“Mom,” I say softly. “Can we go to the mall now?”
“In a little bit,” she answers without looking at me.
Hours later, I’m painting my fingernails purple when the phone rings. “How do they look?” my best friend Zoe asks. She’s wondering about my pierced ears. Only I haven’t gotten them yet. It’s two-thirty and my earlobes are still untouched. Mom’s still sitting in the checked chair. It’s like she’s forgotten I even exist.
“I didn’t get them yet,” I tell her.
“Why not?” She asks.
“My mom had some papers to grade. She promised we’ll go as soon as she’s done,” I lie. I don’t know why I do it. Zoe is my best friend in the whole world and we tell each other everything. But for some reason, I don’t feel like talking about it. Zoe’s one wish is to have a big sister. Sometimes she even pretends that Lizzie is her sister, too. I can’t tell her that Lizzie isn’t perfect. It would ruin her dream.
Zoe is rambling on and I haven’t even heard a word she’s been saying.
“Hello, Earth to Jane! I asked if you want me to come over and hang out for a while. Do you?” Zoe offers.
“I better not. I mean, my mom is going to be ready soon, and I think she wanted this to be something special for the two of us.” I’m getting too good at this lying thing.
“Anyway, I’ll see you at six, right?” She’s asking about tonight. Tonight. My mom was going to take Zoe and Lizzie and me out to dinner and a movie. I was so excited before. Now I don’t know what to think.
“Yeah,” I mumble.
“Jane, you okay?” Zoe asks, her voice gentle. “You sound kind of depressed.”
“I guess I’m a little bit tired,” I lie again. “I didn’t really sleep last night. I was so excited about today.”
“Me, too.” I can practically hear her smiling into the phone.
“I’m borrowing my mom’s black leather jacket and silver hoop earrings.” Silver hoops. I feel the tears start to burn behind my eyes and I blink them back. No way. I’m not crying over this. I’m still the Birthday Girl, I tell myself. And the day’s barely half over.
Hours later, Mom is supposed to be getting ready to go. I’m sitting at my dressing table, coaxing my unruly locks into tiny braids with beads at the bottom. It’s five-thirty and no one has talked to me for hours.
Lizzie’s been in her room in the dark, hunched over the desk, scribbling madly into one of her journals. Mom is in some kind of trancelike state. Dad mumbled something about work and escaped to the office hours ago. I think I should have taken Zoe up on her offer. But I’m not in the mood to be with anyone anymore.
I look at my unpierced ears and try to think of something positive. I draw a blank.
Then there’s a knock on my door.
“Jane, may I come in?” Dad asks.
I have one of those cliché “Keep Out” signs on my door, only I’ve decorated it with purple butterflies and blue hearts. No one takes it seriously except my dad. Because he has absolutely no sense of humor. He can’t see the irony in a cheerful “Keep Out” sign.
“Yeah,” I call out to him.
I know as soon as I look at his face. But I wait for him to tell me.
“Your mother isn’t up to going tonight.”
Okay, I think. So that’s it.
But what he says next surprises me.
“So I thought, if it’s okay with you and Zoe, I’ll take you.”
My dad. Taking us to dinner and a tween movie. It’s too funny for words. But I don’t laugh because I know that’s the last thing on earth he’d want to do. And that he’s doing this for me. I smile at him.
“Do you have something to wear?” I tease.
“Is it special attire?” he asks, straight-faced. My dad gets nothing.
“Ties aren’t allowed,” I tell him.
“Maybe you can pick something out for me,” he offers. I smile and head for his closet. I’m rifling through my dad’s few items of casual clothing, trying desperately to pull together something remotely decent, when I hear my mother’s voice. She’s yelling at Lizzie to open the bathroom door.
I step out into the hallway, bright under the yellow eighty-watt bulbs. I can hear muffled sounds coming from Lizzie’s bedroom. I head for my room. Lizzie’s room is closer, but I don’t want to experience a repeat of breakfast. I tiptoe into my room. That’s when I hear Lizzie coughing. I feel a sick sinking in the pit of my stomach as I head for the bathroom door. I pull my braids out of the way so that I can press my ear against the cool lavender door and listen. The water is running. I hear her cough again, and then the toilet flushes.
I knock twice on the door. It’s our signal. “Lizzie,” I call out.
Nothing.
I try the handle. Locked. She turns off the water.
I lean my forehead against the door and take a deep breath, the kind I’ve been practicing in yoga. Zoe’s mom is a yoga teacher and she lets us take her classes sometimes. I like the meditation part when she plays this soft music with running water in the background. We lie on the floor with our eyes closed and focus on the spot right between our eyebrows. It’s kind of like praying, but different. Whenever I pray, I always end up asking for things, even if I try not to. When I meditate, I just let myself be. I’ve noticed that when I do the yoga breathing even outside of class, it helps me to relax.
I close my eyes and drift into the space between my eyes. I focus on the white spot of light there. Breathe, I tell myself. It’s always about Lizzie. Always has been.Today was supposed to be about me. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
When I speak, my voice is so soft, I don’t think she will even hear it.
“You’re my best friend, Lizzie—please don’t shut me out. I love you.”
She must hear me, because she unlocks the door. I wait a few seconds and then slide it open. I close the door behind me and lock it again.
Lizzie is curled up on the floor. Right in the center of the pink flower Pottery Barn carpet. Her frail arms are wrapped tightly around her knees and her eyes are swollen from crying.
She doesn’t look at me. Her voice is a hoarse whisper.
“No one should love me.”
Pain shoots through my heart. I forget all about my birthday, all I want to do is make her feel better.
“Oh, Lizzie,” I say as I kneel beside her and reach out for her arm. But she shrinks away before I can touch her.
“Don’t,” she snarls.
I lean back on my heels and watch her. I don’t know how to help my sister.
“I already gained a pound,” she confides. “Imagine if I would have eaten all they wanted, I’d have gained twenty.”
“You didn’t even eat anything.” I try to think of something she likes. Then I come up with it.
“What about cake? It’s your favorite—chocolate.”
Lizzie covers her ears.
“You don’t understand!” she yells at me. “Leave me alone.You’re one of them!”
“No, I’m not!” I yell back.
But she keeps chanting, “You’re one of them, you’re one of them.”
“No, I’m not! Stop it. I’m not one of them. Quit saying that!” She keeps yelling at me with her hands over her ears. I want her to stop it. It’s not my fault. She’s screaming at me.The same words over and over. I tell her to stop it, but she won’t. I throw open the bathroom door and run into Lizzie’s room.
“What in the world! Jane!” I hear my mother’s voice like I am underwater. It sounds muffled and far away.
“What’s wrong with everybody around here!” I am screaming. But I don’t care because I have lost control.
My father has appeared in the doorway. His eyes meet mine, and for an instant I wonder if I have gone too far. He looks really mad. I feel my stomach tighten up.
“Go to your room, Jane,” he says in The Voice.
I do. And I stay there for the next half hour. I lie on my bed and plot my future. I imagine packing up all my things and
leaving.
I have just remembered that I should call Zoe—make up some more lies to tell my best friend—when I hear a scream coming from Lizzie’s room. It’s my mother. She’s shrieking.
I run toward the bathroom and fling open the door, making it there before my dad. I barely notice my mother, who is holding Lizzie’s head in her lap.
“She’s unconscious. Call an ambulance,” she yells to my father. I can’t move.
I am standing in the center of Lizzie’s bedroom when the paramedics arrive. Two men hurry into the bathroom, led by my father. One of them carries medical supplies and the other, a stretcher.
“She’s been dieting quite a bit,” my mother is explaining. I watch as they lean over my sister, who is awake now and looks terrified. Lizzie’s eyes meet mine, and I see her silent plea for help. I try to tilt my head to the left and give the small half smile without teeth that I know she’s looking for. I don’t know if I succeed because she closes her eyes.
I feel like someone is choking me. I start to pant. Gasping for air. Then I feel my father’s hands heavy like weights on my shoulders. He steers me into the hallway.
Breathe, I tell myself. Breathe. I close my eyes and focus on the light I see there. Breathe in peace, breathe out fear. Breathe in peace, breathe out fear.
I open my eyes to see the paramedics carry my Lizzie past me. Her eyes are still closed. For a split second, I think she’s dead. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I swallow and try again.
“Is she going to be okay?” I wonder if anyone has understood me, because I suck the words into my throat as I say them. But the blond paramedic must hear my voice because he looks up at me.
“We gave her something to help her rest right now. We’re going to take good care of her, don’t you worry.”
My mother takes my hand as we follow the stretcher down the stairs. But I pull it away and stick it in my pocket instead. She doesn’t say anything, and I’m glad. I feel sick to my stomach. All I can think about is Lizzie. And how this is all my fault. I fought with her. And then I left her alone when she needed me. I look down at my feet as they walk down the stairs one by one. Just this morning, Lizzie and I were walking down the stairs together to have my birthday breakfast.
The doors to the ambulance are open. The paramedics are about to put Lizzie into the back. My mother climbs in and waits. There is an oxygen mask over Lizzie’s mouth and nose. Her face looks so tiny and pale underneath the plastic. Her eyes are still closed. The sight of it makes my eyes start to blur. I reach out and lightly stroke her silky hair back from her face.
“Excuse me,” the nice paramedic says to me. “We have to go now.” I nod slowly. I can’t speak. They lift the stretcher into the ambulance. I see my mother looking at me as they close the doors, but I can tell she doesn’t see me.
The siren screams into the night. It sounds like Lizzie. Lizzie. Lizzie.
I am frozen in place. Watching as the ambulance disappears into the night. My father suddenly appears next to me, gesturing toward his navy Volvo.
“Let’s go, Jane.” I nod. Nodding seems to be my only way of communicating at the moment. I climb into the passenger seat and buckle up. I sit silently and look out the window.
My mind is numb. I look—but see nothing.
Until we pass by the mall. And then I remember. Zoe. The movie. My birthday.
“Dad, can I use your phone?” I ask. “I have to call Zoe.”
He nods and hands me the phone without a word.
I dial Zoe’s number. She answers on the first ring.
“Jane. What’s going on? You guys are so late. We’re going to miss the previews and everything!”
I reach for something to say. I end up somewhere between the truth and a half-truth.
“It’s Lizzie. She’s—she’s sick,” I stumble over the words.
“Oh my God. Is she okay?” Perfect Lizzie. Zoe’s dream sister. Lying in the back of an ambulance.
“Yeah. She’s going to be okay. But we’re taking her to the emergency room just in case.”
“What is it? Food poisoning or something?”
“I guess.” Yeah. Food poisoning. Food poisoning the mind.
Zoe is silent for a while. Then she speaks.
“So, I guess we’re not going, then.” There is disappointment in her voice. I know she doesn’t want me to know. After all, I just told her that Lizzie’s sick. But she’s disappointed. And the truth is, so am I.
I sigh. “No, I guess not.”
“I’m sorry, Jane,” she says softly. She knew how much this night meant to me. I shrug, even though she can’t see. I’m used to pretending things don’t matter to me when they really do.
“’S okay.”
“You want me to come to the hospital with you? My mom could drive me.”
I want this more than anything in the world. But instead I say no.
“Call me in the morning,” Zoe tells me before she hangs up.
I hand the phone back to my father. And the rest of the ride is silent.
Chapter 3
The hospital is loud and filled with that bright fluorescent light that makes you squint and gives you an instant headache. Lizzie has already been taken into emergency. We all sit side by side on a blue tweed sofa.
I can’t stop thinking about how this is all my fault. If I were my parents, I would hate me for doing this to Lizzie. So I am not prepared for my mother to reach out and take my hand. This time I let her.
“She’s going to be okay, Jane. Don’t worry.”
She doesn’t look at me when she speaks, and her voice sounds almost mechanical. But I know she is trying to comfort me. Even if her words sound hollow.
I could really use a hug. But something stops me from asking my mother for one, or from just reaching out to her. Instead, I settle for her lightly stroking my hand.
Time moves so slowly as we sit there that I am certain it has stopped altogether. I am convinced that any second, someone is going to come out of the operating room and tell us that they have done all they could, but she’s dead. Like they do on all those medical TV shows. So when a young doctor comes to tell us we can see Lizzie, I’m completely shocked.
We all stand and follow her into a room where Lizzie is hidden by a blue curtain. The doctor pulls it aside and there is my sister. In a mint-green hospital gown. With tubes coming out of her mouth. She looks like someone else. Not like Lizzie.
We don’t stay long. Lizzie is barely awake and the doctor says we should all go home and rest. I kiss her softly on the cheek and whisper in her ear.
“I love you, Lizzie.”
The drive home is quiet. No one says a word. Dad unlocks the front door and we file in and head our separate ways.
I look around the living room. I feel like a stranger in my own house. All I notice is the silence. The pink sparkly “Happy Birthday” banner waves in the doorway to the dining room. The wrapped presents sit on the side table, still waiting to be opened. They belonged to the Birthday Girl. I’m not her anymore.Then I notice my birthday cake. Someone has eaten half of it.
That’s when I understand. Lizzie ate the chocolate cake. That’s why she was so upset.Without even thinking, I pick up the cake and carry it to the kitchen. I shove the cake into the trash. I hide the evidence of Lizzie’s sickness. I keep Lizzie’s secret.
I am still standing over the trash can looking at the mushed cake when I finally taste the first tears on my lips.
Mom and Dad have already gone to bed by the time I creep up the stairs. I lower my head as I pass Lizzie’s room. I breathe a sigh of relief when I walk through my own door and head for the comfort of my bed. Sinking into my purple butterfly comforter, I can’t help but notice the open bathroom door. I tiptoe over and quickly shut the door without looking inside. I may never be able to go in there again.
I fall back into bed. Then I see it. The turquoise box. Lizzie’s gift to me. I almost forgot. I never opened it. I pick it up and hug it to my
chest.
“Oh, Lizzie,” I cry out. “I’m so sorry.” I gently untie the ribbon and peel back the shiny blue paper.
Silver hoops.
It is 8 A.M. Sunday morning. I’m sitting in the kitchen, dressed and ready to go see Lizzie. I have been ready since six. I couldn’t go back into the bathroom, so I showered downstairs. I smell sort of perfumey, from using the shampoo and soap in the guest bathroom. Not like my usual coconut Body Shop shampoo. It makes me feel like I’m not myself. Which I’m not, really.
My parents are in crisis mode. Which for them means not speaking. About anything. The house is still, even though I know that both of them are up.
I hope that Mom didn’t notice my birthday cake in the trash. I feel bad now about throwing it away. I know she spent all night Friday making it for me. I tell myself that I am going to be really good today and not say anything to cause any trouble. I won’t even speak.
I don’t feel like eating anything. The thought of food actually makes me feel sick. But I pour myself a glass of milk because I don’t have anything else to do. I’m tracing Lizzie’s name on the glass when my mom clips into the kitchen. She’s dressed in church clothes. A pink suit with a white silk blouse. And heels. We’re going to the hospital. She’s clearly in denial.
She speaks without looking at me. “Jane, I’m going to get the car ready. Go and see if your father is ready, will you?”
She needs a smoke. Why can’t she just say it? I wonder. But I go along with her charade. I always do.
“Sure,” I say quietly. I hop off the chair and head for the stairs.
My dad is tying his tie. A tie? Who are these people? And how can I possibly be related to them?
“Aren’t you guys a little overdressed?” I ask. I’m trying to make a joke, anything to break the silence.
“You don’t think I should wear a tie?” he asks me.When he turns toward me, I feel like someone just poured ice cold water over my heart. I’ve never seen my dad look like this. His eyes are all red and swollen from crying and his skin is so white that his lips look blue. It scares me.
Jane In Bloom Page 2
