Between sets, Owen announced the contest again and shouted, “There are a few spots left in the contest lineup, so there is still time, folks. Don’t hold back. Commit. The prizes? Five hundred dollars and your performance featured on Comedy Hub dot com.” He continued bounding around the stage, his lanky limbs reminding me of those inflatable dancing tube men outside car dealerships.
When our set started, I lay low for the first few scenes, trying to get Jason out of my head so I could focus on how I was going to work this improv thing out on crutches.
Then came the game Forward/Reverse. Quinn started the scene with two others and Hana “called” it, which meant whenever she shouted “reverse,” the actors would have to go backward through their action and dialogue to the beginning, or until Hana called “forward” again. Like forwarding or reversing a movie. This scene was about medieval knights who had to compete in a joust.
I was enjoying watching from the sidelines when Chris, the ex-football-player in our group, appeared next to me pushing an office chair he must have found backstage. He raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Ya in?” I immediately knew his plan and, putting one crutch down, I sat in the chair and propped the other crutch out parallel to the floor. Within seconds both of us were yelling, “Charge!” as Chris wheeled me, the jousting knight, quickly across the stage. The audience went nuts for our prop-comedy, clapping and shouting. New electric energy fueled me. After that, I jumped into scene after scene, eventually having to hold myself back so I wouldn’t hog the stage.
After the show, Craig came up and gave me such a big hug he lifted me and the crutches off the floor for a second. “Impressive, sis. I was sure I would hate it, but it turns out improv is kinda cool. It’s like the jazz of theater, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Thanks.” I smiled, realizing Craig’s approval now meant something to me.
“This is my friend Luke, and you guys totally blew his mind,” Craig said, gesturing to his college-aged friend. He was a scrawny guy with black hair and elaborate piercings and tattoos. Apparently, Luke wasn’t much for words, but he mimed his mind exploding and made a bomb-like sound effect.
Hana came up, and Craig leaned down to hug her, too, in a long, lingering way. “You are a queen of comedy.” She blushed.
Then Scared Scriptless’s group gathered in with ours, and I was face-to-face with Jason. He was about to say something, when Mom came over to us, along with a handsome man in his forties or fifties.
“Hi, Dad,” Jason said to the man next to my mom.
“Hi, Ellie. I’m Jason’s dad, Michael.” He smiled, and I could immediately see the similarities. “I’ve heard so much about you and it’s nice to see all that talent in action. The joust scene was my favorite. Very creative use of crutches.” He patted me on the shoulder.
I managed to say, “Thank you. So nice to meet you,” and resisted saying: I’m so sorry about your wife. Your son is one of my favorite humans on earth. Why have you heard about me? How did you meet my mother?
“Jason has told me a little of what you’re going through, and I want to say, we are here for you if you need anything. Anything at all,” Mr. Cooper said. Jason came from good people.
He told us to have a fun night, and asked Mom if she’d like him to walk her to her car. She seemed charmed, gave me a kiss on the cheek, told me I did a great job, and walked off with him.
Jason turned to me, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Wow—my dad isn’t always that impressed with improv. Crutch-prov wins.”
“It almost felt like cheating.”
He opened his mouth to say something else, when a girl practically jumped between us, grabbing both of our shoulders and squealing, knocking my right crutch out from under me. Jason’s face flashed with concern as he reached out to grab me, but I’d already caught myself with the other crutch.
It was Marissa, the serious-theater girl from the beach, and she was oblivious to the fact she’d almost taken me out. “Oh my God, Ellie. You are so funny. I looooooved your group’s set. It was, like, nonstop.” She moved her face too close to mine and lowered her voice. “You are so strong. I cannot believe you have cancer. I almost cried for you, but instead you made me laugh, and I simply cannot believe it.”
Bam. A verbal joust to the gut. Did she just tell me I have cancer? Also? Not sure if I wasn’t offended she only almost cried for me.
“Who told you that?” I asked in such a scathing tone her head jolted back and I had to push back the venom. “I prefer tumorously challenged.”
Jason let out an airy laugh.
“Oh, um…” Marissa’s eyelashes fluttered at warp speed.
“There’s no diagnosis yet,” Jason said. “Sorry, Ellie, that’s probably my fault. The team asked why you were on crutches, and I told them you had a biopsy. It must have spread like the worst game of telephone.”
“They’re just being cautious. It’s probably nothing,” I assured Marissa, and myself.
“Well, you are just so brave.”
I didn’t really see how the misfortune of possibly having a disease made me brave. All that came out was, “Uh…”
Marissa whipped her long, silky braid over her shoulder and grabbed me again. In a teacherly voice she said, “If it is cancer, you should stop eating sugar. Have you already? The only thing I know about cancer is, don’t eat sugar. Cancer loves sugar. Cancer eats the sugar right up.”
It was so absurd that I couldn’t stop my first thought from popping out of my mouth. “Really? That’s so weird—I love sugar. Cancer and I must have a lot in common.”
Jason stifled a laugh as Marissa’s face made a nanofrown. “Oh.” Then she hugged me around the crutches. “Well, I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I’m praying for you, okay?”
“Thanks, Marissa,” I managed as she bounded off.
Jason was covering his mouth with one hand, but the rest of his face was smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That was solid.”
I shrugged. He stared at me intensely. His cheeks reddened, and he crossed his arms, then uncrossed them and put his hands in his front pockets, then shifted them to his back pockets.
“Jason, what’s going on over there?” Balancing, I waved my hand around at him.
“Can I show you this cool grove of trees at the side of the building?”
“You want to show me some trees?”
“Yeah, I think you’ll like them.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I definitely want to see these trees. Real bad.”
We escaped out the back door of the auditorium, around to the side of the school, where there was a grassy area lined with the promised trees. Once we were hidden where no one could see us, I teasingly said, “Wow, you were right. I’ve never seen such a beautiful grove.”
He closed the distance between us, moving one of his hands to the small of my back, the other to my neck. He kissed me like every part of him needed to kiss me. I let my crutches drop to the ground and, while balancing on one leg and mostly being held up by Jason, I kissed back, my body softening into his hands, into his lips.
He picked me up, fully off the ground, and I let out a little “woo!” in surprise. Then he lowered me onto the grass as if I were one of the early fall leaves being gently guided to the earth by the wind. Because everything in me was wired to ruin moments like this, I said, “Impressive.”
“What can I say.” Taking the palm of my hand, he traced his fingers along it and up my arm, tingles trailing, adding to the built-up energy from the show. “You were seriously funny tonight. On crutches and everything. You…you’re amazing.”
My smile filled the whole of me. “Thank you. Not just for saying that. For all of it. These two shows we’ve done with you have been by far my favorite ever. And I never would’ve gone up there tonight on crutches if you hadn’t…” I trailed off, the happy-weepies choking me up a little. I wasn’t used to this. Being with a guy like this. I leaned down and kissed the palm of his hand, a tiny act that, for me, was a
thing of boldness. “Just, thank you.” And with those three little words came an electric wave of realization. Oh. It happened, or was happening. I’d fallen, was falling.
Love. A giddy treasure of a word I was going to keep to myself a while longer.
He beamed and we kissed again until we had to catch our breath. Wrapping me up in his arms, he nestled his face to my neck. Dizzy with it all, I held on to him tight and ran my hand through his soft, perfect hair. The rustling leaves, the warmth of him, the cool night air…I could stay here forever.
We lay back on the grass, side by side, hand in hand, gazing up at the stars. It was a clear night, which was good because I had a lot of wishes to make. Tomorrow might bring good or bad news, but for this one moment it didn’t matter. I imagined if we stayed here long enough I could sink into the earth, my sickness melting with my joy, tangling in the tree roots underfoot.
Chapter Twelve
Perched awkwardly on the unforgiving hospital table, I waited for my diagnosis. This room was colder than the rooms I’d waited in before, the air frozen and gray. The confidence I’d felt Friday night with Jason was obliterated by the panic pulling me under.
Dr. Nichols marched into the room, a gaggle of lab coats filing in after, taking positions around the exam table, causing a whoosh that sent a chill up my bare legs.
“Good morning, Ellie, Sonia.” That look on her face. I can’t take this. I gripped on to Mom’s arm like I was five years old, as she said a quick hello for both of us because I couldn’t speak.
Dr. Nichols brought up my MRI scan on a large screen on the wall. “I’m sorry to have to tell you, but the biopsy shows the tumor is malignant. You have a rare cancer called chondrosarcoma—an overgrowth of cartilage in the bone.”
Everything in me shattered.
No. No.
Please, please, no.
Mom clutched me to her chest and whimpered as I stared at the scan, a section from my hips to knees. All of the bones were clean and strong-looking…except for one. The left one, bent like a weeping willow, mottled with blackness.
A silent war had been raging in the deepest part of me, my entire femur bone beaten and eaten. I’d had no idea. My poor little bone. It was the saddest, ugliest thing I’d ever seen. And it was inside me. Cancer was inside me and, from the image on the scan, it was winning. Ready to take over.
My eyes clouded, and my heart thumped in my gut somehow, all of my anatomy now backwards and misshapen. A voice broke through the fog. “Ellie, we have no other cases with which to compare yours. To help you understand how rare this is, you are one percent of one percent of one percent. Because the tumor takes up almost your entire femur and has curved the bone, it makes the options for surgery more complicated. Chemo and radiation aren’t effective with this type of cancer, so wide-sweeping excision is the only way to treat this. There are several procedures we can discuss.”
None of this made sense. She had to be wrong.
Mom still had my head pressed to her, and I could hear her breath and her heart rioting inside. In a shaky voice she asked, “Why…why is it malignant? How did she get this?”
“There was nothing you or Ellie could have done. I’m sorry there is not a better answer, but this is an unlucky mutation.”
Mom tensed so much she was crushing me. Like if she held me hard enough she could undo this, keep me safe, protect me from whatever was next. “What do we do?” she whispered.
Her face solemn, Dr. Nichols said, “We haven’t worked with a case like yours at this hospital before, but options to consider include…” A ringing in my ears made it difficult to focus on the dizzying list of procedures that followed, but I caught some that didn’t even sound like real words. Allograft. Partial allograft. Fibular graft. Arthoplasty. Curettage. Amputation.
Mom cut her off before she finished. “Excuse me, amputation?” She let go of my upper body and clasped my hand instead. She wasn’t technically shouting, but she might as well have been. “Is that a real option? Obviously, we don’t want that one.”
Dr. Nichols’s face twitched. “I understand it sounds scary, but amputation offers the best chance of avoiding a recurrence.” She pointed to the scan. “Ellie, because of the tumor’s proximity to the knee joint, you need to understand that all the options for limb-salvaging surgery carry the high probability that you will always walk with a limp and never be able to fully bend or straighten your leg again. Most importantly, amputation is the option with the lowest mortality rate.”
Saliva flooded my mouth. I swallowed hard to keep from throwing up. I can’t do this. How will I do this?
“Prosthetics are quite advanced, and it would allow Ellie to maintain her ability to run and jump.”
“We’ll want a second opinion,” Mom said.
“Of course. You’ll want to act fast with your decision, but a second opinion is always a good idea. Since her case is so unusual, I recommend we send her scans to one of the big cancer centers—MD Anderson or Memorial Sloan Kettering. We’ll give you information to take home and read about prosthetics, as well as a list of the options to review.”
They went back and forth with more questions and responses. I tuned out. Then, the appointment was over. Dr. Nichols and her flock of students with their swooshing white coats left us there in the silence, the cold, the never going back.
This time I wished for a wheelchair because my limbs had dissolved into uselessness. Wobbling, shaking, Mom spotting me all the way, we somehow got me dressed and made it back to the car.
When we got in, Mom gripped the steering wheel but didn’t turn the key. Through gritted teeth, her voice came out low and determined with a few cracks giving away how hard it was to keep it together. “I’m sorry, Ellie, I’m so sorry. We’re going to find you the best doctor…the very best option. Okay?”
She turned to me and pulled me into a hug, which wasn’t so much of a hug as us collapsing in on each other, sobbing, desperate, one in our desolation.
Chapter Thirteen
Mom and I spent the rest of the day in her bed. “Are you hanging in there, sweetie? We’ll get a second opinion. We’ll get through this, okay?”
All afternoon I’d stared out the window, or at the walls with my eyes out of focus, noticing how the pumping of my heart rocked my body back and forth ever so slightly. I’d never been still for long enough to notice.
The pillowcase rustled—sounds were extra loud today—and I turned to look at Mom. Her eyes were red and puffy. I found her hand and held it as cold stones churned in my gut. It killed me that she had to deal with this, too. That my leg had betrayed both of us. That my sickness was causing her so much pain.
I was spacey and out of it, and it was almost like I was in her mind instead of my own, like maybe we were so close we shared this energy field and I could hear and feel her thoughts. You bring a daughter into this world and give her everything you have, all your love. You pray every day for her to be safe and protected. You hold the fiercest hopes that she will have the best life possible. She’s been so good, has done so well, worked so hard, seems so healthy and—wham. Cancer. Your baby.
Mom squeezed my hand. “I’m giving us today to just be, and then tomorrow I’m doing all the research, calling all the doctors, and making all the plans.”
Squeezing her hand back, I stared back out the window.
I hadn’t told Jason exactly when I was getting my results, but Hana, Quinn, and Craig knew. I hoped they would give me a day without asking.
Mom took a deep breath and said, “You should call your father and let him know as soon as possible.”
I shook my head. Had our sheets always made this much noise? Quietly I said, “He’s still in Hawaii until tomorrow.” And then, adding the part I still couldn’t get over, “He kinda checked out from being my dad when he moved away my last year of high school. So, let him finish his vacation. I’ll still have cancer tomorrow.” The word practically caught in my throat, and I swallowed down a faint taste of bile.
Mom used her most gentle voice, which I’m sure was hard for her, because she was mad at Dad, too. “Ellie, your dad loves you, and he definitely cares. As for him going on vacation instead of being here for you, I don’t get it, of course, but he didn’t think it was going to be something so big. None of us did. As for him moving to Wisconsin, I know my words will never make it better, but I think he sees you growing up and no longer needing him. You’re busy with all your activities, you’re off to college next year, and his choice to follow Barb was his way of looking out for himself.”
I had nothing else to say about him, or to him, right now.
Mom’s face softened. “Do you want me to tell him?”
“Yes, please.”
Mom scooched in closer, nuzzling me into a hug. She smelled like apples and ginger and tissues. She planted her lips on top of my head in a long kiss, and we fell asleep like that, her soft breaths in my hair.
The sound of the apartment buzzer woke me. Mom moved first. “I’ll see who it is.”
Thank God, because there was zero possibility of me getting out of this bed. My friends were at the door, I was sure of it. My pulse quickened—I wasn’t ready, I didn’t have words, I couldn’t break more hearts right now.
Beep.
Click of the dead bolt.
Silence, waiting for the person, or persons, to get from the front entrance down the hall to our door.
I found a tissue and wiped my eyes and nose, tried to sit up in bed. It was something at least. It was effort.
Doorknob turns.
“Come on in.” Mom’s voice.
Whispers. Shuffling. Definitely more than one set of feet.
Our apartment is so small that it was only seconds before they were in Mom’s bedroom, surrounding me. I got this morbid image of me in a casket, them looming over me with the same expressions that were on their faces now.
I stared at them all, wishing I could pretend to be a corpse with the luxury of not having to speak.
A Messy, Beautiful Life Page 9
