A Messy, Beautiful Life

by Sara Jade Alan

  He grinned. “I know. There’s more. Knock, knock.”

  “Who’s there?

  “Not my knockers anymore.”

  “Awful. Did she come up with that?”

  “Yep, and she had a big fit of giggles after it. Really cracked herself up with that one.” He had a small smile and his gaze went far away.

  “That’s impressive she could laugh at it.”

  “Yeah, she was amazing.”

  I put my hand on his knee and held it there as we sat in silence.

  He said, “Quinn said you wouldn’t be having chemo?”

  I nodded. “No, it’s so deep in me, chemo would kill everything else before it even started on the tumor.”

  It was his turn to nod. He was slipping into memory-land, and I wasn’t sure if I should help him dig deeper or pull him out of the depths. As he seemed to get further away, I decided on out. Thinking of the jokey improv game One Eighty-Five, my head reeled with ideas. Cancer, chemo, tumor…

  “One hundred eighty-five tumors walk into a bar. The bartender says, ‘What can I get you?’ The one hundred eighty-five tumors reply ‘one hundred eighty-seven shots.’ The bartender says, ‘But there’re one hundred eighty-five of you.’ The one hundred eighty-five tumors reply, ‘We’re drinking for tu-mor.’”

  A slow smile morphed across his face. “Was that a tumor math pun? Owen would love that.”

  “Yeah, but these are all tragically cheesy jokes and I wouldn’t do any of them for the show.”

  Jason brightened. “So, you’ll do it?”

  Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no. “Yes. I mean, what I have I got to lose? A leg?”

  “Yes! No, I mean, no, not the leg. But yes, that you’ll do it. Now I’ll get my sign-on cut from Hana.” He rubbed his palms together greedily.

  I gave him the Ice Princess glare I usually reserved for Craig.

  Jason laughed and threw a pillow at me. I threw one back. He threw another one, and I caught it. He pushed his hands back on it, and we shoved the pillow back and forth between us, laughing, until I leveraged up on my good leg and pushed the pillow with my body weight and toppled him over. I buried my face in the pillow between us to stifle my giggles.

  “Ellie, are you up, sweetie?” Mom called from the hallway.

  I reached across the bed and switched off my lamp. We froze. There was a soft knock on my door. “Ellie?” Mom whispered, waited. “Get some sleep, my love.”

  The lights in the dining room were on. Now that we’d woken her, she was going to be up researching for a while. Crap.

  Jason tickled my ear with his whispery words. “Let’s just lay here until she goes to bed, and then I’ll sneak back out, ’kay?”

  Smothering a giggle from the tickles, I nodded a yes against his shoulder. We shifted so I was laying on my right side, and he spooned around me, hugging me tight.

  His hand moved down my left thigh until he got just above my knee. “Is it here?” he asked, meaning the tumor.

  “Yeah,” I answered quietly. He didn’t say anything as he nestled against my neck. He held me there, wrapped in his arms, the warmth of his hand emanating into the spot on my thigh.

  And that’s where we slept all night.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I was finally, finally off crutches…and onto a cane. There had to be a joke in there, but after staggering around like a geriatric wizard, I noted zero comedy in my situation. There were only twelve days until the Comedy Hub contest. At least Dr. Nichols said I’d only need the cane for a couple days as I transitioned to walking and got the strength back in my leg.

  The night Jason slept over replayed in my mind every day since it happened. The morning after the surprise sleepover he snuck back out the window early, and I’d immediately called Quinn and then Hana.

  Quinn had said, “You slept with him?”

  “Next to him, over the covers, with our clothes on.”

  “This is serious.”

  Hana had said, “He said he likes you and wants to go through whatever happens with you and then held you all night without making another move? Clearly he’s in love with you.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but—”

  “He held you all night!” Hana shouted through the phone.

  Since that night, my feelings for him were stronger than ever. Of course they were. We talked and texted every day between the frenetic pace of school, preparing for the contest, and all the medical rigmarole. So much had shifted in a few days. And things were about to start moving even faster.

  Mom had lined up an appointment with the surgeon I’d read about at the top cancer center in New York City. She’d already bought our tickets, scheduled to leave the day after the contest.

  I texted Jason the news about my appointment, and he called me on his way home from Las Palomas del Disco rehearsal. “That’s the one from the miracle surgeon article you read, right?”

  “You’re so good. Yeah, and you won’t believe the surgery he’s recommending. It’s called…” I pulled up the email so I could get the words right. “Curettage and cryosurgery with resection and reimplantation. I didn’t even know those words existed before today, let alone were something you could do all together, and possibly to me.”

  “Doesn’t sound complicated at all. Any ideas for jokes with that one yet, or is it too soon?”

  “Too soon. There’s just so much to it, it’s hard to find an angle. It would involve sawing out my femur, scraping and freezing it, filling it with a protein-putty from my hip, adding a metal plate, and putting the whole thing back into my body. It sounds like something from a science fiction novel, not my actual life.”

  “Um…yeah, that’s crazy. When is one of these doctors going to suggest your bionic leg idea? But I might have a direction for your cadaver bone option.”

  “What’s that?” I wished we were together so I could see his face. I loved how animated he got when he was inspired.

  “Maybe you could think about whose bone you might get. Would it affect you in some way? There’s gotta be something in there, right?”

  “I like that.”

  “Could a donor bone give you new abilities?”

  “Yeah, maybe I’d get a criminal’s bone and receive the gift of an evil fury? Or preferably, an Olympic athlete’s bone, and I’d get, uh…the ability of super speed? But…just in the one leg, so maybe I’d run super-fast in a circle?”

  “Ha. Whose bone would you want?”

  Thinking about it for a second, I said, “The bone of a ninja.” I sat up on my bed on my good knee, with my other leg extended, and did a little karate chop with my free hand for just myself. “Wouldn’t that be cool? My bone would be sullen and mysterious…and then—ka-pow!—kick the crap out of things.”

  “Nice. You’ve got something there—ninja donor bone.”

  We went on talking and brainstorming like we did every night, until Jason was home and in bed and my voice was scratchy from laughing and needing sleep.

  A million thoughts poked the back of my eyeballs.

  I was at Las Palomas del Disco rehearsal to watch their run-through and give feedback before the big night, which was only five days away, but it was difficult to stay focused. I’d talked with two chondrosarcoma survivors today who called me as part of a program to connect cancer patients with survivors. Instead of reassuring me, they’d served me up thirty-one flavors of fear.

  During a break, the others went out back for fresh air, and Jason sat next to me on the couch. “You doing okay? Did you talk to those people who had the same type of cancer in their femur?”

  I nodded, the tears bubbling up, threatening to spill. “It wasn’t helpful. I spoke with this lady Beatrice, who’s in her seventies. I asked her what it was like for her after the surgery—you know, wondering if I’d be able to bike and do improv again.”

  “What’d she say?”

  I imitated Beatrice’s voice, speaking shaky and slow. “‘Good, good. Though, some days I have to crawl up the stairs,
and it’s hard to stand on grass and gravel.’”

  His eyebrows shot up.

  “I know. This is my future? Hard to stand on grass and gravel?”

  Jason covered his mouth, his eyes wide. “Man, that’s unnerving. But she’s in her seventies. When did she have her surgery?”

  “Six years ago.”

  “See? I bet she was already having trouble walking. They shouldn’t have matched you up with someone so old. That’s not going to be you, okay?”

  “I also spoke to a woman in her twenties, and that was almost worse because she’s not that different in age and it still didn’t sound good.”

  “How so?” He held my hand and waited intently. It was different talking to Jason about this than my other friends, because he got it on so many levels. At first I’d felt bad because it was asking too much of him, but he said it made him feel good to have some use for everything he’d learned and been through.

  “She was that patient of Dr. Ray’s featured in the article. I was so excited to talk to her because that story is the only thing that’s been keeping me hopeful, you know? And…” And then the tears fell. I covered my face, and Jason pulled me into him so my head was against his chest.

  “I’m so sorry Ellie. What happened to her?”

  I collected myself just enough to mumble into his shirt, “She’s alive, obviously, and cancer-free, but she has to have another surgery because the donor bone she had is being rejected by her body.”

  Sniffling, I sat up and reached for a tissue, hoping I didn’t have snot all over my face, because that’s always attractive. Really added to the whole sultry, crying-over-cancer package that I had to offer. “I just feel like, even if I live through this, even if I get to keep my leg, it could take years to recover, and it still might not be over. This might be my life. Forever.”

  He handed me another tissue.

  Great, I probably do have snot on my face.

  I wiped every possible spot. I should invent a snot-bag, like a poop-catcher for horses, but for cancer patients. You just never know when your nose is going to poop out some snot. “And, I don’t know, I just can’t help thinking about how this thing got in me, and why.”

  His expression changed, and he stared out the window for a moment before turning back to me. “I remember overhearing my mom ask my dad that question one night.”

  “How did he answer her?”

  “He told her that it wasn’t her fault. For good or bad, it’s just science. It’s a mutation, you know?”

  “Dr. Nichols said something like that, too. How did your mom respond?”

  Jason gave a wistful smile. “She said, ‘Well, I feel so much better. Thanks, dear.’ Then there was some laughing that turned into crying, and that’s when I went back to my room.”

  I waited a beat, letting that memory sit between us.

  “Why do people like to call us mutants so much?” I asked.

  “You’re not a mutant. But it’s true—we’re constantly being zapped from particles shooting from the sun, from space, and it’s just luck when a particle doesn’t hit a cell and cause a mutation. Or unlucky when it does.”

  “So, you’re saying I can blame this all on space?”

  He nodded. “Yes, exactly. It’s space’s fault, not yours.”

  “I am so pissed at space right now.” I looked up and shook my fist in space’s direction. “I’m totally going to sue space.”

  He laughed. “Let’s write that down.”

  Mom had made me start seeing the school counselor. Which was fine because she was also our yoga teacher, Mrs. Lahiri. I usually left each time feeling that, for just a minute, I got to escape the cloud of anxiety that followed me so persistently. But today I was really freaking out, and I didn’t think she’d be able to help.

  “I’m just a wreck. What’s wrong with me?” It was the afternoon before the contest, and I was pacing in Mrs. Lahiri’s office. If nothing else, I was grateful to be able to pace again.

  “There are only two days till I leave for my appointment in New York City. One day till the Comedy Hub contest—a show in front of hundreds of people. And T-minus zero seconds until my head implodes.”

  Mrs. Lahiri audibly sighed at my outburst, but her eyes seemed kindly amused. I went on.

  “I can’t sleep. The positive side is that it’s given me lots of time to work on the material for the show tomorrow night. But the bad part is my stomach is in knots. My heart is constantly beating so fast I think it will bust out of my chest. My leg keeps bouncing and twitching like it’s possessed. There’s this nonstop stream emanating directly from my brain to my leg…like a sci-fi laser beam…waa-waa-waa…and I can’t shut it off. I can’t intercept it. Did I do something to bring this on? I still can’t believe a cancerous tumor is in there.”

  “Please. Come lay down on the couch.” She patted the cushions. I did what she said. She turned on her funky lamp and turned off the overhead lights, then she came back to sit on her bright red chair with quilted throw pillows.

  Mrs. Lahiri’s voice soothed me. “Please, tell me your fears and worries as a list. I do not want to hear your stories or judgments of these fears. I want to hear your concerns only as facts. Go.”

  “That I’ll suck at the show tomorrow. That nothing I say will be funny.” I took a deep breath and continued. “That I won’t be able to make a decision. Or that I’ll make the wrong one and won’t walk normally ever again, or I’ll be left in constant pain, or the cancer will come back.

  “I’m worried about Mom. That she’s expending all this energy on worrying about me instead of finding what makes her happy.

  “I’m afraid I’ll lose my friends, my future. Because they’re all moving on in life and I’m stuck behind. That I’ll never know what I’m supposed to do with my life, and I’ll be miserable because of it.

  “I’m afraid of what will happen to Jason and me after surgery.

  “I’m afraid of surgery. Of being unconscious while someone is opening me up. Of being out of control.”

  And then it happened. The knot in my stomach loosened the slightest bit.

  “Very good.” Mrs. Lahiri moved her chair closer to the couch. She handed me a pillow to prop up my head, then placed her hands a few inches away from my temples, just hovering on either side of my head. “Now, close your eyes.” I did. The closeness of her hands calmed me. My heart slowed a little and didn’t seem like it was going to rocket out of my rib cage. “Do you believe you have a spirit or soul?”

  “Yes,” I answered without thinking. Did I? I hadn’t thought about it much. But the answer came tumbling out, so maybe I did.

  “You did not do anything wrong. Cancer is not a punishment. But I believe that our souls have come here to learn and grow. Some people continue to push aside their experiences and not learn from them, and those people find themselves repeating the same struggle over and over again. But think of those who have come out of a difficult situation the better for it? Perhaps they would not wish to relive it, given the choice, but they are also thankful for the new gifts they received from it.”

  I thought how life was a teeter-totter, the ups and downs searching for balance, how the moment I found out I had cancer, I was also given this new connection to Jason and Craig.

  “These are people who have accepted their challenges. I believe you are one of these people, Ellie.”

  I wondered if Mrs. Lahiri had put me in some kind of hypnotic state, as a floaty, slightly dizzy feeling washed over me. I was barely in the room anymore.

  “Now, go back to the peaceful place you envisioned a few weeks back.”

  I rekindled the image of the pond surrounded by birds and sunshine and blue sky and the smell of pine trees.

  “I want you to visualize what your spirit looks like.”

  A vision popped into my head. There was a tall, bright figure in white standing—hovering—in the middle of the pond. She was practically glowing. I couldn’t see her face. She was holding on to a littl
e girl about six years old with a ponytail, who was wearing a red windbreaker and a serene, joyful smile. I was confused—why did I see two figures? I quietly shared my vision with Mrs. Lahiri.

  “Good. Now, in your mind I want you to ask these two souls to help you make a decision.”

  The prayer came to my mind easily, desperately almost.

  Please help, please help me. Please help me make the right choice. The one that heals me perfectly, with no limp or loss or cancer. Please help me to know when I have made the choice, and help me to trust myself.

  My whole body went light and tingly like an outside force was surging through me.

  “Now. When you are going into surgery, you can ask your spirit to watch over you. Your spirit will not be affected by the anesthesia. It can protect you while your body is under.”

  That idea comforted me…a lot. It was like I could have some control while totally having to give up control.

  “Ellie, I will say a few things now, and you can think of them when anxious thoughts come up.” I nodded. “You are safe. You are protected. Life is unfolding perfectly, you can relax and let go.”

  I repeated what she’d said.

  And this weird sense of peace coursed through me.

  Let go. And I did. At least, for today.

  Chapter Twenty

  Driving to Porter Township for the contest, I sat in the backseat of Quinn’s SUV with Jason on my right. That entire side of my body was happy because all the bumps and turns made our shoulders, knees, and hips touch. I was barely able to keep up with the conversations because I was focused on the sensations connecting us.

  Owen sat up front next to Quinn, while Hana was in the back with us. Jason smelled so crazy good my brain function was failing. I opened the window to breath in the crisp fall air. The changing leaves of the trees created a kaleidoscope effect as we zipped by.

  My hand rested on my right leg, lined up with Jason’s hand, our pinky-electrons leaping back and forth, sharing space for fractions of seconds at a time. My heartbeat was so loud and fast it was all Edgar-Allen-Poe-obvious in my head.