The Story of You and Me

by DuMond, Pamela

  I wanted to fly.

  I smelled smoke.

  I held my hands out like airplane wings and skipped across the cliff, swerving to and fro. That rock in front of me—that I almost banged into—was the most beautiful rock I’d ever seen in my life. That plant above my head talked to me. An enormous spider that was even taller than me stood up tall on its back legs, regarded me through flickers of a flame that illuminated it and said, “Sophie! Follow me. Something bad’s happening. This place, this beautiful place is burning.” The spider waddled away from me.

  “Hey!” I watched the flickers turn into flames that licked the scrub brush on the cliff. “Like—spiders creep me out. Seriously. Why should I follow you?”

  “Because, if you stay here, you’ll burn,” the spider said. “Come on!”

  “But,” I said. “If you’re a spider—why do you have a camera?”

  The spider paused and morphed back into a glistening, sweaty, corpulent version of Dr. Kelsey. “Sophie. There’s a fire! We have to go! Come with me,” he held out his hand—which morphed back into hairy spider legs curling toward me.

  I shuddered. “You go. I’ll be fine. I’m good in emergencies. Always have been.”

  Flames popped up around Dr. Kelsey. He dropped his camera, turned hairy tail and lumbered away until he was out of sight.

  I watched as the camera fell in slow motion into a scratchy bush, close to the cliff’s edge. The fires grew. I heard the dead plants scream as they caught fire, sizzled: their bodies lighting like a corpses lined up on a conveyor belt in a crematorium. One after the next.

  I didn’t know why, but I needed to get that camera. Thick clouds of smoke congealed in the canyons and billowed in the air around me. Colonies of bats squealed as they flew out from caves in the cliffs around me, winging their way through the smoke. One large flock exploded out of the rocks just feet above my head, screeching and flapping their wings around me as they escaped into the night sky.

  I screamed, ducked low to the ground and coughed. I clawed my way on the earth toward the camera that lay discarded, like a flashy toy the day after Christmas. It stuck out of scrub brush that clung to the edge of the cliff. It was illuminated by other plants that exploded like tiny bombs as the flames licked their base, expanded upwards and popped as they ignited like tiny little bombs.

  But I didn’t care about bombs, or other acts of warfare. I was here to save a life. I was a good soldier and I would carry on. I crawled toward the scrub brush, snaked my hand close to its flames and snatched the camera. My hand started to burn. I clutched the camera to my chest, looked up and saw flames circling me. Engulfing me. I was literally toast.

  If I ran, I’d be burned. If I stayed, I’d die.

  I looked around for my power animals: no owl, no spider. No bliss coursing through my veins. Only flames making their way toward me. I looked around for a way out of this mess. Flames everywhere. Smoke congealing. Fire licking, building around me. People screaming in the distance. I shook my head, and realized: this was screwed. There was only one way out, and it was if I dropped off the edge of the stony cliff.

  There was a ledge below it. Unless I wanted to die right now, this was my only option. I stood up and walked to the edge of the cliff. Balanced on its precipice as the flames licked closer to me.

  Now was the time. I could just let go. Surrender to the moment. The heat. The inevitability. Really? What did I have to lose? I leaned forward. Just let go, Sophie, I told myself. Really, death is inevitable.

  But I didn’t want to die, here or now. I wanted to live.

  I heard the revs of a loud car engine, its horn honking like crazy, and a guy’s voice yelled, “Sophie Marie Priebe! Step away from that damn cliff. I’m coming for you.”

  I turned and saw him. Alejandro. He wasn’t a spider. He wasn’t an action figure with a D emblazed on his long-sleeved T-shirt.

  He was simply my Alejandro.

  “You’re here,” I said as he scooped me up in his arms and hauled ass back to his Jeep, throwing me in the passenger seat and belting me in.

  “You bet your ass I’m here,” he hopped in the driver’s seat and revved the engine. “Hang on. I’m going to get us out of this mess.”

  * * *

  I was back at USCLA emergency room, lying back on a gurney sucking oxygen out of a mask while Alejandro held my hand and texted Nick on his cell. “Damn,” he said.

  I pulled the mask off my face. “What?”

  “Do you remember passing out on the way down the mountain?”

  “No,” I said and immediately wondered if it was from the hallucinogenic plant medicine or a seizure.

  Alejandro nodded. “Well you did. I think you had a seizure.”

  Great.

  “I thought you were dying. It freaked the hell out of me and I didn’t know if I should stop or keep driving, but the flames were on our ass, so I just kept driving and held your hand. I got cell coverage about a quarter of a mile down and called 911. They were already on it. I got through to Nick and Tyler. They’re freaking crazy, but they were already in Malibu and went up into the hills. Nick found Beth—”

  “Oh, my God,” I said. “Is she okay?”

  He shook his head. “She’ll live. Things could be worse. She’ll need some skin grafts on her arms. Tyler managed to help some locals evacuate with their two dogs, four cats and two horses. Dr. Carlton Kelsey was treated for smoke inhalation and has left the building. No comment on his part. Most of the people on the Quest are accounted for.”

  “Most?”

  “A few people on their roster are missing. Police have opened an investigation into Kelsey Vision Quest.”

  The nurses kept monitoring my blood pressure, my oxygen intake.

  “Alejandro,” I said and reached for his hand. “You rescued me. You saved my life. I’ve got to tell you something. I tried to tell you before.”

  He wove his fingers through mine. “Anything.”

  “I’ve been diagnosed with—”

  A harried young female doctor burst into our semi-private curtained area. She flipped through my chart. “You’re nineteen-years-old, you’re in a USCLA stem cell study for early onset MS and you just survived a forest fire.” she said. “Someone needs to call Lifetime Network and option your rights for a TV movie.” She examined me and as well as my burns. “You lucked out, young lady,” she said.

  I looked at Alejandro. The truth was out, and not in the way that I hoped it would happen.

  Would he shun me? Would he judge me? Was I tainted in his eyes?

  Alex squeezed my hand then released it, leaned down and kissed me on the top of my smoke scented hair.

  The doctor examined me. “You lucked out young lady,” she said. “Your burns are first degree, minor. But your blood pressure’s high. That happens when you suffer from smoke inhalation. The hallucinogenic you took can really mess people up. You could have ended up as a guest in our Psych Ward. I’m assuming you voluntarily took this stuff.”

  “Yes. But I was told the medicine was harmless.”

  “You were told wrong. You’re dehydrated from vomiting. I see here in the chart you had seizures. The plant medicine could have kicked your MS symptoms into overdrive. The fire you escaped has already consumed a couple hundred acres. You should probably stay overnight for observation. I’ll have you transferred to—”

  “No,” I said. “Please. I hate hospitals. I really want to go home.”

  She signed. “Do you have a roommate? A friend to stay with you?” She eyed me and then Alex, with a questioning look.

  “Yes. She has me,” Alejandro took my hand and squeezed it, again.. “I’m staying with her. Do you have any instructions? A number I should call if she gets worse? Has more seizures?”

  “911 in case of emergency.” She dug in her pocket and pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “I’m only here for another couple of hours. You can page me or the nurse’s station if you have questions. I’m prescribing a creme for your
burns. Pick it up on your way out.” She turned and I swear, shook her finger at me. “You’re going to feel like crap for a couple of days. Rest, hydrate, and eat something bland like chicken soup and crackers. No excessive physical exertion if you know what I mean.” She scribbled in my chart.

  “Thank you Doctor,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.” She left the cubicle.

  I looked at Alejandro. “I think I figured out why the provision list for the Vision Quest included mouthwash.”

  And despite everything, we both cracked smiles. Here we were again—full circle.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Alejandro ran a bath for me in my ancient claw foot tub. I brushed my teeth for the third time and spit into the bathroom sink. That simple effort made me feel even weaker. Like I’d just taken a five-mile hike instead a three-gargle spit. I ignored the elephant in the room—he finally knew my biggest secret—I had MS.

  “My mom always said lavender and Aloe vera are healing for burns and stuff.” Alejandro poured a concoction from a box directly under the faucet. “The description on this bath soak package says the ingredients are organic and natural.”

  “Sounds like the plant medicine,” I said.

  “Oh crap. I’ll empty it.” He plunged his hand down into the water toward the stopper.

  “No,” I said. “Keep it.” I leaned forward over the sink and stared into the mirror. My face was red and covered in soot. I was really lucky that I hadn’t gotten badly burned. I had a few blisters and minor burns on my hand and other areas. I was, however missing half an eyebrow: the fire had singed it off. “You must think I’m hideous.”

  Alejandro stood behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, leaned his sooty face next to mine and peered into the mirror. “Nah. I think you look kind of exotic. Like that chick in The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo who had really skinny eyebrows.”

  “She had two skinny eyebrows,” I said. “Where would I be if you hadn’t shown up?”

  “Probably with a normal man without all the baggage who would’ve been there for you from the get go. A guy who doesn’t break people.”

  “Excuse me. Without you I’d be on a slab in the county morgue.” I said. “Going on this stupid Quest wasn’t about me. Well—it kind of was. But for the most part, it was for Nana.” My legs trembled. My hands started shaking. I couldn’t hide my shame or my symptoms any longer and a few tears leaked out.

  He hugged me tighter and nuzzled his chin against my face. “It’s okay to cry, Bonita. Do you want to skip the bath and just hit the bed?”

  I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “God, no.” I said. “I’m a stinky creature from Middle-earth.” I looked at the tub. The water looked warm, the bubbles inviting. And yet… “Truth?”

  “Truth,” he said.

  “If I have a seizure in liquid deeper than a glass of orange juice tonight—I’d drown.”

  He nodded. “This explains your freaky aversion to surfing.”

  “You’re discovering all my secrets.”

  He stepped away and ran his fingers through the water. “The temperature’s perfect. Your carriage awaits.” He gestured to the tub. “I’ll even give you privacy. I’ll sit right outside the door and I won’t even peek. But if I hear anything unusual, I’ll rescue you. You’re not drowning tonight.”

  I didn’t know whether to feel grateful or embarrassed. “I have MS, Alejandro. No matter how many herbal baths I take, it’s incredibly doubtful that I’ll be a person who lives a long, rich, healthy life.”

  “Bonita—just take a bath. One small thing to help you relax and feel better. Okay? We’ll deal with the rest of it later.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” he said. “And no worries about me seducing you tonight. I’m a total gentleman. I wouldn’t lay one finger on you, in that kind of way, even if you handed me an engraved invitation.”

  Hmm. That almost sounded like an Alpha Boy challenge.

  “Your puke-stained shirt,” he said. “What do you think? Should we take it off?”

  “Yes.” I stretched my arms up over my head.

  He tugged on my shirt and slowly peeled it over my head, leaving me naked from the waist up except for my sweat-drenched bra.

  He held the shirt balled up in his hand. “Keep it or toss it?”

  “Toss it.”

  “Agree.” He pitched it into the wastebasket in the corner of the bathroom. His eyes landed on my chest and swept slowly down my body. He cleared his throat. “Your jeans,” he said. “They’re dirty. Again, puke-stained. Smell like smoke and probably have bat shit on them. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re going to help me get out of them.”

  He kneeled and unbuttoned my jeans. Slowly. I heard his breath catch. He placed one large hand on each side of my waistband and eased my Levis down my hips.

  My stomach did flip-flops and seemed to drop low into my pelvis. I started feeling hot and my heart pounded in my chest.

  How could I be dehydrated, burnt, exhausted and massively turned on all at the same time? When my jeans chafed against something painful on my thigh. “Ow!” I flinched.

  He gazed up at me, concerned. “A bruise or a burn?”

  “A burn, I think.”

  “Where?”

  My hand traveled down directly in front of his face, grazed his lower lip, (by mistake I swear,) and I tapped a spot on my thigh just inches from his mouth. His breath quickened and warmed my leg.

  “Hang on.” He stood up, opened the mirrored bathroom cabinet door, peered inside and grabbed a pair of scissors. “I’m cutting this pant leg off right above where it hurts. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  He knelt back on the floor and punctured a hole in my threadbare jeans with the tip of the scissors and started cutting off my pant leg.

  I tried not to fidget, but I was sprouting goose bumps and suddenly had the shivers. He cut around my entire thigh until the filthy pant leg collapsed around my ankle. “Better,” I said.

  “Good. You were right,” he said. “It’s a burn and a bruise. Nasty. Where’s that cream the ER doctor gave you?”

  “In my purse,” I said. “On the kitchen counter.”

  He sighed, got up and left the bathroom. “I hope Dr. Carlton Kelsey uses his time wisely to cross a whole lot of state lines far away from California.”

  I wriggled out of what remained of my jeans.

  “Because if I see him, I will kick his flabby ass from here to—”

  He froze in the bathroom’s entrance and gazed at me, speechless.

  I stood before him in only my bra and panties. Pointed to the clothing on the floor. “Could you throw that in the trash as well?”

  “Um.” His eyes glazed over. “Yes.” He picked the pile off the floor and pitched it into the wastebasket.

  “Thanks. You said you’d sit outside the bathroom door to make sure I didn’t drown. You still okay with that?”

  “Oh.” He frowned and shook his head. “Yes. Absolutely.” He stepped the few feet outside the door. I heard him sit down and lean back against the hallway wall. And sigh.

  I smiled. He was still my Alpha Boy. I unhooked my bra and shimmied out of my underwear. Dropped both on the floor. Stepped gingerly into the tub.

  The water was warm, but not too warm. I sat down, sighed, dunked under the water for a few seconds and wet my hair. I resurfaced dripping wet and reclined against the back of the porcelain tub. I grabbed the bar of soap and carefully cleaned the blood, soot and smoke from my skin. “This feels great,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I reached for the shampoo on the side of the tub and winced when squeezing the bottle caused the burn on my hand to flare. Thought about it. There weren’t a ton of bubbles left. And then I wondered after all we’d been through, if I really needed them.

  “I need your help, Alejandro,” I said. “If you’re up for it.”

  “What?” he sounded interes
ted.

  “Would you wash my hair? The burn on my hand hurts.”

  “Okay,” he said, still outside the bathroom door.

  “That means you can come back inside.”

  He walked in with his eyes squinted shut.

  “Open your eyes, before you fall, dork.”

  “But I promised,” he said.

  “And I promise you’re not going to see anything you haven’t seen before.”

  He smiled and blinked his eyes open. It was like watching a kid on Christmas morning seeing presents for the first time. (Yippee! Santa made it after all!)

  He kneeled next to the tub, reached over me, grabbed the bottle of shampoo from the far corner, flipped open the top and poured a dab into his palm. His gaze danced over my body submerged under the water and landed on my face. His lips were full. I wanted to kiss him. He massaged the shampoo into my scalp.

  Heavenly. He was freaking heavenly. “Why you haven’t become a hair stylist is a question that will always haunt me,” I said.

  “I could be like that Warren Beatty character in the old movie, Shampoo.”

  “I’ve never seen that movie, but trust me if Warren’s character did half of what you’re doing now—sign me up.”

  I slid under the water for a second and wondered what to do. I had MS. But I’d fallen in love for the first time with Alejandro: a gorgeous, smart man who loved me back. I was safe. I was cared for. I was in love. Seriously? My decision wasn’t all that difficult.

  I slid back up out of the water, my hair slicked against my neck, chest and back. I blinked my eyes open and realized the bubbles were gone. Alejandro was deliberately avoiding eye contact, staring at something on the ceiling. “Look at me,” I said.

  “Nah. We’d be getting into dicey territory. I think it’s safer to look at that spot on the wall.”

  “No.” I grabbed his hand. “I want you to look at me. All of me. The good, the bad… I’m bruised. I’m burnt. I have this stupid disease that could be inactive for years and one day might decide to eat me up and leave me in a wheelchair. Most nineteen-year-old girls are close to being perfect people. But I’m not. I’ll never be a perfect person. I need you to know that.”