by Brian Rowe
Mommy… Mommy… Mommy… Mom –
8. Thirty
I cried most of the weekend, not only because I had to stay at the hospital longer on Friday due to my severely cut hand, but also because I knew in my heart that what the doctor said was true.
On Sunday night I found myself at my computer getting lost in a homework assignment analyzing William Shakespeare’s Macbeth, trying to forget about my life-altering problem, trying to imagine an alternate universe where the only thing pervading my brain at the moment was my book report on Act IV.
My mom walked in, her hands shaking a tad too obviously. She looked jumpy, like she had been watching a horror movie.
“I just got off the phone with that institution in Phoenix I was telling you about. They can take you in a week.”
“Mom, I don’t—”
“The decision’s already been made,” she said. “Now this place has the finest doctors in the country. They said if you stay with them for at least six weeks they will be able to diagnose your illness and do their best to get you back to normal.”
“Six weeks? I don’t have six weeks!”
I threw the book against my closet door and leapt over to my bed face first.
“Honey, don’t be mad,” she said. “I’m just trying to help you.”
I didn’t answer. I just kept breathing awkwardly against my bed sheets.
“Your father and I will make the proper arrangements with your teachers and principal this week to make sure you still graduate this summer. But of course with your current condition you can’t possibly be expected to resume your normal daily life.”
“What?” I looked up at my mom. “You don’t want me to finish my senior year?”
She rested her back against my bedroom wall and sighed. “Of course I do, honey. Just not in a social environment. It’d be too confusing for everyone, and you of all people know you’d be ridiculed every minute if you went back to school.”
I turned over on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, trying my best not to start screaming from intense sadness. “Mom, say Dr. Carol is telling the truth. There’s nothing these Phoenix doctors can do to help.”
“He’s full of shit, Cameron,” my mom said, emphasizing the ‘s’ word for the first time in front of me. “He’s a quack. Did you see his star rating on Yelp? His average rating is three out of five! Three!”
“But he’s the only person who’s provided a valuable answer! Plus, do you notice anything different about me today?”
“You do look a bit…”
“Older, Mom? Is that the word you’re looking for?”
My heart was pounding. I didn’t know if I could hold in a scream any longer.
“Don’t take your anger out on me, Cam. I don’t want this for you. I don’t want this for any of us.”
“Yeah, especially Dad.”
“What do you mean?”
“He can’t even look at me. He sees me now as some thing, some horrid, rotten thing.”
“Your father loves you. He might not show it as clearly as I do, but he does.”
I shook my head and started dangling my increasingly lanky legs off the side of my bed. “I don’t care what people think.”
“About what?”
“About how I look. You know what, Mom? This problem of mine? Call me naïve, but I feel it’s so bizarre that people might actually find it interesting. I think if I receive negative attention from anyone at school, it’ll be from people who just feel sorry for me.”
“Either way, your public image would probably—”
“Public image?” I couldn’t believe these words were coming out of her mouth. “Is this you or Dad talking?”
“No, I just mean—”
“No, I get it. Dad’s business lives or dies by its image, and if the boss’s son is walking around Reno dying from some disfiguring disease, Dad and his practice might suffer some setbacks, right?”
“That’s a very small part of it, Cameron,” she said. “You know first and foremost I just want you to be two things—healthy and happy.”
“And you think I’ll be happy, Mom, by living out the rest of my days in some clinic in Arizona?”
“The rest of your days? You talk like you’re dying or something.”
“Well, aren’t I?”
I could see my mom’s eyes turning bright red. She looked away from me for a moment.
“We don’t know that,” she said.
“No, we don’t. But it’s possible.”
I could see a tear starting to fall from her left eye, but she wiped it away before it reached the side of her nose. “So what do you suggest?”
“How much would it cost to go to this clinic?”
“Cam, money is not the issue here—”
“How much?”
She finally looked back at me with a cold stare. “A lot.”
Not that I was considering nauseatingly hot Arizona in the first place, but her answer made it easier to say the following: “I just want to go to school, Mom.”
“You do?” She paused. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Call me stupid, completely mad, whatever you want, but I don’t want to just waste away in some dark room somewhere surrounded by doctors. I want to pretend to have a normal life. Now, we have a school assembly tomorrow morning. The principal or whoever can tell the students what’s wrong with me, and I can just get on with the semester, get on with my life.”
My mom sat on the bed next to me. “I don’t like the idea, Cam. It’s just masking the problem when you should be putting a hundred percent of your focus on getting better.”
“I only get to be a senior in high school once, Mom. It’ll never come back again. If I’m really dying, I want to see my school year through to the end, graduation and all. And if I’m not dying, if this all blows over in the next few days, then I would’ve saved myself time and suffering, and you would’ve saved yourself thousands of dollars.”
My mom crossed her arms and nodded, clearly not agreeing with what I was saying, but understanding why I was saying it. “OK.”
“OK?”
“I’ll talk it over with your father. He won’t agree with your decision, but we can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Mom,” I said, sitting up. “Thank you.”
She leaned over and gave me a hug.
“OK,” she said, getting back on her feet. “I’m gonna go to bed. I don’t know where your father is, but I imagine he’ll be home soon.”
“Tell Dad not to worry. I know what I’m doing.”
“I know you do. I’ll call your principal first thing in the morning.”
“And you’ll tell him—”
“What Dr. Carol said, yes. It’s the only answer we have.”
“OK.”
She flashed me a forced smile before walking out of my bedroom and closing the door behind her.
I felt like I had a million thoughts running through my head. I knew going back to school tomorrow was a scary, dangerous decision. But I knew in my heart it was the right one to make. I couldn’t just disappear from society, from my social existence. I couldn’t live in an underground cave getting probed and prodded for the next two months, particularly if they were my last to live.
My door opened again, slowly. I turned around and didn’t see anybody. I thought it was the dog for a moment, when I caught the side of my sister’s face.
“Kimber?”
She remained standing in the hallway completely still, as if both her shrimpy legs were chained to the hardwood floor. I imagine she was scared to look at me. She still hadn’t seen me since I shaved the beard.
“Mom says you’re sick,” she said. I could tell by the sound of her sniffles that she had been crying, probably just as much as Mom, if not more so.
“Yeah, I’m not doing too good, unfortunately.”
“Are you going to be OK?”
“Oh, I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me.”
&nbs
p; “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Mom told me you look… different.”
“Yeah, did you ever wonder what I might look like when I’m thirty? Now’s your chance!” I laughed and immediately regretted it.
She still wouldn’t enter my room.
“Cameron?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I see you? I mean, can I see your face?”
“Of course.”
I watched the door open as Kimber took a step inside. Her eyes were closed, as if opening them would reveal an exciting birthday present she’d been waiting for all year. Her eyes opened. Tears flooded them. The thirteen-year-old before me looked terrified, like my face hadn’t aged but instead morphed into a half-breed of werewolf and swamp monster.
But she didn’t run the other way. Instead, she charged up to me and gave me the biggest hug in the world.
“I love you, Cam,” she said. “I don’t say it much. But I do.”
Now it was getting awkward. “Kimber, you don’t have to—”
“And I’m gonna try to help you, OK? I’m gonna pray for you.”
I was taken aback by her comment. “You’re gonna what?”
“I’m gonna pray that you won’t die from this, whatever this is. I’ll make sure you’ll get better, that you’ll be OK.”
We stared at each other for a moment. I didn’t know what to do or say next.
Before I had to make up my mind, she turned around and ran out of the room, almost slipping on her way to her bedroom. I sat still for a moment, frazzled by my little sister’s maturity.
I picked Macbeth up off the ground. I had forgotten what page I was on.
I sat back down in my leather chair and scooted over to the computer. I decided to keep my door open.
9. Thirty-One
There was nothing different about Monday. It was freezing cold out, just like it had been for the last six months, and clouds were in abundance, proving that summer was still a long ways off. I had my window rolled up on the drive to school in my attempt to stay warm. Looking in the rearview mirror, I could take solace in knowing that whatever age I was supposed to be today, at least I looked pretty good.
My mom and I had both talked to the principal, who asked me to come in early to discuss my situation and confirm in person what we were trying to explain. He, of course, didn’t believe a word of it, and presumed it was all a joke. It wasn’t until he got on the phone with Dr. Carol that he finally stopped laughing. He said that to prove I wasn’t my long lost older brother I was going to have to confirm my identity through a series of questions.
Great. Before school even starts, I have to begin Monday with a test.
It didn’t take long for Principal Reeves to see I was telling the truth. He even tried to hug me, which I swiftly stepped away from. There had been too much hugging lately, and I certainly didn’t want to share another one with a man I had never made eye contact with before today.
I passed by some students in the hallways. Nobody recognized me. I received some strange glances at the backpack I had strapped on, but everyone went about their business as usual as if it was just another Monday at Caughlin Ranch High.
The assembly started promptly at ten. There were four sets of bleachers in the auditorium, one for freshmen, sophomores, juniors, and seniors, respectively. The place was packed, and more than a little rowdy, per the usual, as Principal Reeves took a few steps toward the podium at the center of the auditorium.
I stood off to the side, near the big blue curtains in the back, my arms crossed, tapping my nervous feet against the ground. It was time for my secret to be revealed.
Ben Kettleman, the senior class president, took to the podium next to the principal and started waving his hands in the air.
“Settle down! Everybody, settle down! Let’s get this show on the road!” He smiled his pearly whites and brought his mouth down awkwardly close to the microphone. “We have a lot to get through this morning. We’re gonna talk about the upcoming junior and senior proms. We have a hypnotist who’s gonna change the lives of a select few of you. And we’re gonna have a mud-wrestling contest with the entire cheerleading squad!”
Every boy in the audience erupted in applause.
“But before we get to all that,” Ben continued, “Principal Reeves would like to start things off with an important announcement.”
The applause ebbed to a quiet round of polite clapping. The principal reached the podium and shook hands with Ben.
“Hello,” Reeves said to the crowd. “Happy Monday morning to all of you.”
He paused for a moment, as if he was trying to put his thoughts into words.
“I wanted to address something very important to you all this morning. Something has transpired with one of our students, and I feel it necessary, before any malicious rumors come to fruition, that I tell you all truthfully and plainly the travesty that has occurred to our star basketball player, Mr. Cameron Martin.”
A hush fell over the crowd. I had been trying to locate Charisma for the last few minutes and finally pinpointed her near the top of the bleachers. She was sitting with two of her airhead girlfriends and had clearly not been paying attention to anything outside her dimwitted conversation until now.
“What?”
“Is this a joke?”
Collective ramblings became louder throughout the crowd. Even some of the teachers were talking amongst themselves.
Reeves continued. “Cameron’s condition is highly unusual and might seem almost like science fiction to many of you. But I spent some time with him in my office this morning and I can confirm its validity.”
It was weird to be standing in a room, once just any other student, now an outcast watching a man talk about myself in front of the entire student body as if I was attending my own funeral.
“Cameron might appear to be a little different to all of you,” Reeves continued. “The current diagnosis is that he is suffering from an accelerated aging disease. He is healthy and not in pain he assures me, but to you and me, he won’t look the same.”
I glanced over to see hundreds of students transfixed. There were no troublemakers in the back wreaking havoc. People were hanging on Principal Reeves’ every word, not so much because they liked me, I figured, but because something weird and unusual was finally happening to someone in dull old Reno, Nevada.
“Now what I want to say to you here is extremely important, and any of you who don’t follow my lead will be expelled without question. I want every single one of you to treat Cameron with the respect and kindness he deserves. Anyone else in his scenario wouldn’t come back to school, nor would he have to. Cameron has made a decision to stay at Caughlin Ranch High, to resume normality as best he can so he can finish his senior year. And that’s how I want all of you to treat him, is that understood? Like he’s normal. Any funny business, and I swear, you’ll be kicked out of this school in a heartbeat, no questions asked.”
I looked up in the bleachers to see Charisma crying, her friends comforting her.
“I need everyone to pray for Cameron,” Reeves continued. “He needs all of our support. Let’s wish him a fast recovery from this horrible disease, one that could take his life much sooner rather than later.”
It was so deathly silent I could hear a pin drop.
“But now,” Reeves said, a scary smile appearing on his face, “on a lighter note, I’m going to let Mr. Kettleman take you through the details of the upcoming proms! Thank you for your time!”
Ten, maybe fifteen people quietly clapped as Reeves stepped off the podium and made his way to the bottom bleacher next to some teachers.
Ben wrapped his hand around the microphone and tried to smile, like a TV news anchor who had to transition from a story about a deadly tornado attack to one about new varieties of ice cream flavors.
“Thank you, Principal Reeves, for that—”
Charisma let out a wail so loud everybody turned to look up at her.
Oh no. Please don’t.
The actress went into melodramatic overload, taking big leaps down the bleachers toward the gym floor. She must’ve knocked her boots against three or four people by the time she reached the bottom. One of her friends followed her as she raced out of the auditorium toward the cafeteria, tears streaming down her face.
Wesley, on the other hand, wasn’t showing any emotion. I had just located him seconds ago sitting by himself in the dead center of the bleachers. I could tell he was upset—he always flared his nostrils at the slightest disruption of tranquility—but he definitely looked to be internalizing his thoughts and emotions.
I was about to walk out of the auditorium when I noticed a girl sitting a few seats over from Wesley looking right at me.
Somebody spotted me.
What made the incident particularly notable was that she wasn’t just staring at me; she was burning her eyes deep into my soul. With a creepy little smirk on her face, she wouldn’t take her eyes off me.
To make matters worse, she looked familiar.
Where have I seen this redhead?
My attention veered back to the student body president. “Junior Prom tickets are almost gone,” he said “so be sure to reserve your spot. It’s coming up soon; just two weeks away! And don’t forget Senior Prom just around the corner, on Saturday, May eighth! Buy your tickets in advance so—”
That was it. I had heard enough.
I turned for the exit door, grabbed my backpack, and watched with annoyance as pens and highlighters from the front pocket spilled out onto the gym floor.
Only a few people caught sight of my little accident, but one was Wesley. I glanced once more at the bleachers to see his eyes connect with mine.
He furrowed his brow, clearly trying to decipher if the thirty-year-old near the curtains was actually me. He stood up and started slinking down the bleacher steps toward my side of the auditorium.
Not now, Wes.
I wasn’t in the mood to talk to him yet, disease or no disease. The guy had made a pass at my girlfriend, and that kind of disloyalty gave me enough stress to age another year of my life in the next ten minutes.
---
I didn’t think anyone was following me, but as I made my way down the main hallway, I could hear someone creeping up from behind.