Sing Me to Sleep

by Angela Morrison

  “So we won’t have to worry much about me getting pregnant. You’re the perfect guy for a mutant like me.”

  “Last spring after they saved me, I tested antibiotic resistant. I guess they used too much of that new stuff. That meant I had to go inactive on the transplant list until they can fix me.”

  “So you’ll get better without them cutting you up?” I like the sound of that.

  “Impossible.”

  “What?” I’m not believing him. “You did last spring—”

  “That helped me . . . for a while. Mum’s trying to get me reinstated on the active list. I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

  I lay my face on his pillow. “Yes—you are.” Derek dying? No way. It’s not real. I won’t let him. I kiss his salty face. “You are going to stay right here and do everything the doctors tell you to do.”

  “Story of my life.” He shakes his head.

  “You are never riding that motorcycle again. I’m going to sit beside you and make sure it happens.”

  He opens one eye. “In that dress?”

  I glance down. “Do I look like a fool?”

  “You’re gorgeous. You don’t have to stay. I already have a mum.”

  I stand up. “But you’ve been so stupid. Look at all the time we wasted.”

  “I thought you had school and your choir?”

  “If we only have until you’re thirty-seven—”

  “Beth, stop—” He reaches out, and my cold hand meets his fevered one.

  I bend over him and press my lips on his salty, dry mouth. “Your mom can’t do that.” I kiss him again. “You don’t want to see the scene I’ll pitch if somebody tries to make me leave.”

  “You’ll stay for my sponge baths?”

  “If they’ll let me help.”

  “I’ll get the nurses to train you—right away.”

  “You talk dirty when you’re helpless.”

  “It’s all I can do.” He grins, but the pain and bitterness are back in his voice. He pushes a white button pinned to his bed where he can easily reach.

  A nurse appears.

  “Hey, Meg. This is Beth. You think you can find her some scrubs? She says she’s moving into my lair.”

  The nurse, Meg, smiles at me. “I’ll be right back.”

  I change in Derek’s bathroom. The pants are way short and surgical green doesn’t help my bright-red face much. I stare at my hideous reflection and promise myself Derek will never see me cry again. I wash my face and fix it best I can. Nothing close to beautiful.

  I call our home phone. Good, Mom doesn’t answer. I manage to say, “Derek’s in the hospital in London. I met his mom. She’s letting me stay over. He’ll be fine,” all in a fairly normal voice. I turn off my cell—hospital rules.

  I hang my gown in his closet next to his tux.

  Meg looks up from where she’s working on Derek’s IV. “I’d like to see you two at the ball.”

  “We sing,” Derek says.

  “Together?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. I hope we can do that again. Wherever and whenever he wants.

  Meg leaves us alone.

  “My mum came back while you were changing. She was relieved you didn’t strangle me.”

  I sit down in the chair. It’s still where I left it close by his bed.

  “I told her you wouldn’t leave.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Thank you. She’s going home to sleep in her own bed.”

  My eyes dart around the room, expecting to find his mom hiding somewhere. “How can she leave you here alone like that? What if—?”

  “You’re here.”

  “Me ?” She doesn’t even know me.

  Derek coughs. I can tell it hurts. He gasps for a minute.

  I stand there helpless.

  He whispers, “If I turn blue in the middle of the night, buzz for Meg.”

  “You’re already blue, babe.”

  “Bluer.”

  “That’s not funny.” I want to hit his arm, but I don’t dare. “I’m not staying if you’re going to do that.”

  “But Mum’s counting on you.” He’s not joking. “She needs a break. I knew you were bluffing.”

  I go over to the door and look up and down the hall. It’s empty. I turn around. “They’re leaving us together—all night? Is that allowed?”

  “I’m kind of helpless here. I’m sure they figure you’re safe.”

  “What about you?” I shut the door, lean against it with my hands pinned behind my back. “You’re too weak to run away from me again.”

  “You ran away from me.”

  My eyes drop to the floor.

  “I don’t blame you, Beth. Who’d want this?”

  I cross the room to his bed. “I won’t this time.” I plant my lips on his salty neck.

  He whispers in my ear, “Probably a bit more excitement than I can survive.”

  I pull back—am I hurting him?

  He manages a weak smile. “But that would be a good way to go. Do you want to take out my catheter or should I?”

  I’m not sure if I’m laughing or crying. “You’re gross.”

  “I tried to protect you as long as I could.”

  I slide back in the chair and try to get comfortable, cross my arms, and prepare to stare at him all night.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Settling in to watch for blueness.”

  He slides over in his bed. “I’ll share.”

  “What if I get tangled up in your catheter?”

  “Stay on your side.”

  I climb onto the bed and lie down next to him, roll on my side so I can study his face.

  He pushes a button and the lights go out.

  I kiss his forehead. “Good night.”

  “I can’t sleep. Do you think—”

  “I’m not touching that catheter.”

  “Could you sing to me?” He caresses my face.

  I close my eyes. And sing.

  I take me down to the river,

  The sweet, sweet river Jordan,

  Stare across the muddy water,

  And long for the other side.

  His fingers trace my cheekbones and eyebrows, they play over my lips while I sing, Take me home, sweet, sweet Jesus. / And wrap me in your bosom— His hand draws away. I pause, open my eyes, he nods, and I sing, Lord, I long for the other side.

  Does he long for release like that slave girl? Is that why he loves this song? Is that why he loves my voice? Take me home, take me home, take me home.

  No. Not allowed. He’s not going anywhere. I change my tune, hum our duet. Sing to him,It’s gotta be, it’s gotta be about you, you, you, you. . . .

  I raise a kaleidoscope up to my eye,

  Twist it once and watch the bright colors fly, and the picture is so

  clear—

  It’s gotta be you.

  He sleeps. I don’t. I lie there, wishing I’d never run away from him, wishing he’d come up those stairs to my room, wishing I’d left his T-shirt alone. My heart fills with the enormity of how much I care for him. I smooth his hair back and cherish him like a child while I sing with the slave girl again. But my babe, Lord, my sweet child / Wraps his sweet, sweet fingers so tight around my heart. . . . I look up at the ceiling, close my eyes, and whisper, He ain’t ready for Jordan.

  Is anyone ever ready? Could I ever be ready to let him go?

  No way. Never. He’s staying here with me.

  Pulls me back, pulls me back, pulls me back.

  chapter 29

  REALITY

  I wake up. The room is still dark. Derek lies on his side with his head propped on one hand. He’s tracing the features of my face lightly, barely touching me. He’s close enough to kiss, so I do. He’s not as hot now.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.” I kiss him again.

  “You taste kind of nasty in the morning.”

  I pull away from him and cover my mouth. “Recovered e
nough to be a brat. I liked you better helpless.”

  I kiss the top of his head. He raises his face and catches my mouth. He doesn’t taste that great, either.

  “How about we brush our teeth?”

  I hurry into the bathroom. I’ve got a toothbrush and stuff in my bag because of the concert. I brush my teeth fast. My hair is a wild mess, but I don’t have time for it. I find Derek’s toothbrush in a shaving kit by the sink, load it up with toothpaste, fill a glass with water, and run a washcloth under warm water, wring it, and head back to Derek.

  I catch him disconnecting the tube that goes into his stomach. I stand there dripping while he finishes. “You do that yourself?”

  “Half my life.” He pulls the sheet over the plastic port in his stomach. “I used to have to thread a tube up my nose and down the back of my throat. This is easy.”

  I go to stick the toothbrush in his mouth.

  He snatches it from me. “I’m not paralyzed.” He presses a button, and the head of the bed raises until he’s sitting up enough. He takes a maddeningly long time brushing his teeth. “Where am I supposed to spit?”

  I whip a plastic cup off his bedside table and hand it to him. He gives me the toothbrush. I run to the bathroom to rinse it, so I don’t have to watch him spit. Not really a turn on. Neither is a hole in your stomach. Or a syringe taped to your chest.

  I get back as he’s taking a last swig of fresh water. I pick up the washcloth—good, it’s still kind of warm—and wipe his face. Slowly. Major turn on. Makes up for everything else.

  “Now that feels good.”

  I move it down to his neck, run it over one shoulder. “About that sponge bath—”

  He tugs me toward him and our lips connect. I manage to get myself onto the bed without breaking the kiss. The head of the bed lowers—smoothly—while his tongue slips softly into my mouth.

  I’m lying kind of sideways—half on, half off him. I try to be careful. He’s still so weak, and I don’t want to bump the syringe that drips into the permanent port into his vein hiding just under the skin. “You’re awfully good at making out in a hospital bed.”

  “Home-court advantage.” His mouth captures mine again. His hand moves under the loose scrubs top I’ve got on and caresses my back. I didn’t sleep in my bra. I savor his touch on my skin, kiss him harder—roll onto my back without falling off the bed and lie there waiting for him.

  He shifts onto his side and caresses my stomach. I close my eyes—every part of me concentrating on his tender, pulsing fingertips.

  “Would it kill you this morning?”

  “You and your one track mind.” His face clouds up. “Don’t go there, Beth.” He draws his hand away.

  I groan.

  He lets the mask drop. I see his longing and frustration. “It hurts too much.” His face contorts. “Everything we won’t have.”

  I roll on my side, take his face in my hands, and kiss him softly, as gently as I can, and whisper, “When it’s right.”

  He turns his face away. “It won’t be, Beth. All I am is disease.”

  He lets me kiss him again. I whisper, “Once upon a time there was a hideous beast who met a handsome prince. The prince saw the Beast’s agony and bestowed on it his magic kiss.”

  “I’m the Beast, Beth.”

  “Shhh.” I place my fingers over his mouth. “The magic kiss changed the Beast forever. She became human. She learned to love and loved the prince with all her heart.”

  “And he loved her.”

  I hold his eyes as I say, “And they will live happily ever after.”

  He doesn’t argue, lets me kiss him again. And again. And again.

  There’s a sound at the door, and I jump up, flushed and breathless.

  His mom, followed by a solid man about Derek’s height with silver and dark-brown hair, enters the room. My face burns and my antiperspirant fails.

  “Hey, Dad.” Derek relaxes back on his pillows as if they didn’t just walk in on us making out in Derek’s hospital bed. “Meet Beth.”

  His dad nods at me and winks. Why do these people like me so much? He actually walks over to me and kisses me on the cheek. “Welcome to the team.” He squeezes my elbow and smiles Derek’s melting smile.

  His dad turns to Derek and raises an eyebrow. “Rough night?”

  Derek reaches for my hand. “Slept like a baby.”

  His mom takes up station on the other side of the bed. She examines his empty bag of formula on his feeding IV pole. “Did you take your meds yet?”

  “No, Mum. You even beat Meg here.”

  “She’s late.” She goes off to find the nurse.

  His dad sits down in my chair.

  Derek puts the head of his bed up again. “How was work?”

  His dad shrugs. “The usual.”

  I retreat into the bathroom. When I come back out, his mom is back with Meg and lots of pills. Derek dutifully swallows everything.

  His mom notices me standing back by the closet. “I’m going to take Beth home while you get your therapy out of the way. Dad’s staying.”

  I don’t want to leave. “Can’t I?”

  Derek gets comfortable with his hands behind his head, challenging me to throw that fit I threatened.

  “You get some rest, young lady.” His dad can’t help yawning. He picks up the vest and shakes it out.

  “I don’t need to rest. Aren’t you tired?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Come on, Beth.” His mom puts her arm around my waist. “You’ve done enough for now.”

  “I want—”

  “We’ve got so much to talk about.”

  I glance over her head back at Derek. He puts his hand over his eyes and shakes his head.

  I stick my tongue out at him. “If that’s the case—sure.”

  “When will you be back?” There’s an anxious note in his voice that makes my heart flip.

  I glance at his mom.

  “A couple hours.”

  He points at his mom. “Don’t scare her off.”

  His mom makes me phone mine on the drive to his house. My mom doesn’t yell at me, but she says I have to come home tonight and go to school tomorrow.

  “But—this is an emergency. I need to stay with him.”

  Derek’s mom puts her hand out for the phone. I obey.

  “We’ll make sure she gets there. No, no. It shouldn’t be late. She’s been wonderful. All right. Good-bye.” She hands me back my cell.

  I slip it into my bag. I don’t dare argue. She’s in control and wants me to know it. “I wasn’t wonderful last night—more like a disaster. Why are you making this so easy for me?”

  “He says he loves you. Do you love my son?”

  I nod.

  “Then why wouldn’t I do everything I can to keep you around? I need an ally.”

  “Against him?”

  “For him. When he was almost five, a doctor told me he would only last two, maybe three more years. I’ve been fighting since then to prove that man wrong.”

  “Derek—resists?”

  We get stopped at a red light. “He fought therapy and meds when he was little. Fed his formula to the dog—stuff like that. But that’s all second nature now. He resists in other ways—dangerous ways. For a while it was girls. Then he got together with a nice girl in his choir. But he still needed to rebel. His entire life is drugs—so he didn’t go down that road.” The light turns green. She steps on the gas.

  “How could you let him get that motorcycle?”

  “He’s nineteen.” She shudders. “His dad was for it. What could I do?”

  “He was crazy in Switzerland.”

  “Ever seen him on a skateboard?”

  Stupid adrenaline. “You should have—”

  “Tied him up?”

  “Padded cell.”

  She puts on her left turn signal. “I caught myself looking forward to his hospital stays so I could watch him round the clock.” She makes the turn and shoots me a grim s
mile.

  “The lockup?”

  She nods. “But lately he’s taking living seriously.” She glances away from the road. “Thank you.”

  “Me?” I roll my eyes and fling my head back against the neck rest. “I got everything so wrong.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I need to help.”

  “You already did.” She reaches over and pats my knee. “Last night I was a thousand miles past exhausted—but how could I leave him? And then there you were. Derek’s angel.”

  “I didn’t act like an angel.”

  She laughs. “I had to take his word for it.” She focuses on the road, drives, silent for a moment. “Derek should not have played with your happiness like this. Not many girls would have stayed. It will get painful.”

  “It can’t be worse than not knowing.”

  “It can, Beth.” Her eyes catch mine. “It will.”

  I draw into myself—refuse to hear her. He’s going to be fine.

  We arrive at a small two-story house in a little town west of London. Derek’s bike is pulled up by the side door. We both shoot it nasty looks on our way into the house. She takes me in through the laundry room stacked with dirty clothes—like I’m a part of the family—and into an open kitchen and family room. There’s a waist-high, long black table, narrow and set on a downward slant behind the couch.

  She notices me staring at it. “The vest needs help some days. I used to pound on the poor kid forty-five minutes four times a day to get him to cough up that gunk in his lungs. You can imagine how much he liked that.”

  Cases of formula sit on the kitchen counter. She opens the dishwasher, and it’s full of all kinds of medical stuff. She finds a couple mugs in there. “You hop into the shower, and I’ll make us some cocoa.” She directs me to Derek’s room. “Don’t mind the mess.”

  I wade through his dirty clothes, stop at the foot of his unmade bed, stare at his body’s imprint. There’s an IV pole next to the bed with clothes thrown over it. His computer is almost buried in papers and stacks of sheet music. On the way to the bathroom, I stub my toe on a keyboard floating in the mess. The bathroom is clean enough. His mom must have got it ready for me. I doubt Derek left those fresh towels laid out on the counter last time he was in here.