by Susan Fodor
"Hey, Jaimie," I called, turning my back to them for privacy, and to save my eyes from having to be burned. "I have to go to the hospital."
"Are you sick?" she asked, sobering quickly and coming to examine me. Her hair was disheveled and sandy, and her breath smelt like a beer tap.
"No, John is dying," I croaked, tears forming in my eyes.
"Do you want me to come with you?" she slurred.
"No." I shook my head. "Stay here, have fun, and call me to pick you up."
"We'll crash here," Tim told me. "Tam’s set us up with a room."
"Is your Mum OK with that?" I asked Jaimie.
She nodded. "I called her at nine when Tammy offered."
"OK, well, be safe," I told her, ignoring the fact that she hadn't asked me if I'd wanted to stay, assuming that I would.
"You too," Jaimie replied, giving me a quick hug. "Call me if you want me to sit..."
I was retreating toward Tim’s car before Jaimie had finished her sentence. I was grateful that Tim was too drunk and horny to mind me borrowing his car overnight. While I often drove the ‘Cherry-Popper’---as Tim had grossly named it---to drop off my drunken friends, Tim wouldn’t want me taking the car to see John. My fingers felt numb as I fumbled the keys into the ignition. The car rolled smoothly onto the road, a far cry from Mum’s old bomb.
The gated mansions whizzed by, unseen. Usually I liked to imagine what kind of people lived in the opulent houses, but all I could think about was John. Wispy fog had settled on the deserted road as I sped toward Geelong hospital.
I grabbed the flimsy jacket that Jaimie had leant me for the party. It was cold; my hair and clothes felt damp from the dew. The brightly illuminated emergency entrance sign assaulted my eyes after the dark drive into town. I almost bounced off the security guard’s chest in my haste to get to John. The security guard stopped me till Hannah confirmed my authorization to be there outside of visiting hours. The few moments waiting felt like eons, which made the elevator ride unbearable.
All I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears like drums, which made sense considering my heart had jumped into my throat.
Hannah greeted me in the doorway and followed me down the hall as I scurried into John's room.
His breath rasped through his chest, and his skin was grey and sweat beaded on his lip.
"What happened?" I asked.
"He woke up," Hannah explained. "He started yelling he had to go back to the sea. The doctor sedated him, and he started crashing. We gave him a blocker for the sedative, but he hasn't improved."
"So you think it was an allergic reaction?" I asked.
"Initially, but the blocker should have fixed it," she replied honestly.
I took his hand.
"Thanks for calling me," I told Hannah, as tears threatened to spill over.
"Stay as long as you want," Hannah said, pulling the door closed to offer me some privacy.
The room was still; John’s sheets were rumpled from the rush to save him. My heart felt like it was breaking. I was already too attached. In my weaker hours I’d fantasized about John waking up and being in love with me; but he was dying. I was losing him before I’d even met him.
"You're so cold," I chastised, pressing his frigid hand against my cheek.
On the drive to the hospital I had imagined that Hannah had been mistaken, that John had woken up and he would be fine. Seeing him so pale was proof of the danger John faced.
"You can't die," I reasoned quietly, willing him to live. "We still don't know if Bella's going to choose Edward or Jacob. I know you're backing the vampire because you're both as cold as Antarctica, but I've got a good feeling about Jacob. After all, if he's bad, she can make him sleep in the doghouse. Get it? He's a wolf so he can sleep in the doghouse."
John released a sigh and stopped breathing. I pressed my ear to his chest to ensure that he took another breath; when he breathed in again I realized that I was holding my breath too. The tension of the moment bubbled over and I giggled.
"My terrible jokes are no reason to scare me like that," I chastised with a smile.
I began to shiver in the tiny dress and skimpy jacket. "Move over," I ordered, forging forward without a need for an answer. I climbed under the blanket beside John, the side of my body touching the side of John’s icy-cold form. It was a forward action, but he was dying and it wasn’t like I was spooning with him. I was beside him, like so many sleepovers where Jaimie and I would share a mattress.
I held his hand and stared at the ceiling, while telling him all the things worth living for. It was a long list, but as four a.m. ticked by, I began running dry. "My Mum makes amazing cupcakes, and during summer the ice-cream van has the best gelato ever and... and... I'm going to miss you. If you die, I'll never meet you properly. I'm so lucky to have people who love me, but I feel so alone sometimes, like no one gets me. Hanging out with you gave me something to do, and maybe you'll get me... please... please don't make my saving you be for nothing," I begged, letting the tears run down my cheeks and soak into the crisp white pillowcase before I fell asleep.
I awoke to the sensation of being watched. I looked at the white sheets and thermal blanket and couldn't fathom where I was.
"Hey," greeted a melodic male voice. I lifted my head to see John's bronze face with his blue eyes laughing at me.
"Oh, my... awkward much..." I mumbled, sitting up to reveal a patch of drool on his chest. "I'm really sorry."
"You don't have to move," he chuckled. "You're lovely and warm."
"Thanks." I accepted the compliment, trying to wriggle off the bed without falling or flashing my underwear. "I don't think I'm supposed to be in the bed with you, that's all."
"It feels right, though," he teased, his sparkling blue eyes smiling at me.
I was wrong; he wasn't a 9.5 on the Richter scale—he was a 10. His smile did things to me that was more devastating than any earthquake.
"I'm Mya," I said, lamely shaking his hand.
"You're even more beautiful than your voice," he complimented again.
"You're just a regular greeting card full of compliments, aren't you?" I teased in response.
He reached out to me, and I took his hand habitually. "I'm in a hospital," he told me, looking confused.
"Yes," I agreed. "You were drowning, and I pulled you out of the water."
"You saved me," he gave me a suave smile. "Sounds romantic."
"It was anything but," I laughed. "I looked like a drown rat, and you spewed."
"On you?" he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.
"I don't remember, but consider us even," I said, pointing to the wet patch on his chest.
He chuckled, and it sounded like bubbles tickling my ears; it was the most pleasant laugh I'd ever heard.
"Thank you," he said, his fingers interlacing between mine.
"You're very welcome," I said, feeling like it was the first time I really meant it.
"So, are you going to read me the rest of Twilight?" he teased with a cheeky grin.
"You heard that?" I asked, genuinely surprised.
"I heard everything." He smiled smugly. "I just felt like I was under a sheet of ice and I couldn't reply."
"So you remember..."
"That your dad’s name is Paul and he’s a grumpy old Russian, while your mum is a flower carried by the warm wind bringing joy to people," he paraphrased.
"So you know me." I blushed crimson. "Who are you?"
He looked at me blankly. "I honestly have no idea."
john smith
Hannah just about squealed when she saw John awake. She couldn't keep her eyes off him. When the doctor arrived, she ordered CAT scans, which were executed immediately. Hannah stayed beyond the end of her shift to make sure the tests were done promptly. The new nurse on duty and the doctor kept popping by every few minutes. People were drawn to John; everyone wanted to help him.
"I didn't get service like this when I broke my arm," I complained. "You're
like chocolate to a fat kid."
John laughed. I loved the sound of it, like a gurgling brook. I tried my best to make him laugh; considering he'd been pulled from the sea, lost his memory, and remained unclaimed for over two weeks, a laugh was the least he deserved.
"I have to pick up Jaimie," I told him, as lunchtime rolled around.
"Can't you stay?" he begged, anxiety etched into his handsome face.
"I'll come back later," I assured him. "I'll even bring Jaimie."
He relaxed. "You're the only person I know here. It feels a bit weird without you."
I smiled, accepting his comments platonically. "You'll survive; after all, the doctors and nurses are more than happy to keep you company."
"They look like they want to eat me," he whispered, with feigned distress.
"Then stop looking so yummy," I whispered back, laughing.
"You think I'm yummy?" he teased.
"Can I get you something?" interrupted the nurse.
"She does," I retorted, using the opportunity to escape.
I skipped out of the room and found Tim’s car on autopilot. I was glad that John was alive and awake; I wanted to breakout in a chorus of I gotta feeling. In the semi-privacy of the Cherry-Popper, I did a happy dance. John was so much better than I’d imagined. He was handsome, but the truly remarkable thing about him was the way that he made me feel. I wanted to be better with him, to be funnier, braver, smarter and more beautiful. It wasn’t that I was a slacker, I tended to coast off my natural intelligence but John made me want to be so much more. He made me want to be worthy of him.
I drove to Tammy’s house and found Jaimie and Tim were still sleeping. By the time Jaimie and I returned, showered, changed and minus Tim, John was pacing the floor. The room was just as I’d left it, with the fluorescent lights and pristine sheets, but John being awake seemed to fill the room.
“That took forever,” John chided, folding his arms across his flimsy hospital gown.
“Falafel!” Jaimie replied, stopping to stare in the doorway.
“What?” John asked, turning his head askew.
“She’s trying to cut back on swearing,” I explained.
“Myyyyyyyaaaaa!” Jaimie complained. “You don’t share stuff like that.”
“Not before we’re introduced, anyway,” he smiled disarmingly. “I’m John, or so the nurses have named me.”
“Jaimie.” She giggled like the proverbial schoolgirl.
“Still no progress on your actual name?” I asked, chewing my lip.
“Nope, but the doc says it’s mild brain swelling and should clear up soon.” He winked.
“So, you’re going to be hanging out here till then?” Jaimie asked, breathlessly.
“No.” He shook his head. “There is a social worker coming to get me a temporary foster care situation, till I remember or turn eighteen, whichever comes first.”
“So, you’re seventeen?” Jaimie asked like it was the location of buried treasure.
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, unfazed. “They just don’t want to release me into the universe alone and uncared for.”
“That would be criminal.” Jaimie sighed, smitten.
I laughed at the interchange. “Tim who?” I joked.
Jaimie giggled without taking her eyes off John. “You’re just so interesting.”
“They’ll have me in foster care and school by Monday,” John shrugged.
“How is that possible?” I asked, surprised. “These things generally take so long.”
“I guess people just like to rescue me,” he joked, elbowing me gently.
“I’d rescue you,” Jaimie offered, dreamily.
John and I exchanged a look, and Jaimie laughed at herself over how weird she sounded.
***
Mum was pretty cranky on Sunday night after I’d spent the majority of the weekend in the hospital. We sat at the table in our dining room with the mismatched table and chairs, all hand-me-downs from people who were upgrading. Countless family photos littered the kitchen hutch that overcrowded the dining area.
A vegetarian lasagna was laid out on the table with a fresh salad and homemade bread; Dad tucked into the lasagna, oblivious to the missing meat.
Mum was trying to save our planet by reducing our carbon footprint; vegetarianism was her newest addition to the crusade. Dad still hadn’t caught on after almost a month. Even if he suspected, he probably wouldn’t say anything because he didn’t want to hear the activist sermon that went with it.
Mum was prone to her hippy rants, and Dad was quite happy to let her do whatever, as long as he didn’t have to post bond at jail for Mum and me again. After we were both arrested at a protest against building an oilrig off the coast of Australia, Dad had insisted that we never get arrested again; I had been thirteen at the time. My family was unconventional, but they were mine, so I tried not to be too embarrassed.
“Maybe we should take John in ourselves,” Mum suggested, annoyed. “Then we might actually see you.”
“Really?” I asked, excited.
“Of course not really!” She shook her head in disbelief. “You missed the sarcasm? You’re a teenager—you’re supposed to be the queen of sarcasm.”
“Sorry,” I apologized, disappointed. “It was an emotional weekend.”
“What do you think it was like for me? I was alone with him all day,” she replied, pointing her thumb toward Dad.
“Hey!” Dad objected, looking confused. “I ask you to watch news with me.”
“Watching news all day…” Mum rolled her eyes playfully. “That’s so enticing.”
The great thing about Mum was that she rarely held a grudge; she would get her feelings off her chest and get on with life. It was one of the things I loved about her.
“Mya?” she started, apprehensive. “I know that you’ve never really been big on dating...”
“Spit it out, Mum.” I groaned with exaggerated exasperation.
Mum was hilarious when she was uncomfortable. She tried so hard to walk the line between being a cool mum and a responsible one; there were times when I hated her for it, but knowing that John would live had put me in a happy frame of mind.
“You get so attached to things and people.” She sighed. “I just want you to be careful; don’t give your heart away too quickly.”
“I won’t, Mum,” I assured her with a quick hug. “He’s drop-dead gorgeous; he’s got to have a girlfriend somewhere who is going crazy wondering where he is. John just has to remember who he is, and then he’ll be gone.”
“He might,” Mum agreed. “On the other hand, he might not. You’re an amazing girl, Mya.”
“Not that amazing,” I said with mixed emotions as I went to get a drink from the kitchen.
“You have no idea,” Mum yelled after me.
I laughed, knowing that John wouldn’t date me in a million years.
school
I tried really hard to look my best on Monday; that required no less than an hour in the bathroom. We had the city’s smallest and ugliest bathroom. Everything in the room was 60s pink—the basin, the tiles, the toilet, the shower curtain, everything. Over the years Mum had tried to break up the pinkness by adding different colored towels and floor mats, but it was a losing battle. I wondered how Dad could spend so much time sitting on the toilet when so much pink surrounded him.
Dad banged on the bathroom door before my bus arrived. “There is nothing you can do about your face,” he grumbled with his Russian accent. “If I win a lotto, then I’ll get you a new nose and you won’t have to spend so much time with the mirror.”
“That’s so kind,” I said sarcastically, hurt by his comment. “Maybe you should get yours done first, since my nose is a hand-me-down.”
“Ha, ha,” he said seriously, rushing past me into the bathroom to get ready for work.
I wandered into the kitchen wearing my blue tartan skirt, white shirt and the blue school blazer. Despite the uniform being ugly and unflatterin
g, it was better than having to go through the drama of a free day. Whenever there was uniform-free day Jaimie would descend upon my pink bathroom trying to make me presentable.
I was lucky to have Jaimie, but I was happy for the reduced stress of the uniform. I pulled my white knee-high socks up and fiddled with my black designer shoes, hand-me-downs from Jaimie. That was our group’s thing—white knee-high socks and black designer shoes. The drama kids were big on hats, while the Goth kids had their pale faces and black eyeliner. Despite having a set uniform, it was obvious who belonged to each group.
“Is my nose that bad?” I asked Mum, running my fingers across the bridge of my nose.
“Your nose is perfect because it’s yours,” she replied with hippy flare.
“I told John I’d meet him at the gate,” I said, fluffing my hair for the zillionth time, “but I think I’m going to be late.”
“Let me take you,” Mum said helpfully. “I’ll check with the secretary agency if they’ve got any temp work on the way home.”
Mum was a job connoisseur; she had held no less than thirty jobs in my short life. She maintained that she hadn’t found a vocation to dedicate her life to other than motherhood. Fortunately, Dad made enough money to keep us clothed and fed, even if we didn’t live in a mansion by the sea like most of my friends. I felt blessed to have a home and family, even if I didn’t have any new designer stuff.
“Thanks so much, Mum,” I said, genuinely grateful to avoid the smell of uneaten sandwiches and deodorant that accompanied the bustle of the school bus.
Mum dropped me off at school before the buses arrived; I watched each bus unload its teeming contents into the empty school grounds.
Jaimie bounded up to me looking like she'd spent the majority of her morning preening in the mirror. "Is he here yet?"
I shook my head, and she did a decent job of not looking disappointed.
"Maybe he remembered his identity and he's on his way home," she sighed, deflated.
"Who?" asked Tim, draping himself around Jaimie.
"John," I replied, chewing my lip.
