Wake

by Abria Mattina

  “I’ll bring some food up for you,” Mom says, and welcomes me home with a hug and a kiss. Dad walks me upstairs with one hand firmly on my elbow and the other around my back. We have to take it slow, but that’s okay. I like the feel of carpet under my feet instead of hard tile. Somewhere in the house an open window lets in a fresh breeze. Dad tries to walk me to my bed, but I’ve had enough of beds. I slip away from him and go to my desk.

  “Jem,” he says.

  “I’ll rest. Give me a moment.” I just want five minutes of normalcy, sitting at my desk, among my things. A backlog of homework is piled high on my desk, and I’m actually happy to see it. I reach over and touch the edges of the CD cases on my shelf. Behind me, Dad opens the dresser and starts emptying my backpack of clothes.

  “Can I have a minute?” I ask when he’s done.

  “Shout if you need anything,” he says, and lets me be. I call Willa, and when she picks up she sounds surprised.

  “Are you out in the garden?” she asks. She’s referring to the enclosed garden behind the hospital, with benches and paved walkways and low-maintenance vegetation. It’s the only place where I could reasonably call her from my cell phone.

  “No.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m home.”

  Willa is silent for a beat. “Shut up.”

  “Well, that’s one way to say congratulations.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were going home?”

  “Come over,” I say. “No more visiting hours.”

  I lay down in bed to wait for her. I stretch out like a starfish, enjoying the room and the soft feel of clean sheets. My sheets. My pillow, smelling of fresh detergent. My comforter, a hell of a lot warmer than a hospital blanket. The only thing missing—and won’t be for long—is my Willa.

  I accidentally doze off before she arrives. When I wake up the sun has set and I’m being spooned. I clear my throat of sleep and phlegm and murmur an apology.

  “Don’t worry,” she says, and kisses the back of my neck. “We had a nice conversation that time you sort of woke up.”

  I groan into the pillow. “What did I say?”

  I feel Willa’s lips curve against my skin in a wicked smile, and I know it’s bad. “You can keep my iPod for a few more days, since you like it so much.”

  Aw hell.

  Thursday

  To no one’s surprise, I’ve racked up an obscene number of school absences this semester. I’m pretty much screwed because of it. Mom, Dad and I have a meeting with the guidance counselor. I know I’ve failed at least two of my courses this year, but the others might be salvaged for credit if I can be allowed to make up assignments and have my exams deferred until I’m well enough to sit them. We drive over to the school at one o’clock and it feels like last fall, when I still had cancer. I’m a freak, thin and weak and wearing a stupid mask to prevent infection. A miniature oxygen tank sits next to me in the back seat, ‘disguised’ in a little black carrying bag. Luckily, Dad promised not to make me use it unless I have to.

  I look around the parking lot when we pull up. It’s not nearly as full as it usually is, and for a moment I wonder why. Then I remember that it must be exam week already, and the only people here are kids who are writing their finals today. I suppose that’s what Elise and Eric are doing today, since they both went to school. I feel bad that I don’t even know what subjects they’re in for or when they had time to study in between taking care of my pathetic ass.

  Willa didn’t burden me with her exam schedule, either. I look around the parking lot for her beat up Toyota, but it isn’t here. Dad asks why my head is on a swivel.

  “No reason.”

  Dad carries my oxygen tank and lends me his arm for the short walk inside. I try to walk like I have strength and energy, but it just isn’t there, and I end up shuffling slowly like an old man. Mom holds the door open for us, and once inside I want to turn around and go home.

  The afternoon block of exams starts at one-thirty. At five minutes after one, all the students are still in the halls, cramming with their friends and quizzing each other on testable trivia. At first they don’t notice us—notice me—but then heads turn and people go quiet. They start whispering before I’m out of earshot, and I feel like shit.

  I just want to get to the main office and hide from all the prying eyes. Dad tells me not to walk so fast. “Take it easy, don’t overdo it.” I persist anyway, and soon spots of color appear in front of my eyes. I have to stop entirely and lean my hand against the wall.

  “Are you okay, sweetie?” Mom asks, and presses a hand to my clammy forehead. That’s a relative question. I’m not dying, but I’m definitely not fine.

  “Everyone is staring,” I whisper.

  Mom doesn’t look around to verify. She just smiles at me and whispers back, “Fuck ‘em.” My jaw drops. Mom only swears like that when she’s injured herself.

  When I feel well enough to move again Dad directs me to a bench outside the administrative offices and starts to unwind the tubing for my oxygen. Everybody can see us here.

  “I don’t need that.”

  “Keep it on during the meeting,” he says. “Build yourself back up for the walk out.”

  As he adjusts the tubing and flow, Hannah Trilby walks up to my end of the bench. She smiles uncomfortably and says hello.

  “Hey.” I sound like a breathless weakling.

  “You’re not here to write an exam, are you?”

  “No. Here to see if they’ll let me.” I gesture over my shoulder to the main office. Dad hands me the nasal cannula. I have to take my mask off to put it on.

  “Well, uh, I see you’re busy so I’ll just…” She gestures vaguely and takes a step back. “See you around, Jem.”

  “See you.” Hannah is a sweet girl, and in a way I’m sorry that I made her uncomfortable. The rest of me is irrationally hurt that she would duck and run because I was ‘busy’ for the five seconds it takes to put on a nasal cannula. I put my mask back on over top and Dad zips up the black bag.

  “Ready?”

  Elwood walks past us, headed to his exam, and sees me. For a moment he just looks, and then he turns around and moonwalks with this stupid smirk on his face. Asshole.

  “Yeah, ready.”

  *

  Willa comes over before dinner. I didn’t even have to ask—we were talking on the phone and I told her about the meeting and that jerk Elwood, and she just showed up to hang out. It’s good that she knows me so well, because I need the company to take my mind off thoughts of Elwood being repeatedly run over by a transport truck.

  She brings her French book with her and we relax on the couch while I quiz her on verbs. She’s absolutely horrible at this subject.

  “Why didn’t you tell me when your exams were?”

  Willa shrugs. “It’s not that important, and French is my last one.”

  “Yes it is important. Your stuff matters, too.”

  Willa just shakes her head. “French isn’t on par with pneumonia.” Her dismissive attitude toward her own issues frustrates me. Just because the goings-on of her life aren’t as dire as my medical situation doesn’t mean that I don’t want to hear about her day-to-day life.

  “You should have told me. I could have helped you study for Soc, at least.” Not that anyone does study for such a bird course.

  “When are you writing the Soc final?”

  All of my exams have been deferred until next week, and my teachers have agreed to streamline them. The exams will be shorter, since I don’t have the energy to write for three hours, and I’m told they’ll cut straight to the core material.

  “I should really give some thought to studying.”

  Willa just shakes her head. “You’re such a slacker.”

  “I could be a bored, under-stimulated genius for all you know.”

  “Nah.” Willa doesn’t even look up. “Lazy ass is a better description.”

  “That’s what I said!” Eric calls to her.
They share an air-high-five across the living room. Fuckers.

  Friday

  Elise is gone for most of the day. Exams are over, and prom is the last hurrah before the stuffy grad ceremony and summer vacation. The social planners spend all day setting up the gym. I don’t like it. Elise is driving up to that stupid camp tomorrow, so on her last day at home she isn’t even home.

  I’m restless and, if I’m being honest, a little mopey, so I spend the afternoon doing laundry with Mom. We wash and fold as much of Elise’s stuff as we can, parceling out what she’ll need to be away from home. Are five pairs of shorts enough? Will she be warm in that sweater? I slip one of my t-shirts into her duffle—she can use it as a nightshirt or if she outgrows some of her clothes, and I secretly hope it will remind her to call home. I also hide that pair of obscenely tiny short shorts so she can’t pack them.

  “Eric and I are going to drive Elise to camp,” Mom tells me as we fold socks. “I’ve called Willa, and she’s agreed to stay with you while we’re out.”

  I feel like I’m five years old. “You called my girlfriend and asked her to babysit me?”

  Mom gives me a withering look, as though to say, Don’t be so dramatic. “Dad can’t take time off right now because Dr. Mathers is already on vacation, and Eric wanted to come see Elise off. You need someone to stay with you right now. You’re still fragile and tired, sweetie.” She’s right, but I don’t have to like it.

  My only hope is that Mom doesn’t scare Willa into believing that I’m helpless and weak, so I can actually enjoy some quality time with her. Alone. For hours.

  God, I wish I wasn’t sick.

  *

  Elise comes home at six and heads upstairs to take a shower before going out again. I shuffle over to the kitchen and put a frozen pizza in the oven. Now she has to stay for dinner. Elise is powerless to resist pizza.

  I think I’m annoying her, because when she comes out of the bathroom and finds me studying on her bed instead of my own, she calls me a weirdo and stomps back to the bathroom with her clothes to change. I’m not a weirdo. I’m merely capitalizing on every available second I have with her before she goes to camp.

  Elise reemerges from the bathroom in the black dress she wore at her birthday party. I’m a little relieved to see it, because the hemline is decent and though the dress gives her cleavage, at least it isn’t displaying her tits on a platter.

  “Will you zip me up?”

  I do up her dress and Elise fidgets with the seams, tugging them into place. “You look good.”

  “I still have to do my makeup.”

  “You don’t need that crap, you’re beautiful.”

  “You have to say that ‘cause you’re my brother,” she says, and begins rummaging through her closet for shoes.

  “I’m not supposed to say nice things because I’m your brother.”

  Elise sticks her tongue out at me and traipses back to the bathroom to put on makeup she doesn’t need. It’s stupid, but I like the sounds of her puttering around in there. It means she’s home. Her bedroom has lost so much of her presence already. The little objects of life are missing from its surfaces—a hairbrush, her sunglasses, half-empty rolls of Lifesavers…. Her nightstand is actually tidy for once, because almost everything on it went into her duffle bag along with clothes and other essentials. It’s zipped and sealed and waiting by the door. I notice her toy wand is still sitting on the dresser and ask if she’s not taking it.

  “No!” Elise sounds mortified. “I’m not a baby anymore.”

  I slip the wand into her bag. She’ll need it at some point, and it’ll be there for her.

  The doorbell rings and my stomach drops. “Do you have a date to prom? I thought you were just working at it.”

  “No.” I don’t believe her, so I make my way downstairs to see who it is. It’s Willa, trapped against the coat rack and playing keep-away with Eric and a foil packet of what I assume is food.

  “Leave her alone, bro.”

  “Not until she shares.”

  “It’s not even cooked yet,” Willa says of the foil package, and ducks under his arm. She scurries away to the kitchen and tosses the foil into the oven with the pizza. “There.”

  Eric kneels in front of the oven door like a prisoner looking through bars. “You didn’t even let me see it!”

  Willa has no sympathy. “Yeah, yeah, life’s tough between the wars.” She finally turns to me for a kiss and I trap her in a hug.

  “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

  “Frank was pestering me about prom. Told me to ‘be normal’ for once.”

  “Normal is overrated. We’ll do something special,” I promise, because I don’t want her to regret spending her evening with me. I’m not up for much activity, but I’m sure we can find something to do.

  Ten minutes later, the call for pizza brings everyone to the dining room. The foil packet is open for about half a second before Eric devours half the contents (it was a loaf of garlic bread with cheese; may it rest in peace). Mom emerges from her office and notices that we have company, and the conversation quickly turns to how to babysit me tomorrow.

  I think Mom is losing her mind a little bit. She’s typed up a detailed itinerary for Willa like I’m a newborn with a feeding schedule. It includes all the numbers for the local hospital and the names of my doctors, my medication schedule, information about what I ate today, and how to handle my oxygen tank. The fact that Willa expresses aptitude for handling said oxygen tank isn’t so surprising.

  “Can you stop embarrassing me now?” I ask Mom when she starts to tell Willa about how often I’m supposed to purge the phlegm from my lungs. We’re trying to eat here.

  “I’m not trying to embarrass you. This is important information.”

  “Well, you are embarrassing me.”

  She takes mercy on me and targets Elise instead. Elise isn’t actually going to prom, just working at it, but Mom still insists on taking pictures of her baby girl all dressed up for the event. Elise is doing the femme fatale look again. She curled her hair and wears her borrowed fedora on a slant over one heavily made-up eye. The black goes all the way around her eye and onto her cheek, while the other eye is almost makeup free. She only has one elbow-length black glove on, because it would look dumb if only her face were asymmetrical. Only Elise could pull off something so off-the-wall.

  “You need to dress up like that to take tickets?” Eric says.

  “Oh come on, it’s an occasion,” Mom chides, and snaps another picture.

  “If you had a boyfriend, this would be the part where Mom takes out the old baby albums and humiliates you beyond recovery.”

  “I would do no such thing.” Nobody buys that. Mom keeps snapping pictures until Elise is halfway out the door and annoyed enough to snap, “Are you giving me a ride or not?” at Eric.

  The house is quiet once they’re gone. I immediately miss the sense of normalcy our obnoxious family dinners give to this house. Willa stands up to do the dishes. When I go to help her Mom says I look tired.

  “Do you want to lay down, sweetie?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Maybe you should take a little oxygen.” That oxygen tank is the bane of my existence. It’s annoying and uncomfortable and I hate that I need it.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Go lie on the couch,” Willa says, and kisses me. “I’ll be in soon.” I don’t want to go lie down. I want to do dishes with her, because that’s what normal couples do after a meal and I miss hanging out with her. I stubbornly stick around until the job is done. Willa does a good job of humoring me; I get all the easy tasks that don’t require much movement or effort.

  “Now will you rest?” she asks as we close the dishwasher.

  “I have an idea.” I take her hand and lead Willa to the front room. My stupid oxygen tank—I should name it something really awful for effect—is on the coffee table where Mom left it. I hand the carrying bag to Willa, who immediately starts to uncoil the
tubing for me.

  “How many liters per minute?”

  “Hold that thought.” I open one of the front windows and turn a TV speaker to face it. Willa looks at me like I’m being an idiot.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You’ll see.” I plug my iPod into the auxiliary port on the stereo system and adjust the volume. “Come here.” I take Willa’s hand and lead her out into the porch. It’s the last warm hour of the evening, when the sky turns gold and red before setting. There’s a word for this time of day.

  “I think it’s dusk.”

  “You think you know everything, don’t you?” I tease, and take the black bag from her. I set the tank—I think I’ll call him Adolph—on the porch swing and fit the tube under my nose and around my ears. “A Million Dollars,” by Joel Plaskett, one of Willa’s old standbys, plays through the window screen.

  “What are you doing?” she asks when I reach for her hand.

  “Come here.” I pull her in and guide her arms around my neck. We can make this better than prom: we’re both wearing sweats, which are way comfier than a dress and suit; the music doesn’t have to be censored by school administrators; no crappy lighting, we have the sunset; every song can be good for slow-dancing, because I’m not letting go of her.

  “You can be disgustingly romantic, you know,” she says as we shuffle from foot to foot.

  “You’re so observant.”

  “What do you want to do tonight?”

  “Just this.” I nuzzle her temple and Willa smirks.

  “No, really.” We stay on the porch, dancing and rocking on the swing until the sky is more purple than red, quietly making plans. I want to meet her parents, even if it’s just through a phone conversation. We both agree that more time hiking along our creek is definitely necessary. I want to cook with her. She wants me to ‘outgrow’ the hat. I want to go swimming with her. She wants to see me naked.