Last Survivors 01 - Life as We Knew It

by Susan Beth Pfeffer

  "I know," I said, because I did know. Sometimes it's safer to cry about people you don't know than to think about people you really love.

  Chapter Thirteen

  September 18

  Matt and Jonny were at Mrs. Nesbitt's this morning getting her house ready for winter (she refuses to move in with us) when I came in for brunch. I'd just taken out the can of peas and carrots when I heard a thud and Mom cry out.

  I ran to the living room and there was Mom sprawled out on the floor.

  "I tripped," she said. "I am such an idiot. I tripped."

  "Are you okay?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "My ankle," she said. "I don't think I can stand on it."

  "Stay where you are," I said, like she had a choice. "I'll get Peter."

  I ran to the garage and got my bike. I've never hiked as fast as I did to the hospital.

  But when I got there, they wouldn't let me in, even when I explained there'd been an accident and we were friends with Peter. All the guard would do was take my message.

  I stood outside waiting. The house is so cold we all wear extra layers and jackets, but I'd been in such a hurry I hadn't thought to put on my winter coat or gloves or a scarf I'd worked up a sweat biking so fast and that didn't help any.

  The guard didn't seem to be in any hurry to take my message to Peter. First he made me write it out, and then he read it, and then he demanded I show him some ID. Which, of course, I didn't have on me. I begged him to take the message to Peter. He grinned. I could tell he was used to people begging him for things and he liked it.

  I felt the same kind of nauseous sick I'd felt from the chocolate chips.

  I stood there begging and crying and wanting to kill him So help me, if I could have gotten my hands on his gun I would have shot him and anybody else who tried to keep me from getting help for Mom. The guard stood there and laughed.

  Then a second guard came by and asked what was going on. I told him. He didn't laugh, but he did say there was nothing they could do to help.

  "This is a hospital," he said. "The doctors don't make house calls."

  The first guard thought that was a riot.

  "Just let me get the message to Dr. Elliott," I said. "That's all I'm asking."

  "We can't leave our post to bring someone a message," the second guard said. "Your best bet is to wait here and if someone you know comes out, maybe you can get him to take the message in."

  "Please," I begged. "Please. My mother is lying alone hurt. Please don't make me wait here any longer."

  "Sorry, Miss," the second guard said. "We have our rules, too."

  The first guard just kept grinning.

  So I stood there. People left the hospital but none of them was willing to go back and bring Peter my note. They all pretended not to see me, like I was a beggar on the street and they didn't want to have to give me money or feel guilty because they hadn't.

  I stood for as long as I could, and then I sat down on the frozen ground. The first guard walked over to me and gave me a little nudge with his shoe.

  "No loitering," he said. "Stand or go."

  "Sorry, Miss," the second guard said. "Rules."

  I kept thinking of Mom, wondering if I should go back home. It was so hard to tell how much time had elapsed. It felt like hours, but I had no way of knowing. Jonny had probably gone back to the house. Mom had given him orders not to eat any of Mrs. Nesbitt's food, so he probably came home for lunch. At least that's what I told myself. I couldn't bear the thought of going home without Peter and I couldn't bear the thought of Mom all alone on the living room floor. I told myself Jonny had gone home and brought Mom some blankets and helped her off the floor and everything was okay.

  I hadn't eaten since supper the night before and I started feeling woozy. I felt myself kind of floating onto the ground. I don't think I really lost consciousness because I remember the second guard coming over and lifting me up.

  "Don't do that, Miss," he said. "It won't do you any good." I think I thanked him. I went back to standing and willed myself not to faint, not to cry. I asked more people who came out to help me. No one paid any attention.

  The first guard said something about getting something to eat. He sauntered off, like going for a meal was the most normal thing in the world to do. I thought maybe the second guard would take pity on me then and let me in, but he just stood there and refused to look at me.

  Then Matt showed up. "Mom's worried sick," he said. "What's going on here?"

  "Matt?" the second guard said.

  "Mr. James?" Matt said.

  "I didn't realize this was your sister," the guard said. "Go in. Hurry. I could get in a lot of trouble if Dwayne finds out what I did."

  Matt raced into the hospital.

  Dwayne came back while Matt was still in the hospital. "You still here?" he said, but I ignored him.

  After a few minutes, Matt and Peter came outside. "We'll take my car," Peter said. "I have a bike rack."

  It was all I could do not to burst into tears. At that moment I realized I no longer had the strength to bike home.

  The drive took maybe 10 minutes. I was too exhausted and sick and worried to enjoy the sensation of being in a car.

  Matt explained that Jonny had gone home around 1, and when he found Mom on the floor, she was more worried about me than about herself. She was pretty sure nothing was broken, but she couldn't stand and Jonny wasn't strong enough to help her get up. She sent Jonny to Mrs. Nesbitt's to get Matt, and he came home and carried Mom to the sunroom and started a fire. Then he biked over to the hospital to find me.

  I'd been standing outside for about three hours.

  Peter didn't even try to apologize for the guards. He said there had been incidents and conditions at the hospital were bad enough without people breaking in. I know he might be right, but I didn't want to hear it. And even though it was crazy of me, it made me mad that Matt could get in because the guard knew him, and I couldn't because the guard didn't know me. I told myself to be grateful the guard knew Matt, but the last thing I was feeling was gratitude.

  Peter pulled into the driveway and went right into the sun-room. Matt and I unloaded our bikes from the rack.

  "You okay?" Matt asked me. "Did the guards give you a hard time?"

  "I'm fine," I said.

  But the truth was I longed to take a hot shower and wash the whole experience away. All I could think of was how much pleasure Dwayne had gotten out of my misery. I still would have killed him if I had the chance.

  But I didn't tell Matt any of that. He didn't need to hear it. We went inside and found Peter examining Mom's ankle.

  "A bad sprain," he said. "But nothing's broken. She won't need a cast."

  He pulled an Ace bandage out of his doctor's bag and wrapped up her ankle tightly. "Don't even think about stairs for a week," he said. "Stay in here. Matt, you and I will bring your mother's mattress down here. Laura, you can get up to eat and go to the bathroom, but nothing more. Keep your foot propped up when you're sitting. Put as little weight on it as possible. I don't suppose you have a cane?"

  "There's one in the attic," Mom said.

  "I'll get it," Jonny said. He grabbed a flashlight and flew up the stairs.

  While he was gone, Peter pulled out some surgical masks and handed them to us. "Air quality," he said almost apologetically. "We're seeing a lot of asthma cases these days. You might want to wear one of these whenever you do anything outside."

  "Thank you," Mom said. "Matt, wear one when you chop wood. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Mom," Matt said. He quickly put one on. "Mom always wanted me to be a doctor," he said, and we all pretended to laugh.

  Jonny came down with the cane. Peter inspected it and declared it acceptable. Mom wasn't to walk anywhere without it for the next 10 days. She wasn't even to think about leaving the house for 2 weeks. He'd try to get over once or twice to check on her in the meantime.

  Then he and Matt went upstairs and lugged Mom's mattre
ss down. I brought her sheets and blankets and pillows. Jonny shoved the furniture around so there'd be room for the mattress. With the woodstove giving off heat and light, the sunroom looked almost cheerful.

  "I feel like such a fool," Mom said. "I'm putting everyone to so much bother. And Peter. I know how busy you are. I can't thank you enough for coming over."

  "Oh, Laura," Peter said, and he took her hand. I realized if things had been normal, if none of this insanity had happened, he and Mom would have been going out for the past 4 months, regular, normal going-out. And Mom would have been happy.

  Mom asked Peter if he could stay for supper, but Peter said he had to go back to the hospital. They were all on crazy schedules, 16 hours on, 8 hours off, because the staff was no longer at full strength. He really couldn't take any more time off.

  "But I'll be back," he said. "I promise. And I want you to promise you'll stay off that foot and let the ankle heal on its own. There's no reason for you to limp any longer than necessary."

  "I promise," Mom said.

  Peter bent down and kissed her. Then he left and we could hear the sound of his car. Such a funny sound.

  "I'm so sorry," Mom said to us. "I know this is going to be a terrible bother for all of you."

  "Don't worry about it," Matt said. "We just want you to follow Peter's instructions and get better."

  "I'll take care of suppers," I said. "Don't worry about that, Mom."

  "I'm not worrying about anything," Mom said. "I know you'll all do whatever has to be done. I just wish I could help you."

  I know I'm going to have to be strong for the next couple of weeks. No more whining. No more picking fights. I'll have to do whatever Mom asks me and not protest and not complain. I know I can do it.

  But for that one moment I felt so weak, so helpless. I felt nothing but fear and despair and the most awful need to be anyplace else. I told myself it was hunger, but I knew that was a lie.

  As long as Mom was all right, I could fool myself into thinking we'd all be all right. But even though I knew Mom could have fallen anytime and sprained her ankle anytime, this felt as though it was the beginning of the end.

  So while Matt and Jonny were busying themselves getting Mom set up, I slipped upstairs to my bedroom and wrote all this down. All the things I could never tell any of them.

  I thought of Dad and how I may never see him again. I thought of Lisa and wondered if she and the baby would be all right, if I'd ever get to know if I had a new sister or brother. I thought of Grandma and wondered if she was still alive.

  I cried and I pounded my pillow, pretending it was Dwayne, and when I calmed down I wrote.

  And now I'll go downstairs and make supper and pretend everything is just fine.

  September 19

  Mom was looking lonely in the sunroom this afternoon, so I decided to keep her company. She was sitting on the couch with her foot propped up, and I sat down next to her.

  "I want to thank you," she said. "And tell you how proud I am of you."

  "Of me?" I said.

  "The way you raced out of here when I fell," she said. "I know you've been reluctant to go anyplace on your own, but you didn't hesitate for a moment. And standing there all that time. I'm very grateful and I'm very proud."

  "I wish I could have done more," I said. "I felt awful leaving you that way. It never occurred to me they wouldn't let me in."

  Mom reached over and began stroking my hair. "You are so beautiful," she said. "The past few months have been so awful and you've been very brave. I've been at fault not telling you that. I'm so proud to be your mother."

  I didn't know what to say. I thought about all the fights I'd provoked over the past few months.

  "We'll get through," Mom said. "We have each other and we'll survive."

  "I know we will," I said.

  Mom sighed. "You know what I miss most?" she asked, and then she laughed. "At least today. It changes every day."

  "No, what?" I asked.

  "Clean hair," she said. "Daily showers and clean hair. My hair is such a mess. I really hate it."

  "It's okay," I said. "It's no worse than mine."

  "Let's cut it," she said. "Miranda, get a pair of scissors and cut my hair. Come on, do it right now."

  "You sure?" I asked.

  "Positive," she said. "Hurry."

  I found a pair of scissors and brought it back to her. "I've never cut hair before," I said.

  "What do I have to lose?" she asked. "It's not like I'm going to any fancy parties. Cut it real short. It'll be easier to keep clean that way."

  I didn't have the slightest idea what I was doing, but Mom cheered me on and reminded me to cut from the top as well as the sides and back.

  When I finished, Mom looked like a plucked chicken. No, worse. She looked like a plucked chicken that hadn't eaten in months. The cut emphasized her cheekbones and you could see how much weight she'd lost.

  "Do me a favor," I said. "Don't look in a mirror."

  "That bad?" she asked. "Oh, well. It'll grow out. That's the great thing about hair. Do you want me to cut yours?"

  "No," I said. "I've been thinking of letting my hair grow real long."

  "Cornrows," she said. "Those little braids. They don't need shampooing too often. Do you want me to braid your hair like that?"

  "I don't think so," I said, picturing me with cornrows and Mom with her new punk hairstyle.

  Mom stared at me and then she burst out laughing. It was real laughter, too, and before I knew it I was laughing as hard as I had in months.

  I think I'd forgotten how much I love Mom. It was good to be reminded.

  September 20

  I went to visit Mrs. Nesbitt this afternoon. Mom used to go almost every day, but she can't now, so I volunteered.

  She had her furnace going and her house was actually warm.

  "I don't know how long the oil is going to last," she said.

  "But then again, I don't know how long I'm going to last. I figure as long as I don't know which of us is going to go first, I might as well stay warm."

  "You can move in with us," I said. "Mom really wants you to."

  "I know she does," Mrs. Nesbitt said. "And it's selfish of me to stay here. But I was born in this house and I would prefer to die in it."

  "Maybe you won't die," I said. "Mom says we'll make it through."

  "I believe you will," Mrs. Nesbitt said. "You're young and strong and healthy. But I'm an old woman. I've lived a lot longer than I ever thought, and now it's my time for dying."

  Mrs. Nesbitt hasn't heard from her son and his family since the first tsunamis. There's no way of knowing if any of them are still alive. I guess Mrs. Nesbitt feels she would have heard from one of them by now if they still were.

  We talked about all kinds of stuff. Mrs. Nesbitt always has stories about Mom when she was growing up. She used to babysit Mom's mother and I think I like those stories the best. I know Mom loves to hear them, since she was so young when her parents died.

  I'll go back tomorrow. There's so little I can do, but visiting with her and making sure she's okay and then reassuring Mom about it is something.

  One good thing about Mom's sprained ankle. She's forgotten that I should be doing schoolwork. I don't think she's been pestering Jonny, either.

  What a strange, strange life this is. I wonder what it'll be like when things get back to normal, if they ever do. Food and showers and sunlight and school. Dates.

  Okay. I never had dates. But if I'm going to dream, I might as well dream big!

  September 23

  Peter managed to drop by. He checked Mom's ankle and agreed it was definitely getting better, but she still shouldn't put any weight on it.

  We left Mom and Peter alone for a while. He probably told her about diseases and accidents and plagues.

  He's entitled. I noticed how much older he's looking. I should have noticed it last week, but I was so crazed by the time I saw him, I didn't really see anything. It's not just t
hat he's thinner. There's a sadness in his eyes. He seems weary.

  I mentioned that to Matt when we had a chance to be by ourselves.

  "Well, he's dealing with illness all the time," Matt pointed out. "Most of his patients are probably dying. And he's alone. He's divorced and he had two daughters, but they both died."

  "I didn't know that," I said.

  "Mom told me," he said.

  I guess all the worrying Peter would do for his own family, he's doing for us.

  How am I going to feel when people I love start dying?

  September 26

  Matt and I went to the library today. It's only open on Mondays now. They don't know how much longer they'll stay open.

  As we were leaving, I saw Michelle Schmidt. I guess she hasn't vanished after all.

  I wonder how much I hear is true and how much is just made up. Maybe everything is fine with the world and we just don't know it. The joke would sure be on us if that's the case.

  September 29

  It's funny how much I'm enjoying things these days. I think we all are. We're so used to worrying we hardly even notice it.

  Actually, life is pretty cozy. We have the woodstove going full-time because of Mom, so there's always a warm spot in the house. We spend our daytimes doing whatever needs to be done. Matt and Jonny are still bringing in firewood ("Better too much than too little" is Matt's mantra and I can't argue with him). I'm doing whatever housework there is to be done (the worst is the clothes washing, which has to be done with as little water as possible, all by hand, and very yucky) and visiting Mrs. Nesbitt every afternoon. I go after lunchtime so she won't try to feed me (although she does, but I always say no, thanks) and I stay for an hour or so. A lot of times we hardly even talk; we just sit at the table and stare out the kitchen window together. Mom says she and Mrs. Nesbitt do the same thing so I shouldn't worry.

  Mom now trusts me to go to the pantry and I get to select our suppers. A can of this and a can of that. There's less food there than there was when I had my great chocolate chip feast, but as long as we don't eat too much, we'll be okay for a while.