I swung Annette on the swings for a while, and we eventually moved to the slides where I would wait for her to meet me at the end, and then I’d swoop her in my arms. She’d giggle every time.
“You ladies ready to head back yet, or am I leaving alone?” Caitlyn yelled to us from the picnic table where she was sitting.
I looked to Annette, but she looked unsure. We had about an hour before dawn. “You ready to go, sweetie, or do you want to stay for a little while longer?” I asked her. I was knelt to the ground, and she was at the end of the slide holding onto my hands.
“I have homework, mommy, remember? We should probably go home now,” she said, before loudly kissing me on my nose.
I picked her up by the waist, and she wrapped her little legs around me. I hugged her tight as I kissed her on the temple.
“Okay, sweetie. You want to ride in the car with aunt Catie, or do you want to ride bikes with mommy?”
I brought my face back so I could study hers, and she was tilting her head. “I want to ride my bike with you, mommy. I’ll ride with aunt Catie next time,” she smiled as I put her back down on her feet.
I was glad she wasn’t too tired to ride bikes. I loved having my baby ride on her bike with me.
We walked with Caitlyn to her car, and then parted ways as Caitlyn drove off. We found our bikes where we parked them in the corral, and we were both smiling as we hopped on, and rode off.
Annette always rode in front of me so I could see her, and so I’d know if she were to fall or get hurt somehow. The distance from the park to our apartment was only about five minutes if we kept up our pace. We never raced, we just enjoyed the ride. My legs hadn’t started burning until we were already turning onto our road, and it was never a bad burning sensation. It was just a feeling of movement. I’d always loved riding bikes, and having someone to ride with me.
Kennedy was my best friend when I was a kid, and we rode bikes every day. We had learned how to ride bikes together. We had learned a lot of things together.
Now I was learning new things with Annette, and we shared our differences. That’s one of the best things when it came to being a mother. I loved having a daughter. The day she learned how to ride a bike, I cried. Nothing could have been more beautiful than the look on her face. She never needed training wheels. She was a natural.
My baby was growing up fast, and that scared the living hell out of me, and for lots of reasons: both describable, and indescribable.
I was a mother, and I never wanted that to end.
May 17th, 1997, 5:14p.m.
Willow
My hair was poufy from all of the hairspray and the teasing, and I found one of my mom’s old hair bows to put just at the part of my bangs on the right side of my head. The pink dress was freshly clean, and it kind of smelt like vanilla. After some practicing, I could walk in the shiny clear stilettos without breaking one of my ankles. Kennedy had bought them for me yesterday, and they matched the bow in my hair perfectly. I also had bright makeup on.
My mom had given me a strange look from where she was standing in the living room when I walked out of my bedroom, and down the stairs. I looked ridiculous, and I was smiling.
“Honey, you’re wearing makeup,” she frowned.
“I’m seventeen, Annabelle, and it’s prom night,” I groaned.
She wasn’t convinced, and she hadn’t liked it when I called her by her first name. I was only teasing her. She had her light blonde hair pulled up into a scrunchy like she always did, and her feet were bare. Her brown eyes told me she was worried, but she hadn’t had to be. So I let her know she had nothing to worry about, and I threw myself in her arms.
“You’re a pretty cool mom, you know that?” I said into her neck. Her hands were roaming my back, and I could tell she hadn’t liked the magenta-colored prom dress I had on. It made my smile bigger.
“Are you okay, Willow?” she asked slowly.
I patted the back of her head, because this was hilarious, and I was already having fun on prom night.
“Mom, you know how I feel about prom. My feelings haven’t changed. Prom is ridiculous,” I said.
Her eyes were narrowed when she backed up from me so I could see her face. She studied me for a minute in silence. “What are you doing, Willow? What’s this about?”
I sighed longingly. “Kennedy asked me to prom,” I shrugged. “So I’m going to prom, mom. And this is what I’m wearing.”
She shook her head a little. “But Willow, you look ridic-” She had cut herself off as a smile suddenly curled against her lips. She started laughing. “You’re definitely my child. I love you.”
“I love you, too, mom.”
I hugged my mom again and then went outside. I put my heels in my basket before getting on my bicycle. I rode to mine and Kennedy’s home in the woods, and he was already there waiting on me. I took in the view of his tux and his bow tie, then his magenta-colored dress shoes. I laughed under my breath.
I was off of my bike and walking towards him as he stood there. We couldn’t contain our smiles.
“You look ravishing, Ms. Monroe. May I have your left hand, please?”
I snorted, then said, “Sure thing, Mr. Danes.”
I gingerly placed my left hand in his, and he squeezed it as if he was preparing me for something unpredictable. And it was.
I let out an outward gasp that caused Kennedy’s hair to move out of his eyes. “Mother of god, that thing is seriously big.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Shut up, and put that ridiculous thing on my wrist already.”
He did, and I felt complete as I looked at the corsage in awe.
We had gotten on our bikes, and started riding towards our school. Prom started at seven, and we’d probably get there just about fifteen minutes after. That was part of the plan.
Running fashionably late was the only way.
We parked in the corral at the back of the school, and I grabbed Kennedy’s face once I had my heels on, and we were both on our feet. He bent his knees a little.
“I’m going to do something, but you have to tell me it’s okay first.”
His eyes were wide, but he nodded. “It’s okay,” he said slowly.
I kissed his forehead, then both of his cheeks. I looked back at his face, and decided that wasn’t enough. I placed another one on his nose and his chin, and then backed away from him with a satisfied smile.
“That should do it,” I smirked, and he looked confused.
“What?”
“I just made our prom night a little bit more ridiculous,” I whispered.
He blinked, lost in thought, but he shook his head and decided to let it go. “It’s time for us to go to prom, Will.” He grabbed my shoulder as my hand slipped onto his hip.
My grin was way too big as we walked into the building, and we caught a few stares.
Some people just smiled, and others laughed under their breath. When we were on the floor and past the halls, Kennedy bent down a little and faced me. “Do I have something in my teeth?” He smiled a fixed, wide smile so I could see all of his teeth.
I played it cool. “No, nothing in your teeth,” I told him, after stepping on the tips of my toes so I could thoroughly inspect his teeth.
He tilted his head back so I could see up his nose. “Any bats in the cave?” he asked slowly.
I grabbed the back of his neck so he’d tilt his head back up. I made eye contact with him and smiled, shaking my head. “You’re good.”
He paused, and then smiled.
“You really do look ravishing, by the way. That pretty pink dress is going to cause me some problems tonight,” he said, as he went to grab my shoulder again.
I grabbed his waist and sighed, turning to truly face prom and all of its ridiculousness.
There were lights moving around above us, which made the large gym mostly dark. The stage-on-wheels was filled by some “band” made up of students that went to our school. They sounded okay. There
was a good bit of people dancing around in the very center of the gym, but there had to be even more that were sitting on the bleachers excluding themselves. There was also an area where we could get food, and drinks.
My eyes hadn’t calmed down until they crossed the back of the photographer’s head. Prom pictures. I stirred Kennedy in that very direction. We waited in line, commenting on the music and so on until we reached the front of the line.
The photographer was our bald social studies teacher, Mr. Lancaster, and his eye slightly widened when they crossed Kennedy’s face.
“Oh, um…” Mr. Lancaster paused, and I mouthed for him to stay quiet. I might have scowled, and threatened him with a finger slicing of the neck. I just knew I was ready to take those pictures right that second.
“You two are together?” Mr. Lancaster questioned us, and we both nodded. “As friends,” we clarified in unison.
“How much for Polaroid’s?” Kennedy asked, and Mr. Lancaster patted the Polaroid camera sitting on the table next to him as if it were his baby.
“One dollar for one, one dollar and seventy-five cents for two, and three dollars for four,” Mr. Lancaster said.
Kennedy winked at me. “We should get one for me, one for you, one for your mom and dad, and one for my mom. What do you think?”
I nodded in agreement. “Sounds good.”
“We’re getting the one for three dollars.” Kennedy dug through the back pocket of his dress pants, and slapped three crumpled dollar bills in Mr. Lancaster’s outstretched hand.
We took our places and stood in front of the white canvas. Kennedy’s hands were clasped over my waist as I stood in front of him, and my hands I had placed on top of his as we smiled through the camera.
Mr. Lancaster snapped one, and said, “This one is for the yearbook.”
I could hear the amusement in his voice, and my smile was real.
He then grabbed the Polaroid camera after placing the other camera down on the side table. He hadn’t had to say smile big, because we were, and we were actually happy. Even on prom night.
Mr. Lancaster snapped four pictures of us, and they all spat out at the end of the camera. He waved one at a time at his side for five seconds before placing them on the table next to each other.
He sighed longingly, and then placed his Polaroid camera on the table.
“Knowing you as a student, Kennedy, you’re probably going to be pleased with these pictures.”
Kennedy’s brow puckered for a second in confusion, but he smiled anyway, as he took the pictures in his hands.
“They’ll be fully developed in just a few minutes.” Mr. Lancaster winked at us before we thanked him and walked off.
Kennedy pocketed three of the pictures, and then took the one he had and waved it around, taking moments to check and see if the picture was developed yet.
“What the hell did he mean by that, Will?” he asked against my ear. He stood up straight, and waved the picture around again.
I simply shrugged. “No idea.”
Kennedy was looking at the picture again, now, realization catching his expression. His smile was huge. “So that’s what you did.” He shoved the picture at me, and I took it in my hands.
I laughed. “Yeah, how could I go to prom with you and not let everyone know you have a date?” I bumped his arm, and he looked down at me.
“Magenta suites you, Kennedy. I’m not kidding,” I grinned.
He looked like he was thinking, and then he said, “I’m not going to wash it off.”
“That would make me very happy,” I nodded, and he grinned as his eyebrows rose.
“I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed that you had lipstick on,” he shook his head, seemingly ashamed of himself.
“It was dark outside,” I shrugged. “I’m glad I surprised you.”
I could see as he rolled his eyes, then he bent down so his mouth was close to my ear. A new song started playing as he asked me, “Ms. Monroe, may I have this dance?”
I told him yes, and we danced. We danced a lot, and when we sat down, it was when we were eating chips or drinking Coca-Cola.
We hadn’t had an almost-kiss as we danced - like when there was an awkward pause in the song. We looked at each other, and we laughed. We were just Willow and Kennedy, even on prom night.
My mom was glad I went to prom, especially after I handed over one of the prom pictures Kennedy had bought.
“You love him, don’t you?” mom had asked me.
I told her I did, and we ate vanilla ice cream as we sat on our couch and watched the Golden Girls.
I fell asleep on the couch under mountains of blankets, and my mom’s feet were practically jammed up my butt.
I hadn’t taken the pink dress off that night.
August 22nd, 2006, 9:07a.m.
Willow
He was chanting my name, and no, it was not a mating call by any means. More like the worst kind of call for help.
At first, his calls started off lazy, and I’d not take them very seriously. But then, he abruptly began to verbally attack the entire second floor, and to the point where people in the halls would catch the urge to cover their ears, and lie on the floor in the fetal position.
It was uneasy for me. The fact a patient was screaming my name in potential bloody murder was very unsettling.
Wyatt Blanquette was still lying on room 209’s hospital bed. Only now, he had a cast covering his left arm to where it was bent, and it traveled all the way down over his wrist. He could hardly move his left arm. Unfortunately for me, he just so happened to be left handed. IV’s were no longer attached to him.
I quickly learned that Wyatt Blanquette was very persistent, and could never have anything but his way. I had to be at his beck and call - literally that. He was needy, and he was stubborn. He still wasn’t nice, and his presence became my worst nightmare. His calls were ultimately petty, and if he weren’t so loud and agitating, I’d call his bluff most times. He was definitely the boy who cried wolf, except he usually cried my name when he’d drop the wired remote that happened to be attached to the left side of the bed.
And there were other things. There were a lot of things he’d ask me to do that I’d really not want to do. I thought my job was great until Wyatt Blanquette appeared behind room 209’s door.
“God, give me strength,” I’d tell myself - because I would definitely need it.
Today was a Monday. Denise looked desperate for my attention when I emerged from the elevator.
“He’s been calling you for over an hour, Willow,” she whispered, her eyes widened. I met her at the front desk, and I let out an outward sigh.
“Like he’s a damn momma going into labor, and you’re the deadbeat daddy. I tried going in there to see if I could help him, but he told me to go away,” she flared her nostrils, shaking her head, “I’m sorry, girl.”
“Don’t stop telling me I’m pretty if I pull all of my hair out,” I groaned, as I roughly shoved my fingers through my short hair. I hadn’t cared that it stood up a little on one side of my head - that had gotten a laugh out of her, but I was serious. I was thinking I’d go batshit crazy.
“Good luck.” She managed a smile.
I nodded. “Thanks,” I mumbled, before heading towards room 209.
“What is it, Wyatt?” I crossed my arms after closing the door behind me. He looked up at me with that pathetic look in his eyes.
It wasn’t an ‘I need your help’ look; it was an ‘I hate my life, and I’m going to make yours shittier’ look. It was his look.
I hadn’t felt sorry for him anymore. He drained all of what little sympathy I’d had for him after the first morning I met him.
He licked his lips. “It itches,” he said, motioning towards his casted-arm with his functional hand.
I frowned at him, annoyed. “That happens, Wyatt. Nothing I can do.”
This time, he frowned. “Willow, could you get me a stick or something, then? My eye is twitching because of it,”
he said, and then motioned for me to come closer to him. I did, and he opened his eyes wide as I got closer.
“See?” he insisted.
“Your eye isn’t twitching, Wyatt,” I sighed.
He shook his head. “I need Doctor Venice if you can’t help me,” he urged.
“Hold out your hand, Wyatt,” I told him.
He scrunched his eyebrows together. “Why?” he asked slowly.
“Just do it,” I muttered, and he did.
I quickly slapped the top of his hand with my fingernails, and he scowled at me as he drew his hand back.
“Did that hurt?” I asked him before he could complain.
“Yeah, what the hell was that-”
“I know what’s wrong with you,” I interrupted him.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “What…”
“You’re a child,” I sighed. “Full-fledged. Maybe you’ll have hope for betterment in a few years.”
He glared at me, and shook his head. “I’d like my breakfast now, please. You’ll have to feed me, because I’m disabled.”
“Milk or orange juice?” I smiled fakely.
He blinked once. His expression remained blank as he said, “Orange juice. I already told you I am lactose intolerant.”
“Okay, I’ll be back shortly.” I lifted my eyebrows, and then turned curtly on my heel before exiting the room.
I never asked him if he’d have any visitors, or if he’d already had visitors. The answer to that question was pretty obvious. Wyatt Blanquette was alone and bitter, and was taking his personal malfunctions and his lack of social life out on the innocent nurse (me), because he was just a mean person and wanted everyone around him to feel like he felt (me in particular). But the argumentative side of me fired him up with a little bit of sarcasm. We had a lot of sarcastic back-and-forth’s, which usually led to a dissatisfied Wyatt who’d want another pillow or some clean sheets without a given reason.
Our Last Time: A Novel Page 4
