Sing Me to Sleep

by Angela Morrison

I take off my borrowed scrubs and get into his shower. The hot water feels so good. I’ve got tears and sweat and snot dried all over me. My hair is caked with hairspray from my performance updo. I find more pins while I wash my hair with his shampoo. I lather up with his soap, scrub until I’m tingling fresh, and rinse it all down the drain. The smell of him lingers on my skin even after I towel down.

  My jeans are in my bag, so I put them on. I forego undies. Not usually my style, but the ones I peeled off are nasty. The bra is fine for another day, but my pink T-shirt is stained and crusty. Gross. What was I thinking? I borrow a white one from a folded pile on top of Derek’s dresser. His mom doesn’t mention it when I go back out.

  My hair dries into a frizz while I sit in their kitchen and sip cocoa with marshmallows.

  His mom leans across her steaming mug. “Tell me how you met—and everything. If I ask Derek, he’ll just grunt.”

  I blow on my cocoa and try to figure out where to start.

  “Please?” Her eyebrows lift. “It isn’t true what they say about mothers. We don’t hate our sons’ girlfriends. The sleazy ones—maybe. But we’re mostly delighted and a little startled when a wonderful girl loves our son. And relieved the son is smart enough to love her back. I’m grateful, Beth.”

  “I’m not wonderful.”

  “I’m sure you are. Derek has very good taste.”

  I slurp up a melting marshmallow—much louder than intended, and we both laugh.

  “It started with Meadow, I guess.” I tell her about Meadow’s stage fright and how I filled in. My absurd makeover. Derek up on that mountaintop already knowing my voice. Him coming after me and finding me on that bench. She nods her head when I explain my genetic problems—understanding my pain like no one I’ve ever talked to before.

  “You’re lucky in a way. We didn’t know until after Derek was diagnosed. I wanted a houseful of kids, but the risks . . .”

  “I know.” Our eyes meet. “Kind of awful. Derek was . . . incredibly comforting.” I flush and my hands get sweaty. The hot cup of cocoa I’m holding is no help. I set it down and lean back in my chair.

  His mom grins and shakes her head. “The opportunistic little devil.”

  “No.” How can I explain how much that meant? “I’d never had a hot guy like him do anything more than hurl abuse at me. Then doctors were saying they were right. I really am beastly.”

  She shakes her head and stirs her cocoa.

  “And then there was this beautiful boy holding me while I cried. When he kissed me, my world changed forever. I’ll never be the same. Cystic fibrosis? What difference could that make to me ?”

  She gets teary while I tell her how magical the rest of our time in Lausanne was, how scared I was when it was over, how relieved when he showed up on that motorcycle—until he took me for a ride. I look at the trappings of his condition all around us. “Now I know why he kept me away.”

  “And why he didn’t tell me about you.”

  “Where do we go from here?”

  “I’ll manage the medical establishment. You manage him.”

  “He won’t like me bossing him around.”

  “That’s not what I mean. He wants to live—for you. He wants life. With you. Keep him hoping. Keep him fighting. Until they can save him.”

  My heart gets tight, but I look up at her and nod. “All right. Should be easy.”

  She reaches across the table and places her hand on top of mine. “It may be the hardest thing you ever do. Are you sure?”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  Her mask of calm drops for a moment, and she whispers, “I am.”

  chapter 30

  EXISTENCE

  Getting my butt out of bed Monday morning is painful. I hit the snooze button three times. Mom has to drag me out from under the covers. I throw on an old sweatshirt and slide into my Levi’s. I capture my hair and jam it through a black scrunchie. I treat my face so the sore spots on my chin and forehead don’t erupt on me, but I don’t bother with makeup.

  I grab a banana for breakfast. Mom pours me juice.

  “Please—can’t I go back to the hospital?”

  “After school. But take your homework.”

  “It’s December. Christmas break starts in two weeks.”

  “And you have finals in all your semester classes.”

  “Who cares?”

  “Every college you’ll be applying to in a couple of months.”

  Applications? Colleges? What planet is she on? “Get real. I can’t bother with that until Derek’s okay.” I filled her in when I got home last night. She took it pretty hard.

  She looks down and stirs her coffee. “What if he’s not okay?”

  I slam the juice glass on the counter. “Why are you being so mean?”

  “Reality sucks, but you need to face it, honey.”

  “He’s not going to die.”

  “He tricked you. He tricked both of us.”

  “Shut up. Don’t talk about him like that. He needs me, and that’s all that matters.”

  “I don’t want you to throw away your happiness.” She closes her eyes and her tone drops. “Like I did.”

  “You said you loved my father.”

  She nods and sighs. “You have to do this. I understand.”

  “Good.” I run back upstairs to my room, pull my suitcase from the summer out from under my bed, dump the junk that’s still in the bottom, and start throwing underwear and T-shirts into it.

  “Whoa.” Mom barges in. “Hold on.” She grabs my arm. “Slow down.” She takes a stack of jeans out of my hands and gathers me close. “Let’s think this through for a minute.”

  I drop my head onto her shoulder. “I have to get back up there. What if—”

  “Is he that bad?” She lets me loose.

  I sink down on my bed. “How can I waste time on school when he—” I take a deep breath and steel myself to say it. “When he could be dead tomorrow?”

  “It’s that close?”

  I fight hard to keep my emotions steady. “No one knows. It could be. This new medication they’ve got him on seems to be helping.” His mom filled me in when we went back to the hospital Sunday. “How long it will help and how much is a mystery. They have to keep him alive long enough for him to get the transplant. Only problem is they have to get him so he’s not antibiotic resistant anymore first.”

  “How’s that going?”

  “It’s not.” I sniff and start to blink. “If they take him off his antibiotics, the infections will win.”

  Mom sits beside me. “I’m sorry.” She’s fighting back tears, too. “So, so sorry.” She puts her arm around me and squeezes. “Okay. Let’s take it one day at a time. Go to school today. Get your assignments, and you can take off tomorrow.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Try to make it before midnight.” I had a hard time leaving Derek last night. “I love you, Beth.” She leans her head against mine. “I’m here. Whatever I can do. I’m here.”

  I kiss her cheek, hug her, jam a change of clothes and my zit stuff into my bag, and tear out of there.

  I get to school late, but Scott’s still at his locker. I was so awful to him Saturday night. I need to apologize—explain. “Hey, Scott. I’m so—”

  He whirls around with his arms full of books. “To hell with you, Beth.” He walks past me, to the far end of the hall.

  The locker beside mine is empty.

  I hear books thud and a locker door slam down the hall. I feel like he hurled those books right in my face.

  He’s not in choir.

  At lunch I see him with a tiny junior girl who’s new this year. On my way out after school, he’s making out with her by the front doors.

  Crap. He’s taking my stupid, stupid advice. I should be happy for him. I’ve got Derek to worry about. No room for a friend who wants more than I can give. I relied on him and that’s not really fair. Better to have Scott occupied. Right now he’s more occ
upied than I want to know, but he deserves something. He can’t really like her. She’s tiny and pretty and perfect for him, but he can’t love her. He loves me. She’s probably had a crush on him since school started. And now, oh my gosh, he’s got his hands on her butt.

  I hurry by them, chuck my bag on Jeanette’s passenger seat, and drive fast for London. No line at the border between Port and Sarnia. I’ve got my passport today, but the guy glances at my license plate and waves me through. It’s snowing again, but the road is fine. I make it to the hospital in under an hour. It’s easier than driving to choir. Shoot—choir. We have a practice tomorrow. I’ll have to call Terri. Maybe I’ll just update my status on my page. Everyone will get the message that way—

  Oh my gosh. My page.

  Derek friending me—curious about the rest of me.

  What a brat. He was right, though. The Amabile guys beat us. He got his way with me, too. He always gets his way.

  He’ll get those lungs. It’s Derek.

  I burst into his room. He’s asleep with his inhaler thing strapped to his face. His mom, poor woman, is nodding off, too, balanced on that uncomfortable chair. I gently shake her shoulder. Her eyes flutter open.

  “He’s still good?” I whisper.

  She blinks and nods. “Get him to finish that. Then his vest.”

  “I can stay. Sleep in tomorrow.”

  She gathers her purse and knitting, leaves a stack of books about cystic fibrosis for me. “Make sure he doesn’t skimp his treatments in the morning.” She hugs me and stumbles out.

  I steal the table that swings over Derek’s bed for meals, push it over by the window, lower it, and spread out my books. I grab the chair—catch him spying at me through one eye.

  “Are you awake?”

  “No.”

  I drop the chair and very gently, mindful of his IV and how weak he is, attack him.

  He kisses me back and breathes, “You’re going to make my monitors go off,” into my ear.

  I press my ear to his chest. His heart races back. “Too much excitement?”

  He presses the magic buttons and the bed sits us up. “Bring the table back over here.”

  “Not until you finish with your vest.”

  I bring it over to him, help him get it strapped on. It vibrates him for twenty minutes, and then he huffs gunk into a basin.

  Meg sticks her head in the door. “Need any help?” She sees the green tinge to my face and comes in. “I’ll take over. Get some air. Don’t push yourself too fast.”

  I walk up and down the hall, berating myself until Meg comes out. “He wants you again. He said something about a sponge bath.”

  That makes me smile. I go back in the room, push the table back to his bed, and dutifully study with his head resting on my shoulder. He falls asleep like that—drools on my neck. I don’t dare move, keep studying until late.

  He wakes up when I try to lower the bed. He takes the controls and makes the head go down and the foot go up. “I think my ankles are swelling.”

  “Like a pregnant lady?”

  “I’m not a pregnant lady.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Turn around. I’ll never get back to sleep with you looking at me like that.”

  I kiss him. “Are you sure?”

  “My mom’s cot is under the bed. If you don’t stop torturing me, I’ll make you sleep in it.”

  “You didn’t offer me the cot Saturday. I thought she slept in the chair.”

  “I can’t keep my eyes open. Meg upped my morphine.” He gets these awful headaches.

  “I’m supposed to watch you. This isn’t about sex. I thought you knew that.”

  He manages a drowsy laugh and lies back, closes his eyes, and he’s out.

  I lie on my side, wanting him, and wonder how I can feel like this when he’s so sick.

  The next two weeks, I only go to school for tests. Mom manages everything with my teachers. I get way more studying done in Derek’s hospital room than I ever did wasting time in class. Derek’s headaches get worse. He’s on so much morphine now—sleeps and sleeps and sleeps. So I watch him and study. And ace everything except econ.

  I try to talk to Scott after that test, but he cuts me cold.

  The week before Christmas is peaceful. Mom lets me go up for the whole time. Derek’s mom takes advantage of me being there to get her shopping done and mail stuff. I help her wrap Derek’s presents. I get him black leather riding gloves to match his jacket.

  I sleep in his mom’s cot. I can’t lie beside him night after night and not go crazy. I love him more every day and with that love come other feelings I’m not sure I can control. Not next to him all the long, silent night.

  The info-desk guy brings up a steady flow of notes, gifts, and cards from people he can’t let up. Amabile—seems like the whole amazing family stops by at one time or another.

  Before their Christmas concert, his choir—all those guys in their tuxes—stand in the snow outside his window and sing to the twilight. I open the window a crack to let in the sound. At first they just sing, “Oh,” in rich harmony as old as monks and cathedrals. Then they slowly unwind the gentle hymn. Lo, how a Rose e’re blooming from tender stem hath sprung! Their harmonies build and dissipate, break into a celebration at the solemn birth and salvation. Then close with a single voice in the night.

  O Savior, King of glory, who dost our weakness know ;

  Bring us at length we pray,

  To the bright courts of Heaven, and to the endless day!

  It’s the only time I ever saw tears on Derek’s eyelashes.

  Meg gets me to go caroling around the hospital with a few other nurses. “Last year Derek brought his choir friends and guitar and sang for all the kids.”

  I think of him back in his room, lying on his bed with his mom sitting in her chair, knitting a scarf out of bumpy purple yarn.

  We sing for old people and sick people and sicker people. I don’t want to leave the kids. One climbs on my lap and sings along, patting the beat on my cheeks with tiny chapped hands.

  My mom comes for Christmas. We’re having it in Derek’s hospital room. She brings turkey and stuffing, gravy and potatoes. A big pumpkin pie. He makes Meg dial back on the morphine a little so he’s more alert for an hour or so. In pain but alert. I kiss him good-bye that afternoon and follow Mom home. It’s Christmas. She needs me, too.

  Mom lights the fire. It’s gas, but it’s still cozy with all the snow. We eat hot buttered microwave popcorn and watch It’s a Wonderful Life. Mom lives for Jimmy Stewart.

  We both cry at the end.

  It feels so good.

  As we watch the credits and blow our noses, Mom puts her arm around me and draws me under her wing. “How is he—really?”

  “Alive.”

  “And the transplant?”

  “He’s still on the inactive list.”

  “No change in his resistance?”

  I shake my head.

  chapter 31

  HOPE?

  The week after Christmas is a disaster. The nasty bacteria in Derek’s lungs fight back. For some reason no one can explain, the antibiotic they had him on can’t contain it anymore. His lungs fill up and his temperature spikes. He chokes and coughs continuously. I’ve been there for his therapy so much now that I’m used to him coughing up crap. It’s nothing like this. Blood. A lot. Cups of it.

  They almost lose him twice.

  I’m not there, either time. His mom is back at his side, full time. I sleep on the couch in the visitor’s lounge down the hall. It scares me to even think of going all the way home.

  He’s shrinking—no matter how much they pump into him, his weight drops. A little of him slips away from us every day.

  They finally get him on something experimental from a European clinical trial. His mom had to move heaven and earth to get a hold of it. At first there’s no change.

  School starts, but I don’t go back.

  And then his fever drops. “Beth?
” It’s a feeble whisper.

  I rush to his bed and take his bony hand. “Hey.”

  “I’m doing this for you.”

  I kiss him gently and then move aside for his mom.

  I go into the bathroom until I can pull myself together. I splash cold water on my face and go sit by his bed.

  I hold his hand all night long.

  Next morning, Mom picks me up. Derek’s mom called her. I sleep all the way home, fall into my bed, and sleep the rest of the day. I haul my butt over to the school after it’s out to pick up textbooks and talk to my teachers.

  “When will you be back?” my counselor wants to know.

  “After he—” I pause, clench my teeth. “After his transplant.”

  It will happen. It has to happen. Derek’s mom will make it happen. I’m keeping him alive—as painful as it is. I’m keeping him alive.

  Mom won’t let me go back to the hospital. His mom phoned in a good report. I collapse on my bed, wake up with a cold, and they won’t let me near him.

  Two long weeks.

  And they won’t let me near him.

  I’m not even that sick after the first couple days. I go to school, call his mom at the hospital a hundred times a day. He seems to be doing better. His mom lets him talk to me on the cell. All we say is “Hey,” and then he starts to cough again.

  I make up the work I missed and work ahead.

  I notice Scott is with a different girl. He is way too good for this one. Sleaze is putting it mildly.

  He catches me on my way out of English. We have it together this semester. “Beth.”

  I stop and turn to him, can’t help raising an eyebrow.

  “I hear he’s in the hospital.”

  I nod.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I duck my head and bolt.

  When I finally get to go back, Derek’s mom is totally exhausted, leaves me on watch. He looks so much better than the last time I saw him. He tugs me down onto the bed with him as soon as we’ve got the room to ourselves.

  It feels so right to have his lips slipping over my face and down my neck, and then back on my lips, responding to my open, hungry mouth with his sweet, soft tongue. He’s weak—can’t keep it up very long—but he gets me wondering. How hard can it be to take out a catheter?