I open my mouth to tell her all about freedom of speech, but she rolls right over me. "You might have had some serious injuries, and I'm sorry for it, but it doesn't give you the right to be an asshole to others. I bet if you spent as much time seeking positivity as you do reveling in negativity, you'd feel a hell of a lot better about yourself. But since you seem to like being a jackass, and it sort of suits this whole "bitter-wounded-warrior-who-feels-betrayed-by-everyone vibe" you've got going on, I'm guessing you don't have the backbone or the fortitude to be anything more than what you are right now. It's pathetic really."
"Damn," Goth Chick says under her breath with a taunting voice. "You just got your ass handed to you."
I can actually feel my ears turn hot as I flush with anger and embarrassment. The last person who talked to me like that ended up in the hospital with a broken jaw, and I ended up in a support group to avoid an assault conviction. Now, I clearly can't kiss knock the righteous condemnation off Jillian's face because I'd never hit a woman, but my tongue is way sharper than hers can ever hope to be in this lifetime. I intend to draw tears from those pretty, lazy eyes.
I open my mouth to give back as good as I just got--and then some--when Connor says, "I get where Christopher's coming from."
He shoots an apologetic look over to Jillian because he undermined her and says, "No offense, Jillian. But I mean... I get it. Christopher lost a leg, probably came close to dying from it. You're losing your eyesight, and nothing can be done to stop it. I'm dying and can't be saved. If there is a God, why do these things happen to people? So I get his pessimism, and I respect it."
"Hey kid," I snarl at him, even though I feel myself deflating because he fucking hit the nail on the head. "I don't need you to defend me."
"I'm not defending you," he says earnestly with a sober look my way. "Jillian's right... you're an asshole. I'm just saying I get why you said what you did."
"But you shouldn't be an asshole to us," Jillian says softly, and while I know I'm an asshole and it's never bothered me before to be such a creature, her gentle admonishment punches me deep in the gut. She's no longer glaring at me and her voice is dove-like. Almost as if she's imploring me to consider her words. "You should be nicer. We're here to help each other, and we have several days we must spend together. You should be nicer because you're stuck here with us, so make the best of it."
"But he doesn't want to be here," Goth Chick pipes up, and we turn to look at the woman who has hardly had anything to say. "Being forced to do something against your will tends to make you churlish."
"Bitch-like," I say in agreement, because she can be a total bitch most times.
"Right," she affirms before flipping me off with a sneer lest I forget we are not friends.
"No one is here against their will," Jillian says pragmatically, and all heads turn back her way. She looks around at each of us, making pointed eye contact although it's still the lethargic look that hampers her facial expressions by disease.
"I beg to differ. I'm not here by choice," I tell her as I slouch back down in my seat.
"Technically, you are here by choice," Goth Chick says as she turns on the picnic table to prop her booted feet on the bench.
"Wrong," I say with a bored voice. "The court made me come."
"No," she argues emphatically, and I can't help the tiny, miniscule, barely perceptible tinge of respect I feel that she's standing up to me with reasoned argument versus an illogical rant because she's a bitch. "I'm sure there was a choice to be made. Group or jail. You could have chosen jail. In fact, it would have been a valid choice. But you chose to come to group, and you also chose to come on this trip."
"Well, yeah," I respond with a nonchalant shrug. "When you put it that way, sure... I made the choice to keep my freedom in exchange for group therapy, but--"
"And I seem to remember last week... you said you didn't have anything to contribute," she throws at me with her chin tilted aggressively high. "In fact, you even said to leave you the fuck alone as we were ironing out the details of the trip. But you sure seem to have a lot to say now."
"Mags said this would happen," Jillian says in a smooth voice, and my gaze slides over to her where I try not to get sidetracked by the dancing lights and shadows the fire casts upon her face. "She said we'd learn something from each other because our circumstances are all unique. She said it would become clearer the more time we spend together what things we have in common, and which we can use to draw strength from."
"We have nothing in common," I sneer, still mightily incensed any of these fucktards could even think to compare their misery to mine.
And no... I swear I absolutely do not want to kiss Jillian right now because she looks so goddamned perfect sitting on the other side of the fire, even though she's saying things I don't want to hear that must make some sort of sense to her.
"You're wrong," Goth Chick says to me. Everyone sort of jerks with surprise that she's actually got more to share. "There's one thing we all share with each other."
"Yeah... what's that?" I ask, my tone laced heavy with sarcasm.
She raises her eyes to mine. For a split second, I don't see the bristling anger she always seems to have bubbling just beneath the surface of her muddy-green eyes. Instead, they look weary, old, and wise.
So wise that I feel compelled to listen, but I'll never admit it to her or any of these freaks.
"Each of us here," Goth Chick says with a sweep of her arm around the fire. "Each one of us hates our life. It's a burden to us. It's unfair. It's nothing but misery and torment, and we're pissed we're the ones who have to suffer it. Maybe not to the same degree, and not for the same reasons, but it's the absolute tie that binds every one of us."
I wait for her words to bounce off me, for my trademark lip curl of condescension to spring forth. Instead, her words barrel into me with the force of a grenade launcher. They actually have a ring of familiar truth because I know I'm at the height of my anger and bitterness when I see just how great other people have it. I want to slap their sunny smiles off their faces, and I want them to come down to my level where they can wallow around in the sludge of desolation with me. I want everyone to feel as bad as I do, because it's unfair that I can't seem to feel better on my own.
So maybe Goth Chick has it a little bit right.
Except for Jillian. I don't think she hates her life the way I do.
Surging out of my chair, I totter for a second until I get my balance. "Well, that was enlightening, Dr. Phil. Maybe you should get a job counseling depressed people everywhere. I'm sure your bubbly disposition would be a hit with others."
She doesn't respond, picking at her nails with her shoulders hunched over protectively, indicating she's clearly done with this conversation as well.
Fine by me.
I walk past her toward my Suburban because I have a pill with my name on it just begging to be swallowed, pretending I don't care that I feel Jillian's eyes burning into my retreating back.
Chapter 6
As I head from the campground bathrooms back to our site, I realize I'm not as cranky this morning as I thought I'd be, given the fact I didn't sleep well. Had nothing to do with camping in general. I had a good tent, a decent sleeping bag, and level ground. It was a bit too warm last night, so I'd left my tent flaps open to allow some breeze. This, unfortunately, let in noise that would have otherwise been filtered had I kept it closed.
I would have been able to sleep but for Jillian's soft voice as she talked to Connor for what seemed like hours after they entered that huge tent to go to sleep. It had three areas separated by internal flaps, but when I set it up yesterday, I noted with interest that Jillian and Connor laid their sleeping bags right next to each other in the middle section.
Oh, I didn't think there was any fucking around going on. From the very first group session, Jillian established herself as Connor's "older sister he never had" and became his protector of sorts. She was always there to come to his defense shou
ld Barb or I lash out at him during the rare times we talked.
Incidentally, I'd decided this morning I should probably call Goth Chick by her real name of Barb, only to avoid Jillian's sanctimonious wrath should I slip up. Self-preservation and all that.
Last night, I listened to Jillian and Connor talk about everything from music to movies to politics. Even about Connor's impending death. There was a different tone in his voice because his guard was totally down with Jillian. I suspect he puts on a braver-than-normal face in group because he's a dude and we don't like feeling vulnerable. But last night, he pulled no punches with her.
"I obsess about every little symptom that crops up," he had told her when she asked how he was doing. "Afraid it means the end is coming or something. Sometimes I can't sleep at all because I'll obsess about something stupid like having the sniffles or something."
If he'd told that to me, my response would have been to "suck it up" and deal with it, because that's all the fuck I've been told since I lost my leg. But Jillian has far more empathy than I ever could, and she did nothing more than validate him.
"I can totally imagine feeling that way," she said softly. "Fear of the unknown is one of the greatest fears of all in my opinion."
"But it's taking away from enjoying what time I have left," he'd returned to her. His voice floated through my tent with surprising grit, and I almost smiled into the dark over his fierce determination. "I don't like being controlled like that."
Jillian had given a soft laugh, and I could even imagine her ruffling his hair if he had any. "Then don't let those emotions control you. Have those feelings, acknowledge what they are, recognize them for what they're worth, and then let them go. Turn your attention to that next great thing you want to accomplish."
Fuck, she made it all sound so simple. It's not the first time I've heard those words. I've had other counselors tell me with great care and consolation that it's okay to feel angry, it's okay to hate my circumstances, and that one day, things will look better. I sneered at every single one of those people who would dare make such a prediction when they sat there whole and hardy.
But Jillian isn't whole or hardy. She's delicate, fragile, and going blind.
And yet, she has that unfettered optimism that seems impossibly real.
At any rate, I shamelessly listened to their entire conversation, mainly because I couldn't sleep and it took my mind off my own problems. But also, I liked the sound of Jillian's voice. I'd tried to just concentrate on that rather than on the content of their discussions. I'd finally fallen asleep to the sound of it.
The next morning, I find Jillian and Connor sitting at the picnic table on opposite sides of each other. Barb sits in the back seat of my Suburban with the door open. She's turned sideways, feet planted on the running board, her head bent over as she picks at her nail polish.
Jillian gives me a dazzling smile, which is surprising given I was a total ass last night. "Good morning. Sleep well?"
"Yup." The lie comes easily, but I'm not about to tell her I eavesdropped last night. I make my way to the large cooler and pull out the carton of eggs and package of bacon I'd bought yesterday.
"Can I help with breakfast?" she asks, swinging her legs over the bench and standing.
"Sure." I push the eggs and bacon at her. "Be my guest."
At that, I take the seat on the bench she just vacated, waiting to see what she does.
There's no surprise when she gives me a cheery smile and turns to the propane stove I've got sitting on the folding utility table. She bends over and squints at the knob on the front, then turns it to the left as indicated while hitting the ignitor button.
Nothing happens.
I watch as she hits the button a few more times before turning the knob back to off. Jillian turns to me while slowly raising her eyebrows up in silent question. "What am I doing wrong?"
"Turn on the gas," I tell her.
"Well, damn," she mutters as she turns to the small tank and does exactly as I instructed. Within seconds, she has the stove lit and puts the battered old camping skillet I have over the blue flame to heat.
"So what's our goal today? Where are we headed?" Connor asks, looking to me since I'd planned the route we'd take.
"Kansas City, Missouri," I tell him as I keep one eye on Jillian as she cooks. She seems confident, so I don't worry about it too much. "Figured we'd catch a Royals' baseball game."
"Really?" Connor asks with excitement, his eyes practically bugging out of his head as if I'd given him the goddamn cure to cancer or something. "Seeing a professional baseball game is on my bucket list, but it was sort of a low priority."
"You have an actual bucket list of things you want to do before you die?" I ask, because I'd conjured up a bucket list myself when I was in the hospital and hovering on the brink of death. During the few lucid moments I had, I vowed that if I survived, I'd do grand and glorious things like travel the world to climb the highest mountains and shit like that. Such a fucking waste of energy to have even thought that way.
"Well, I've always had a list of things I wanted to do in life before I knew I had cancer." I take a quick peek at Jillian and see she's listening intently. "But it's been narrowed down quite a bit since this last round of chemo wasn't effective."
This is the first time I've conversed with Connor about his impending death, and it's not as awkward as I thought it would be. I'll never admit it to him, but I've been a bit impressed at his level of maturity and grace given that he's not even technically an adult yet.
"What else is on your list?" Jillian asks as she flips the bacon she's got going in the pan. My gaze slides over to Barb. Her head is now raised as she listens to the conversation, although she looks bored by it.
"Let's see," Connor says. "Obviously, one is seeing the Pacific Ocean, which is the biggest so I can say I've traveled across the country. But I'd also like to eat something really adventurous--like cow tongue--and I'd like to do something really scary... like bungee jumping or skydiving."
Jillian laughs in delight. "I bet we could find those things along the way. The bigger cities will have restaurants with weird cuisine, and we'll Google a place where you can maybe do a tandem jump."
"I'll do that with you," I add in, because I'd totally love to skydive. Bungee jumping is out because of the leg straps. Hate to have my leg pop off and freak everyone out.
"What else is on that list?" Jillian asks, still working the bacon over and I can see it turning a nice, crispy brown. I love crispy bacon and have to say, I'm glad she's taking the extra time with it.
"Hmm," Connor says, placing his chin in the palm of his hand as he ponders. His eyes immediately light up with a mischievous glow. "I know... I've always wanted to go egging."
"Egging?" Jillian asks curiously.
"Yeah, you know... where you go and throw eggs at people's houses," Connor says as he sits up straighter and turns to me. "You ever done that?"
"Yup," I tell him. "Rite of passage where I come from."
"You seriously throw eggs at people's houses?" Jillian asks with a dumbfounded look on her face.
"You've never heard of that?" I ask her, surprised she's clueless about what we're talking about.
"No," she answers in disdain. "That's awful and mean."
"It's what kids do," I say dismissively.
"He's not a kid," she says with a maternal glare toward Connor.
He just grins back at her. "Come on, Jillian. I'm dying. It's a simple bucket-list request."
"We're doing it," I say with determination as I slap my hand on the picnic table. "Tonight... after the baseball game. I'll take you egging."
"I'll go too," Barb says, and we turn to look at her in surprise.
She hops out of the Suburban, closes the door, and stomps her way over to us. Ripped camo shorts, her black combat boots, and a white tank top with no bra on underneath is her outfit of choice today. Her nipples poke out, but they do nothing for me. The angry goth vibe isn't appealing
in the slightest.
Not that I wouldn't say no to a blow job. I could take one of those from just about any woman.
But with a quick look at Connor, I see his eyes glued to Barb's chest. I'd bet a hundred dollars that Connor's a virgin, and I wonder if losing that virginity is on his bucket list. Maybe we can find him a hooker or something along the way.
Barb walks behind Connor and takes a seat on the bench to his right. Connor looks back to Jillian as she places the bacon on a plastic camp plate covered with paper towels. "You've got to come too, Jillian."
"Egging?" Her tone is completely disapproving, but there's a tiny smile playing on her face.
"Yes! Say you'll come," the kid practically begs.
"Fine," she says with a long, scornful sigh. "But I'm not throwing eggs."
"Goody two-shoes," I mutter automatically, and I actually jerk in surprise over my own tone of voice. Normally, that would have come out contemptuous and scathing. Instead, it was light and teasing, and... what the fuck am I doing?
I'm actually fucking smiling at Jillian as I fucking joke around with her!
What. The. Fuck?
"I am not a goody two-shoes," she throws back at me with a glare, but I can hear the humor in her voice. She abruptly changes the subject. "Everyone good with scrambled eggs?"
A chorus of "yups" and head nods occur around the picnic table, and Jillian pulls out a plastic bowl and starts cracking the eggs in it.
"What's on your bucket list, Jillian?" Connor asks. "You know... before you go blind."
Jillian doesn't look over at us but stays focused on her task. Her eyes and facial muscles remains lax, but there's a tiny bit of wistfulness in her expression. "I'd like to see amazing things. I'm excited to see the sun set on the Pacific. I've seen it rise my whole life in the east, but I want to watch it drop into the water. The Eiffel tower. I wish I could go to the top of the Eiffel Tower and see all of Paris. Or even the Taj Mahal. Or the Northern Lights."
"Think you'll get to do any of those?" Connor asks her. "Other than the sunset thing."
Jillian shakes her head. "Nah. I don't have that type of money and besides, my--"
The Hard Truth About Sunshine Page 4
