Thorns Before Roses

by Hanna Ruthie

  “Great,” I reply, totally aware that I’m taking her kindness for granted.

  She takes her things and stands. The bookstore’s right across from the library so we walk across the short distance and into the bookstore. Josie leads the way, winding and zigzagging us through the rows of books until we arrive at a small table and two plush chairs in the back. We sit and take out all our stuff.

  “You know this place well don’t you?” I ask, noticing how she knew exactly where the table was.

  She shrugs, opening her laptop. “Sometimes I come back here and read.”

  I huff a small laugh. “I bet you do.”

  Josie pauses, looking up at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” I shrug. “Just that you strike me as that type.”

  “What type?”

  I sigh, annoyed with the questions. “The book worm type.”

  She shifts in her chair. “You said you weren’t going to be mean.”

  “No, I said I wasn’t going to be a dick. There’s a difference.”

  “Not really,” she murmurs.

  I look at her for a minute. She’s so clean. Not a single mark on her. Not a blemish, not a scratch, not a scar. Her fingers are small, her nails painted a baby blue. Her hair is braided back today, the silky caramel strands going down her back. She wears a black fitted tee and dark blue skinny jeans, black sneakers on her feet. I look at her face. She’s not wearing any makeup besides a layer of mascara. Even from here I can see the freckles that dust across her nose and cheeks. She’s looking down at her laptop, so I can’t see her eyes, leaving me to focus on her lips. They’re full, firm, pink. She must have that glossy shit on them. She’s cute. Like a little Tinker Bell sitting right in front of me. She must sense me looking at her because she glances up at me. Unflinching, I continue to stare at her.

  “What?” She asks.

  I shrug. “I was just thinking.”

  She studies me for a moment. I wonder what she sees. With a slow nod of her head, she looks back down at her laptop. I make her nervous. I can see it in the way her feet shuffle, her fingers twitch.

  “So what’s the quiz on?” She asks, trying to get me on topic.

  I clear my throat, looking down at the notes on my laptop. I share them with her.

  “These are from the lecture Tuesday. She said this is what the quiz is on.”

  Josie clicks around on her computer, finding my notes. I watch her as she scrolls through them. “Can you use these on the quiz?”

  “Nope. Memory only.”

  “Okay,” Josie says, scratching her temple. “It’s gonna be hard, there’s a lot here.”

  “I know,” I sigh, sitting back.

  “Give me a minute to look through them and then we can make an outline together.”

  Together. “How sweet,” I comment rudely.

  Josie ignores me, clearly losing patience for my commentary. Or maybe, what Chris and Thomas said was true and she’s just beginning to develop hard skin. She’s getting used to it. My stomach tightens at the thought. I don’t know what fucking feeling that was but it didn’t feel good. It almost felt like… guilt. I shake my head, disregarding it. It’s just hunger. I haven’t eaten since before practice.

  “I’m gonna go grab some shit from the vending machine,” I announce, standing up.

  “Wait wait,” Josie says. She roots around in her bag for a moment until she finds her wallet. She pulls out a couple dollars.

  “Grab me some pretzels?” She asks, holding the money out for me to take.

  I glance down at the money in her hand. Get them yourself. I almost say it. I almost do, but then I remembered I said I wouldn’t be a dick. I snatch her money and go to the vending machine, buying what I can to fill me up and getting Josie her precious pretzels too. I go back to the table with an arm full of junk and drop Josie’s pretzels in her lap.

  “Thanks,” she says, opening them up. She reaches one of those dainty fingers inside and plucks out one pretzel, munching on it slowly as she looks over my notes. I put her change on the table and rip open my first bag of chips, wolfing them down. I’m already halfway through the bag when I notice Josie staring at me.

  “Don’t forget how to breathe there,” she comments, biting her lip to keep from laughing at me.

  I squint at her. “I’m fucking hungry okay? Not all of us have the patience to eat all dainty and shit.”

  Josie rolls her eyes at me, returning to the notes. She eats another pretzel, scrolling down.

  “Your notes are getting better,” she comments.

  She doesn’t know it, but that shit actually means a lot to hear. After my conversation with coach, it’s nice to get a little reassurance that some improvement is going on. That hopefully I’m not blowing my entire life to shit.

  “Cool,” I reply, slowing down on my food a little bit.

  “It is,” she states. “You should be proud, there’s a lot of improvement here.”

  My ego inflates about twice its size. Thank fucking God. I’m at least on the right path. I nod at her words, continuing to eat my chips like a fucking animal. When I finish my bag, I crumple it up in my fist, shooting for the trash can a few feet away. I make it easily and look back towards Josie.

  “Alright,” she says, just finishing with the notes. “I think I know where to start.”

  For the next hour and a half, Josie and I go over the notes, narrowing down the most important points and compiling them into an outline. We have to adjust our positions several times from feet fallen asleep or back aches and eventually we end up on the floor. Now, I’m lying down, throwing another crumpled chip bag up into the air, catching it over and over again. Josie sits beside me, legs crossed, laptop resting on her thighs.

  “Last note,” she says.

  And so we surge on, finishing our last note of the outline. When we finally finish, I know we’ve gone over the time expected of her. Not only did she go late with me, but she gave me an extra thirty minutes too. She hits print on the outline we made and goes to get it from the student printer in the back of the bookstore. When she comes back, she holds the single sheet in her hand.

  “Here,” she says. “I think you’re ready.”

  I sit up, taking the paper from her.

  “Just look over it tomorrow and right before your quiz. And try to get a lot of sleep and drink lots of water,” she advises.

  “Okay Mom,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  She smiles, nudging my leg with her foot.

  “Hey, we did pretty good didn’t we?”

  “Yeah,” I admit, looking down at the outline.

  I get up off the ground, packing up my stuff.

  “Not so bad Virginia.”

  She smiles, tucking her laptop into her bag.

  “Not too bad yourself Steele.”

  It’s probably the least tense moment we’ve had since we met. Something about today made me take something of a liking to Josephine Virginia. Don’t get me wrong, I still hate her bubbly attitude and chipper voice, but after today, I do respect her. She went out of her way to help me today. I may be an asshole, but I’m not a psychopath, I realize what she did for me, and I appreciate it. We walk out of the bookstore together and into the cold night air.

  “Listen,” I say before we part ways. “You going late with me and giving me that extra half hour, that was cool. So… yeah.”

  Josie smiles at me, shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Of course. Just let me know if you’ll be late again.”

  “Right,” I reply.

  She gives me a little wave. “Good luck on your quiz. I’ll see you next week.”

  I give her a quick nod and head in the opposite direction as her, grateful to go home and get some rest.

  * * *

  Nightmares shake me awake for the third time this week. It’s always the same dream. A woman I vaguely recognize as my mother lying cold and dead on a metal table in the morgue. They call me in to ID the body. They draw open the blin
ds looking into the room, remove the white sheet from her head. I stare at her. A ghost of a woman. The one who spent more time with crack then she did with me. And I can’t ID her. I spent so little time with her, her appearance in my life was so rare that I can’t even recall what she looks like. I shake my head at the detective.

  “I-I don’t know,” I say.

  He touches my shoulder. “Are you sure son? You’re her only living relative.”

  I move closer to the glass, both fascinated and terrified of the dead body lying on a table, separated only by a sheet of glass and a few feet.

  “Can’t you do a blood test or something?” I ask.

  And then, the woman on the table, the one who’s supposed to be my mother, she sits up. She sits up, clutching the white sheet against her frail body, and looks at me. Her eyes sunken in, her hair thin and skin pale, she looks at me and begins to cry.

  “Don’t you remember me?” She asks, tears sliding down her face. “Don’t you remember your own Mother?!”

  “Mom?” I ask, suddenly feeling like a child again. “Is it you Mom? Is it really you? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  And then I snap awake. A cold sweat clings to me, my hands shaking and clammy. I throw the sheets off, climbing out of bed. In the dark, my hand reaches for my nightstand, finding my bottle of sleeping meds. At first, I felt terrible turning to drugs to get to sleep. I felt like her. Turning to drugs to solve my problems. But I was never sleeping, nightmares wrecking me on a nightly basis. It was affecting my school work and more importantly, my performance on the basketball court. My coach scheduled me an appointment with a doctor and after an exam, he prescribed me the sleeping meds. They’ve really helped me. I try not to abuse them, only using them to get back to sleep after a nightmare. The doctor suggested I use them before I go to sleep so I can get uninterrupted rest, but I refuse. As much as I hate that dream, I need it. I need it to remember her. To remember who she was, what I can never become. I shake two pills out of the bottle and head to the kitchen. There, I fill up a glass of water and chug it down, taking the pills with it. As I head back to my room, I see the outline Josie and I made sitting on my nightstand. I turn on my lamp and lie back down in bed, reviewing the material. Her words ring in my head as I become tired again.

  “You should be proud. There’s a lot of improvement here.”

  No one has ever told me to be proud. No one. Ever. I give lots of people shit, and she’s no exception. But I can’t deny that she has proved to have more patience with me than most others who I’ve come into contact with. And I can’t help but wonder why.

  Chapter 5

  Josie Virginia.

  I’m surprised to see Matthew sitting at our table, ready to go before I’ve even had a chance to sit down. I glance down at my watch, making sure I’m not late. I’m not. Five minutes early as usual.

  “Hey,” I say, approaching the table, dropping my things down.

  I take a seat, noting Matthew’s smile.

  “You’re… early.”

  He slides his phone over to me.

  I look down at it and see his quiz grade. An A stares back at me. Relief floods through my body. I don’t think I could take another angry outbreak if he failed.

  “That was my reaction too,” Matthew says, taking notice to the relief that must be painted over my features.

  I look back down at his quiz and notice it raised his grade two percent.

  “It bumped you two points, that’s good.”

  He nods. “Yeah, but I’ve still got five points to go ‘till I’m at least passing.”

  I nod my head, passing the phone back over to him. “Good job. I’m happy for you.”

  “Yeah me too,” he says, sitting back in his chair happily.

  “So what’s next?” I ask.

  A scowl takes over the smile on Matthew’s face.

  “Midterms,” he says.

  I frown at the word, at the meaning.

  “We may have to bump our sessions to twice a week,” he says, opening his binder.

  Twice a week?! Twice? With Matthew?! I don’t know if I have the strength for that. Would the extra cash be nice- yes. Can I afford it emotionally? I honestly don’t know.

  “Luckily for both of us,” he continues, pulling out a thick packet, “Parkins gave us a study guide.”

  I take the packet in my hand and flip it over, almost crying by the sheer thickness of it.

  “Okay,” I say, trying to put on my brave face. I slide the packet back towards him. “Why don’t you start with what you know and we’ll take what’s left question by question.”

  He nods, pulling out his pencil.

  “And let me know if you have any questions,” I add.

  Matthew nods again, looking down at the study guide. As he begins, I pull out my trigonometry homework. I’ve been stuck on the same problem since last night and I have no idea how to solve it. Looking over what I have, I erase all my work and start again. Ten minutes later, I’m stuck again. Math makes me so… so… frustrated! And now my paper is all smudged and torn from where I’ve been erasing time and time again.

  “Holy shit,” Matthew laughs. “You’re scowling.”

  I look up from my notes, my eyes meeting with Matthew’s very amused, very grey irises.

  “What?” I ask.

  Matthew puts his pencil down and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. His smirk is smug and happy.

  “Josephine Virginia… scowling. The world must be coming to an end,” he says.

  I give him a look. “Did you finish your study guide?” I ask, trying to keep him on task.

  “Oh my God,” Matthew says. He throws his head back as he laughs… laughs at me. “You’re stuck! Josie Virginia, the sweet as sunshine, straight A genius is scowling because she’s stuck.”

  I sigh, not enjoying his teasing. “Fine Matthew. You’re right. I’m stuck. Happy now?”

  He chuckles, watching me carefully from his chair. He stares me down until I break, looking away. I look down at my smudgy confused notes.

  “Well come on then,” he says. “What is it?”

  “Math,” I reply, blowing a strand of hair out of my face.

  Matthew snorts a laugh. “Weren’t you the one who loved science?”

  “Science and math are different,” I say, looking back up at him.

  Matthew leans forward. “Clearly you’ve never taken physics.”

  “Yes I have,” I argue. “But… look… for me… science math makes sense. Where as math math… I couldn’t be more lost.”

  “Math math?” He repeats.

  I nod, becoming almost as frustrated with him as I am my homework.

  “So what is this math math that you’re scowling at?” He asks.

  I squint down at my paper, hoping my gaze will make it openly combust.

  “Trigonometry.”

  Matthew laughs again. That’s really starting to get on my nerves.

  “Trig? Trig’s easy.”

  Easy? Easy!

  “Easy?!” I ask.

  Matthew rolls his eyes and nods his head.

  “Can you help me? Please?!” I ask. I push my paper in front of him before he has a chance to answer me. He looks down at the paper and pushes it back.

  “Sorry Virginia, I can’t tutor you while you’re tutoring me.”

  He looks back down at his study guide, suddenly interested again.

  “Matthew please? I’ve already failed two math classes.”

  “No.”

  “But I-”

  “You get paid,” he says. “If I tutor you, what do I get?”

  I tap my pencil against the table. “Brownie points in heaven?”

  Matthew snarls at me. “Not good enough.”

  I sigh. “I don’t have anything to give you Matthew. I- I need the money. Can’t you just do this for me?”

  Matthew’s eyes turn dark. He’s pissed. He leans towards me, seething.

  “I don’t fucking do nice
things for anybody. Especially not you.”

  “Okay,” I pause for a moment, taking in his words. “Forget I said anything.”

  I look back down at my paper, letting him continue his study guide. I pull out a clean sheet of paper, retrying the problem. I’m about ten minutes through again, my head beginning to hurt.

  “Jesus,” Matthew says. “I’m getting a headache just watching you.”

  I look up at him and shrug. “I’m trying… it just doesn’t make sense.”

  Matthew releases a long, heavy, dramatic sigh. He runs his hand through his hair roughly.

  “Fuck,” he curses softly. “I’m going to fucking regret this, I know I am.”

  “Regret what?” I ask.

  Matthew looks back down at his practice test. “I’ll help you for an hour after our tutoring session next week.”

  “You will?!” I ask, excited.

  “Yes,” he grumbles. “But if you ask again I’ll take it back.”

  “Okay,” I reply, excited. “Thank you!”

  He grumbles something impossible to make out and returns to his test.

  * * *

  When I enter my sister’s hospital room, she’s asleep. She had a rough procedure yesterday, so I expected her to be tired today. I’ll probably only get to spend a little time with her. But I’ll take what I can get. I pull a chair up beside her bed and reach in my bookbag, pulling out my trig. I work on it for a while until I get too frustrated and then I put it away. I pull out a book to read and sit back, relaxing next to the sound of Cammy’s oxygen. The small tubes sit above her lip, feeding the oxygen into her nose. I open up my book where I have the edge of the page folded over as a bookmark. I watch her for a few moments and then turn my attention down to my book. I read a few chapters before I hear a groan. I look up at Cammy and see her shaking.

  “Cammy?” I ask.

  She groans again, and this time it’s obvious she’s in pain.

  “Cammy?!” I stand up from my chair and look over her.

  Her eyes open and settle on me. She’s gasping for breath, her hands clutching at her chest. I run out of the room yelling for the doctors. Within the minute they come rushing in. They rush me out of the room and moments later I see them racing her out on a stretcher. I pace the lobby for a while until I can’t take it any longer. And it’s only then that I race outside of the hospital, head in my hands. I lean against the wall of the hospital and break down, the tears streaming from my eyes. I stay there for a long while until I manage to get my emotions under control. I have to be strong. I have to be strong for Cammy. And I have to be strong for me. Because there’s no one else there to carry me through this. No one else to lean on. I wipe my eyes and push out a few deep breaths. Then I head back into the lobby and wait until the doctors come back with information. It’s hours before they find me and fill me in on everything that’s happened. The biggest news is that she’s okay. She’s not really okay. But she’s alive. And what happened today wasn’t unexpected. It was just an unfortunate result of her condition. I can’t see her again today. She’s asleep on heavy medication. The doctors tell me to go home and get rest, and it’s not an easy thing to do. Going home to the apartment, to the place I lived with her. When she was healthy, when she was thriving and alive. It hurts. It’s draining. It’s heartbreaking.