Life Happens on the Stairs

by Amy J. Markstahler

  “For his catheter. It has to be changed several times a day.”

  His head was wrapped, covering the scar tissue, but he looked like a skeleton.

  “He looks so different,” I said.

  “It’s from the heavy doses of steroids. I’m supposed to give him all those pills somehow. Hopefully, the nurse will help.”

  “You look tired.”

  “Don’t remind me.” She sighed. “I know I look like crap.”

  “You don’t look like crap. You look tired,” I repeated and searched the room. “Where will you sleep?”

  “I guess on the couch. I’d like to find another cheap recliner to put in here.”

  Mark stepped in the doorway. Mom turned to him.

  “We need to talk.” She walked out and led him down the hall. “I owe you an apology.”

  Alone in the room with Dad, I tried to say something, but the words stuck in my throat. I swallowed and tried again.

  “Hey, Daddy,” I whispered. “Welcome home.”

  By six-thirty, Mom had fallen asleep in the recliner. Mark and I headed out the back door to go to the field. We strapped on our sacks and started picking where he’d left off. Between his effort, plus Tyler’s and mine, we’d managed to pick over ten of the forty-five rows.

  We worked until sunset, filling the scoop almost full. One more pass and we’d have close to six hundred dollars for Mom. I headed back inside. Mark stayed in the barn to inspect the harvest.

  When I went to the bathroom, I saw Mom sitting beside Dad’s bed. I washed up and went to their room to say goodnight. Her face was buried in her hands as she cried. I tapped on the door. She snapped to attention, wiping her cheeks.

  “You okay?” I asked. She nodded. “I’m off to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  At six-thirty in the morning, I climbed out of bed, dressed in my jogging clothes, and headed to the kitchen to grab some breakfast. Mom stood by the sink, sipping her coffee.

  “Oh good, you’re up,” she said. “The nurse will be here soon. I want you to meet her.”

  I deflated. “Mom, I’m supposed to meet Jenna at seven.”

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to go later.”

  “It’ll be so hot by then,” I said, walking back to my room.

  After I stepped out the back door, I flipped open my phone and pressed Tyler’s name.

  “Hey,” he answered. “I’m on my way.”

  “I have to stay here to meet the nurse. Sorry.”

  “Okay. That’s important. Can we meet later? I really want to see you.”

  “Me, too. I’ll try to get away this evening. How about six?”

  “That works.”

  “Okay. I’ll text you when I leave.”

  I sat on the step, letting my tears flow in private before I went inside. I needed to see him. Everything around me had changed, and I needed him to be my constant. He was the only one who would listen, the only one whose arms could comfort. I wiped my eyes, sucked in my emotions, and went back inside.

  “We’re going tonight at six,” I said, returning to the kitchen. “I hope that works because I don’t want to skip today.”

  “That should be fine,” she said. “You really like jogging?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it’s good for you. I can’t argue with that.”

  She smashed bananas and a powder packet, making a soupy mess in a bowl.

  “What’s that?”

  “Breakfast for your dad.”

  I scrunched my nose. “Nasty.”

  ~ * ~

  At seven sharp, I heard a knock at the door. A petite, green-eyed girl with strawberry blonde hair pulled in a tight bun greeted me.

  “Hi, y’all,” she said in a high-pitched drawl. She wore light blue scrubs and clean white tennis shoes.

  “Hi.” I smiled, waving her inside. “Come on in.”

  Mom walked across the living room, greeting the girl with a handshake.

  “I’m Claire, nice to meet you. This is my daughter, Elsie.”

  “I’m Megan.” She shook Mom’s hand, and then mine. “Wow, you gotta big shiner! I’d hate to see the other guy.”

  Mom and I glanced at each other.

  “I’ll be here every weekday and Saturdays until he’s... ” She paused. “Until... well, you understand.” Her face turned red. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be awkward.”

  “It’s okay,” Mom said and waved for Megan to follow her. “I’ll show you to our room. I’m hoping you can help me figure out the best way to feed him.”

  “They don’t have him on a feeding tube?” Megan asked. “They told me there’d be one.”

  “No, I wish they had done that. I’m afraid he’s not getting enough nutrients from the mush I keep pushing down his throat.”

  “Hold on!”

  Mom and I flinched. Megan grabbed her phone, pressed a few numbers, and then she looked back and forth between us with big, green eyes.

  “Megan here. Y’all told me my patient’s on a feeding tube. Where is it? I need one stat.”

  I smiled. I loved the girl already.

  “Mm. Uh, hmm, yes... okay.” She looked at Mom and then me, nodding like she heard good news. “Very good... Thank you, we’ll see y’all soon.” She ended the call. “They’ll be here in an hour. Man’s gotta eat, right?” She winked at Mom.

  “Thank you,” Mom said with relief. “Come on in.”

  Megan looked over Dad’s bed and all the tubes, and then she said, “Hello, Mr. Richardson. I’m Megan Prescott. I’ll be taking care of you. Please feel free to talk to me if you can, and always let me know if you’re uncomfortable or in need of something.”

  His eyes were open, but he didn’t focus on her. I walked up and leaned on the railing.

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  His eyes rolled toward me, and then he blinked. I smiled and rubbed his hand. Megan rearranged something under his sheets. I had no idea what and didn’t want to know what he had going on under the covers, so I stared at his hand.

  “It looks like the feeding tube attachment is still in place from the hospital,” she said. “I can’t believe they’d let y’all come home without explicit instructions on how to feed him.”

  She tucked in his sheets, checked his pulse, and listened to his breathing through a stethoscope. His eyes followed her, but he didn’t move otherwise.

  “Brandon, honey.” Mom patted his leg, and then her face filled with worry. “Brandon?” she repeated, her voice pitching higher.

  His eyes rolled back, then I heard the bed rattle as his body went rigid.

  “Elsie, go!” Mom shouted.

  “No, Claire,” Megan said. “I think she needs to see this. We’re all in this together.”

  Mom’s terror-filled eyes darted from me to Megan, and then she nodded.

  “Now, this is what we do.” Megan took hold of Dad’s arm. “Elsie, you hold his other arm. We don’t want him hurtin’ himself. Claire, grab the medicine bottles.”

  Trembling, I grabbed Dad’s arm and held him down. Mom handed Megan the medicines, swapping places with her. Megan searched the bottles, finding the one she wanted, then quickly administered the pill by pushing it under his tongue.

  “The pill will dissolve fast,” Megan said. “We just need to wait and see if it does its job.”

  After a few chilling moments of watching Dad’s body wrench with convulsions, his muscles started to relax, and the tremors stopped.

  “There we go.” Megan wiped his forehead with a washcloth. “All better.”

  I sighed. Thank God. My mind flashed back to the day at the festival. At least he was lying in bed this time, and there wasn’t any blood. Feeling like I’d just run a marathon, I excused myself and went to my room to cry in private.

  An hour later, the other hospital worker arrived. Everyone crowded in the bedroom to watch a demonstration a
bout the feeding tube. Megan gave Dad a sedative so he could rest and be spared the humiliation of everyone staring at his abdomen. Luckily, most of the activity took place outside the covers, and only Mom would have to check the tube near his belly.

  Overwhelmed by the responsibilities, I started to feel lightheaded. No one could drop the ball. We would have to live with any mistake we made for the rest of our lives. What if I did something wrong?

  “Now this is how y’all clean the incision from the scar.” Megan pulled back the bandages. “Just wipe it with alcohol. We have to keep it clean. ”

  The red scar looked like baseball stiches, starting from the top of his ear, wrapping all the way behind the back of his head. My head spun again. I coughed, then my jaw started to tingle as sweat beaded on my forehead. A cold chill surged through me.

  “Elsie, are you—”

  All went black.

  When I opened my eyes, everyone was standing over me. What the hell? Why was I on the floor? Still tingling with numbness, I sat up. Mom clutched my arm but I pulled away.

  “Oh, Elsie.”

  She held out her arms. Mortified, I pushed off the floor and went to my bedroom.

  The afternoon crawled as I waited for Mom to return from the store. The longer I sat there, the more I started to worry about her going to work the next day. What if the old woman fired her tomorrow? I had just a few days left with Tyler. I couldn’t let anything get in the way.

  At five-thirty, she finally returned. I helped her put away the groceries and made my escape to see Tyler. After I parked at the visitor’s center, I texted him.

  Me: I’m here

  My phone vibrated in my hand.

  Tyler: Be there soon.

  Me: Ok

  I opened the door, put on my running shoes, and started stretching my legs. Within minutes, he pulled up behind my car. The black-tinted window slid down.

  He grinned. “Get in.”

  “Thought we were running.”

  “Take the day off.”

  I hesitated. He answered by leaning across the seat and pushing the passenger’s side door open, and then he looked at me with pleading dark eyes, sending my heart into palpitations.

  “You know, it’s wrong to use your charm and good looks to get what you want.” I sat in the bucket seat and shut the door. “It’s not right... not at all.”

  He smiled and drove out of the parking lot, then turned south on Confederate Road.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Just wait. You’ll love it.”

  Patina-colored cannons lined the side of the road, and trees flickered in the evening light. It was a beautiful drive, but I’d rather run. I wanted to jog off the anxiety eating at my nerves about Mrs. Vaughn. Mom had trusted me, and I’d blown it.

  “Tyler, I’m really worried about tomorrow. Is Mom going to get fired?”

  “Don’t worry. Nana left for Chattanooga Saturday morning.” He chuckled. “I timed that one well. When I got back from your house, my aunt had already picked her up.”

  I relaxed back in the seat. “That’s a relief. At least, two of our five days are clear. Mom works at the Johnson’s and a few other houses on Tuesdays.”

  “Maybe you should just tell her. Stop torturing yourself.”

  Torture summed it up. I’d had a persistent knot in my stomach for over a month.

  “I just want to get through the week.”

  “I know. Me, too.”

  Tyler turned left toward the river. Moments later, he parked on the side of the road and shifted in the seat to give me his full attention.

  “Let’s forget about everything else, and enjoy the evening.”

  “After today, I could use a nice evening.”

  He leaned across the seat and gave me a kiss. “Come with me. You’ll love this.”

  We climbed out of the car and he led me to a viewing deck overlooking the river. I leaned on the rail and took a deep breath of the earthy air. He stepped behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. He knew I loved the river.

  “Your eye looks a lot better.” He kissed my cheek. “Sounds like you’ve had a rough day. How did it go with your dad?”

  “Not great.” I turned around. “I kind of passed out.”

  He tilted his head with a sympathetic smile. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” I pressed my forehead to his chest. “His scar freaked me out.”

  I told him about Mom and Dad, Megan, and how I went into overload. I tried to be funny instead of wallowing in pity. He laughed along, until I broke down and started crying.

  “It’ll get better.” He touched my chin, persuading me to look up. “I have a birthday present for you.”

  I wiped my face and sniffled. “My birthday’s in November.”

  “I know. The 2nd.”

  I smiled. “I forgot you have a photographic memory.”

  “That hasn’t been confirmed yet.” He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a long, narrow envelope. “You have to promise me, no matter what, and I mean, no matter what in the world is going on, you’ll be here for this. Death is the only excuse, okay?”

  “That kind of creeps me out. But, okay. I promise.”

  He let the envelope fall toward me. I took it, inspecting the outside, and then I opened the flap. Inside were two Bears vs. Saints tickets, December Fifteenth, Monday Night Football.

  “Tyler! At Soldier Field? I can’t believe it!”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. He lifted me up and set me on the railing. Eye to eye, I couldn’t control my smile.

  A quick kiss, then he said, “I’m glad you like the idea.”

  “I love it. Thank you.”

  Chapter 24

  Five days until Tyler had to leave.

  We agreed to meet at six on Monday morning, stealing every hour possible. As we jogged past the Bloody Pond, a pickup truck passed us on the road. I remembered the black Cadillac. I hadn’t seen it in days. After a few more yards, I slowed down to walk.

  He glanced over his shoulder and started walking with me.

  “You done?” he asked, barely winded.

  “Yeah, for the moment,” I said, breathless. “Hey, did you ever talk to your uncle?”

  “Yeah, I took care of it.”

  “Was he weird?”

  “No. Just broke, like I said.”

  “At least he isn’t following you anymore.”

  “Nana got what she wanted. Leverage.”

  “That seems to be her mission.”

  He sighed. “Why do you think I want to get through school so fast?”

  “Because you can.”

  “Sure, I can.” He shrugged. “But I don’t have to push this hard.”

  “Then don’t. There’s no hurry.”

  “Yeah, but if I get my Master’s by twenty-two, I’m set. All I have to do is get the fuck away from everyone.”

  He rubbed his forehead, like he was fighting a headache. He worried me.

  “Something happen?” I asked.

  “Mm... ” He glanced my way. “Nana called Dad.”

  Of course. I hadn’t even thought about his parents.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Once he heard the whole story. Nana had failed to mention her comment about you being a whore. Convenient, huh?”

  “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  “If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve left already.”

  I laughed. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have this problem.”

  “You’re not the problem. But if I can stay focused, no one will mess with me. I didn’t need a high ACT to figure that out.”

  “It’s helped you expedite your master plan.”

  “Yeah, it has.” He smiled. “Speaking of, I need to talk to you about school.”

  “What about it?”

  “Elsie, I’m taking sixteen semester hours and running cross country. If I get too busy, you’d have to understand that I’m not ignoring you.” He stopped me i
n the middle of the road. “I’m a total recluse who does nothing but study and run. Zach wasn’t lying.”

  “Have you chosen a school?”

  “I like Stanford, but I don’t want to go to California. That’s beside the point. What I’m trying to say is, please don’t worry.”

  “About what?”

  “There may be days when you don’t hear from me. Depending upon what’s going on, maybe several. I’ll try my best to stay in touch, but I won’t always be able to.”

  “I understand.”

  He touched my face. I looked into his eyes.

  “I feel the same way as you,” he said. “We will be together again. You have to trust me when I say that.”

  “I do trust you.”

  “You do now. But when it’s been over a week and I’ve barely had time to text you, please, don’t think I’ve given up on us.”

  If only the next four months of my life would fast forward.

  “When will I see you again?” I asked.

  “I’ll have some time around Thanksgiving. Until then, I don’t know.”

  I stepped toward him. “I hate this.”

  “Me, too.”

  He wrapped his arms around me. I pressed against him. Visceral and raw. We were connected by something beyond our understanding. He cupped my face in his gentle touch, and we mended our pain with a long kiss.

  We spent the morning walking around the park, talking. Around noon, he drove us to Savannah and bought lunch at Jack’s drive-through. After we got back to the park, we went to the Shiloh church, and settled under an oak tree near the log cabin to eat our lunches.

  “Are you busy tonight?” he asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Meet me at the café, around six?”

  “Sure.”

  As we sat in the shade talking, I told him about the first time I’d dreamt of being an artist.

  “It was 2005, the February before I turned eight. We were watching that Sunday morning show, you know, the boring one that showed a bird chirping or a river flowing for three minutes between segments? Anyway, the next report was on Christo and Jeanne Claude, the couple who wrapped islands and bridges in fabric. You know who I’m talking about?” He nodded, yes. I continued. “Well, they’d been trying for years to set up an exhibit in Central Park called The Gates. The idea was for people to be a part of the project, to feel it, walk through it, merging the individual with art. They built orange steel posts that straddled the sidewalks with matching orange fabric cascading in the breeze. It was so beautiful. But it didn’t impress me as much as the story of their determination. It had taken them years, over two decades, to get the city to agree. Mayor Giuliani refused, but within months of Mayor Bloomberg taking office, he gave the couple approval. I’ve wanted to walk through Central Park ever since. Anyway... ” I shrugged. “As I got older, I started researching them. Jeanne Claude died in 2009, but Christo’s still working. What an amazing couple. Their ideas weren’t just the installations, it was the planning, the drafts they drew, the way they worked for years to achieve their vision. I thought, ‘Hey they’re old. If they can do it, so can I.’ So, I started drawing. And studying – Frida Kahlo, Mary Cassatt and her shady relationship with Degas. All of the Impressionists, and the drama around them. Picasso and the Cubism period... I could go on for hours.”