by Jo Knowles
Jason, Thanks for making what could have been a hellish year not be. — Josh
I close the book so he doesn’t read it in front of me.
“Thanks! Are you going to the graduation party?”
“No, I have to go to my uncle’s wedding.”
“That sucks! Can’t you get out of it?”
“I’m the best man.”
“Oh. Guess not. But you’ll still be at graduation, right?”
“Definitely.”
“Cool.”
I pick up my stuff and head out the school doors for the last time.
It feels pretty damn good.
As soon as I get home, I check my phone and find about a million texts from my parents. They’re coming for my graduation, which they refused to let me skip, and for Larry’s wedding, of course. For some bizarre reason only Larry can explain, he thought it would be a brilliant idea to get married the same weekend so it can be, in his words, “A Josh and Larry Extravaganza!” Such. A. Bad. Idea.
Caleb and Dave have been texting like crazy, too. They want me to come home and party with them when they graduate (a week after me), but I keep making excuses for committing to any solid plans. I don’t know why. I guess I’m kind of in denial that I actually have to go back home for the summer before I leave for Philly. I got into my third choice, Temple University, which is pretty good, considering how lousy my GPA was before I came here.
About the only person who isn’t on my case every day is Stella. But that’s because Stella doesn’t talk to me anymore.
We still go to karate, but we don’t walk home together. Britt picks her up. At practice, she avoids me. And when we’re doing our katas side by side, I feel like I’m dancing with a shadow instead of a friend. Sometimes when I catch her looking at me, it’s like I’m looking at that other disappointed face. Like I failed another test I never understood the rules for. When we finally tested for our brown belts — and got them — Larry wanted to take us both out for dinner to celebrate, but Stella said no. And at that moment, I realized we really weren’t friends anymore.
Larry thinks this is all very tragic. But I did exactly what I set out to do last year when I arrived. I went to school. I studied hard and brought up my grades so I could get into college. I earned my ticket out of Dodge in the form of an acceptance letter to Temple University. I did it. Every goal met. But somewhere along the way, they didn’t seem all that important anymore. And then I lost the one thing that was: Stella.
So that’s where I’m at. Soon, my parents will come. I’ll put on some stupid bright-green-and-purple graduation robe because, yeah, those are the school colors, and I’ll shake some dude’s hand and get my diploma, which basically represents my real ticket out of here. And then I’ll stand next to Larry and give him the rings, and he’ll walk down the aisle a new man, with Arielle at his side. And then we’ll party it up at the reception and then wave good-bye as they drive away.
And then I’ll wave good-bye to this life, too.
It feels like I’m always waving good-bye.
A few days before graduation, Larry and Arielle are off meeting a caterer while I pick up the place in anticipation of my parents coming. Clover follows me from room to room, purring in a sad way. It’s like she knows our days are numbered.
When the landline rings, I almost don’t pick it up, but then I figure it could be my parents. I say hello, but no one replies for a few seconds. Then I hear a baby crying in the background. I feel my heart start to race.
“Hello?” I say again. “Who is this?”
“J-Josh? Is Larry there?”
“Stella?” I ask.
“Yeah. Can I talk to Larry?”
“He’s out with Arielle.”
“Do — do you know when he’ll be back?”
Her voice sounds weird. I think she’s crying.
“I’m not sure. Are you OK?”
“Um. Not really. Can you come outside?”
“Where are you?”
“On the stoop. Could — could you hurry?”
I race down the stairs. Just outside, I find her sitting on the stairs, hugging her foot. Benny is screaming bloody murder from his stroller.
“What happened?” I yell, rushing to her. Her left foot doesn’t look right. Her shoe is all smooshed-looking. As soon as she sees me, she starts sobbing.
“Can you help us get to the hospital?” she chokes.
“How did you do that?”
“It kind of got run over. It was an accident.”
“An accident?”
“Yes. I swear. But I think I might have broken my foot.”
“Shouldn’t I call an ambulance?”
“No! It’s too expensive. Can you hail a cab? I tried to call my mom, but she’s not picking up. And Gil and Gene aren’t answering their phones. I figured I’d take a shot at Larry being home. I’d go myself, but I’ve got the baby and . . .”
“No worries,” I say. “Just hang on.” I run to the corner and start waving my hands at the traffic to hail a cab. By some miracle, I see one two blocks down, and he flashes his lights to show me he’s on the way. I race back to Stella.
The cab pulls to the curb. Stella holds out her hand, and I pull her up and help her over to the door. She winces as she gets in. “The baby,” she says, gesturing toward the stroller. He got so quiet all of a sudden, I forgot he was there.
“Oh, uh . . .” I wheel the stroller over to the door.
“You’ll have to hand him to me,” she says.
“Huh?”
“Pick him up. You can fold the stroller and put it in the trunk.”
The driver stands next to the stroller, waiting.
I force myself to look down. A round face with brown eyes and wet cheeks cranes up at me. Pudgy hands reach out, as if they know what my job is.
I breathe in and try to stay calm. I unclick the little straps connected at his waist.
“OK,” I say. “OK.”
I reach out and put my hands under his tiny arms, around his middle. When his hand touches mine, I feel a chill run up my arm.
“Hurry up, eh?” the driver says.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. I get a hold, and gently lift him out. He’s surprisingly solid and heavy. He grabs my nose as soon as he can reach. My heart is pumping against my chest so hard it hurts.
I swivel around and hand him to Stella as fast as I can. But even after I let go, I feel the weight of him in my hands. And the pain in my chest is still there.
I help the driver get the stroller folded up and climb in next to Stella and the baby.
“Can you hold him?” she asks. “My foot . . .”
She passes him over to me.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve never —”
But she’s passing him over, and he’s reaching for me again.
He leans his head back against my chest and looks up. “Gah.”
“Hey,” I say. His little body is warm and heavy against mine.
“Hospital,” Stella tells the driver.
“I figured,” he says.
Benny points out the window as we pass a big dump truck. “Duh!” he says. He lifts his head and thuds it against my chest again.
Stella sucks in her breath and flinches when we hit a dip in the road.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“I think I broke something,” she says. “I’m afraid to look.”
I peer down at her shoe. There’s a black streak across the top where the tire must have gone over.
“You might be OK,” I say. “The shoe doesn’t look too squashed.”
She winces. “I hope you’re right.”
“How did this happen, anyway?”
“It was an accident,” she says again. She turns away from me when she says it. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine,” I say.
“Digh!” Ben points as we pass under a green light.
And that’s about the extent of our conversation.
At the ER entrance, we all climb out and I get the baby back in the stroller. The driver goes inside and comes back with a wheelchair and a nurse, which is pretty nice of him. Then I realize I ran outside without any cash, and he freaks out because Stella doesn’t have any money, either. “Listen, if you come by the same address tomorrow I’ll pay you. I promise,” I tell him.
He looks like he doesn’t believe me, but what else can he do? Plus, the baby’s crying again.
He walks away, shaking his head and mumbling.
“I promise I’ll pay you back!” I call. He waves his hand at me in disgust.
When I turn back, the nurse is already wheeling Stella toward the ER entrance. I grab the stroller and try to catch up. “Ella!” Ben cries, pointing.
And he reminds me again.
Of Ellie.
Ben starts crying as we go through the huge sliding door and into the busy waiting room. There’s a long line just to check in with the receptionist. There are other babies in the waiting room, too, and it’s as if Ben’s cries urge them all on. Pretty soon there are three babies crying their heads off. I push Ben’s stroller up next to where the nurse left Stella so she can comfort him, but she’s looking more and more pale.
“Could you take him out of that thing?” Stella says through gritted teeth. “He probably needs a new diaper.”
“Uh . . .”
“We should check,” she says.
I unbuckle him and lift him up. He stops crying right away and reaches for my nose again.
“He likes you,” Stella says. “I guess he just wanted out.”
I stand there holding him under his arms, his legs dangling, my heart pounding all over again. He feels so . . . real. It’s the strangest thing, holding this small body. This living thing. With big, innocent eyes. And drool. And hands that reach for your nose, even though you’re a stranger.
“You’ve never held a baby before, have you?” Stella says, almost laughing.
“What gave you that impression?”
Ben smiles at me and swings his legs in the air.
“If you hold him against you on your hip, it’s a lot easier,” Stella says. “Like that.” She motions to a woman ahead of us with a baby teetering on her hip.
“Oh, OK.” I try to hold him the right way, and it’s true, it’s a lot easier once his weight is resting on my hip. Ben pats my shoulder and makes a ga-ga noise, then leans his head against me.
You’ve never held a baby before.
No. I never have.
“Next!” A lady behind a window in the wall calls. We move up in line, and pretty soon we get called over. Stella provides her insurance card and answers a million questions. A nurse comes over to us and gives Stella’s foot a quick look. “Can you take the shoe off?” she asks. Stella starts to try, but then yells in pain.
“OK,” the nurse says. “Let’s get you taken care of. Is this your baby?” she asks. “He’s a cutie.” She winks at me.
“God, no,” Stella says. “I was babysitting when it happened. This is just my friend. He can watch the baby for me.”
Back up. First, I’m glad she referred to me as her friend, at least. But more importantly, I can what, now?
The nurse nods. “All right, honey.”
Before I can object, before I can say, Hey! I don’t know how to do this! I only just learned how to hold the kid, for Christ’s sake! the nurse is wheeling Stella away, leaving me alone with Ben.
He pats my chest with his chubby hand again. “Ba,” he says. I smell this powdery smell that’s sweet and different from anything I’ve smelled before, and I know it’s coming from him. Suddenly, his weight feels like more than I can hold. This life, in my arms. He squeezes my sleeve in his fist.
“Easy, there,” I say.
He smiles at me. His eyes are deep, dark brown. When I look in them, I know he is seeing straight into my soul. Seeing who I really am. This baby. This life holding on to me. Needing me.
I look around, thinking maybe someone can help me find Stella. Because I know I can’t do this. I can’t. Even though it’s not the same hospital, it looks the same. It smells the same. It sounds the same. And I know somewhere, down some corridor, there is a nursery. Just like —
“Ga,” Ben says. “Da.” He touches his tiny pointy finger to my cheek. It’s wet. I quickly wipe my eyes before anyone can notice.
I carry him into the waiting area, pulling the stroller behind me. I find a place to sit in a corner, where some other mom is holding a baby and talking to another little kid who keeps banging a plastic doll against his mom’s knees. “Stop it, Kenny,” she says. But he doesn’t.
When I sit next to her, she gives me a dirty look, like I’m invading her space. I shift Ben on my lap and glance around. Two other babies are still crying. One mom looks frazzled and scared; the other one looks bored. There are a lot of old people, too, staring blankly at the TV screen on the wall. It smells in here like sweat and Dave’s feet. There’s a drunk guy on the other side of the room who yells out every few seconds, then closes his eyes again.
As far as waiting rooms go, this one pretty much sucks.
Ben squirms for me to let him down. He teeters on his fat little legs, holding on to my knees to balance himself. He smiles up at me, like he’s all that. “Pretty good,” I say. He wobbles some more and then almost topples over, but I catch him. He laughs and tries again. And again and again about a million times. But at least he’s not crying.
After a while, there’s a new smell in the room, and right away I know what it is and pray it’s not coming from Ben. Because, hello? I’ve never changed a diaper before, and I don’t even know if there are any clean ones in the stroller.
The lady next to me wrinkles her nose. “You need to change him,” she says. “That’s nasty.”
Shit.
I pick him up again and check out the stroller for a diaper bag, but I don’t see anything like that in there. Ben starts to cry. “Hey, it’s OK, bud,” I say.
The lady’s kid starts to cry, too, but this kid is surprisingly smart and actually pulls at his pants as if to tell his mom he’s the one with the problem.
“Really, Kenny?” the mom asks.
He has a pacifier in his mouth, so he just nods. She sighs and heaves herself up.
“Want me to save your seat?” I ask. She gives me that same dirty look. What the hell? It’s not my problem her kid needs a new diaper.
Ben is still crying, tugging at me and fussing. Finally, I realize he’s just trying to get comfortable. He pulls himself onto me so we’re chest to chest, then rests his head on my shoulder, squirming a bit until his head nestles into the side of my neck. I feel his warm breath against my skin. I take my own deep breath. But my throat is tightening up in a familiar ache. I think of the rocking chair creaking above me back at Larry’s and gently try to rock him. He makes a satisfied noise. I pat his back a little until he gets heavier and heavier, and then his breathing gets steady and I know he’s asleep. I shift so I can lean farther back in the chair. He feels so heavy on top of me. So solid. And warm.
The drunk guy yells out. People come and go. But Ben keeps still, breathing in his steady way. His heartbeat thumping against my chest. My own heart.
Is this what it would be like? Is this what I missed?
Ben must be close to a year old. About the same age as — as my baby would be.
I see him again in the tiny plastic bed with all the other babies. His small fist poking out of the blanket. And I see me walking away. Over and over, I see me walking away.
Ben makes a noise in his sleep. I shift and smell his baby-powder smell again. Feel the solidness of him pressed against me. Trapping me in the chair.
Yes. This is what I missed.
I breathe in again, and close my eyes to keep from crying, it hurts so much.
This is what I missed.
I wake up to the touch of someone’s hand on my shoulder.
“Sir? Your friend is ready to go.” It’s the nu
rse from earlier.
I sit up slowly, the weight of Ben hot and heavy on my chest.
Stella waves from the other side of the room. She’s sitting in the wheelchair with a pair of crutches across her lap. I stand up awkwardly, trying not to wake Ben, but it doesn’t really work and he starts to cry. I reach for the stroller but the nurse says, “Let me get that, hon,” and pushes it ahead of us.
“Is he OK?” Stella asks when we’ve finally made our way through the maze of people and kids in the waiting room.
“Yeah. Are you?”
She shrugs and looks down at her foot, which has an ice pack bandaged around it. “Good thing brown-belt tests were last week,” she says. “And I need a new pair of shoes. But other than that, I’m fine. No broken bones, at least.”
I put Ben in the stroller and right away my chest feels cold where he was against me. And empty. I follow the nurse as she wheels Stella outside and helps us find a bench to sit on. When the nurse leaves us, Stella checks her phone.
Some things never change.
“Phew,” she says. “Gene’s on his way. I was hoping he’d get my message.”
Oh.
“So, how did this accident happen again?” I ask.
Stella turns away from me just like she did before. But this time, her shoulders start shaking because she’s crying. I’m not sure if I should try to hug her, or pat her back, or what. So I don’t do anything. As usual.
“I’m such an idiot,” she says.
I pick at a scab on my arm.
“Thanks for disagreeing.”
“Sorry.” I watch a trickle of blood slowly seep out from the newly exposed cut. “Why are you an idiot?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She turns back to me.
I cover the cut with my hand. “Britt went crazy, huh?”
“Kind of. Yeah.”
“What tipped him over the edge?”
“He found out I applied to a school he didn’t.”
“That’s it?”
“I told him I’m going. It’s my dream school. I never thought I’d get in. That’s why I didn’t tell him. I just wanted to see, you know. If I could do it. I wasn’t even planning to go if I got in. But . . . they offered me a scholarship. A good one.”