by kc dyer
I send e-mails to my dad at work every day, and every night my mom sends me a goodnight e-mail before she goes to bed. But I usually don’t get them until the next day because we are not supposed to use the internet station at the end of the hall at night time.
So can I?
From,
Kip
November 20
Logan K.
An ungodly hour in the morning.
Okay, I get why you keep your notebook on your desk, all right? Everybody needs to look at it and you take away and file a bunch of the private stuff, anyway. I don’t even care if the little weirdie reads my stuff. I just don’t think she should be allowed to slag my work. It’s one thing for her to be all stuck up about her English skills and her math skills and so on, but she should keep her opinions to herself. I mean, she has a lot to say for a girl who won’t even use her own name because she thinks it’s too boring. It’s not boring. It’s a good enough name. The one she made up is just plain stupid. A person who has something to say should have the backbone to use their own name. And she’s so proud of her grandmother but won’t use the name they share? Gimme a break. That chick is just too weird.
What really bugs me is she scoffed at my graphic novel. For your information, CLEOPATRA, it is not a comic strip. There’s a difference, you know. Comic strips are like Garfield or Peanuts or something. And they can be pretty fun to read. But I happen to know from my English teacher that the graphic novel is a highly respected form of writing. And just because certain little weirdies can’t draw worth spit is no reason for them to talk down about graphic novels. We read Maus in Grade 9 English and it was one of the best books I’ve ever seen. It was published in 1986, which was before a certain weird person was even born. And what about The Sandman? Neil Gaiman is a genius. Graphic novels rule.
So, even though I’ve written by far enough journal today, here’s another panel of the novel, just because.
Logan Kemp, who always uses his real name.
Evergreen Hospital
Children’s Ward-Desk 9
Office: 101-456-7890
November 21
To: Ms. Abigail Zephyr,
Evergreen Hospital Education Department Head
Re: Nutritional support for Cleopatra Jones
Dr. Valens has relayed a request from the hos-pital nutritionist that Cleopatra is required to re-sume a morning snack of protein bar/shake as her weight has not rebounded since the removal of the NG tube. Please ensure that Cleopatra be allowed a sufficient break from her morning stud-ies to allow her time to take this important nutri-tional supplement. Please direct any questions to Dr. Valens. Thank you.
Takehiko Ken, RN
November 21
Kip G.
Abbie, I showed Jacqueline my anime program today. She really liked it. She is so nice. I don’t get why she changed her name, though. Logan says she is weird, but I think she is nice.
I feel sick.
Do I have to do my journal when I feel sick? Besides, Jacqueline and Logan are fighting over my laptop. They both want to send e-mails to their friends since the internet station at the end of the hall is broken. If I feel sick, do I have to do my math, Abbie?
From,
Kip
November 21
Jacquie H-M.
9:06 a.m.
Hello Abbie,
I had a wonderful dinner with my mother and father last night and I wanted to tell you about it so you could see the progress I have made. After you left for the day my parents arrived with a pass from Dr. Valens so we could go out for a surprise dinner. We got to celebrate my sister Helena’s successful win as second row dancer and understudy in a new play. They brought me a new skirt (size zero, can you believe it?) from the Gap to wear with my red sweater to dinner. My sister seemed not quite herself. She did say that she much preferred the understudy role to the main role itself as the director was really on the lookout for cows with big chests and she would not want to be considered one of those. My mother says for a special treat they will go to visit the plastic surgeon one more time as push-up bras are just not enough these days for a girl who has Hollywood in her sights. My dad read the paper since he doesn’t like to comment on girl talk.
I want you to know, Abbie, that I ate my whole meal. My parents were so proud. They are convinced I will be ready to leave here soon, and much as I will miss you, Abbie, I am ready to go home.
I did get some bad news at dinner. My parents and I had quite a long time to talk while my sister was in the restroom, and they told me that Nona has moved to a nursing home while I have been incarcerated. It seems she fell and broke her hip and needs extra care while she recovers. She sent me a gift, though: a beautiful little astrolabe from her collection. It’s not the gold one, but it is quite old and valuable all the same. As you are so knowledgeable on the subject of astronomy, you must know what a precious gift this is to me. Mother and Daddy were quite worried that it would be stolen in the hospital but I assured them that I have a very safe place to keep it, and especially since Nona is not well I would like to have it near me.
I’m so thrilled you enjoyed my journal entry enough to send it off to my English teacher at school. Because of my parents’ visit, I have been thinking so much about my dog Zoë and how happy I will be to see her when I get home at last. I thought you might appreciate reading all about Zoë and what she does every day. I hope Ms. Plato enjoys it, too!
With all the writing and math practice I have had here, returning to school is going to be a piece of cake. I feel totally ready to go back. And wait until that Adine Terrapini gets her eyes on my new skirt. I’m dying to see the look on her face.
Love,
Jacqueline
November 21
Logan K.
Afternoon, thank god.
So, Abs — did all my math this morning. Still working on the graphic novel, you’ll be happy to hear. I’ll have to show you my sketchbook because I’m not quite ready to hand you another finished panel. But I’ve got a problem.
Here’s the thing. I know the chick is sick, all right? Mentally, I mean. But she’s taken to puking in my washroom. MY washroom, Abbie. Now, let me tell you, my washroom is not a nice place. The cleaning staff just can’t get in there often enough, and as you know, my own digestion is not exactly in order these days. But for some reason she seems to like it better than her own. I think she’s hiding from the nurse and this is the second time in two days I’ve caught her. The first was the other night after she went out to dinner. I sure as hell don’t understand this eating disorder thing. How can you go out for a great steak dinner and then want to stick your fingers down your throat?
I mean, cripes. At least she’s got a normal family. A mom and a dad at home, still married with good jobs and all. A hot sister. Okay, I know that probably doesn’t matter to the little weirdie but it still rules.
She even has a dog for crissakes. I would kill for a freakin’ dog, man.
You know, I should be the one with the eating disorder, not her. Screwed up family, divorced dad living in Denver, works all the time, bonks his secretary and flies home for the odd weekend. Mother obsessed with charitable causes. Uh, how about looking a little closer to home, Angela? I can think of a half-decent charitable cause who lives in your son’s bedroom upstairs.
Never mind. Forget I said anything. For all I know, my mom is off raising money to fight Crohn’s disease across the country. The only thing more embarrassing than living with this stupid disease is having to be the poster child for your mother’s charitable efforts.
Crap. I wish I hadn’t thought of it. If you hear even a whisper that she is up to something, you’ll tell me, right Abbie?
Logan
7
He flipped the notebook closed and dropped it on the next seat. The bus swayed back and forth in a hypnotic way. Probably everyone was asleep. He should be asleep, if he w
anted to have any energy in the morning. Besides, it was weird to read through Abbie’s notebook. It felt almost like his life was spilled out over these pages, all mixed in with Cleo’s life and Kip’s and everyone else who wandered in and out of their ward. He wondered how Abbie made sense of it all.
The bus lurched a little and Logan bumped his head against the window frame. He stared out into the darkness. What kind of fool’s errand was this? Chasing some self-destructive teenage girl across who knows how many snow-crusted miles. He should be home in his bed, the way any other person with more than half a brain would be.
Cleo had called him at home before she ran away from the hospital, but he’d been out and hadn’t heard her message on his machine until after dinner.
It felt like days ago, not just a few hours. He could still hear her voice, as clear in his memory as if she had been standing beside him.
“Logan, I’m going away. There’s something important I have to do. I’m not going to tell you anything, and that way if anyone tries to ask you for information you won’t be lying when you say you don’t know. Thanks for helping me fake my way through that ward transfer form. It should buy me at least a day before everyone figures out where I’m going. I don’t know where I’m headed after I do this one thing, but I’m pretty sure it won’t be home. I’m not really in a position to ask you any favours, but since I probably won’t be running into you anytime soon, I’m going to ask just one. If there’s any way you can, stay in touch with Kip, will you? He might be a little kid, but he really looked up to you in the hospital and I bet even on the outside he could sure use a big brother figure like you. And since you’re probably gagging already, I might as well tell you that I did hear what you said to me the other day. So you might not be a rugby star anymore. But you made a difference to me and to how I want to live my life. It may not be important to you, but it is to me.”
And that was it. She hadn’t even said goodbye.
He shivered a little and picked up the notebook again, her voice still echoing in his head. He’d done what she said. He’d been kind to Kip. Maybe now it was her turn to listen.
November 22
Jacqueline Hornby-Moss
7:16 a.m.
Dear Abbie,
Please feel free to show this entry to Mr. Kemp.
I most strongly protest Mr. Kemp’s allegations that I have been using his washroom. It is all conjecture; he has never seen me in there. I have never been in there that I can recall. Yes, I felt a little ill after my dinner out with my family, but everyone around here gets so hysterical, I thought it better to keep it to myself. I wish he would do the same. You keep your nose out of my business, Logan Kemp.
Jacqueline
November 22
Jacquie H-M.
10:14 a.m.
(Abbie, you’ll be happy to know that I have had a chance to cool down somewhat from my earlier note to you. As usual, your advice is sound. Thank you for suggesting that I write this. I feel much better for having done so.)
Journal entry: A Plea to Logan
Dear Logan Kemp,
This morning after I read your note to Abbie I was very angry. I had a strong urge to wipe away your customary smirk with the swift blow of a bedpan to your face. Instead, however, I sat down and really tried to think through why you upset me so much.
I know more about you than you think I do. I know how much you love rugby. I know that you had a crush on Mary Margaret Johnston last year. (For your information, Mary Margaret herself told me about this, during Hip Hop Dance class after school. She seemed quite pleased about it, however, I believe you were wasting your time. In the end, she told me she prefers a more cerebral type. Sorry.)
I know how much you hate, loathe, and despise the disease that has attacked you. And I know how much your stomach hurts. I’ve seen you running to the bathroom.
But you don’t know anything about me. And that’s my problem.
I’m pretty sure you don’t care, either. But on the slim chance you do, here’s a newsflash.
My stomach hurts, too. It hurts every time I look at food. If I have to eat something, it starts to hurt from the time I even smell the food. It hurts going down. It hurts when it hits my stomach. And yes, it hurts when I bring it back up again. (Except this last bit has so much relief involved it makes the hurt seem less, for some reason.)
I know that food is fuel. I understand that my behaviour is destructive. I can see that my health might be affected someday. But it still hurts.
Some pain is worth the price. I get that. I’ve seen you steal chocolate from the gift shop downstairs. And just so you know, I’ve kept a running tally. I’ve counted seven candy bars, which means you’ve probably stolen at least double that. You are most certainly what my father refers to as a slippery character and how you can steal from those sweet old people I do not know. It was no surprise to me when they banned you from the premises. And I’m not even going to attempt to address the question of why you steal in the first place when you have so much money of your own. Who knows what makes you do these things?
Remember that time we were doing math and you were sneaking raisinettes? I said you’d be sick. And I was right. I’ve never seen anyone attached to an IV pole run as fast as you did to the rest room. But you know what? Other people hurt, too. And I am a person, not a weirdie.
You take medicine to get better or at least to help with your pain. I do too, but it doesn’t work. And that art therapist with her huge glasses and wild theories gives me no help at all. The only thing that actually makes me feel better is talking with Abbie. I want to spend my time doing that and NOT putting so much energy into ignoring your mean remarks. So cut it out, will you? I deserve that much, I think.
Jacqueline
November 22
Logan K.
Before noon, can you dig it?
Hey Abs,
You in some kind of meeting? I can’t find you anywhere. So don’t have a stroke, but I’ve got all my work done for the day. Beat the lunchtime rush, that’s my rule. Journal, math, even that science write-up that Mr. Shima sent from school. Not bad if I do say so myself.
I walked by Kip’s room earlier. Sleeping in, the little slacker. Trying to get out of homework is my guess. Maybe I’ll go give him a hand so I can use his laptop when he’s done. Still haven’t heard back from the team about the tryout dates. My gut is almost back to normal. I’m sure I’ll be ready to try out whenever they need me.
Later!
Logan
Evergreen Hospital
ICU Ward – Desk 11
Office: 101-45l6-7890
November 22
To: Ward Nurses – Children’s Ward, Desk 9
Re: patient Kip Graeme
Please note that this patient has been formally transferred out of the Children’s Ward and into ICU. Tutoring is cancelled until further notice.
cc Dr. Rob Valens, MD, DFM
cc Ms. Abigail Zephyr,
Education Department Head
November 25
Jacqueline H-M.
9:11 a.m.
Good morning, Abbie. Hope you had a great weekend.
Actually, the truth is that this isn’t really a very good morning at all. You missed a lot when you were away visiting your family. As you probably know by now, poor little Kip was rushed to surgery after he rejected his kidney. His mom sat crying on my bed for hours on Saturday, but by Sunday he was doing pretty well. He has to be hooked to a machine for regular dialysis every day, since he no longer has even a single working kidney to clean out his blood.
But now that Kip is feeling better, I am trying to find something to feel thankful about. Today is one month until Christmas and four days until my birthday — both exciting. Maybe soon I’ll be back at school. I’m hoping Adine has been eating way too much and by the time I get back
to school she’ll look like a little pink pig with an apple in her mouth.
I’m going to think more about this thankfulness essay before I write it, Abbie. Will have it to you before deadline, though, for sure.
Jacqueline
From the Desk of Donna-Fay Jones
Dear Ms. Zephyr,
A brief note to say that we will not be over as usual to visit Cleopatra this week. Her grandmother is doing poorly and we have had to spend some extra time in Clearwater as a result. We should be back by the end of the week.
Sincerely,
Donna-Fay Jones
November 25
Jacquie H-M.
11:36 a.m.
I’m back, Abbie. And I’ve thought about being thankful. But I have to say that thankfulness just isn’t my cup of tea today. I am thankful that Kip is better and all that, but I mean, let’s get real for a minute. Sometimes (and I can’t believe I’m saying this) Logan is right. Look around you. If you were a kid having to live in the hospital, how thankful would YOU be?
Remember the history assignment you gave Logan and me last week about the rise of communism in Europe? I don’t know if he even read the pages you gave us — I did see him sleeping in the lounge with a copy on his face, so maybe he did. But I read it, Abbie and it’s made me think. Marx and Engels put a few words down on paper and they pretty much changed the shape of history forever. And today when Medusa was taking my blood pressure for the four hundredth time I decided that now is the time for me to take action.
The Communist Manifesto basically outlined Marx’s idea that if people work as hard as they are able and take only what they need, then society can run without the need for wealth or poverty. It was a pretty good idea when you think about it, but it seems that there has been some trouble ever getting it to work properly.
