by Kylie Key
Malachi felt bad that I spent so much time waiting, while he slept. He said that just because he was confined to a hospital room, didn’t mean I had to be.
The thing is, I didn’t feel the need to be anywhere else. I was perfectly happy and was never bored.
Malachi woke when I was leaning against the wall doing a sitting squat, I was holding each one for sixty seconds. He laughed and told me I should use the chair. I counted the rest of my time out loud, “57, 58, 59, 60.” I stood up and rubbed my thighs, trying to hide the fact that my muscles were burning. That pain was nothing compared to what he endured on a daily basis.
“Come over,” he said, his fingers tapping the blanket. I gratefully took the weight off of my feet and sat on the side of the bed. He reached for my hand. “You should be out at the beach with your brother,” he said.
“I don’t wanna be at the beach,” I said, “and besides I’d be the third wheel. They're just getting to know each other, so I don’t wanna get in the way of young love.” I put my legs up on the bed and snuggled into him. It was our thing now. Jill and Rosa had caught us once, but never said anything, so we’d taken that as permission. I always made sure to keep my mask on and only kissed him when nobody was around. He kissed me though, on the forehead, on the cheek, on the nose, but my favorite was on the back of the neck. For some reason, maybe because I was nervous of the risk of infection, he would spoon around me and he'd rest his face in my hair and talk into my ear and it would send the biggest tingles down my body.
"I feel bad. You don't get to see him much," Malachi said.
"We've got all night together," I said, "and he'll be back for Thanksgiving." A random thought occurred to me and I sat up suddenly, "You and me, we should go to the beach." Malachi looked at me blankly, like I'd said something in a foreign language. "I mean it, we need to take you out.” I couldn't contain my excitement. "Malachi, we'll go to the beach!"
"How? On a flying carpet?" There was an uncharacteristic note of sarcasm in his voice which threw me. He'd never shown any hint of self pity before.
"You're right," I backed down, "it's a stupid idea. Forget I said it." I went to slide back beside him, but he extended his arm out, blocking me.
"I'm real tired," he said, "I'm gonna sleep."
I felt deflated, I'd upset him with my fanciful thoughts. Malachi wasn't going to any beach, any time soon and now he didn't want me near him. I felt my chest tightening, the last thing I wanted was to hurt him, but that's what my scatter brained mouth had done.
"Thanks for coming," he said dismissively, and all I could do was gather my things and leave, for once thankful that the mask covered my quivering chin. I leaned over him, hopeful for a kiss on my cheek or nose, anywhere, but he turned his head to the side and closed his eyes.
And left me berating my foolish, insensitive thoughts.
Malachi
Everyday I wait for her to come.
And everyday I wish she didn’t.
I’m not the right person for her.
I dream of going to the beach with her, of lifting her up and holding her over the water.
I saw that in a movie.
But I don’t think I’ll be able to do that.
I’ll never be able to do a lot of things.
She deserves more.
More than me.
And one day I fear,
I know,
she'll realize that...
CHAPTER 15
Damon left the next afternoon, his trunk full of groceries and extra blankets, because Mom was worried he couldn't feed himself and would freeze to death in the upcoming winter. Ella had come over to wave him off, and I could see Mom’s raised eyebrows as Damon hugged her goodbye.
Ella and I went to my room, needing to discuss every detail of the weekend.
“We started writing a new song,” Ella gushed, “It’s called When I found you, and we made some changes to Invisible, that’s the song we sang together.”
“I’m still in awe of the fact that Damon can sing.” I laughed. “And thanks for playing for Malachi. I mean, you guys didn’t have much time together, so it was great you could visit. I think he really enjoyed it.”
“You’re welcome, Domi. It was a great chance for us to play together,” Ella enthused. “And I can see how much Malachi adores you," she said, "I see it in the way he looks at you." My face flushed. "Since my last visit he's come to life and it's all because of you."
"No, it's the doctors and nurses and therapists..." I started to say.
"No, it's you Dominique," Ella said forcefully, "I think it's all because of you."
"I think about him all the time," I sighed, "I can't help it and I can't explain it but I just want to be with him all the time." I peered at her, wondering if she would understand my devotion to him. "Uh, is it like that for you and Damon?"
Ella dropped her head bashfully. "Domi, it's still new for us. We're getting to know each other. But yes," she giggled, "I do think about him quite a lot."
"I think I hurt Malachi's feelings," I said, explaining how he’d been upset by my beach suggestion.
“He was probably just tired," Ella said, ever diplomatic, “After all, we did force him to listen to our music! It was quite a big day for him.”
I smiled tightly; Ella's empathetic ear was appreciated. If I didn't have her as an outlet, likely I would ride the spin bike at furious speeds and sulk.
Ella gasped and raised her hands, "OMG Domi," she yelped, "I have the most fantastic idea!" I eyed her warily. "If Malachi can't go to the beach, we take the beach to Malachi."
In a wave of spontaneity she made me put on my swim suit (I chose my one piece that apparently made my legs look longer), we borrowed Daniela and Ryder and went to the beach. Ella videoed us building sandcastles, burying Ryder up to his chest, paddling and swimming in the waves.
It took us late into the evening to edit it and Ella suggested I send it to Malachi. When he woke up, he would see it and have something to smile about. It made me nervous, because I wouldn't see him for another two days. Even with his new phone I didn't have much hope that he'd reply; texting and messaging hadn't become a priority for him yet.
Visiting after school on Tuesday, I dreaded that the video didn’t have the desired effect and that Malachi might still be in a bad mood. But my fears were groundless. Jill greeted me at reception with a hug and a mischievous grin. “Just the girl we’re waiting for.”
"Why? What's going on?”
“Malachi is waiting to go for a walk,” she announced.
“What do you mean, a walk?”
“He’s sitting in the wheelchair waiting for you,” Jill said. “He decided he wanted to go outside with you.”
“Really?” Jill guided me to Malachi’s room, where he was sitting up in a wheelchair, his Rams cap over his beanie, and his fleecy blanket covering his knees. He was pushed close to the window, the view over the parking lot, but he could see the sky, trees, cars, the outside world. “There’s no risk of infection?”
“As long as we keep him warm and he keeps his mask on, he should be good,” Jill said, “and make sure he doesn’t run away!”
There was a patient courtyard on the ground floor and Miggy, a care assistant, helped me wheel Malachi out. I had never considered that Malachi would be nervous about going out of his room, but in the elevator he kept his head down, making no eye contact. I would have thought that someone who hadn't been out of his ward for months would be grateful to go outside, to feel the wind on their face and the sun on their skin.
But then I noticed people's reactions. Malachi was wrong about people not looking at him. They stared, blatantly gawked at him. Other patients, visitors, hospital staff. I was unsure if it was because of his facial tattoo or his bandaged body. My heart broke for him. So flippant I'd been, Let's go to the beach Malachi, as if it was a matter of jumping out of bed and driving there. I really had no clue what he was going through. What he’d likely been through his whole life.
<
br /> Jill offered him sunglasses to wear, saying the brightness might hurt his eyes, but it seemed like he wanted them more for anonymity. It was something that I hadn’t given any thought, that Malachi might be insecure about his appearance.
Back in his room, the whole performance of getting Malachi out of the wheelchair and back into bed made me realize how draining every little movement was for him. My injured knee had slowed me down, but Malachi was back at square one — learning to stand, to walk.
Jill brought him in an energy drink and he took a few sips, then laid back on the pillow.
"I think I need to work on my stamina," he said.
"We'll wait till next week to start marathon training."
He managed a smile and signaled that I should cozy up next to him. "Thank you for the beach video," he whispered.
“It was Ella’s idea. I hoped you'd liked it," I snuggled Benji between us. "Did you know that the ocean is good for burn survivors?"
"Did Jill tell you that?" His eyes followed me as I tucked back a strand of hair under his beanie.
"No, I googled it." I ran my gloveless finger along his left eyebrow, grooming the hairs into place. "The salt water can help with the healing."
"You looked that up?"
"Yes." I adjusted his beanie at the back — totally unnecessarily - I just wanted to run my hand down his neck. I could see my touch affected him.
"You really looked that up?” he said.
“Yes.” I danced Benji between us, bouncing him off Malachi's arm and shoulder in a childish way.
“Dominique?”
“Yes Malachi?”
“I’ve never been to the beach," he whispered.
I pulled my head back, quite sure I'd heard him wrong. I was about to joke and say, "No way!" After all, we lived in California. Even inland you were only ever miles from the beach.
But from his eyes I could see he'd never spoken a truer word, and his childhood, well, his whole life had been that of under privilege, hardship and deprivation.
I lifted myself up onto my elbow, reminding myself that his life experiences were vastly different to my own, that he didn't have a loving family, he'd barely known his parents and one could only guess what living with his grandfather was like.
Malachi's expression darkened, his eyes haunted.
"I talked to my Grandpa today."
"Oh. He called?" My heart fluttered nervously.
"No. I called him. To thank him for sending my letterman jacket." His gaze unnerved me. “He said he didn't send it.” The agitation in his voice made my adrenaline spike and I feared disapproval and anger that I'd visited his house. "He said that a boy and girl from LA - "
"Damon and I stopped by on his way to college," I butted in with a manic urgency, "we went to see where you worked. We met Bob and Bev. They both miss you so much. So does your Grandpa."
Malachi’s face fell, he looked crushed. I took his hand in mine, but it was cold, lifeless, like his tone. "You went to my house?"
"Bob and Bev told us where you lived." I felt the need to fully explain. "Your Grandpa invited us in. He wanted us to bring your things to you."
"You saw where I live." It was a statement that decimated his heart. Tears trickled down Malachi's cheeks. "You took him food?"
"It was Damon's idea," I said lightly, "it didn't look like he had been to the grocery store."
"He's...he's not good at looking after himself," he said, and I could feel Malachi's accumulation of pain, shame and burden. My heart slumped, heavy with sadness as it occurred to me that it was Malachi who looked after his Grandpa, and not the other way round. This boy had grown up taking care of the old man. Not only deprived of a normal childhood, he'd been saddled with responsibility from a young age, probably since his grandmother had passed. It was something I couldn't fathom, had never fathomed, had no need to fathom. It was so far outside my realm of reality that I had to take a moment.
"He misses your cooking," I said, sensing Malachi needed rescuing. "Your Grandpa said he misses your cooking. Apparently you put peas in your mac'n'cheese." He looked confused. "That's totally outrageous." I bent down closer, resting my head on his chest. "Peas don't belong in mac'n'cheese."
His chest started bobbing up and down and I panicked, thinking he was having an attack of some kind, but I lifted my head and realized he was laughing.
"What?" I cried. "Who puts peas in mac'n'cheese? Only crazy people!"
It took Malachi several minutes to settle down, as he gulped in air and wiped at his eyes. I sat up and leaned over him, rubbing his back in a circular motion. I elevated the bed and made him sip some water.
"Thanks Dominique," he said.
"You're welcome." I put the cup down and smiled.
"Not for the water." He did that thing, where he seemed to go inside himself, his eyes dulled. "For taking him food," he whispered.
"You're still welcome," I said with a giggle, but he didn't seem to hear me. Or see me.
His eyelids fluttered and his chest rose as he inhaled deeply. "My father came to see me when I was on the ventilator." His breath shuddered. "I guess he was expecting me to die."
The brutal honesty of his words stunned me, making me clasp his hand. "I saw him."
"You saw him? Did you talk to him?" His voice was rattled, raspy.
"No," I shook my head for an extended time, "no, I had to leave when he came in. The guards brought him in. He was chained up. He was talking to you, I could see that. Do you remember?"
Malachi stared up at the ceiling, then he squeezed his eyes tight, his forehead wrinkling in frustration.
"I hardly ever visited him. I hated going there. I never knew what to say to him." He lifted his eyes to mine, pained, hollow, ashamed of his truth.
I wanted to comfort him, but I had no words to offer. I didn't understand the world he'd been brought up in. What do you say to someone whose life has essentially been a train wreck?
I sat back, leaning my head next to his, squeezing his hand tighter. It took a moment before he relaxed against me.
"Dominique," he said, and he swallowed tightly. "Dominique, you saw my father, you met my Grandpa, you saw where I live...and soon you'll see me, all my scars." His voice trembled ever so slightly, "And you're still here with me?"
I turned to him, pushing back a strand of his hair and gazing into his perfect pale eyes. My fingertips trailed down his tattooed cheek as if it wasn't even there. I didn't see it anymore. I didn't see the ink or the scars. I wasn't afraid to see his grafts, his skin, burnt and repaired.
"I'm here Malachi," I whispered, "You know why I'm here."
Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes and I leaned forward to kiss his forehead. He wrapped his arm around me, his words tickling my ear, “Because I make good mac’n'cheese?"
"That's a bonus.” I bit my lower lip to stop giggling. My voice turned low. "You know why Malachi." My gaze challenged his, eyes locked, unmoving.
"You shouldn't love me Dominique," he said, his voice teeny-tiny, insecure, unworthy. "You can do way better than me." My heart broke in sadness. I snuggled into him, mindful of not exerting too much pressure in the wrong places. I placed my palm on his chest, fingers spread, encompassing his heart.
"You can't tell me not to love you, Malachi," I said, with an authority that belied my pain, "If I want to love you, I will. And you can't stop me." My lips reached for his cheek, planting an unplanned loud kiss there. It made us both giggle, it was a terrible kiss, a Taylor-Jensen-terrible-kiss.
Malachi wiped at the spot in mock disgust. "You still need practice, don't you?"
"It's hard to practice when someone's in a coma most of the time."
Malachi's lips curled up mischievously. "I'm not in a coma now."
"No," I said, "no you're not." I moistened my lips, pouted and he laughed. Four months ago I had cried when Taylor Jensen had dissed my kissing skills. I’d cried because I thought that my injury had crushed my sporting dreams.
But I wasn
't that girl anymore.
I'd changed.
Malachi had changed me.
Yes, my scholarship was still in doubt, but my acceptance of this, though heartbreaking, was no longer life destroying.
There were other pathways, other options, other possibilities.
My world was not about to end.
My dreams were no longer shattered.
One boy had shown me there was more to life, more to me than just gymnastics. A boy who had nothing, had shown me I still had everything.
CHAPTER 16
“What’s this?” Ella asked, as my notebook dropped onto the floor and fell open onto a page decorated with my cursive script, love hearts and daisies, the extent of my artistic ability.
We were in the patient lounge of the oncology ward, and I'd been unpacking my backpack, searching for a snack as Ella set up her music stand. We were awaiting the arrival of cancer patients for her mini concert.
I flicked the cover shut and said, “Trieste gave me that,” referring to the Hello Kitty notebook. “For my last birthday. She gave me that whole Hello Kitty pack. Remember?”
“I don’t mean the notebook,” Ella said, although I already knew that. She snatched it back and read in a tormented tone, “All he knows is pain. So I will be his sanctuary.” Her wide eyes gaped at me. “Who wrote that?”
I shrugged, dropped my head and felt my cheeks burn. I was about to attribute it to Shakespeare or Bronte or JK Rowling, but I was too flustered to choose one.
“You wrote that?” She studied the page as if it were the formula for time travel. “Domi? For Malachi?”
“It’s nothing,” I muttered, trying to grab it back.
“This is not nothing,” Ella said, moving it out of my reach. “This is gold.” She turned the page, staring at it for too long. She squinted at me and read out loud, “Change your dream.” She held the page for me to look at, three words surrounded by more basic artwork of stars and fluffy clouds. She lowered her voice, “You wrote this too?”
