“No,” I whispered. “It’s a stomach bug.”
“No one else became sick. I think you have malaria.”
“I can’t have malaria. I always take my pills. Every week.”
“Sometimes they don’t work. You’re very sick.”
I rolled away from her. “Let me lie here a little longer and I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve felt fine all morning.”
“Sorry, my friend, but you need to go to the hospital. If you don’t have malaria, you can tell me ‘I told you so’. If you do, you can thank me for saving your life.”
“But I don’t want to go to the hospital,” I whined. “Let me go home. I’ll visit the doctor when I return home.”
With an apologetic look, Ama indicated I wouldn’t win this argument.
I sighed, and a tremor went through me. Maybe the hospital was the best idea.
“Okay, I’ll go.”
She stood and extended her hand. “Let me help you up.”
I clasped her hand, pulling myself up to standing. The room swam and everything went dark around the edges. Her voice sounded far away and tinny. Blood pounded in my ears.
I prayed I wouldn’t crack open my skull on the tile when I fell.
BEEP.
Beep.
Beep.
I awoke with a dry mouth and pain on my left hand.
I coughed and my chest rattled.
That was new.
My eyes were glued shut. Who would glue my eyes closed? Slowly, I opened them, lash by lash. I blinked to clear my vision. The beeping didn’t appear to come from me. White ceiling tiles came into focus while I lay there counting my breaths. A colorful floral curtain enclosed my bed, confirming I lay in a hospital, not Ama’s house, or even the hotel.
The smell of bleach and antiseptic hit my nose.
I closed my eyes, the lids too heavy to keep open.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
BEEP.
Shoes squeaked on linoleum.
Beep.
Beep.
Soft voices.
A hand touched my arm. Warm fingers brushed my skin.
I swallowed around the sandpaper of my tongue and pried open my eyes.
Ama’s soft smile greeted me. Surrounded by the sterile hospital setting, even her riotous rainbow scarf looked somber.
“Hi.” I coughed.
She reached for a pitcher of water and poured some into a cup for me.
I sipped the cool liquid ambrosia through a straw.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Nice to see you’re awake.”
“How did I get here?” I sipped and swallowed. “Where is here, by the way?”
“You’re in a private clinic in Accra.”
“I won’t be able to say I told you so, will I?”
“No.”
“Fever means malaria, doesn’t it? Abraham’s Auntie said fever. She told me a name of something that could help. An herb, maybe?”
“Fevers can mean many things, but you have malaria.”
“Lucky me.”
“Lucky indeed. The doctors say they caught it early.”
“I don’t feel lucky.” I pouted around my straw. I looked down at my thin cotton hospital gown. “How long have I been here?”
“Two days. It’s Monday morning. You woke up for a little yesterday. Do you remember Ursula and I visiting you?”
I softly shook my head. “No. I remember beeping and the ceiling tiles, but those might be from earlier today.”
Ama’s warm hand covered mine. “You gave us a big scare, but you will be fine. You’re receiving the best care with excellent medicines.” She pointed at the IV in my arm. Ah, that explained the pain. “It’s mostly fluids to treat dehydration, but they decided to skip the oral drugs and move straight to the IV for fear of coma.”
“Coma?” Could I have been that sick?
“You wouldn’t wake up after you passed out on the bathroom floor. I screamed for Sarah and Kofi. We finally woke you up, but I swear your eyes focused in different directions. You kept mumbling about something. Nothing we said or did made you wake up and answer us.”
“Yikes.”
“Very scary.” She glared at me. “Do not do that to me again. Ever.”
“I promise,” I said, giving her a weak smile. “What did I mumble about?”
She glanced away, interested in the wall behind my bed.
“Ama?”
“You talked about Kai.”
I cringed. “What did I say?”
“Mostly his name. Over and over. You called him Gerhard a few times.”
Internally, I crawled into a ball, hoping I wasn’t talking about Kai’s penis. “That’s all? Only his name?”
She inhaled and exhaled slowly. “No.”
“Tell me. How bad was it?”
“Pretty bad. You said at least you didn’t soil yourself in front of him.”
“Soil myself? I said soil?”
“No, you said shit.” The corners of her mouth turned down.
“Can I die now?”
She laughed. “At least you said it to me, Sarah, and Kofi, instead of Kai.”
I tried to pull the thin sheet over my face. “Kill me.”
She tugged the fabric down from my face.
“Promise me you will never tell Kai this story?” I pleaded. “Please?”
“It stays between us. And you didn’t soil yourself, in case you were worried.”
“Oh, good. I’m happy I retained one scrap of dignity.”
Ama’s laughter triggered my own.
“Thank God for small graces Kai isn’t here to witness this.”
“Have some more water.” Ama lifted the pitcher. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m pretty sure an elephant ran over me and is now sitting on my chest. Everything hurts.”
“That’s normal. Or so I hear. You’ll feel better after a couple days.”
“Will I have to stay in the hospital the entire time?”
“Probably.”
“How will I afford these medical expenses?”
Her eyes focused on the pitcher. “It’s all been taken care of. You don’t have to worry about expenses.”
“Who—”
A nurse swept aside one of my fabric walls.
“Hello, Dr. Elmore,” she greeted me. “The doctor is coming to see you.”
Ama had to leave while the doctor checked my vitals and chart. He kindly explained the gorier details of malaria and why it caused me to be sick, then assured me I would make a full recovery if I took my medications. He asked how long I planned to stay in Ghana.
“A couple more weeks.”
“You should go home and recuperate,” he said with a tone of authority.
“I have commitments here.”
“You will have no commitments anywhere if you don’t take care of yourself. I believe we caught the malaria early enough, but sometimes there are neurological complications. You will be better off resting at home with your family.”
I had no family at home. Unless he meant my parents. Or brothers. No way would I move home.
I quietly sighed, and nodded.
“I’ll check on you tomorrow during my rounds. Call the nurse if you need anything.”
Ama stepped through the curtain. “What’s the prognosis?”
“He thinks I should return home when I’m well enough to travel. He told me to go home to my family,” my eyes filled with tears, “but I don’t have anyone to go home to.”
Her warm arms enveloped me in one of her signature hugs. “You’re not alone. Your friends will be there for you.”
“I live alone. I don’t even have a cat anymore. Who will take care of me?”
Releasing me, she sat in the chair next to the bed. “Don’t worry about that now. We’ll help you organize your things and get you home soon.”
I sniffled and wiped my wet face on the shoulder of my gown. “I’m feeling very tir
ed.”
I wouldn’t think about what laid ahead until forced. Right now, I needed a nap.
“Sleep and don’t worry about the details. We’ll take care of everything.”
We?
Fuzzy, warm sleep claimed me and I drifted off into oblivion.
LEAVING THE HOSPITAL was one of the happiest days of my life. People at home complained about sharing a hospital room with another patient. I shared a ward with at least four others.
I’d slept the sleep of the dead, or near dead, but it didn’t erase my exhaustion.
Even days later, my world consisted of my bedroom and the hall bathroom. If I grew adventurous, I went to the kitchen, but that required a nap after I returned to bed.
I continued to take the new anti-malarial pills daily.
Otherwise, I slept.
Kofi was dispatched to the museum to collect my research. Ursula came over with a bag of bracelets and necklaces from the cooperative for me to bring home. I couldn’t even be embarrassed when Ama and Ursula packed my things and discovered BOB.
A week of my life disappeared into a haze of the hospital, home, and sleep.
When he dropped me off at Kotoka, Kofi smiled and laughed when I snapped at the end of our handshake.
“Mee daa si,” I said, thanking him for everything. “I’ll miss you.”
He frowned and held my hand while he said good-bye, probably embarrassed by my tears.
Now I sat in the departures lounge at Kotoka. Outside, the Harmattan winds colored everything brown, including the sky. Lively conversations took place around me. Missionaries and students chatted, puffed up with the pride that came with doing good work. I concentrated on not falling asleep and missing my flight. When I coughed my rattling hack, the couple next to me moved away. I snarled at them. Malaria wasn’t contagious human to human. If I were being honest, I would have moved away from me, too. My skin had an eerie pallor—the best description for the vague green undertint I now sported. I’d washed my hair the night before and pulled it away from my face with a headband. No makeup, saggy yoga pants, baggie sweater—I created a pretty visual.
Not that I gave a flying fuck.
I coughed again and reached into my bag for a cough drop. My hand brushed against Kai’s elephant. I didn’t remember putting it inside my purse. Although, I didn’t recall a lot about the last week.
Never had I needed my friends as much as I did after malaria. Ama coordinated with Maggie and my parents, keeping them informed of my recovery and return home. The woman should be a saint.
I missed her already.
The best part about the eleven hour flight to JFK was sleeping most of it. With a row to myself, I stretched out, not caring if I snored or scared the other passengers.
Clearing immigration and customs sucked away my energy, leaving me feeling dizzy and tired. Setting aside my dignity, I requested a wheelchair to make my connection to Portland. When we passed the now infamous sushi bar, I closed my eyes. One conversation with a stranger had changed my life forever. No wonder parents warned kids about stranger danger. Strangers were dangerous.
I enjoyed the wheelchair ride so much, I ordered one to meet me at the gate in Portland to take me to baggage claim. By far, it was the best part of having malaria—if there was anything good about having malaria.
I located several boring green dollars inside my wallet to tip the wheelchair pusher and thanked him, explaining I would be fine to sit and wait for my friends to meet me.
I sat at the end of a row of uncomfortable chairs with my back to the glass while I waited for the whir of the baggage carousel to call the awaiting passengers to stampede. The long wait for checked bags equaled a level of hell somewhere between never ending thirst and whatever punishment awaited murderers. I loathed it with a fiery hatred. Exhaling a long sigh of resignation, I looked around for Maggie’s ginger hair and Gil’s towering height.
With my dead cell phone and its charger packed inside of the still-not-arrived luggage and unavailable to help me, I sat and waited.
And waited.
I calculated with the time changes and layover, I’d been traveling for nearly twenty hours, almost an entire day. Another day of my life lost.
I closed my eyes. Maggie and Gil could find me when they arrived. My luggage might be the last to be picked up at this rate, sadly traveling around and around the carousel, all alone.
The sound of the motor grumbling to life and the clunks of the first bags hitting the belt woke me.
If I didn’t stop sleeping, I would have to change my name to Selah Van Winkle.
I blinked and rubbed my eyes.
A familiar face stared at me from a few feet away.
Not Maggie’s face.
Not Gil’s face.
The last face I never imagined I’d see again slowly smiled at me and moved closer.
IN THE WORLD, there were people who enjoyed meddling in the lives of others. Some did it for their own amusement, or some sick sense of humor. Some had God complexes. Others, the majority, meddled from some sort of twisted place of optimism, love, and belief in the good in people and humanity in general. Missionaries fell under the latter group, doctors in the middle, and sadists in the former.
I suspected my friends fell both in the former and the latter categories. What they lacked were God complexes. Well, maybe not Quinn, or his doctor husband, but that was beside the point.
My friends, whom I loved dearly, were meddling meddlers who meddled.
Pot, meet kettle, I know.
I plotted their punishment. It would be fast and silent. They’d never see it coming.
Six-foot-something of dark blond and golden hued gorgeous man stood next to me, smirking.
He smirked.
How dare he smirk.
Our eyes met briefly. The familiar deep, oceanic blue undertow pulled me under his spell.
I blinked.
I closed my eyes and counted to ten.
When I opened them, Maggie and Gil stood next to the ghostly apparition of my very own Flying Dutchman. Maggie grinned while Gil awkwardly stuffed his hands inside his coat pockets.
“Welcome home!” Maggie embraced me with a warm hug.
“Can you see him too?” I whispered in her ear.
“Who?” she asked, still hugging me.
Malaria had snapped my brain’s ability to rationalize.
“The man standing next to you.”
“Gil?”
“No, the other one.”
Maggie kept her arms wrapped around me, but turned to look behind her. She faced me again and whispered, “Wait. You don’t know him? He isn’t your boyfriend?” Her face scrunched up with confusion when she released me and took a step away.
“You can see him?”
“Yes, of course.” She met my eyes and frowned, then looked at Kai.
“Is she going to faint again?” Kai asked.
“Again?” Gil said.
“When I surprised her in Ghana, she fainted.”
“Maybe you should stop doing that,” Gil said. He stepped forward to hug me. “This was all Maggie’s doing. If you’re mad, and I’m guessing by the look on your face you are, please note I’m an unwilling party to these shenanigans,” he whispered.
“No way, mister, you’re guilty by association.” I squeezed him.
When Gil moved away, my vision centered on Kai for a moment.
Maggie stared at him, then looked at me. “He’s gorgeous,” she mouthed.
I rolled my eyes.
I had eyes, I didn’t need reminding.
Finally, my gaze met Kai’s again. He looked weird wearing wintery clothing. Weird, but still hot. I trailed my eyes down over his jacket, gray sweater, dark jeans and low boots, slowly returning to his face. Scruff covered his jaw and dark circles shadowed his eyes.
“You look terrible,” I said.
“So do you.” He grinned. “Really horrible, like death warmed over.”
I ran my hand through my hair,
and then smoothed down my travel rumpled clothes. “Fuck off.”
Everyone, but me, laughed.
“You’re definitely feeling better,” Kai said.
“She’s her old self if she’s telling someone to fuck off. I’m thankful it isn’t me,” Maggie said.
I glowered at them. “Your turn will come, Maggie. Live in fear. Sleep with one eye open. You’ll never know when or where, but I will seek my revenge upon you.”
“Wow, you’re cranky. Let’s collect your baggage and bring you home.” Maggie ignored my threats and gathered my things.
After I pointed out my bags on the belt, Gil and Kai walked over to grab them, joking together like old friends.
“When did that happen?” I asked her.
“The bromance?”
I nodded.
“It was love at first sight.”
“And that was?”
“Yesterday.”
I quirked my eyebrow at her.
“It’s a long story, but your friend Ama called us after you collapsed. Kai arranged everything—the private hospital, the earlier flight home—all his doing.”
“He what?”
“Who what?” Kai stood next to me, holding the handle of my largest suitcase.
“You?”
“Me what?”
“Are we playing a game of Who’s on First?” Gil grumbled. “You stay here. I’ll get the car.”
“I’ll come with you.” Maggie trotted after him.
“One. Eye. Open. Marrion,” I called out behind her.
“Someday you’ll thank me!”
I met Kai’s worried eyes. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
“I do? Speak for yourself,” he scoffed.
I crossed my arms and glowered.
“Give me dirty looks all you want, but I didn’t fly across the country, lose sleep for over a week, spend hours coordinating phone calls on two continents, worry about you being sick, and cut short my visit with my daughter to make sure you had help collecting your baggage.” He sighed and mirrored my defensive position. “Will you listen to me now?”
“I’m not giving you dirty looks.” I huffed. “And I’ve always let you explain yourself.”
“Right. Like the time you broke up with me over the phone? And then hung up on me? Or those text messages you ignored? Like that?” His voice held an edge.
Missionary Position Page 21
