by A. K. Smith
Hudson’s bursting excitement is on the exact opposite scale of my exploding pain and discomfort. He leans closer and studies my face, searching for something, I know he’ll never find. “Hannah, can I get your info? I mean, who knows, maybe you will want to visit Vegas sometime, or maybe I will find myself in sunny LA.” He takes out his iPad.
“I don’t have a phone number right now, but I’m on Instagram. You can check out all my stories, and all the new ones to come.”
He tilts his head, his smile growing small. “What’s wrong?”
Wrong. Where do I start? Hannah’s first and only friend is getting off the bus. I’m bleeding and I don’t know what that means. Am I losing my baby? I need help. Suck it up. Say something; act normal.
“I’ll friend you.” I wonder how many Hannah Williamses there are on Facebook. Amir had helped me set up a page at the library with very little info and a few pics and I haven’t even thought to check the account.
I open up my tablet and log on, trying anything to create a distraction from the pain. I gasp as I open the account Amir created for me.
“What?” Hudson asks.
Amir had messaged me three simple words: Are you alive?
I panic, and slam the case, certain Hudson read the three words. “Nothing, just that an old boyfriend messaged me.” Amir knew my password.
Of course, he set it up. If I change it, he will know I’m alive.
“My battery is dead again. I’ll send you a friend request when we get to Vegas. But Facebook’s so old school, I barely check it so give me your cell when you get one.”
He buys another lie. Probably because his laser focus is on his big moment, the one he has been waiting for is here, and his excitement is propelling him to the city of second chances.
Hudson gets up to use the bathroom. Closing my eyes, I lean over, my head touching my knees, I try to talk myself through the cramps and the bleeding. Is the baby okay?
I need to get my suitcase and get off this smelly old bus now.
As I wipe away a tear, Hudson’s face is inches from mine. I didn’t even realize he was back in his seat.
“Hannah, are you sick?”
I run my hand across my wet forehead. “I’m not feeling so good. I need to get off with you. Will you help me get my suitcase?”
Hudson doesn’t hesitate. “What’s your suitcase look like? I’ll take care of it.”
As we get up to leave the bus, I see Hudson looking at the dark wet spot on my seat. He helps me out of the bus, grabs my backpack, and sits me down on the nearest bench. He leaves to get the suitcases.
I don’t know what to do next. I’m bleeding and cramping like a bad period. Does that mean I lost the baby? Lost the baby, just like Clark.
“Hannah, do you need to go to the hospital? You don’t look so good.”
“I don’t know. I just need to lie down. I don’t have any insurance. I don’t want to go to a hospital.”
“Okay, but I think you need help. Can you tell me what is wrong?”
What do I do?
I try to breathe slowly, but I am in pain with every breathe. I squint my eyes and try to hold back the wave of emotion, about to explode. Everything is a mess. A mess.
“Please, please, do not take me to a hospital. Please, Hudson. I’ll be all right just as long as you don’t take me to the hospital.”
I think that’s the right decision. If I go to the hospital, what if they find out who I really am? Did I do all this to save the baby and now…
I can’t think straight.
Hudson sits down beside me and grabs my hand. He is now taking deep breathes trying to calm me down or calm himself down. A pain shoots through me and I squeeze his hand hard.
“You’re coming with me. I already have a room booked for tonight. First night splurge at an old casino downtown, the El Cortez.”
Chapter 14
It Happens, El Cortez, and Fear the Buttons
“I’m not pregnant. I’m not pregnant?”
“You’re not pregnant now, nor have you ever been.”
A nurse with no eyelashes and dark circles under her eyes flips through papers in a folder. The white concrete walls seem to be coming closer, the faster she flips the pages, the smaller the room gets.
I don’t even know how to respond. The smell of disinfectant is strong in my nose and mouth.
“But the pregnancy test was positive. I never got my period.”
“It happens. You should have gone to the doctors.”
It happens? My entire existence changed because it happens. I’m hollow inside, like an Easter chocolate bunny you break open and there’s nothing inside, just dead air.
In Nevada, they have a free medical clinic. Hudson brought me here after I crumpled on a bed in the hotel he booked. He saw the bloody sheets. I was certain I had lost the baby. It never even crossed my mind that it was my period, because I was convinced I was pregnant. The second line showed on the dollar store test, faint but I didn’t imagine it.
As I walk out to the clinic waiting room, Hudson is sitting in an ugly plastic chair. The waiting room smells like body odor. I’m exhausted, my mind must be playing tricks on me. I was certain this was all some nightmare. Any minute, I would wake up and everything would be back to the way it was. Yes, certainly my life before wasn’t great, but at least I had Jack, a job, and a plan. But, seeing Hudson made it real. I can’t believe he stayed. Stunned, I can’t wrap my head around the news that everything I thought was my reality was no longer true.
I don’t remember anything after that, except Hudson took me back to the El Cortez Hotel.
Exhausted, lost, and empty, I sit on the bed in a trance.
“Are you going to be okay?” Hudson asks in a soft voice. “Do you need me to get you anything?”
I barely remember the nurse telling me I might have the beginning stages of endometriosis, a condition where tissue grows outside the uterus. The tissue can cause severe pain and heavy bleeding. Even as I try to replay the conversation it doesn’t seem real. Her matter-of-fact gruff voice relaying the results of the ultrasound—no pregnancy, but two small fibroids. She states the combination of the two and stress might cause a skipped period, but there could be other factors. She tells me to make an appointment with a doctor to discuss treatments.
Stress.
A sad laugh bubbles up inside me. I can’t contain it. I’m laughing at the sheer impossibility of my situation. The laughter turns to tears, then to sobbing, and here I am, with a guy I’d just met on a Greyhound Bus, sitting in a hotel room in Las Vegas, hiccupping and crying on the bed.
Hudson, in a white t-shirt, his tattoos exposed, paces the room trying to avoid direct eye-contact. Hudson tries to mimic a tough boy persona. At first glance, his clothing, ink, and cowboy boots paint a snapshot of a street-smart guy. The resilient outside appearances mask his kind interior, which always comes out when he speaks of his mother. She must be a saint, teaching him all her life lessons about right and wrong. I am grateful for this tough, kind boy, who just three days ago was a complete stranger. Now his kindness is a part of my journey into my new life. He deserves the truth, or at least a part I can confess.
“I thought I was pregnant and lost the baby.”
“I’m sorry.” He shifts forward awkwardly, as if to hug me. We don’t touch.
“Don’t be. I’m sorry for all the trouble.” I stand up, more like a crouch. “I’ll go now. I’ll figure out when the next bus leaves for LA.” My voice trembles. I want to curl up and cry. “Can I give you some money for the room?”
Hudson walks over, put his fingers on my shoulder, and gently eases me back onto the bed.
“You need to rest. You need to eat. At least stay here tonight. I paid for one more night. It was only $39 to book online. I’ll leave you alone and give you some time to yourself. I’m going to meet the guy from South Beach to find out about a job.”
I turn my face away. I can feel the tears building. In one minute, everyt
hing has changed; nothing makes sense.
“There’s a ham and cheese sandwich and a granola bar on the dresser. You really should eat something. Oh, and I bought you some orange juice.” He hands me a bottle of water and a bottle of juice. “Unless you want me to stay?” He massages the back of his neck, confusion and concern written all over his sweet features.
“The nurses gave me a bag of some things you might need. You know: feminine items. They are in the bathroom.” His face flushes pink. “I can stay with you, Hannah.”
Afraid to speak, I shake my head from left to right, terrified that his kindness will open the floodgates of my sorrow.
“Okay, then, you sleep. I’ll be back.”
For the first time in the last few days, I’m not on a bus schedule. As the world stops moving, the stillness and my aloneness engulfs me. It’s just me now, whoever I am, sitting in a tacky Vegas hotel room that smells like SHE. The life I tried so desperately to save had never existed. I scrub my skin red in the shower with a bar of Dial soap. The letters DIAL stands out on the bar and as each letter vanishes, I wash away my old life. I wash away the baby that never existed.
I scour my skin, desperate to get rid of the past, the shame, the cruelty, the lies. Cigarette smoke wafts in from the hallway, reminding me of SHE. I scrub harder. The soul I tried to save had NEVER EXISTED. The pregnancy is why my plan changed. The pregnancy is why I left Jack. The Pregnancy never existed.
Hudson is off on an all-day job search. I’m finally alone. An emptiness swells in my body. Hannah Williams, a mother of no one. Is it too late to go back? I hate to think what a stupid idiot I am.
“You’re a stupid, stupid, stupid girl!” I can hear HE shouting. For the first time, I agree.
I can’t even verbalize it in my brain, but the thought creeps around the corners of my mind like a stealthy pickpocket. What would happen to me if I just miraculously appeared back home; maybe I can make up some crazy story about how I couldn’t remember who I was. A headline flashes in my mind: “Student from shooting lost in the woods with amnesia.” What would Amir think? Based on his messages, he already thinks I’m still alive. I would think he would help me. Why wouldn’t he? Pragmatically, how could I explain any of this? My hair was now cut short and dyed dark brown. It’s been days since the shooting.
I can’t. I don’t know how to make any of this right.
I also can’t conceive what HE would do to me. With all the media attention, HE is probably a rupturing volcano ready to explode chunks of hot fiery magma. I don’t want to be caught in the burning lava. Not ever again. Instinctively, my hand goes to the three scars above my elbow. I’ve always said they were from a rare spider bite. It’s hard to make up stories about cigarette burns. Things have changed. I am different.
Everything happens for a reason, right? There must be a reason. I know my early existence in the menacing house with HE and SHE was not my life; it’s not who I am or will ever become. That house, HE and SHE, and THE DARK are not my destiny.
I study the vintage hotel room. A cheery, cheap rendition of a time gone by brings strange comfort to me. I am without them. They no longer have control. The past is no longer my truth. I want Sunday back, but I don’t want the surroundings that made up the world of HE and SHE or the memory of Tyler. I want Jack, the one human on this earth who loved me and believed in me… but I can’t have one without the other.
If you love something, set it free.
I am setting Jack free. I don’t want to, but I am. I still wish I could talk to him, hear his voice, tell him everything. Maybe he would forgive me. But this is stupid thinking. He can never know where I am, and therefore he can never forgive me. I can’t imagine his grief. I can’t hurt him anymore.
Tomorrow, I will catch the next Greyhound bus to California and block Jack from my mind. I owe him that. He needs to get over me and move on. Tomorrow, I will stop torturing myself wondering if he would ever forgive me for Tyler, and for not letting him know I’m alive, and for leaving him.
I’m alive.
While people are searching for my lifeless body back home, I’m resting in a Vegas hotel room, living and breathing, exhausted, the grit of everything lying on top of me. I’m afraid to close my eyes for the nightmare of the shooting to replay. The smell, the sound of the gun fire and the screams. Lately, I hear the screaming.
I need to see Jack’s face. His kind, cheerful and loving face.
Tomorrow I’ll stop looking, but today I need to see his handsome face and remember my every day Jack, not the Jack falling into the rapids, confused, and concerned. I flip open my tablet and head to his Instagram. There he is, crooked smile, pink scar on his cheek, and hair that looks like he just ripped off a ski hat. God, I love his hair, his smile, his face.
Then my eyes go down the page and get stuck on a photo of me—well, the old me. My hand goes to my short brown hair and tugs. I wrap my arms around myself as I stare at the picture: long blonde hair, a real smile, and Jack’s head next to mine. Jack had created a video, “Looking for Sunday.”
Oh my God. Oh Jack.
I hit play on the video and Jason Mraz’s “I Won’t Give Up” starts playing. I’m a mess. I can’t control my sobs as they escalate. I grab the pillow and try to muffle my cries. It seems like an eternity before I catch my breath.
Oh Jack, I’m so sorry. I miss you so much. I trace his handsome features on the screen.
He can’t forgive me and he never will, for I am gone. I keep my face covered with the pillow.
Where am I?
I wake up and for a minute, just one minute, I forget who Hannah is. I smell smoke and think SHE must be near me. I flinch and then the room comes into focus, like adjusting a lens on a camera. Hudson is staring out the window, deep into the early morning dawn of Vegas, shirtless. I study his naked, lean, muscular back, a tattoo on his left shoulder. He’s wearing Levi’s. His hair is wet from the shower; it’s not all spiked up, and I notice it curls at the end by his ears. From behind, he looks different. He turns around and glances over at me as he goes to put his t-shirt on.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“I’m better.” I sit up, picturing how I must look with my red, puffy eyes and swollen face. “Any luck with the job?”
“I got it.” His white teeth gleam. “It’s not quite what I imagined, but it’s a job. I start tomorrow.”
“That’s great, Hudson, really wonderful. What type of job is it?”
“It’s a little bar and casino, east of the strip. Nothing fancy, but not horrible. Meet the dishwasher, cleaner, and errand boy.” Hudson smirks and takes a little bow. “Michael Dell, founder and CEO of Dell Computers, was a dishwasher at a Chinese restaurant, making $2.30 an hour, so it could be worse.”
“Well, congrats, you never know what it will turn into. That’s really good.” I mean it, I am happy for him. He is a good person. He deserves all his plans to work out.
“They’re hiring cocktail servers,” Hudson states. “Jennifer Aniston worked as a waitress while she was starting out.”
“You interested in serving drinks?” I ask.
“No, they only hire females: young women like you. Hannah, if you are interested in sticking around Vegas, I could introduce you to this guy, George. He’s all right, a little more slippery than I remember as a kid, but I’m sure he’d hire you.” Hudson moves his suitcase and backpack on the bed and keeps talking as he packs up.
“We have to be out of the room by 11:00 a.m. I’m moving to Hostel Cat. It’s a shared dorm room but they have free Wi-Fi, breakfast, and a laundry room. I just paid $100 for a week and I’m going to try that for a while until I find a roommate or an apartment.” Hudson walks into the bathroom, collecting the miniature soap and shampoo bottles from the hotel. “Why don’t you come with me? Check it out for a night. It’s safe, clean, and cheap.”
I stand up and close my eyes steadying myself. “Thanks, Hudson, but I’m headed to California. I really want to thank you for helping
me. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” I’m awkward, trying to say the right thing, as I lean against the bed. I can see the pink-tinted sheets from when I’d tried to soak in cold water to get the blood out, hanging over the shower curtain rod.
“Really, thank you, Hudson.” I am having difficulty finding the right words. “Your mom would be proud of you for the man you are.” I want to hug him, but I don’t know how. Hugging is foreign to me. Jack is the only guy I ever felt comfortable hugging.
Hudson stares at me for a second, his mouth opens, but no words come out. He tilts his head and bites his lower lip as if fighting an internal struggle with an imaginary wall blocking the words from coming out of his mouth. This full-time chattering optimist is for once solemn.
“I’m just glad you are okay.” He reaches into his pocket and throws a bent business card on the other bed. “Here’s George’s number in case you change your mind.” He pauses. “Hannah, you sure you’re going to be all right?”
I nod. Hudson picks up his things; and with his hands full, he stands right in front of me. We are inches apart. I smell his distinct clean scent. I like it.
Again, awkward silence. It’s as if he is daring himself to do something, but he can’t pull it off.
“Hannah, it’s going to get better. My mom always told me you have to fight through some bad days to earn the best days of your life.”
Tears fill my eyes. This boy, this sweet boy, who was just a stranger three days ago cares about me—or at least about Hannah. He has no idea of who I am or who I was. He doesn’t care. I move closer to him and clumsily hug him and his belongings. It feels good. I will never forget him. I hold on a little too long. I have no fear, because he is nothing like Tyler. He drops his bags, leans into me, and lets me hug him, and he hugs back.
