by Wendy Mills
“When did he die?” he asks after a moment.
“When I was six. I don’t remember him much. He flew fighter jets, and then was some sort of National Aerobatic Champion. He liked country-western music and sappy poetry, and he died in a motorcycle accident.” It was a quick sum-up of a man’s whole life. I didn’t know much more, not really, just vague, warm memories. What if one day I had to sum up Mom’s life?
She was a good mom and she liked helping the world in her lab. The thing she loved best was to sit at home with me and watch corny movies. She died of breast cancer.
I take off my glasses, fighting back the tears.
“Hey,” he says from across the room, “you should do that more often.”
“What?” I turn to look at him.
“Take off your glasses. You have nice eyes. I noticed them … before. Blue, but they kind of have a purple tint to them, like grapes.”
“My eyes look like grapes?” But what I was thinking was, You noticed me before? When?
He gets up and comes toward me, but I’ll never know what he was going to do or say because we hear Chaz’s voice and running footsteps in the hall.
“Guys,” Chaz says. “There’s someone else here. Probably bums. I think we should go.”
Michael looks around. “I’ll go check it out.”
We wait five minutes and then Michael is back, moving quicker. “They’re here for the night. We need to go. One of them is talking to his hand.”
We leave quickly, back the way we came into the chilly night air. I notice that Michael isn’t wearing his jacket anymore, and I wonder about that.
Voices, the smell of smoke, and crazy laughter follow us out.
Chapter Seven
Mom looks up from Sixteen Candles as Trina and I come in.
“How was it, girls?”
“Chaz brought Michael Lundstrom, Ms. B. Hottest guy in school? And I think he likes Erin! At least he talked to her more than he talked to anybody this year.” Trina flops down at my mom’s feet. I sit on the couch beside her and Mom pats my knee.
“Why wouldn’t he like Erin?” Mom’s sweet but she’s delusional.
“Chaz definitely likes Trina,” I say. “They were holding hands.”
Trina blushes, which is rare. She jumps to her feet. “I am hungry. Feed me, Erin, or lose me forever!” She drags me to my feet and into the kitchen.
“Wait a minute, didn’t they take you to dinner while you were out?” Mom calls after us, but we let the door swing shut behind us like we didn’t hear her.
“I got the scoop,” Trina whispers as I pull out the leftover spaghetti and pop it into the microwave.
“What?”
Trina sits cross-legged on a kitchen chair. “Michael. Didn’t you wonder about his story?”
I shrug. I figured he had a story, just like the rest of us.
“His dad killed himself, the summer before our sophomore year. That’s why he changed so much. Chaz met him on an urban explorer website, and when they met up at one of their abandoned buildings, Chaz said he almost fell out when he saw it was Michael. But Michael was cool, didn’t make a big deal about being popular, not that he is anymore. Chaz said when they met, Michael talked about death a lot. I guess he’s better now but he’s still all … melancholy.”
“That’s terrible,” I say. “I guess some people’s stories are sadder than others.”
“But they all end the same, right?” Trina jumps up to get the spaghetti out of the microwave, then turns back to look at me, her face stricken. “Aw, man, Erin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …” She trails off while I keep my face blank.
Yes, the stories all end the same way. Every one of them, but some sooner than others, like a good book where someone has torn out the last pages.
Monday morning, Dr. Chu is drawing with a felt-tip marker on my mom’s breast.
“Erin, you’re welcome to go on out to the waiting room if you want.” Mom looks scared, but like she is trying real hard to keep it together for the kid.
I smile, and try to look like it is the most natural thing in the world for my mom to be sitting on the edge of the bed with her hospital gown around her waist and a nurse and doctor practically drawing smiley faces on her boob.
“Wouldn’t want to take the wrong one off,” the nurse quips and I debate smacking her.
“We wouldn’t want that,” I say. “Maybe you should write ‘excess baggage’ across the one you’re taking off.”
Dr. Chu ignores me, but the nurse looks over and smiles real tight, like, We both know you’re being a smart-ass but I’m going to give you leeway because your mom’s sitting right here with marker all over the boob she’s about to lose. See this understanding smile? This is me giving you leeway, butt-munch.
“Done,” Dr. Chu announces and hands the pen back to the nurse. “I will see you soon.” She pats my mom’s shoulder and strides out, looking determined and competent in her childsize white coat.
“All right, what’s next?” my mom asks the nurse, all fake cheery. “Are we ready to get this party started?”
“Someone will be along shortly and take you to surgery,” the nurse says.
“When you say ‘shortly,’ can we safely assume that’s the same ‘shortly’ you used when my mom asked you for some ice chips and it took, like, two hours?” I ask.
“Erin,” my mom says tiredly and I shut up.
The nurse gives me an evil look behind my mom’s back and flounces out.
“I’m sorry,” I say immediately.
“I know,” my mom says. “I know this is hard on you. I wish you had gone to school today. There’s nothing much you can do here.”
“I don’t want you to be alone.” For the first time, though, I see my mother might rather I not be here.
“I wish Aunt Jill could have been here,” I say.
“Me too,” my mom says. “But Malcolm is very sick, and I understand.”
Jill (not my real aunt but she’s been my mom’s best friend since before I was born) moved to Seattle five years ago to start her own lab. She ended up marrying, and now has a bouncing three-year-old, who, because of Jill’s sincere belief that immunizations are the bane of the civilized world, has come down with measles. So, no Jill.
Like me, Mom has acquaintances, but she puts all of her efforts into one best friend. She and Jill met in grad school, and I know Jill hates not being here. But since she can’t, and Memaw is dead, that leaves me sitting here beside Mom holding her hand. Blue fire flashes on my finger and I look down at Memaw’s sapphire ring. They made Mom take it off when we got here, and she wanted me to wear it. I didn’t want to. It makes me feel weird, the logic being: Mom got the ring because her mother died, ergo it is bad mojo for me to be wearing it right before Mom goes into surgery.
Mom glances nervously at the door as someone goes by. “I’ll probably be out of it later,” she says. “Don’t wait around if you’re ready to go on over to Trina’s for the night.”
“I’d rather stay here.”
“I know.” Mom squeezes my hand. I feel her shiver and I pull the blanket up from the foot of the bed and she drapes it over her shoulders like a shawl.
“Momma, you need your lucky socks.” I rummage in her bag until I find the fluffy pair embroidered with reindeer I gave her for Christmas when I was five or six. Dad helped me pick them out for her. Was it his last Christmas? It scares me that I don’t remember.
I put them on her and we wait in silence. My chest is starting to get tight and my heart is pounding and I wonder if it’s possible to have a heart attack when you’re only sixteen. I’m holding on to Mom’s hand and all of a sudden I’m not sure I’ll be able to let go when they come to take her. What if this is the last time I see her? What if something goes terribly wrong in there and she doesn’t come out?
“You know I love you, right?” Mom’s voice shakes a little so I know she’s thinking the same thing.
“Me too,” I say.
With a c
latter, an orderly comes in with a rolling bed and helps Mom onto it. I grab her hand again while he tucks the blanket around her. Her face is pale and frightened but she tries to smile for me.
“See you later, alligator,” she says softly.
“After a while, crocodile.” Tears are slipping down my face because I can’t make them stop.
“This train is a-leaving,” the orderly says. “Woo-wooo.” He makes like he’s pulling a train whistle and pushes Mom out the door. I hold her hand until our arms are stretched tight, and then I have to let go.
I cruise the Internet, and wait and wait and wait. They call it a waiting room for a reason.
Trina texts: u ok?
Me: I want this to be a dream, a nightmare I can wake up from
Trina: Hang in there. Luv u
They said it would be at least two hours. It’s been five minutes.
I sigh and pick up Jane Eyre and try to get into it. It’s one of my favorites, which is why I brought it.
A doctor comes in, and I tense, but he goes over to talk to a woman on the other side of the room, and the woman is all smiles, and the doctor tries not to look like he has a God complex, but he totally does.
I try to concentrate on Jane’s story. Knowing it turns out okay is the only way I get through it.
Dr. Chu rushes in three hours, six minutes, and twenty-eight seconds after I entered the waiting room.
“She is doing fine. Recovering now, but fine.” Dr. Chu is not one to waste time or words. “You can see her when she gets back to her room. We will let you know. Fine? Fine. Good.”
She turns and leaves and I try not to cry.
But I do anyway.
Chapter Eight
“What’s up, girl?” Trina asks as she slides into the seat across from me, putting her Hello Kitty lunch bag on the table. Today she’s wearing a plaid shirt over a red taffeta dress with “laugh” written in black eyeliner under one eye and “cry” under the other.
“Nothing.” I stare down at my soy burger. Splashed with ketchup to make it edible, it looks like some sort of organ, maybe a heart, bleeding across my tray. I pick at the fried okra, which I usually love, but today, nothing tastes right.
It’s been four days since Mom’s surgery. We have to wait until her follow-up appointment, which is still a week away, to find out what happens next. When Dr. Chu came in after Mom’s surgery, she rattled off a bunch of words like “ancillary lymph dissection,” “frozen sections,” and “metastasis,” and Mom’s face got still and quiet, but whenever I asked her questions she said, We need to wait and see what the lab work shows.
“How you holding up?” Trina reaches over and touches my hand. I’m still wearing Memaw’s ring and I stare at it. Evidently the story behind the ring is that Memaw always wanted a sapphire ring, but Granddad was too cheap to buy one. After he died, she used his insurance money to buy the biggest and brightest sapphire she could find. Memaw used to say, I hate lemonade, so when life hands me lemons I throw ’em away and buy some apples instead.
“I can’t stand this waiting,” I say. “It’s killing me. I just want to know. But then I’m afraid it’s going to be bad news, and I’m going to wish I didn’t know. It’s a no-win.”
I look up and catch Michael’s eye by accident. He’s sitting by himself at the back of the cafeteria with his chair leaned back against the wall. He gives me a smoky stare and nods.
I nod back, and then duck my head to hide my face. We’ve not spoken again since the night of the creepy-ass school expedition. I don’t know what I was expecting, but he’s as remote to me as ever.
“Before Chaz gets here,” Trina says in a low voice, “I wanted to tell you something.”
Trina and Chaz have become an instant couple. She’s thrown herself into him with the same passion she pursues anything new. I’m happy for her, I really am, but I wish it hadn’t happened right now. Right now sucks and I need my best friend.
“Faith found out you and Michael were together the other night. She thinks it was like a date or something. She got all jealous, from what Chaz says. She told Michael she didn’t know what he was doing, playing around with a nothing like you.” Trina looks mad, which is always a funny expression on her small, determined face. “Have I told you lately how much I dislike that chick?”
“What? Are you kidding me? It was nothing.” I look over at the popular kids’ table where Faith is laughing and waving her hands around. She looks gorgeous, even as she chows down on her burger. I’m pretty sure she looks adorable as she sits on the pot.
“You don’t want to get on her bad side, girl, that’s all I’m saying. Remember what happened to Julie Harris last year.”
Last year, head cheerleader Julie Harris decided to run against Faith for student council, looking to fluff up her college application. Someone started a rumor just before the election that Julie’s dad was a cross-dresser with a fetish for small dogs. The fact that Julie’s family owned several small dogs only added plausibility to the story. No one could prove Faith started the rumor, but Julie lost the election and transferred to another school her junior year.
Faith hasn’t said another word to me since Ms. Garrison’s disastrous invitation to join the e-zine. I told Ms. Garrison I couldn’t do it, but I’ve seen Faith watching me. Now, my heart sinks as I realize she has another reason not to like me.
“If she’s so into Michael, why did they break up?” I see Chaz making his way over to us, a gaggle of computer geeks trailing behind him like ducks. He flicks a salute at Michael, and Michael nods back. I would never have even noticed the small exchange if I wasn’t looking for it.
“I’m not sure what happened. Chaz won’t tell me.” She looks peeved. Chaz is pretty much ready to dive in front of a bus for her at this point, so either Chaz doesn’t know or Michael told him to keep his lips zipped. “But he did say Michael was kinda broken up about it. I think Faith is all, I don’t want him, but you can’t have him, you know?”
I can’t imagine anyone not wanting Michael. But then, Faith being Faith, she probably dropped Michael like a ton of bricks when he stopped being shiny and glossy like her.
“Well, Faith’s got nothing to worry about. He hasn’t said a word to me all week. I mean, what’s she worried about? Look at her. Look at me. There’s no comparison. He would be stupid not to date her.”
Trina elbows me. “Jeez, chick, stop drinking the pity-me Kool-Aid. You’re smart, you’re pretty, it’s definitely possible he could like you. Just watch Faith. She’s ice-cold. Chaz says Faith is just like her mom, and neither one of them likes to lose. At anything.”
“Oh lovely,” I say. “Just what I needed to hear.”
Trina flicks my ear. “Stop it. You’ll be fine. Did I tell you? Chaz is planning another Excap excursion this Saturday night. Just us, like last week. Somewhere different. Michael says he’ll come.”
Another creepy-ass building? No, thank you. But I can’t help it, my gaze is drawn to Michael, who is buying a Gatorade from the guy selling drinks to raise money for the JROTC.
“I don’t like leaving Mom at home by herself at night,” I say. “I mean, she’s making me go to school, but I don’t want to leave her at night.”
“I understand. If you decide to go, let me know.”
I notice Trina’s not quite as anxious for me to go this time, now that she knows Chaz is into her.
But I don’t want to go anyway, right?
When I get home, I grab a banana and climb the stairs to my mom’s room. The phone rings and I speed up. Maybe it’s the doctor, maybe they got the lab work back early and she’s calling to tell Mom everything is A-OK. Maybe it was even a false alarm.
I hear her say, “Oh, Jill, my God, it’s terrible,” and I stop just outside of her bedroom. It’s bad, then. Suddenly, I don’t want to go into the room. I slide down the wall and sit with my arms around my knees.
“Cancer and this worry on top of that … I guess it just didn’t seem real before. I didn’t w
ant to think about it. But now … What do I tell Erin? She’s going to need to know at some point. She’s only sixteen, though. Okay, almost seventeen. But when should I tell her? The counselor said she couldn’t even get tested until she’s eighteen, and really, it’s better to wait until she’s twenty-five.”
Tested?
There’s a pause as she listens, then: “I know there’s time, it’s just … I feel so bad. It’ll be awful if I gave her this. She only got her breasts a few years ago. How do I tell her this?” Her voice shakes a little.
WTF? My face is hot. Why are they talking about my breasts?
Mom says good-bye and hangs up.
I look down at my banana. It’s completely squished in my hand.
I get to my feet and push open the door. She’s still holding the phone, and she looks up, startled.
“Erin!”
“What’s going on? What were you talking to Aunt Jill about? Why should I get tested? For what?”
“It’s nothing, Erin. Don’t worry about it.” She looks sick and guilty.
I stand in the middle of the room. Only one other time in my life have I known Mom was lying to me. It was when Memaw was dying and I went to visit her in the hospital. Mom swore up and down Memaw would be okay. But I knew Mom was lying. Mom doesn’t fib about the little things.
But she will lie about the big ones if she thinks she’s protecting me.
“What do I need to know about? What do I need to get tested for?” I can’t seem to stop squeezing the banana and it begins to leak pulpy mess onto my palm.
“Erin …”
She has to tell me. She has to.
“Mom, whatever it is, you’ve got to tell me, or I’m going to imagine the worst.”
She sighs. “I wasn’t going to tell you. Not yet. I haven’t wanted to think about it, and I thought we had plenty of time. I don’t know how … to tell you this.”
“Just say it.”
She closes her eyes and leans back on the pillow.
