Far From Xanadu

by Julie Anne Peters

  So what? I didn’t care. She could die too.

  I didn’t mean that. She was my mother.

  I squealed the truck into the emergency entrance and slammed on the brakes. Darryl said over the seat back, “Go tell them we need help.”

  I hurried up the wheelchair ramp. Please, God, I prayed. Don’t make me remember. There was a black lady at the receptionist’s desk keying into her computer. The harsh lights, the smell. “My mom’s outside in the truck,” I told the lady, my chest seizing. “She’s real sick. She’s —”

  “Rudy,” the lady barked at a guy in scrubs who was passing behind me. “Can you help this little gal out?” The phone rang. The receptionist didn’t take her eyes off me as she spoke into her wired mouth-piece, “Hello. St. Joseph’s Emergency.”

  Rudy grabbed a wheelchair from an area near the door. “She won’t fit in that,” I told him.

  His eyebrows arched.

  “She’s... big.”

  He said, “How ’bout a gurney?”

  I shook my head. “You’ll never get her on it. If we can get her up to her feet, she might be able to walk in.”

  Outside, Rudy peered into the back of the truck. His eyes bulged. Darryl got out and he and Rudy discussed it. They decided to use the quilt to slide Ma as far as she’d come, then leverage her up with brute force.

  On the first pull my quilt ripped. The sound made my eyes well. Sorry, Grandma. They got Ma to the end; squeezed her legs out. I reached up to help her down, but Darryl muscled me out of the way. Fine. You do it. He propped Ma up. She had blood all over her face and down the front of her shift, on her socks, her arms. I just stood there, helpless. Wanting to hold her, help her. Mean something to her.

  “Park the truck,” Darryl commanded. “Then come back.”

  I opened my mouth to snap a retort, but swallowed it. Darryl looked strung out. Rudy, meanwhile, had managed to wedge Ma through the Emergency Room’s sliding glass doors. She didn’t seem to be coughing as much, or spitting up blood. Good. I felt relieved. For Darryl’s sake, anyway. He still loved her. She loved him. They could have each other.

  The parking lot was practically empty, just like the last time I was here. Forget about that. Block it out. When I got back inside, the receptionist informed me Ma was in Examining Room 2, right down the hall. She added, “You can’t miss her.”

  Her face seemed to flood with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean —”

  “It’s okay,” I said, smiling. I didn’t want her to feel bad. Enough people felt bad. I didn’t need one more person feeling sorry for me.

  It was claustrophobic in the examining room, too crowded for all of us to stay. I told Darryl I’d wait in the lounge.

  The sounds were what finally got to me. The screeking carts and the phone ringing and the constant din of voices, the whoosh of doors opening and closing, someone sneezing. I took the same seat I’d sat in when Dad was wheeled in off the ambulance. It made me shudder, the clammy feel of vinyl against my bare legs. The vise grip in my stomach clamped down. Waiting, wondering. Where did they take him? Why?

  Why, Dad?

  I couldn’t just sit — again. I wandered over and stood by the window, gazing out onto the parking lot. Last time it was dark. Quiet. 3:00 AM. 3:06 AM. Time of death. Dead on arrival. I don’t know why they even bothered with the ambulance. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  I jumped out of my skin.

  The receptionist lowered herself to the windowsill, smiling wide. She had a nice smile. “Juice? A cup of coffee? I’m on my break. Thought I’d head down to the cafeteria for a snack. You want to come?”

  “No. Thanks. I’m all right.”

  “A sweet roll? Your mom may be a while.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She pushed to her feet, rubbed my arm, and left. She was kind. Probably Ma’s age. Probably a mother. A better one than I got.

  The sounds all quit at once. It was dead as a morgue. My head hurt. I felt claustrophobic. Sick. Wanted to barf. I decided to wait outside in the truck; maybe take a nap. Not on my quilt. I’d have to burn my quilt now.

  Next thing I knew Darryl was pounding on the driver’s side window, yelling at me to get up. “The doctor wants to talk to us together,” he said.

  Bleary-eyed, I followed him inside. We passed the examining rooms, a maze of supply closets, unplugged machinery, cramped offices. The doctor was sitting at his desk filling out papers. He stood and introduced himself. Dr. Good-somebody. Good-fellow? Good-hollow? He leaned across his desk and shook my hand.

  “Your mother’s going to be fine,” he said. He motioned us to sit. Me and Darryl both chose to stand. “It looks a whole lot worse than it is. These things always do. She probably ruptured a blood vessel and started hemorrhaging. We packed her nose and gave her something to calm her down. It can be unsettling, seeing all that blood and having it run down the back of your throat.”

  I was processing his words.

  Darryl said it for me, “She had a bloody nose?”

  “A ruptured vessel.” The doctor nodded. “But yes, basically.”

  “A bloody nose?” Darryl repeated. “Shit,” he hissed.

  “You were right to bring her in,” the doctor said. “She could easily have gone into shock.”

  “Can we take her home now?” Darryl’s voice hardened.

  “I’ll get someone on staff to help. She should be fine. You can remove the packing in a few hours.” Dr. Goody-Good made a call, wrote something in Ma’s chart, and replaced his fountain pen in his breast pocket. Folding his hands over the desk, he said, “Your mother is morbidly obese.”

  Darryl and I both made the same choking sound in our throats. Like, tell us something we don’t know.

  “Her blood pressure’s slightly elevated, which could be a result of her panic attack. It isn’t dangerously high, but in her current condition, she’s at increased risk for any number of medical problems: heart disease, stroke, diabetes, osteo —”

  “Can we go now?” Darryl cut in. “Mike has to be at work.”

  I do? I looked at Darryl. Oh yeah. I do.

  “Your mother has a serious condition. Life-threatening. Have you considered gastric-bypass surgery? It’s an operation where —”

  “I know what it is,” Darryl interrupted again. “You staple the stomach shut so she can’t eat.”

  “Basically. And reroute the intestine,” the doctor added. “It’s proving to be an effective procedure for the morbidly obese.”

  “I know,” Darryl said.

  How’d he know? I didn’t know.

  “Most major hospitals have an obesity-surgery center,” the doctor went on. “Kansas City —”

  “Kansas City.” Darryl’s head bobbed. “Too far away.”

  “There’s one in Denver too.”

  “Look, we’re in Coalton, okay? We don’t have any insurance. It’s an expensive operation, but even if we could afford it, Ma doesn’t want it. I’ve already talked to her. I’ve begged her, pleaded with her to do it. I’ve been trying to get her to do something, anything, but she won’t. She cries if I even bring up the subject.”

  I just stared at Darryl. When had he done that?

  “I can’t force her to want to live, okay?” he said. Tears rimmed his eyes. He added, “She won’t listen to me. Neither of them will listen to me. Fuck.” He sniffed hard. “If we could just get someone to help us out to the truck, I’d appreciate it.” Darryl turned and left.

  Abandoning me there, alone with Dr. Do-Gooder.

  He smiled. “Maybe you could talk to her. You know, woman to woman?”

  I burst into laughter. It wasn’t even funny.

  On the way home I cranked up the radio in the truck to run interference on all our thoughts. After Darryl put Ma to bed, I lingered in the hall outside the door, listening to him try to soothe her. “You get some rest, Ma,” he said. “Jerry Springer’ll be coming on satellite in about an hour, so I’ll make sure you’re up. We can take that gauze out
of your nose then. I’ll wash up in here later; don’t worry about that.” He stepped into the hall and eased her door shut.

  I was about to make a joke like, “Next time she has a bloody nose we’ll just shove a Hoagie up it,” when Darryl attacked me. He slammed me against the wall and hissed in my face, “You’re still drinking, you little shit. I thought I told you to stop.”

  I pushed him off me. “You told me. So what?”

  He lunged at me, knuckling a fist, missing my face, but not the wall. The plaster cracked and the whole house shook. Darryl and I both gaped at the hole he’d made.

  “Nice,” I said, my head nodding. “Who’s going to fix that? Same person who’s been promising to get to the roof ?”

  I expected Darryl to come after me. Beat on me. Bloody me. Maybe I wanted him to. Maybe I wanted him to bash my head against the floor and knock some sense into me. Physical pain. I could take that. I understood it.

  This hurt inside I didn’t know how to relieve.

  Instead, Darryl went limp. His hands spread out and pressed against the wall behind me, over the hole. He hung his head and just started bawling.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I headed for the VFW. Sweat it out, I figured. Burn it off. Get all the ugliness out of me.

  Jamie showed up sometime around my third circuit to bribe Renata into letting him use the tanning bed for free. I heard him in there, sucking up to her, telling her how accurate her horoscope reading had been. As I headed for the lockers, Jamie called, “Hey, Mike. Wait up.” He whispered urgently to Renata, loud enough for me to hear, “Hide that. Don’t let her see it.” Renata moved an object off the coffee couner to the shelf below.

  What? Who cared? I wasn’t in the mood.

  Jamie caught up with me at the door. “We need to talk.”

  “I have to take a shower.”

  “Good idea. You reek.” Jamie plugged his nose and followed me into the changing room.

  I shoved him out and slammed the door. He was still chatting up Renata when I emerged a few minutes later. Spotting me, like he’d been lying in wait, he said, “Go ahead and warm up the bed, Renata.

  I’ve got to consult with my fag hag.”

  I stormed outside.

  He raced to catch up.

  I whirled. “I really hate that, you know. You can flaunt it if you want, if you think that queer act is so fucking cute, but leave me out of it.”

  “Whoa.” Jamie reeled back a step. “Who peed in your Wheaties?”

  I exhaled a long breath. My muscles hurt. I hurt. I shouldn’t have done the last set of lat pulls. I should’ve stayed in bed and zoned.

  My knees gave out and I sank to the park bench in front of the VFW. Jamie eased down beside me. “What happened?” he asked. “You look like shit.”

  I let out the breath I’d been holding ever since we left the hospital. “I had a crappy morning, okay?” I told Jamie about it. He listened, clucking his tongue in all the appropriate places. The knot in my stomach loosened. Not that I needed sympathy, his or anyone else’s.

  “So Sveltlana’s adding a bloody snot rag to her cosmetics carousel,” Jamie said.

  I don’t know why that made me laugh. I smacked Jamie in the chest. My eyes filled with tears, I laughed so hard. Then I wasn’t laughing.

  Stop it. I grit my teeth; swiped my eyes. Get past it. Control it.

  Jamie said, “I wondered where you were. Xana said she called your house for, like, three hours straight and no one was there.”

  “You talked to her?” I blinked real fast and fixed on Jamie. “What’d she say?”

  He held up his hands. “Don’t get all jealous. She wasn’t after my bod.”

  What would I say to her? Forget about last night, what I revealed? Nothing’s changed? But it had changed; everything changed. She knew my true feelings now. She’d always know. We’d have it between us.

  Across the street, Miss Millie tripped on the curb. Her Pekingese, Pooky, took a dump. That dog had to be thirty years old. It looked as drunk as her, wobbling around on spindly legs. Jamie called out, “Good morning, Miss Millie.” He said under his breath to me, “Break out the beer nuts. It’s Millie Time.”

  “What’d she want?” I asked.

  “Who?” Jamie said. “Oh...her.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not sure. She hemmed and hawed around for a while. Finally she said it was personal and that she could only tell you.”

  Huh. Maybe she’d been thinking about it, considering the possibility. The probability that I’d be better for her than Bailey.

  Jamie stood and stretched his arms over his head, yawning audibly. “She did say Bailey was taking her shopping in Goodland today, so you wouldn’t be able to call her back until later.”

  My stomach hurt again. I doubled over to keep my guts from spilling out all over Main Street. Bailey shopping? I couldn’t see it. Shopping for what? A new 4-H pin?

  Jamie pulled his shades out of the side pocket of his baggy pants and slipped them on.

  “I told her,” I said, clenching my middle.

  It took him a minute. “You’re kidding. What’d she say?”

  I hesitated. Why did I start this? “She said she already knew.”

  Jamie was quiet. Stunned? Shocked?

  I twisted my head up to find out.

  “You are obvious,” he said. “She’d have to be blind not to notice.”

  I annihilated him with eye daggers.

  Jamie sat back down, extending his legs out stiff in front of him. “What else?”

  I slid to the edge, copying his pose. I beckoned the sun to bake me, soak me, bathe me in warmth. I closed my eyes. “She said she loves me too.”

  Jamie did a full body twist, almost falling off the bench. “She actually told you that?”

  As much as I wanted to leave it, let him believe what he would, I couldn’t. “She said she loves me as a friend.”

  Jamie’s whole body sagged. “Ow.”

  I pushed to my feet.

  “Hey, want to get blitzed tonight?” He shot up beside me. “Geneviève has a bottle of schnapps in the cupboard she sips on whenever she talks to Grandma about me.”

  “No.” I started for home.

  Jamie grabbed my arm. “Forget it, Mike,” he said. “She isn’t worth it. She’s a slut.”

  I spun on him. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that about her. Do you hear?” I grasped his wrist and wrenched it down off me.

  A long moment passed. “You’re hurting me,” Jamie said, not taking his eyes from mine.

  My fiery gaze traveled down to his wrist, to my hand clenching it in a vise grip. I let go roughly.

  “I was kidding.” He held his wrist against his chest. “God.”

  It didn’t sound like a joke. Still. What was I doing hurting the only friend I’d ever had? “Look, I’m sorry,” I told him. “I’m not myself.” I stepped off the curb to cross the street.

  I heard him mutter, “Yeah. Whoever that is anymore.”

  I dreamed about her. I’d been dreaming about her almost every night since she’d arrived. It was a welcome relief from the nightmare — falling, falling, thud. In one dream she’d open a door and step into my room. My bedroom, except it wasn’t this pit where I lived. It was a harem. She was a harem girl, dressed in silk, satin, velvet, and gauze. Her hair was braided with lace and gemstones and pearls. She sank into my Persian carpet in her bare feet as she floated toward me.

  I lay on a round bed draped in pure linen with my samurai sword at my side. She drew back the curtain and knelt on the bed. She crawled toward me. She pulled me to a sitting position, then, one article of clothing at a time, undressed me. My jacket, my shirt, my undershirt. I did the same for her. She was beautiful naked, her skin pale and silky and soft. I was beautiful too, for once. We embraced each other. We fit together perfectly.

  It was a stupid dream. Incongruous, anachronous. How did a samurai sword fit with a harem girl? There was no connection. No logic.

 
; But I craved the dream. I longed for it to replay every night. I never wanted to wake up, never wanted that dream to end.

  I was stacking fertilizer bags on a palette when Xanadu appeared out of the mist. First thing I saw were her painted toenails, plain leather sandals, one foot holding down the bag I was trying to lift.

  My head rose and she smiled into my eyes.

  That smile splintered my heart into a million pieces. She was so damn sexy. I swiped a stream of sweat off my forehead and said the only thing I could manage. “Hey.”

  “Look.” She held out her right hand, fingers spread. “Bailey bought me a ring.”

  My eyes dropped to her outstretched hand. The ring was gold with an opal in the center and two tiny diamonds.

  “It doesn’t mean we’re going together or anything.” Xanadu examined the ring in the fading dusk. “He just wanted to buy me something special. Oh God, Mike. I’m so happy.” She pressed the ring to her heart.

  He bought her a ring.

  She said quietly, “I never thought anyone would love me. I never thought anyone could, not after —” She stopped. Her chest heaved.

  He bought her a ring.

  “Mike, you got that fertilizer loaded?” Everett hollered. “The truck’s here with the mare motels and I need that space in back.” His silhouette framed the rear doorway.

  “Almost done,” I called to him.

  Xanadu grimaced. “I better let you get to work.” She reached down and took my hand. Raising it to her face, she rested her cheek in my palm. Her face was cool, silk, satin. Why? Why did she do this? Didn’t she know every time she touched me she set me on fire? Didn’t she get it?

  “I haven’t told him,” she said. “I know I should, but I’m afraid. I don’t know what he’ll do when he learns about my past. Do you think I should tell him?”

  I don’t care. I backed away from her a step. “Don’t ask me.” It came out harsh. I didn’t want to talk about him. Not ever.

  “You think I should, don’t you?” She glanced away, across the yard, toward the flatbed. Her eyes narrowed, like she was mad at me.

  “You don’t have to,” I said. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Xanadu.” Except...love me, I thought.