundraiser announcements from your school. Look.” She flips the envelope to show me the Huron High logo on the front. It’s all crumpled and bumpy looking, and one half of it was taped up by the post office in an attempt to keep it together. My heart twists when I recognize Cam’s scrawling handwriting on the front. “Accordin
g to the postmark, it looks like he sent it just before the accident—before everything—happened.”
“Before?” My heart’s already sinking as she stretches it toward me. I pull it out of her fingers. It’s not a normal letter, that’s for sure. It’s heavy with something in it, as well. It’s all I can do not to tear at the envelope, but I want to save it from falling apart even more, so I’m as careful as possible.
I pull out a tightly folded piece of paper, and two rough pieces of weathered glass fall out of the envelope, glinting brightly against the thick white cotton hospital blanket covering my lap. One is white-yellowish, the other a purple-blue. Even before I touch them, I know it’s some of that lake glass he mentioned the first time he invited me to walk with him by the lake. Back before I was too shy to tell him my CP doesn’t let me walk on sand, back before I trusted him, and way before we kissed for the first time near that same beach.
Dear Ellen…
Stole this fancy paper and this pre-stamped envelope from the front office because that’s what my insane parents have driven me to by trying to keep me from talking to you this week. We’re Facebook official for only a handful of days and I’m already breaking the law over you. Hope that’s not going to be a new pattern for me, but these days I feel rather desperate and lawless where you and I are concerned. ;)
Wish I could see you. Miss your face so much. Miss your lips so much more.
Just looking at your name written here is killing me with horrible longing. The thought that you will read this letter and smile while holding it in a few days’ time makes me really happy. Hopefully by then, this and all of my dad’s stupidity will be resolved. Maybe we will get to open it together so I can explain my sappiness here? Bribe you not to show this letter to anyone?
Do you remember the first day we set up the ropes and you said you might go beach-combing with me? I think the exact word you used was “maybe”? The beach glass in this envelope is a preview. A present, of course. Keep it as an invitation? Trade it for a piggyback ride on the next sunny day we’re by the lake. I’ll take you to the beach glass mother lode and beyond. No more maybes. You know I won’t let you fall.
I know all of your secrets now, so I’ll tell you all of mine.
I love you, Ellen Foster. So much it hurts.
I’m so happy you became my friend and also my girlfriend. And fine, I know you don’t need me to write it again and again like this. But you also know me, blab-blab worry-worry, right? So while my parents try to break us apart, I wanted you to not wonder about how serious I am about you. So here it is again.
I love you, Ellen Foster. Keep that secret in your heart for me.
In the meantime, I’m over here not keeping that love for you a secret at all.
I’m telling everyone who will listen.
And going to fix this. All of it.
Your boyfriend and…
—LOVE—snuck it in there again, didn’t I? ;)—
Cam—
I fold the letter carefully and place it back into the envelope, and then slide it under my pillow. “See, Mom? He does love me. And if he wrote all those words when he sent this, then he loves me still despite what that horrible text message said. I know it. I also know him. How he is. He broke up with me to protect me, because he knew something was going to happen that would make it so he couldn’t come back. But he loved me—loves me—Mom, don’t you see?”
“Maybe so, honey. Maybe so.” Mom walks back to the window again. “It’s a very sweet letter. But again, he wrote it before. Do you know the their house has gone up for sale?”
“It has?” My heart drops so heavily it aches.
“I’ve tried to go over to speak to Mrs. Campbell, but she’s not around or not answering. Nash went yesterday and also failed. He thinks she’s gone to join Cam and his dad.”
I sigh, staring out the hospital window, feeling like the fog that’s blocking our view of the parking lot has crept in and is choking my lungs. “Wherever they’ve gone.”
“Exactly. They’ve all made it clear, including Cam,
that they’re finished with Brights Grove, and with us. With the house for sale you have to understand they—Cam—he’s probably not ever going to—”
“Stop. Don’t say it out loud. Please.”
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up, honey. That’s all. You have to be realistic. If you haven’t heard from him in another month, please don’t…waste too much time.”
“I won’t. I know.” I sigh, already memorizing each and every ridge and corner of the beach glass by warming it against my cheeks. “I love how the pieces he picked for me are sort of jagged and not worn too soft yet. This is new beach glass. Still taking shape. Like us. You’ll see, Mom. Things are going to be okay.”
I hold up both pieces of glass to the light, loving how the bluish one so perfectly reminds me of the last time he and I were at the lake together. “I wonder how long it takes before this glass will weather enough to look like a stone. Do you know?”
Mom walks back over to get a closer look. “A long time. I would guess a very long time.” Her voice is heavy with sadness for me. She fakes a smile and adds, “These are really pretty, though, aren’t they?”
“He told me he’s been collecting it for years. Keeps a really big bowl of it in his room.” My voice wavers, because I’ve just realized I will never see his room, or that bowl of glass, if the Campbell family is selling their house, never to return. “I wonder if I can make these into a pendant somehow. I’ll pretend they’re a Christmas present from him. Wear it all the time.”
Mom forces another smile and puts on her change-the-subject voice. “My Christmas present will be when you are finally checked out of this hospital and home with me. That’s what Nash and I want. Our Ellen, home for Christmas Eve. It’s only days away. Do you think it’s possible?”
“Anything’s possible. Yes.” But I’m not talking about going home. I’m thinking more about the odds stacked against me and Cam. I’m believing that he and I—and everything—are going to work out. My Cerebral Palsy has taught me how to visualize how and where I want to go, what I want to do or be or become, that I can overcome any obstacle. As long as I’m patient…and he remembers how to love me…time will bring us back together.
“Mom, do you think you can go get some really strong glue, some of that twine-looking string, a roll of silver wire, and a couple of metal jewelry hangers from the craft store?” I push myself higher against my pillows and shove all the fake happiness I can into my eyes. “I’ve already chosen the spot on each piece where I’m going to glue a pendant loop. Please? Maybe look for some little metal beads, too? Some leaf charms or birds if they’re not too expensive,” I suggest, banking on the fact that her mom-list-making mind has already recorded what I’m wishing for. “We can all do some crafts together this afternoon. Together.”
Even though she’s frowning at me and at the two pieces of beach glass, I know Mom will agree to my craft idea. This is the first interest in anything I’ve shown since the accident. She also loves making jewelry.
I go on, trying to sound energetic rather than use the completely depressed and desolate monotones I’ve used ever since Cam first texted me to forget about him.
Us.
“What do you say, Mom? Let’s forget about these stupid legs for a few hours. I’ve still got my hands and we can make Christmas presents for everyone. Laura will want to do some, and of course Patrick will make engagement rings for Laura, so try to get a lot of stuff.” I wink, making her smile.
“I’ll dash out as soon as the others show up to entertain you. It’s a good idea—not counting the engagement ring idea. I refuse to allow Patrick to act like a fool over any girl.”
“Too late. And she’s not just any girl, she’s Laura!” I’ve croaked out a small laugh, the force of it pulling against my throat. The sound is so unfamiliar Mom and I blink at each other as if we are both surprised I know how to laugh at all.
Mom bit
es her lip like she wants to crack up also, but her eyes are still heavy with worry and doubt as she watches me place the two pieces of beach glass carefully on my side table as if they’re made of spun gold. Suddenly they’re the most precious things in the entire world to me. Because of them, I’m now able to breathe full breaths of air for the first time since this whole thing happened.
“Yeah. Making Christmas presents will be…perfect,” I say, arranging myself more comfortably on my side and letting my good hand creep under the pillow so my fingers can curl around the edges of Cam’s beautiful love letter. “I can’t wait to have those pieces of glass next to my heart.” I don’t hide my eyes or what I’m thinking from Mom. She knows what I’m hoping for, and it’s going to happen.
It will. Everyone will see. It just will. This is all going to be just fine.
Mom shakes her head and walks out of my room. When she turns away, she can’t hide how her shoulders droop as quickly as the smile falls off my face.
*Thinks: Patience. Patience. Cam. Cam. Cam.*
DEDICATION
For, Chloe, Sheridan, Cherisse, Allison and anyone who has to work harder than most to get through every day. Thank you for inspiring me to change the cover color of this book to green for cerebral palsy awareness as well as for sharing your hearts and lives with me and the world.
I can’t wait to see where and how far you all will fly.
Because there are so many people to thank for this series that the list became too long. I’ve created an additional LOVE page over on my website full of names and links.
Xox
Copyright Information:
How I Fly, book two in the How I Fall series, by Anne Eliot
Published by Butterfly Books, LLC
ebook ISBN-10: 1937815064 or ISBN-13: 978-1-937815-06-6
Library Shelving Data:
1.__ Teen Romance Young Adult Fiction and Literature 2.__ Teen Disability 3.__ Cerebral Palsy 4.__ High School Issues Friendship 5.__ Dating and Relationships 6.__ Sweet Teen Romance 7.__ Hemiparesis 8.__ First Love 9. __ Photography Fiction
