by Susan Soares
“You had a boyfriend before, remember?” We began walking to class.
Zoe hugged her chemistry book to her chest. “I’m telling you, Rissa, he’s so totally the one it’s not even funny.”
I let out a loud “Ha!” which I regretted when she snapped her head toward me. “I mean, that’s awesome. For real.” I squeezed her shoulder.
“Thanks,” she said, still beaming. “Hey, is there anything wrong?”
She was looking at me with that all-knowing glare. “What? Me? No, everything’s fine.” I turned my attention to the ceiling.
She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the closest girls’ bathroom. After checking to see if all the stalls were empty, she stood before me with her hands on her hips. “Spill it.”
I opened my mouth to deflect her curiosity again but before I could even speak she said, “And don’t give me any garbage lines about being fine. Something happened and I want details.”
There was no way out of it. I wanted to just peacefully go to class and forget about everything, but with Zoe standing there looking like an overprotective sister, I was left with no other option. So I had to tell her everything that happened at the Poe party with Brandon.
“So you never actually told him about your mom, then? You just played sick and haven’t even spoken to him since?” Her tone was a mix of irritation and concern.
I sheepishly shrugged.
“Are you serious? Marissa, if you keep going like this, there will never be a right time, and you’re gonna push away someone who genuinely cares about you. Ugh, you wear me down sometimes, you know that?” She rolled her eyes at me.
A girl snuck up behind me. I almost shrieked before I got a good look at her face. It was Shay Parker, one of my former track teammates. “Oh, hi Shay.” Immediately, I felt nervous and I wasn’t even sure why.
“Hi, Marissa, hi, Zoe.” Shay searched through her bookbag before pulling something out. “So, Marissa, I’ve been looking for you ‘cause I have something to give you. Well, we, the track team have something to give you.” Her hand shook as she handed me something.
I looked at the pamphlet in hand. “What’s this?”
“I don’t want to, like, make you uncomfortable or anything.”
Shay was fidgeting so much I wondered if she had to go to the bathroom. She was in the right place for it if she did.
I looked at the pamphlet in my hand, but all I could focus on were the words Breast Cancer.
“There’s a race, a week from Saturday. The whole team is running in it. Coach Moore started a collection of donations and stuff. All the proceeds go to breast cancer research and education. We were all kind of hoping you might want to run too, like, for your mom.” She couldn’t look me in the eyes; her gaze rested firmly on my chin.
Hot acid formed at the back of my throat.
“If you want to run too, you just have to go online and register. It has to be by, like, Friday, though. I know it’s kind of last minute. Coach Moore gave it to me a few weeks ago, but we wanted to get more donations raised before talking to you. You know how much we all miss you on the track team.”
They did?
“Just promise you’ll, like, think about it. Okay?” She gave me a tentative little hug, which I did not reciprocate, and left.
What was I supposed to say? For over a year, I hid my mom’s death and her illness from anyone that I met. Now, the girls’ track team wanted me to run in a race that would signify that I was personally affected by breast cancer. People would ask why I was running. Was I running in honor of someone? Who was I running for? I mean, this was like waving a big red flag, correction — a big, pink flag — promoting that I was connected to the disease. People would know. They would pity me.
“Zoe...” My mouth was open but I was unable to form more words. I shook my head back and forth.
“Shut up,” she said.
“What?”
Zoe crossed her arms tightly. “I said, shut up. You’re going to do this race. You’re going to use this as the perfect way to tell Brandon about your mom and your life and the massive effect it’s had on you! And you’re finally, and I mean finally, going to get this stupid monkey off your back!”
I didn’t want this. All I wanted to be was normal. Was it too much to ask that I wanted to be like most teenagers? Hating school, enjoying shopping, thinking about prom and college. The last thing I wanted to be was a spokesperson for breast cancer. Maybe I was being selfish, even stupid, possibly pathetic, but it was my mom who died, no one else’s. Mine.
“Sweetie.” Zoe took me by my shoulders now. “Your mom died of breast cancer, but you weren’t the cause of it. Stop carrying her disease around with you. It’s time to free yourself.”
Wow. Where had those words come from? Zoe sounded like… like my mom. The sniffles started first, and then my bottom lip began to quiver. As I cried in Zoe’s arms, I promised that I would do the race. I would run. For my mom, and… for me.
The bell rang, and we both wiped away our tears. Zoe gave me one last quick hug in the hall before rushing off. I was so lucky to have her. So grateful that I had a friend like Zoe that knew me and understood me.
Just before my English class started, I got a text message from Brandon. Hope ur feelin better got a surprise for u :)
My heart beat erratically as I texted back, Tnks tlk soon
My last class of the day had arrived. English. It took effort to concentrate on Fahrenheit 451. Most of the time I loved reading, but something about studying a book about a crazed firefighter who fills his hose with kerosene and uses it to burn books is just weird. And half the characters in the book are portrayed as half-alive and half-dead. I guess it hits too close to home for me, and maybe that was why I don’t like it. When life was simpler, I used to take joy in the little things, like the way fallen leaves would crunch when I’d jog over them in autumn. Or the way the air smells just before it rains or snows. The way the lake water sparkles with the setting sun. Since my mother died, I ran while wearing headphones instead of hearing the outside sounds. While doing homework I liked to have the television on in the background. I’d come to hate the quiet. I hated being alone with just my thoughts. There was nothing worse than being distracted by your own thoughts. Somehow, I had become like a character in Fahrenheit 451. Half-alive and half-dead, looking for any outside influences to distract me from myself.
I was mentally running around my exercise wheel in my brain when Mr. Crossman, the vice principal, walked into our classroom. We all watched as he walked over to Mrs. Splintz and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and walked briskly over to my desk.
“Marissa, I need you to step out into the hall for a minute.”
Chapter Fifteen
My legs started to shake. “Why?” I grasped my seat.
She tilted her head to the side in that way grown-ups do. “Please, Marissa, just come into the hall for a minute.”
I got up from my seat and began following behind her. My legs felt like I was a new doe just walking for the first time — wobbly and unstable.
In the hall, Mr. Crossman, and Mrs. Splintz, just looked at me for a moment.
“Marissa, let’s take a walk to Mr. Glidman’s office,” Mr. Crossman said.
I followed him and Mrs. Splintz silently. I wondered why Mrs. Splintz wasn’t going back to the classroom. I wondered what was so bad that they had to bring me to the guidance counselor’s office.
“Hi Marissa, please have a seat,” Mr. Glidman said.
“I’ll stand, thanks,” I replied. My feet felt super-glued to the pale blue carpet. Mr. Crossman left the room, but Mrs. Splintz stayed behind.
I could feel heat forming on my neck. After taking a long inhale, Mr. Glidman finally spoke.
“Marissa, I’m just going to say this. Your grandmother is in the hospital.”
I felt a punch to my gut.
“She’s had a heart attack.”
My body fell in a heap onto the floor.
“Oh dear.” Mrs. Splintz knelt down to me. “Marissa, are you all right?”
I could hear her, but the words sounded distant, like she was in a tunnel or something. “Is she—” was all I could get out before the tears came. Big, wet, crocodile tears flooded my face.
“Sweetheart, I’m going to drive you to the hospital, okay?” They both helped me up off the ground. I nodded to Mrs. Splintz. She told me to wait a minute while she went to retrieve my things from the classroom. Mr. Glidman and I moved out to the hallway. With a hand on my shoulder, he kept telling me how sorry he was. Was she dead already? No, he would have told me if she was. Or would he? I wiped tears with the back of my hand. Some girl was walking in the hallway near the restrooms, and I caught her staring at me. Embarrassed, I turned my face and tried again to wipe the tears away, but they just kept coming.
“Okay, dear, let’s go.” Mrs. Splintz had returned with my things. She wrapped an arm around me and guided me all the way to her car.
There’s something surreal about being in a car with your teacher. I mean, you never think of your teachers as people. But, then you’ll run into them at the grocery store or the mall, and it’s like you get put into this whole alternate universe. You find out that they buy mac and cheese too, and they use the same laundry detergent you do. To me, the out-of-school-versions of teachers always seemed like doppelgangers. Personally, I didn’t want to think about my teachers outside of school. It just gave me the willies. So being inside Mrs. Splintz’s car was totally creeping me out.
Maybe I was just trying to distract myself from why I was actually in her car and from where we were going, but I couldn’t stop looking at her stuff. Like how all her radio station presets seemed to be classic rock. She was scanning through them, and I kept hearing song snippets from bands like Boston, Aerosmith, Led Zeppelin, and Van Halen. Why would my English teacher be listening to Zeppelin? In the little coin holder, she had a matchbox and three different lip glosses — the same types that I would buy at the drug store. One was a shimmery light pink, another was a mauve tone, and the last was a deep berry with gold shimmer. While she kept her eyes on the road, I looked at her profile. Her brown curly hair was tied up in a messy bun. She had some foundation on and a touch of blush. I could tell she had at least one coat of mascara on, but that was it for makeup. Simple. Where did she go in her non-school life that she wore gold shimmery berry-colored lip gloss? Her ring finger on her left hand was bare, meaning she wasn’t married. Did she date? She was a Mrs. though, so she must have been divorced. How old could she be? Again, I looked at her profile — no real visible wrinkles, but she was definitely out of her twenties. So mid-thirties, maybe. What did people in their mid-thirties do on dates? Ew. I decided I didn’t want to think about it.
I was still gazing at her as she parked the car. “Okay, here we are.” She looked at me, and I immediately looked away. “I’ll come in with you, okay?” Her hand touched mine, and I nodded.
The scent of bleach made my nose feel like it was on fire. I hated hospitals. Everything about them made my insides squirm. Mrs. Splintz had spoken to the reception desk and asked where we could find my grandmother. As we walked the hallway on the fourth floor, I felt my stomach twisting and turning. It was as if I had swallowed broken glass, and the shards were battling inside me. We stood outside the door to room 451. Mrs. Splintz put her hand on my back.
“Do you think you can go in?” she said.
I stood frozen. The only thing I felt was the pain in my stomach. My mother’s face flashed before my eyes and I blinked its image, along with the new batch of fresh tears, away.
“Okay,” I squeaked out.
“I’ll be sitting right out here if you need me.” Mrs. Splintz squeezed my hand just before I pushed the door open to the hospital room.
The stark white of the room caused my eyes to strain. Before me I could see the end of the hospital bed. Like a metronome keeping time, the heart rate monitor beeped, breaking the sterile silence. A respirator that sounded past its prime wheezed in the distance. My heart pounded in my ears as I walked closer. Images of my mother bombarded me, causing my head to throb in pain. Swallowing seemed to take massive effort. I crossed the room to stand before my grandmother’s bed. She looked like death. Not in the way my mom did; my mom had still looked young, and she had a pinkish hue to her cheeks all the way to the end. But my grandmother did not. Chalk had more color than she did. She lay in the bed, hooked up to the necessary machines that were helping her survive. Machines I had seen before. Two IV bags dripped clear fluid into her veins. Everything felt disconnected, and my knees buckled. I clutched the side table before crashing into the chair beside it.
I was rubbing my thigh that had smacked the edge of the table when a doctor walked in. He was tall, older, and he looked solemn.
“Are you Marissa? The granddaughter?” He held a chart firmly in his hands.
The granddaughter? What did that mean? “Yes, this is my grandmother.” I wanted to vomit.
“And you’re her only family?” He took a pen from his coat pocket and clicked it.
“Basically, yes.” My mouth felt like it was lined with sandpaper.
He cleared his throat. “Marissa, your grandmother’s condition is quite severe.”
“How severe?” My toes curled inside my sneakers.
“She’s not only had a heart attack; she’s also had a stroke.”
No, no, no!
“We’ve got her stabilized right now, but she’s in a comatose state.”
Comatose? As in coma? “Is she going to—” The last word caught in my throat.
“We’re hoping for the best Marissa, but we also plan for the worst. The next twenty-four hours will be crucial.” He scribbled something down on the chart he was holding, then clicked his pen, and placed it back in his front pocket. “Do you have any other questions?”
There was no sympathy in his voice. The way he delivered his speech was as if he’d given it ten times already today. He may have. Did I have any other questions? Yes, tell me positively whether she would die or not. Tell me where I’d live if she died. Where was my brother? Would she be with my mother if she died? Did Heaven exist? If you didn’t physically feel with your heart, then why did mine feel like it was split in half?
“No,” I mumbled. “No questions.”
“I’ll be back to check on her in a little while. Make sure to give all your information to reception.” With that, he turned on his heel and left, probably off to bring another round of updates to another family-in-waiting.
I looked at my grandmother. She appeared so frail and helpless. Cautiously, I touched her hand, happy to at least feel its warmth. The cold of death hadn’t taken her yet.
I truly felt I was going to vomit, so I went to the bathroom that was attached to the room. Like a dog on all fours, I stared at the floor as I heaved, but all that came out were the deep guttural sobs that were trapped in me. After several minutes, I was able to compose myself. I had blown my nose and washed my face with icy cold water. As I dried my hands with the scratchy paper towels, I felt my phone vibrating in my purse. Once I fished it out, I saw there was one new text message.
From Brandon, Hey, r u ok? I’m at ur car but dont c u newhere???
Then I couldn’t hold it back, and I vomited into the sink.
Chapter Sixteen
I was sitting in the passenger seat again of Mrs. Splitnz’s car. After getting sick in the bathroom at the hospital, all I wanted to do was go home for a while. The hospital had all my information and would call me if there was any change in my grandmother’s condition. My plans were to go back to visit later that evening. As for Brandon’s text, there was no way I could deal with him right now. Instead, I sent back a lame text to him.
Srry, got ride w/ Zoe. Catch up l8r
Even as I sent the message, I was disgusted with myself. Since I’d met him, I’d avoided telling him about my past. The past that had shaped who I’ve become. Now I was avoiding tell
ing him about my present. Maybe I just shouldn’t have been involved with anyone. If I was so guarded about my life, how I could I ever be open in a relationship? No one can live a double life forever. Someone always finds out. And someone always gets… hurt.
****
“You’ve got to come to a place where you can open yourself up to people.” Psychotherapist Janet Lillyhood said after our fifth therapy session together.
It had been four months since my mother had passed away. And four months since my brother had taken off. Gram had started to notice that I was withdrawing more. I wouldn’t hang out with any of my friends besides Zoe. At that point, I had quit the track team and cut off almost all contact with my former teammates. And I was never up for going out anywhere. Just school and work. That was my life, or what was left of it. One day I made the mistake of telling Gram that I wasn’t ever going to let anyone get close to me, because you never know what could happen. That statement is what landed me in therapy.
“You’ve built this wall around you and your life. People want to get in, Marissa. It would be a good idea if you let them.” Janet Lillyhood twirled the pink ribbon from her lined journal around her index finger.
I shifted nervously in the soft leather chair. “I don’t think I’m shutting people out. I’m fine.”
Janet cocked her head to the side. “Marissa, are you familiar with the term post-traumatic stress syndrome?”
“You mean like that thing people get when they come back from fighting in a war or something?” I wouldn’t compare what I’d been through to a war.
“Well that is what’s most commonly attached to the syndrome, yes, but it actually applies to many situations.” She kept her eyes on me, and I felt like I wanted to burst into a puff of smoke and reappear inside my bedroom.
“What kind of situations?” I was curious.
