Till it Stops Beating

by Hannah R. Goodman

  . . . . .

  “Hi.” Blue grey eyes. Thick black lashes. I put my hand on the door to steady myself.

  “Hi.” I breathe.

  “Everyone asleep?” He takes a step towards me.

  “Yeah, Peter and Larry are gone till tomorrow.”

  “Want to come outside or do you want me to come in?”

  “Oh, yeah. Um, hold on. Let me come out there.” I reach around and make sure the door is unlocked, and then I slide on my flip-flops.

  I step outside, the air smells wet and salty like the ocean that’s nearby. Without any kind of warning, Justin pulls me into him and holds me tight. “I couldn’t do this yesterday. It’s all I’ve been thinking about,” he says into the top of my head.

  His hands move up and down my back, leaving a trail of heat. My arms wind around his neck and my fingertips brush the soft ends of his hair. Running my hands through it might be a little too forward. We linger in the embrace, I can faintly hear the waves crashing from the beach that’s behind the condos.

  Justin moves his head so that it’s tucked into my neck and I can ever so lightly feel his lips on my skin. Goose bumps trickle down my arms. Please don’t let me go, I pray silently. Even though in my fantasy we make out and rip our clothes off when we first see each other, that doesn’t seem right. I want him to hold me and me to hold him and to be in this moment.

  Then he sighs, his breath against my cheek. “I wish I could stay, but Uncle Tony is kind of insane when I’m home too late.”

  I let my arms drop and say, “Yeah.”

  We break apart but leave only inches between our bodies. He meets my gaze. Really, I’m gazing at him, I can feel it. We both laugh like we’re embarrassed. He touches my arm and moves back in.

  He drops his arm and smiles crookedly shaking his head. “Man, is it ever not intense with us?”

  “Nope,” I say grinning.

  He grins back.

  We hug again. But I do wonder, when are we going to get that first kiss?

  “See you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Bye.”

  I watch him walk to his car, savoring the back of his head, his t-shirt that reads, in red letters, Big Tony’s Pizzeria. I watch his butt, hard to really see in his baggy khakis. I think about when I might be able to touch his butt.

  He turns around and catches me staring and smiles like he knows.

  I know he knows, and I smile back.

  . . . . .

  I turn over and open my eyes. The shades are still up, I forgot to pull them down last night. I fell asleep so quickly, I look down and see that I didn’t even change my clothes.

  Justin.

  I sniff my arms and pull up my shirt and smell it to see if his scent is there. Faintly, I smell pizza and deodorant and soap and this other good smell, but I think I’m imagining it all.

  I reach down on the floor without sitting up and feel for my journal. The pen is still stuck to it. I sit up and open it to yesterday’s single sentence entry. I print today’s date, at least what I think it is, and then I begin to write:

  How can two totally opposite things be happening to me at the same time? Death. Love. Maybe they aren’t opposite.

  I stop writing, sad that this tiny spark flickered out by the end of the last word. But it’s still better than yesterday, two sentences today.

  Baby steps…Bubbie would say.

  . . . . .

  I stand in the kitchen holding a mug of coffee. Bubbie and Joyce are at the kitchen table with a map spread out and my grandmother’s laptop open. They hunch over it like they are planning a camping trip or a girls’ weekend to a yoga retreat.

  “You’ll have yoga classes every morning and massage and acupuncture treatments several times a week.” Her eyes dart back and forth as she reads. “Patients begin with a detox and cleanse to jumpstart the healing process.” She clicks on something and is silent, then she reads, “Most tumors contain multiple drug resistant cells which means that the chemo is not effective on these cells, yes they will kill the other cells in the tumor, but you will still have those drug resistant cells. What does that mean? That the cancer can still spread. This is why if your cancer is reoccurring and chemo will be less effective.” Joyce pauses and looks up at me from the map. I turn away and reach for the coffee pot for a refill.

  “And,” Bubbie adds, “The real deal with cancer, especially reoccurring, is that I have to get treatments that will get rid of all the bad cells, not just some.” She reaches over Joyce and turns the laptop to her and begins to type. “There’s this vitamin C therapy and there’s also Angiogenesis therapy which actually stops the blood vessels from growing in the tumors. But the conventional Angiogenesis treatments doctors use can actually cause the blood vessels to grow.”

  I take a huge gulp of coffee. Too hot! I choke.

  They are engrossed in the damn website and don’t even turn to look at me. I spit coffee into the sink and then wipe my mouth with a paper towel. I sigh audibly but still no response.

  “Maddie, can you make some of that new tea Joyce brought?”

  “Sure.” I put the teakettle on.

  Then the doorbell rings.

  No one moves. “Maybe it’s Peter and Larry?” I say this out loud, but they still don’t respond. I look at the clock on the stove it’s only eight o’clock. They aren’t even up yet probably.

  I walk to the door and open it and in front of me are two people wearing black tight t-shirts that say Big Tony’s Pizzeria: NYC Style Pizza in the Bay Area with a curly haired Italian guy who looks deceptively like Tony in a chef outfit holding a huge pizza in one hand. New t-shirts.

  I hear the chairs scrape behind me.

  “Hi, ladies! You are all looking lovely this morning, may I say.” Tony smiles at me, and then peers around to Bubbie and gives a little wave.

  I look at Justin and he smiles and mouths hi. I say hi back.

  “Come in, gentleman,” Bubbie says, standing up and touching the purple knit cap on her head.

  “We have coffee,” Joyce is all flirts and smiles. “and I brought some really lovely mint and aloe tea.”

  Tony laughs deep and says, “That sounds like some kind of face cream or something. No thanks, ladies. Actually, Helen thought I could talk with you for a moment this beautiful morning. Can we go somewhere?” He glances at Joyce.

  Bubbie wipes her clean hands on her jeans and says, “Sure, absolutely. Would you like to come out to the garden? It’s really wonderful in the morning out there.”

  “That sounds fantastic! “

  As soon as they leave out the backdoor sliders, Justin says to me, “I told him everything, and the next thing I knew we were on our way to your house.”

  Joyce folds the map up and closes the laptop.

  “He’s a prostate cancer survivor.” Justin says this to Joyce, but she is engrossed in folding the map and straightening the napkin holder on the table.

  “He did chemo for almost a year and he’s fine.”

  Joyce slams the map on the table. “I’m happy to hear that your uncle survived cancer. But if Maddie put you up to this to try and stop Helen,” she shakes her head and looks at me. “You have to respect your grandmother’s decisions. This is her life and her choice, not yours.”

  “Actually, it’s my choice how I deal with it, and I’m not going down without a fight, a fight for my Bubbie, who means more to me than,” I stop and press my fingers to my lips because I don’t want to cry right this minute. “She means more to me than anyone else in my life, and so if I can try even just little bit, even
if I totally fail I’m going to try to get her one last time to do the chemo. I mean why can’t we do both treatments? Why can’t we keep researching ways to deal with the side effects of the chemo? She doesn’t want to smoke pot, fine. There are other medicines.” I stop when I see that I’m not getting through to Joyce, she’s tight lipped, pissed.

  “You’re right. It is your choice how you deal with it. But remember that at some point, you do have to let go and just be there for her. Just be her granddaughter.”

  The room is thick with awkwardness and tension. Justin moves closer to me and takes my hand. We sit at the table. Joyce joins us and none of us look at each other or say anything.

  The sliders glide open and make the smack sound of shutting. We all stand up. Bubbie is red eyed, holding a tissue. Tony has his hand on the small of shoulder and is just as red eyed. Bubbie turns to Tony and reaches up they hug and pat each other’s backs. It is a really private moment that the three of us are watching.

  “Thank you, Tony. And I’m so happy that you are healthy.”

  He nods and wipes his eyes. “Thank you, Helen. Always good to trade war stories.”

  They laugh and hug again.

  “My boy, we need to get to work. Have a nice day ladies and,” He looks at Bubbie, “a safe trip.”

  She smiles and sniffles a little pressing her tissue to her nose.

  It’s hard to tell what’s happened. Justin hugs me and puts his lips to my cheek. It’s so distracting, it’s our first kiss in a way. I forget about the rest of the people in the room. I forget about Cancer. I forget about my life being where it is, and yet I remember it all at the same time too, and it makes me grip Justin’s arm tighter and press my lips to his cheek before we say goodbye.

  . . . . .

  “Just promise me, Bub, promise me that we will take that walk across the bridge?”

  “Of course, sweetie. I’m coming back in two weeks. The day I come back we will take that walk.” Then she whispers in my ear, “Please make up with Joyce. She tends to be a mother tiger about me. Go on.”

  I release my grip on Bubbie and turn to Joyce who is slamming the trunk shut with their bags inside.

  “Joyce,” I say.

  She turns to me. “Maddie.” Instantly I know we are fine. We are fine because we want the same thing, for Bubbie to live.

  We hug goodbye. “I’ll call Mom and give her the scoop,” I tell Bubbie.

  “Thank you,” she says as they pull out of the driveway. “We will call you once we are settled.”

  I wave and yell, “Love you” as they drive away.

  Chapter Ten

  A Date…finally

  Bubbie calls at 4 pm, sounding happy and excited. She says that I can even come visit her in a few days. Joyce tells me the place is amazing. And surprisingly the conversation with my mother goes well. “My mother is not one to change her mind. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try. I’ll give her this week at this cancer spa and then I’ll fly down there if I have to and schlep her myself to chemo.” Gotta love Mom. And who knows, maybe Bubbie will change her mind. Maybe she will see that she can do both.

  . . . . .

  At 6 pm I light vanilla scented candles on the kitchen table, then set out four paper plates, napkins, cups, and utensils. I put the salad I made (hope Justin still loves olives and tomatoes) and a bottle of soda (does he still like Dr. Pepper?) on the table. I go back into the living room for the tenth time to reposition the pillows on the couch and re-rearrange the books on the coffee table. I check myself in the mirror above the fireplace four more times. I go in and out of the bathroom, brushing my hair and reapplying lip-gloss. I scrutinize my skin in both mirrors (because the lighting is different in each room) and check to see if the shampoo I used did, in fact, bring out my natural highlights. Maybe it’s just the lighting but instead of a sort of dirty haystack blonde, I see some golden highlights.

  I check my lip-gloss one final time, when the doorbell rings.

  “Hi!” I say.

  Fresh off their overnight, Larry and Peter cheek kiss and hug me.

  “Everything all right with Helen?” Larry asks.

  I nod and stand back to let them in. “She sounded happy when she called. I mean, I’m not thrilled but, you know.”

  “When can we visit her?” Peters asks walking into the house after Larry.

  “A few days.”

  Justin stands to the side holding roses in one hand and two pizza boxes (one smaller than the other). He leans in to kiss my cheek and whispers, “How are you?”

  “Fine,” I whisper back then say in a normal voice. “Do you want some help?”

  He hands me the flowers. “You hold these.”

  I take the roses. They smell like a kiss, like the way it will feel when we finally kiss, oh god when will we finally kiss?

  He puts the boxes on the kitchen table. Larry has a bottle of fake wine with him.

  “This shit smells so good. Best pizza.” Larry proclaims putting the fake bottle of wine on the table.

  “Tony makes the sauce every morning himself…No one’s allowed in the kitchen.” Justin pulls a chair out and it makes a scraping sound.

  Meanwhile, I’m shaking for some reason and busying myself with looking for a vase for the flowers. The guys continue chatting and I find a vase and fill it with water and put the flowers in. Then I try to open the pizza box, which is absurdly difficult. Larry saunters over holding a cup of soda. He whispers in my ear, “Just breathe. Trust me, Justin is a sure thing.” I punch him in the arm and grumble, “Help me with this box.” After we manage to open the pizza box, I pass out the pizza.

  “Oh, shit,” I say as I plop a piece onto Peter’s place. I put the box down on the counter behind me. “I got some bread from that bakery down the street.” I go to the oven, open it, and grab the bread—

  “Fuck!” Fingers burning and face, too because of my f-bomb.

  The guys leap up and swarm me.

  “Cold water… put her hand… come here Maddie, put your hand in here.” I feel first Justin’s warm hand and then the sharp cold water on my fingertips.

  “Here’s some ice,” this from Larry.

  Peter has his hand on my shoulder, “Are you okay?”

  I nod. Justin turns off the water. Larry gives me a bag of ice to hold, and they all steer me to the table.

  “Sit.”

  And I do.

  Larry pours me a glass of fake wine. “Pretend it’s real.” He puts it in my good hand. I drink.

  I look at my hand. “I kind of felt like I was on one of those doctor shows, you guys were so fast.”

  Justin reaches for my hand and opens it up carefully. “It’s just a little red. Think you’ll live.” He holds it for a beat longer and looks at me. I blush again. For a second, I think he might kiss it.

  Larry clears his throat and says, “I propose a toast.”

  We all lift our glasses.

  “To reunions.”

  I throw Larry a look, but he winks at me.

  The placebo wine works because we pass pizza, bread, and salad around the table and eat and laugh. My fingers stop hurting. Towards the end of the meal, Larry turns on Bubbie’s old “boombox” and adjusts the radio. Some old song I don’t recognize comes on.

  “I think we should all dance,” he announces. “Peter, have you ever danced with a guy?”

  Peter glances at Justin. But Justin just stands up and takes my hand. “Let’s all dance.”

  At first, we laugh and goof around because the song is so cheesy. I tango and then dip with Justin, but then he spins
me away and grabs Larry and they tango. This makes me crack up. Peter twirls me around and then I twirl him. And then…

  Another old song comes on. Except this one I recognize.

  Justin releases Larry from the half bear hug they found themselves in, and the whole mood of the room switches. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Larry take Peter’s hand.

  “Do you remember the last time we danced?” Justin is so close to me now I can gaze like a fool into his eyes.

  “Yes.” Why am I shaking?

  “This was the song,” he whispers, his lips next to my ear and his hands around my waist. “In my room. It’s from one of those eighties, teen movies.”

  I nod into the crook of his neck, his skin against my lips.

  “And we didn’t talk. Just danced.” He sighs, his breath warm in my ear.

  We dance in silence and Justin squeezes me closer, so close I feel his heart and his muscles in his chest. It’s the single best feeling, ever.

  . . . . .

  The guys hang out in the living room as I go back into the kitchen to put some coffee on and get dessert ready. Peter follows me. He helps me make the coffee and then says, “I really hope that you don’t blow it.”

  “What!” I laugh but he’s serious. “Why would I blow it?”

  “I don’t know…You’re used to being miserable.”

  We look at each other for another minute before getting the cake and coffee.

  . . . . .

  At exactly 10 pm, Larry and Peter, because they are geniuses, tell us they’re going to go see a movie...and spend another night at a hotel. After I close the door, I feel that nervousness again.

  “Do you want more coffee or anything? Cake?” I ramble.

  He shakes his head. “Larry and Peter seem to like each other a lot.”

  “Yeah, they do. I have to admit I wasn’t sure how you were going to react to Peter being gay,” I tell him. “I mean I know I told you last year, but we didn’t really talk much.” I blush thinking about that make out session under the tree.