It's My Life

by Stacie Ramey

  Cold and removed! I like it.

  No. Beautiful. Happy to be herself.

  That’s a little too close to home for me.

  And we are losing focus. I found things for you for Great Gatsby.

  I pull up the study guide I put together from those online sources earlier and paste them into our thread. Hit send.

  Let me know if these help.

  OMG This. Is. Awesome. You are awesome. I started reading earlier, and I didn’t get all of this…stuff. I was totally stuck. Thank you! Thank you!

  That doesn’t mean you can cheat and not read the actual book, you know.

  I don’t cheat.

  I laugh.

  So tell me something personal about you?

  Like what?

  Something no one else knows.

  I think hard. What would sum me up?

  I still believe in magic.

  Who doesn’t?

  I release a breath. I didn’t out myself. But then there’s this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach, a disappointment that he didn’t figure it out. Like I believed on some level that he has also just been waiting for us to have that mock wedding from first grade.

  He texts again.

  You mean like magicians? I love magicians but I don’t think that’s real magic.

  Sorry if you’re a magician.

  I laugh.

  I’m not a magician. I mean like mysticism, I guess.

  There’s the kind of magic when I take the ice and I’ve got the puck and I know I’m going to score. Everything falls away. Nothing matters. Just me and the net.

  That’s what I mean. Finding things that are bigger than just you. You know?

  Yes! What do you have?

  I guess I have stories.

  Tell me one.

  I swear I feel my heart swell and crack at the same time. Man, this is stupid. It’s not even real, but it feels so perfect. So personal.

  Have you ever heard of the 36 saints?

  No. Are they DC or Marvel?

  They are a myth, maybe. A belief that at any given time there are 36 saints that serve to keep the world in balance. If one of them dies, another is born to replace them.

  Wow.

  Wait. Like Buffy the Vampire Slayer?

  kinda

  That’s very cool. And you believe in these saints?

  I think so. I want to.

  Are you one of these saints?

  Can I tell you something? Without you thinking I’m an idiot?

  ?

  I have dyslexia.

  That’s no big deal. A lot of people have that.

  It sucks. But I deal with it. It’s different for everybody, but for me it makes it hard to tell the difference between some of the emojis, especially the faces. The smiley face ones, the crying ones, the winky face ones, I can’t always reliably tell the difference between them, and I’m worried I’m going to send the wrong one at the wrong time.

  I didn’t even know that was a thing. How about this—from now on, we’ll use the words. Like smiley face. Sad face. Laughing my ass off face. That work?

  Yeah. Def. You don’t mind?

  Not at all. It’ll be our thing.

  Our thing?

  Every superhero team needs a thing. This will be ours.

  So we’re a team now?

  Yup. Smiley face emoji.

  You really are a saint. Smiley face emoji.

  As he says that I can feel that breeze against my cheek. I hear the birds in the forest that day. I feel his hand in mine.

  You’ve helped me so much. I’m here for you if you need. Ok? Any time. I never turn my phone off. Keep it right next to me. Day and night. So if you need to talk…

  I laugh.

  Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.

  So tell me about Gatsby. Will it end happy?

  No! You have to read it. And no fair skipping to the end. That’s for cheaters.

  I told you. I never cheat. Don’t ride dirty. Don’t crease the paint. Don’t…

  Like a hero. Going to sleep now.

  Gnite Sweet Dreams.

  I put my phone down and stare at the ceiling. After the tests, I’ve got to get real. The next few days are the last ones I can live as this Jennifer. I’ve got to face it. I promise myself I will. Which is why I do actually send an email to that Brittany Cox person. A simple one.

  To: BritCox_36@Umass.edu

  Subject: Baclofen pump question

  Hello,

  I’m sorry to write you out of nowhere like a creeper, but I saw your baclofen pump success story video and wondered if I could ask you some questions. I have CP and am in high school, and I’m really not sure about doing the pump. The doctors are all go for it and my parents agree, but I kind of want to talk with someone who’s done it. No BS. Just straight talk. I hope you don’t mind I wrote.

  Here’s how to get me.

  JenConeof3@yahoo.com

  Eleven

  The following Monday is when the Uncle Steve stuff starts getting real. As I get out of school, I see him parked in the parent pickup lane in front. He beeps at me. Ben’s walking next to me, but stops when he spots my uncle. “What’s that about?”

  “Welp, I may or may not be working with my uncle to get control of my medical rights.”

  I twist my fingers as I tell him.

  He puts his hands over mine. “You aren’t!”

  “I might be.”

  He grabs my hands. “Don’t get me wrong, I am always on Team Jenna. I mean always. But this seems kind of extreme.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “No.”

  Ben moves my bangs off my forehead. “Just be sure, okay? This is one of those bombs you can’t unexplode.”

  “Is that even a word?”

  “Not the point. You don’t think you could just speak with your parents?” Ben asks.

  “I don’t know.” I hold a finger up for Uncle Steve so he knows I’ll be right there. “I just know that I need to feel in control of my life.”

  “Jenna, nobody’s in control of their life.”

  I laugh. “As much as I can be.”

  “Don’t you think changing classes was enough? And by the way, other than having Julian in your class, how has that little experiment played out?”

  “Fine,” I say, but I know I don’t sound confident.

  “Riiiiight. That’s why you keep logging into my AP textbooks.”

  I blush.

  “I gotta go, sweets. But just be careful. This is the real world, you know? Not some story or fantasy.” He kisses me on the forehead and then bounds off.

  My hands go to my mouth. Ben’s right. I’ve got to be careful. I shield my eyes with my hand and walk toward Uncle Steve’s matte black Jeep. Yeah, he’s that kind of cool uncle.

  Uncle Steve gets out when I make it to the Jeep and stands by as I lift myself into his car. “Sorry,” he says. “This thing is stupid.”

  “Stupid awesome,” I say.

  He grins, runs his hand across his beard. “Yeah.”

  I point to his facial hair. “No court dates lately?”

  “I make my junior partner do most of those these days. You know, so I can look scruffy.”

  “Living your best life,” I say. Then, “Does Dad know you are here?”

  “Yes. But not why.”

  “How’d you play it this time?”

  “Your mother has her book club tonight. Rena has drama rehearsal. Your father is out of town. I told them I’d take you to dinner.”

  I point to my temple. “Smart.”

  “I know, right?”

  “Although it is slightly annoying that they feel the need to have coverage for m
e when they go out.”

  “Listen, you have every right to be outraged by many things. The fact that the dress code is stricter for girls than boys. The unfairness of gender inequality when it comes to pay. The fact that Panic! At the Disco is now only Brendon Urie. Dinner with your best uncle is not one of them. Also, we have to talk strategy.”

  “Brendon Urie is a god.”

  I hijack his Bluetooth and play one of my favorite playlists. The one that starts with “Crazy=Genius.” You know, an oldie but a goodie.

  He feigns indignation. “I never said you could…”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  Uncle Steve turns onto the highway, and I lay my head back and let the music take me somewhere else.

  It’s not until we’ve ordered—eggplant parmigiana for Uncle Steve, pappardelle with mushroom marinara sauce and broccoli with garlic for me—that Uncle Steve gets to the point. “So, have you made a decision?”

  “Still thinking.”

  “Good. But these tests that are coming up? How do we feel about those?”

  “Not great.” I hadn’t heard back from Brittany yet, and so I was sticking to my gut feelings about all of this.

  “So you want to file the paperwork before them?”

  I take a tiny bite of pasta. Chew. Swallow. Think. Regardless of when I time it, filling out the paperwork—and everything that will come after—will suck.

  “Have you considered having a sit-down with them to talk to them honestly before filing emancipation paperwork?”

  “Definitely,” I say. “Mostly.”

  “So are you going to?”

  “Not sure.” I cover my face with my hands. This is all too much.

  Uncle Steve pulls my hands away and looks me in the eyes. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable with all of this, but as your lawyer, I have to advise you.”

  “And as my uncle?”

  “I say try to speak with them one more time. See how you feel. The paperwork is all ready to go.”

  “Okay. Am I the worst, wishy-washiest client you’ve ever had?”

  Uncle Steve smiles warmly at me. “This is a very hard line to draw, and I’m glad you are thinking twice about it.”

  I breathe out.

  “These tests are coming up in just a few days, and you should know how you feel before they happen.”

  “I don’t know how I feel. I mean, I hate the tests, but maybe they would help. But also maybe they will be ‘inconclusive.’” I make air quotes around that word. “And then it’ll be all for nothing, and we’ll have to jump into deciding to do the pump or not.”

  “I know. It’s a very difficult choice, but, it’s up to you to make it. And we don’t have to decide anything tonight. I simply wanted you to know I’m ready with operation Free the Dove whenever you are.”

  “Operation Free the Dove? That is the dorkiest code name ever.”

  “Like you have a better suggestion?” He asks.

  “Tons. Operation Phoenix Arises.”

  Uncle Steve nods. “That one’s pretty good.”

  “Operation Persephone,” I say.

  “Not sure I buy that one.”

  “Operation Uncaged.”

  “Okay. Sure. But don’t you want to eat your pasta?” Uncle Steve asks.

  “Yeah.” I take another bite. Lift my fork in the air. “Operation Lotus because I’m blooming like a flower. Operation Avatar because I’m becoming a parent-bender.”

  Uncle Steve winces. “May be pushing it a little. Hey, Operation Cloak and Dagger.”

  “Um…no on that one. Hard pass.” I laugh, and this is how we spend the rest of dinner.

  * * *

  8:56 P.M.

  Do you like Avatar: The Last Airbender?

  How could you question that? Of course.

  Best tv show ever.

  So that leads me to…Avatar or Death Note.

  Both. Obv.

  I think you have trouble committing.

  Dude!

  So commit. Tell me something you love.

  I like rom-coms.

  Don’t all girls?

  That is so patronizing! And misogynistic!

  You’re right. My confession? So do I.

  Now you’re just being a jerk.

  No. I’m srs.

  Ok name your favorites.

  The Princess Bride.

  You just like all the swordplay.

  Ok. What about…To All the Boys I Loved Before. Watched it with my little cousin.

  You know it was a book first?

  I’m not a heathen. Of course I know.

  So did you read it?

  Um…next question. Your favorites?

  Ohh. This is hard. I love old Hollywood ones. You know.

  Sure. Sure.

  I’m serious. Like Rear Window.

  That was NOT a rom-com.

  Says who?

  What other ones?

  10 Things I Hate About You. A Cinderella Story. The live-action Cinderella.

  Of course those. And…

  To All the Boys I Loved Before. Also, yes. I read the book, too.

  Such an A+ student…

  After I saw the movie. I’m embarrassed to admit.

  Wow. Mind blown.

  Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.

  Well you’re definitely rubbing off on me. I’m ahead on my reading for The Great Gatsby.

  And?

  I’m not hating it as much as I thought I would.

  I’ll take it. Gnite.

  Gnite. Sweet dreams.

  Sweet dreams you too.

  Smiley face emoji.

  Back at you.

  Tuesday, 7:03 A.M.

  Do you ever wish you could have some control over your life?

  All the time! What’s up?

  My parents are driving me batty.

  What are they doing?

  Trying to plan my summer for the next three years. Trying to pick the college I should go to. If I should play hockey or not. They talk about all of this as if I don’t have a choice.

  Parents take their plays from the same books. Angry face emoji.

  You’re to blame for this recent siege, btw.

  What did I do?

  Well, apparently, I got an A on my last Gatsby test, thanks to you. I maneuvered my Algebra II grade to a decent B and my parents think I’m a genius.

  Woooohoooo!

  Yeah, so now they have expectations for me. Great Expectations.

  That’s the next book we’ll read!

  Don’t get your hopes up too high, Elsa.

  Remember, I’m aiming middle-ish. It’s not my fault you went for the shorthanded goal.

  Did you just use a hockey reference?

  I might have done some studying myself.

  Heart emoji.

  Twelve

  “Bye, guys.” Rena races out the door and into the car of her best friend, Shayna. Apparently they’ve got a bunch of stuff to work out for this year’s fashion show, which leaves me alone with Mom for the ride to school since Ben has a doctor’s appointment. I figure I can use the one-on-one time to my advantage.

  “So,” I say as we pull away from the house. “I wanted to talk with you about the tests they’ve got planned.”

  Mom turns to look at me, a chipper smile on her face. “You have any questions about what we’re going to do?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure I understand what the tests entail. What I want to do is talk about the ‘we’ part. As in what ‘we’ are going to do. The thing is, Mom, I’m the one getting the tests. No ‘we’ about it.”

  “Honey, I know. But I have a really good feeling about it this time.”

  “Ha!” I say.

  She turns
to look at me again. “Ha?”

  “Well, Mom, in the past, some of these tests or procedures or diets or therapies, well, they haven’t always been the best choice. For me, that is. The only part of the we that is getting poked and prodded and medicated.”

  “I know, honey, but we have to keep trying.”

  We pass the old lady who does her morning walk every single day. Cold or hot, doesn’t matter—this woman’s out there with her flashlight when it’s dark out and her water bottle when it’s hot. The determined look on her face makes me feel all twisted inside, distracting me from all the things I want to tell Mom.

  “Jenna?” Mom prods.

  I sigh and glance back at her. “Let’s take a little stroll down memory lane, shall we?”

  “Don’t be snippy.” Mom gets a little too emphatic with the brakes at the stop sign at the end of our neighborhood, and we jolt forward. “Sorry.”

  “Do you remember when I was eight?” My voice shakes, so that doesn’t help, but I have to say this next part. “We did the Botox treatments? Supposed to be easy, effective, and perfect for someone like me?”

  Mom nods. “I know…”

  “Major epic fail. Two weeks in the hospital. Incontinent for weeks after that.”

  She turns onto the through street but steals a glance at me as she does. The color has leached from her cheeks, leaving her pasty and pitiful. She holds one hand out to me. “Jenna, we are your parents. We only want what’s right for you.”

  “Or how about that weird Feldenkrais lady who was also a psychic and said it was my past lives getting in the way of this one?”

  Mom smirks a little. “She may have been a mistake. But that method is supposed to be supereffective and with no side effects.”

  “Was it effective?”

  “Her psychic beliefs may have gotten in the way of a true Feldenkrais experience.”

  “How about the ketogenic diet that was just…” I struggle to try find a strong enough word and end up saying, “Disgusting. But we did it because you were convinced it would stop my seizures?”

  “I realize not everything we’ve tried has been successful…but you aren’t having seizures anymore, except after the contrast…”

  “Mom. Come on. Every time we’ve tried to do things for my benefit, it has backfired.”

  Her voice gets sharper. She points at me. Not a good sign. “That’s a wild overgeneralization.”