by Brian Rowe
Don’t, Wes.
I turned around to see Wesley charging toward me. Before I could react, he gripped his right hand on my left shoulder and pulled me with force into the library, all the way over toward the bookshelves in the back.
“My God! Oh my God!”
“Shh,” I said. “Calm down.”
“Cameron? Is that really you in there?”
“Wes, I don’t really want to talk—”
He slugged me in the chest before I could finish my sentence.
I hit him back and pushed him up against one of the bookshelves. “What’d you do that for? Are you trying to ruin our friendship in every way imaginable?”
“Why didn’t you tell me!” he shouted. “I could’ve been there for you these last few days! I could’ve been there to support you! I’m your best friend!”
“Best friend?” I laughed and tried to keep myself from slugging him again. “You went behind my back and made out with my girlfriend!”
“I know how bad that looked, Cam. I’ll spend the next months trying to make you trust me again. The truth of the matter is that she came onto me. And I’ve never had the attention of a girl half as pretty as her. Never.”
“Wes,” I said, speaking clear and concise, “you don’t touch the girlfriend of one of your friends, ever. It’s like an unwritten rule.”
He stared at me for a moment, and then started madly shaking his head. “Why are we even talking about this when there are way more important things! I mean, you’re dying, for Christ’s sake!”
“What? Who said I was dying?”
“Aren’t you? Shit, man, you look thirty years old!”
I tried my best to smile and appear like everything would be OK. “No, you have it all wrong. The doctors are optimistic. They think this might be reversed any day. Nobody’s ever seen anything like it. That can work against me, for sure, but it also means there’s a shot it could all just go away.”
“But what if it doesn’t?” Wesley asked, remaining at least an inch too close to my face for comfort.
I crossed my arms. “Gee, Wes. Thanks for the optimism.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to—”
“I know you like to look at the darker sides of things in your movies. But for once in your life, can you please just try to make me feel better about all this?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It’s so weird. It’s you. I mean, I know it’s you. It’s still your hair, your eyes, your voice. But it’s like I’ve Marty McFly’d to the future to meet your thirty-year-old self. It’s sad and weird, yet truly spectacular.”
“Uhh, thanks?”
“I mean it, Cam. This is insane—”
“What’s all the commotion!” Mrs. Gordon shouted from afar as she marched up to us, a large stack of books in her age-spotted hands.
“Mr. Craven?” she asked.
“Oh, hi Mrs. Gordon,” he said.
“Why are you in the library? Shouldn’t you be at the school assembly? It’s not an optional event, you know.”
“Well, if that’s the case, shouldn’t you be there?”
“I am an adult, Mr. Craven. And you most certainly are not. And why are you talking so loud over here? This is a place of silence, do you understand me? It’s a place of—” She turned to me. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
I didn’t feel like unveiling my true identity to Mrs. Gordon just yet. If I did, she wouldn’t believe me but instead throw me out of the school like I was a crazy person. If she did believe me, she didn’t want me in her library anyway, so she would, again, throw me out of the school like I was a crazy person.
“I’m… uhh…”
She stared at me and leaned in toward my chest. If she started sniffing me, I would have considered punching her.
“I’m sorry, the resemblance is extraordinary,” she said. “Are you Cameron Martin’s older brother?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” I said. “How’d you know?”
“It’s incredible. You are the spitting image. I knew he had a younger sister, but I had no idea about an older brother. What’s your name?”
Let’s go with: “Mike.”
I jerked my hand out for her to shake it, but she refused. Her demeanor, which for the last ten seconds had become surprisingly tender, transitioned back into one of rage and cynicism.
“OK, Mike. I’m glad you’re here so that I can pass along a message to your little brother. I don’t know if he’s ever personally discussed this issue with you, but the kid disrupts my library on so many occasions that I’ve lost count. The fact is that your brother has zero respect, for me, for my books, for my prized sanctuary. He really needs to start acting like a grown up. Can you tell him that for me?”
“Umm… I’ll sure try,” was all I could think of to say.
“Thank you. Now please, both of you, keep your voices down.”
She scooted past us and started filing books on a nearby shelf. She glanced at me once more before turning the corner.
Wesley frowned and continued to stare at my new face.
“People are gonna treat you differently,” he said, barely making an attempt to keep his voice down.
“You don’t think I know that?”
“It’s gonna be hard.”
“I know.”
“But I’ll be there for you, OK? For anything you need.”
I nodded and gave Wesley a playful slug on the shoulder. “Don’t go all soft on me. I almost prefer the dickwad who just days ago had my girlfriend’s tongue in his mouth.”
Wesley sighed. “She just kissed me because she thinks knowing me might be a boost to her acting career. It was a huge mistake. I won’t even look at her again, Cam. I promise.”
I decided to trust him. I had to. “OK.”
Wesley brought his hands to his lips and turned toward the exit. “We should probably get back to the assembly.”
“You go,” I said. “I’ll wait here until the next class.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. The new Cameron was just announced to the entire school. I’d prefer to enjoy my last few minutes of peace and quiet.”
“All right. As you wish.” He started to turn around but stopped. “Cam?”
“Yeah?”
He bit his bottom lip. “Are you scared?”
Terrified.
“I’ll be OK, Wes. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Wesley made his way out the door. I stayed in the library a couple of minutes longer but realized I needed to get out of there as to not have another awkward conversation with Mrs. Gordon.
That woman’s obsessed with me, I thought.
---
I sat on the wet grass near the student parking lot, my back resting against an over-sized elm tree. It had been at least twenty minutes since the last bell of the day had rung.
Where is she?
I can’t say she repeated herself every day, but Charisma almost always left school by departing the hallway in front of me. After a long search about half an hour ago, I found her blue Prius near the dirt field directly behind the parking lot. She was coming this way. I just didn’t know when.
I glanced at my phone. I had been getting texts all day from people I barely knew, telling me I was going to be OK and that I was in their prayers.
Bull crap.
I thought I was going to get more attention in classes, but everyone did a pretty solid job of ignoring me and pretending like there wasn’t a huge elephant in the room. Even the teachers seemed calmer than expected, surprisingly not distracted by a thirty-plus-year-old sitting in the front and center of their teenaged audience.
Some people in the hallways gave me sad looks, and others turned away from me as if they assumed that my condition was contagious. I thought it would be interesting if everyone started aging rapidly over the next few weeks, but I didn’t see that happening. This was an obstacle for me to solve alone.
I perked up when I saw my girlfriend departing the school.
She was by herself for once, carrying her handbag over her right shoulder. She stopped for a moment to put on her sunglasses before she started walking toward her car.
“Charisma!” I shouted.
She didn’t seem to hear me.
“Hey! Baby!”
She didn’t turn back or slow down. She actually started picking up speed as she made her way toward her car.
I started running. I needed her to see me.
“Hey! Will you stop!”
She finally came to a standstill. But she wouldn’t look at me.
“Hey, so did you hear about my—”
“I did,” she said.
I looked down to see her fists clenched together.
She’s not gonna punch me, is she?
“I didn’t really appreciate you going all crazy in that classroom last week,” she said. “Breaking Wesley’s camera? It didn’t exactly put you in the best light.”
“Really?” I asked. “That’s what you have to say to me right now?”
“It was rude and unprofessional, and you should know better.”
I couldn’t believe what she chose to focus her attention on. “Are you serious?”
“You just don’t get it, do you? I mean, do you understand why it helped me cry to look at you while filming the other night? It’s because you know and I know we were never right for each other.”
“What are you talking about—”
“You don’t understand my dreams, my aspirations. I need to get out of this town.”
“As do I. We both do.”
“Cameron, this isn’t working.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Charisma!”
I tried to grab her right shoulder, but she started racing toward her car again.
“Charisma! Will you turn around? GODDAMMIT, LOOK AT ME!”
I took a few leaps forward and grabbed her left hand, successfully turning her around. She smashed her palm over her mouth and stared at me as if I were one of her ancestors brought back from the dead.
“My God,” she said.
“It’s me.”
“It doesn’t even look like you.”
“It’s me, baby. Come on. Please? I need you. I need you now more than I’ve ever needed you.”
“It’s over,” she said, throwing her hands up in the air. “I’m sorry, Cam. I just can’t… I can’t do this.”
She escaped from my clutches and started jogging toward her car.
“Where do you think you’re going!” I shouted. “Can’t we at least talk about this!”
She turned around and pulled a small can of mace from her handbag. “Stay away from me, old man!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Do you hear me? Find someone else to take care of you! Cuz it sure as hell ain’t gonna be me!”
I just stood there, horrified and heart-broken, as she jumped into her car and drove out of the parking lot so fast I thought she might run someone over.
10. Thirty-Three
I woke up before five on Wednesday morning with a splitting headache. I made my way into my bathroom to down some painkillers, in the hopes that I could find something stronger than baby aspirin.
I caught myself in the mirror, almost having forgotten about my condition. I didn’t look all that different from the last few days, except there was a bizarrely long hair growing out of my forehead just above my left eyebrow. I plucked it and hoped I wouldn’t later see something like that growing out of one of my ears.
I shaved for the umpteenth time—I had to shave at least two times a day now—and washed a Vicodin down my throat before turning off the bathroom light.
When I closed the door and started crossing the hallway toward my bedroom, I heard the clearing of a throat to the left of me. I turned to see my father, appearing rather goofy in his bright yellow pajamas. I hadn’t talked to him since Friday.
“Oh. Hey Dad. You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He took a step closer, struggling to look me in the eye. “It’s true what your mother says, you know. You’re starting to look more and more like your old man every day.”
“Please don’t say that, Dad. It creeps me out.”
Even though it’s true.
My dad was talking so soft I had to concentrate to hear him. “You know, every father just wants what’s best for his kids,” he said. “You teach them all you know, you watch them grow up. I thought me and your mom did a pretty bang-up job with you. And what’s the outcome of all that hard work, all that shaping and molding? This freak show I see before me.”
“Dad—”
“You had so much going for you, Cameron. So much potential. I just want to know what I’ve done to deserve this kind of pain.”
I had to look away for a moment. “Are you kidding me? Your pain? What about me? I’m the one who’s actually suffering here!”
“I know. Which is why I can’t let you suffer anymore. You’re not going to school today, or any other day. You’re going straight to that clinic in Phoenix where you’ll be monitored twenty-four seven. You’ll be safe there. You’ll get better there.”
“I can’t. I already talked to Mom about this.”
“Cam, this is a sick joke, you trying to be normal,” he said, taking another step closer to me. “You’re not normal; not anymore, anyway. You’re rapidly committing suicide right before our eyes, and I’m not gonna take it—”
“Committing suicide?”
“By doing anything besides finding every resource necessary to cure your disease, you’re putting your life at risk. Don’t you understand that?”
“Dad, it’s my life. I refuse to go be some specimen under a microscope for the next three months. I’m not gonna do it.”
“I don’t care what you think,” my father said, raising his voice, his breathing becoming more erratic. “While you live in my house, under my roof, you don’t get the benefit of thinking. In this matter? What I say, goes.”
“Dad, if you make me go to that clinic, I’m just gonna run away. Do you understand that? I know how much you want to hide me, how much you want to pretend now like I don’t exist. But I’m staying put, you hear me? I’m never, ever going to that clinic—”
My dad slapped me in the face, soft enough not to hurt but hard enough to take me by surprise.
I took a step back and rested my hand against my bruised cheek. “Thanks, Dad. Thanks for always being there for me.”
Before he could say another word, I charged into my bedroom and slammed the door. I lay down on my bed and pulled the covers over me, not wanting to come up for air until I was certain Dad was out of the house and on his way to work.
I heard his car pulling out of the driveway barely twenty minutes later, and I glanced through the slits of my window shades to see him driving off in the distance. The sun was starting to creep up over the horizon, and I realized I was no longer tired.
I almost turned away from the window when I noticed a young girl, a baseball cap and headphones on, jogging down the sidewalk. I couldn’t see her that well. She stopped right in front of my house and bent over to catch her breath. She wrapped her arms behind her head and yawned.
And then, eerily, she darted her eyes right up toward my window.
I freaked and jumped back. I stood against my computer chair for nearly a minute, holding my breath, hoping that when I went back to the window, that girl would be gone.
But when I returned, slowly crawling up to the pillows on my bed to look back out the window, that same girl was still standing there, still looking up at me, a big, proud grin plastered on her face.
She turned around and started jogging back the way she came.
I shook my head and sauntered over to my black dresser. I grabbed a shirt and boxer shorts and made my way into my bathroom.
That’s when I made the realization. That was the same girl who was staring at me from the bleachers at the school assembly. I wasn’t positive, but I was pretty sure.
I st
arted aggressively brushing my teeth, trying to focus on the busy day I had ahead of me. But no matter what I tried to do, my thoughts just kept going back to one very important question: What does that girl want with me?
11. Thirty-Five
I pulled up to school on Friday feeling like I wanted to spend the entire day running around the track. My energy was ebbing; my self-confidence was at a low point. I looked like I was in my mid-thirties, and I felt it, too. I debated skipping classes to do an all-day exercise session, when a devastating sight caught my eye.
I stepped out of my car and grabbed my backpack. I started taking quiet steps forward through the parking lot, holding onto the backpack as if it were a weapon.
Ryan and Charisma were chatting with each other on a staircase near the back of the school, their slim bodies too close for comfort. As I got closer, I could see Charisma laughing, with Ryan nonchalantly holding her right hand.
I saw Ryan glance to his left and right, and then plant a wet kiss on my girlfriend.
“Hey!” I shouted.
I charged at Ryan. Before he could turn around, or even know who was coming for him, I smashed my heavy backpack against his left shoulder. He didn’t scream. He just let out an awkward grunt as he fell sideways to the ground. I straddled him and swung the backpack at him again.
“Cameron!” Charisma shouted. “Get off of him!”
I tried to swing the backpack in his face, but he caught my right hand before I could bring it down against him. “Do what the lady says, old man.”
He kicked me in the ribs and shoved my head against the cement. I felt a sharp pain at the top of my neck, and I saw the world go out of focus for a moment.
“Come on,” Charisma said, taking Ryan by the hand. “Let’s get out of here before someone sees what happened.”
I turned my throbbing head and watched the two run through the field toward the other back entrance of the school. In the morning sunlight, it looked as if they were frolicking through the grass in slow motion, smiles on their faces, completely and disgustingly in love.
A few days ago Charisma was my girlfriend. Now she was gone.