by J. B. McGee
And now I do. No I don’t. I don’t understand any of this. “No.”
“You don’t want to see her?” He cocks his head to the side. “It’s your decision.”
“No. I am not telling my mother goodbye. She’s not dying. She’s a fighter. I get that from her!” I shout. “I don’t care what they say.” A lone tear escapes my eye. It’s like my body knows and understands, but my mind refuses to allow the reality to sink in. “She will make it through this.”
He drops to his knees in front of where I’m sitting and he pulls me into a huge hug. “Oh my Alexandria. My baby girl.” He rocks me back and forth and I just sit there, numbly. I almost feel like I need to comfort him. These last few days have been so out of character for him. I slowly put my hand on his back and pat.
“She’s going to be okay. She has to be.”
He pushes back off of my shoulders. He clears his throat, shaking his head. “No. Alex, the infection is in her blood and in her bones. If she survives, she’ll have no limbs left. We’re removing her from the respirator. It’s no quality of life for her. She’s suffered too much already.
“So it’s our decision if she lives or dies?”
He nods. “To some extent.”
“And she’s my mom, but I don’t get a say. No one included me in that talk?”
“Alex, your mother had a living will, a healthcare power of attorney, and advanced directives. She didn’t want to live like this.”
I start to sob. “Why? Why would she do that?”
“Because she didn’t want us to watch her suffer. She didn’t want to continue in life if she wasn’t able to do so on her own.”
“No,” I hiss.
“No what?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t want her taken off. I don’t care what she had. Miracles happen.”
“Alex. Do you want to see her?”
“I’m not telling her goodbye,” I whisper as I stand up.
“That’s fine. You don’t have to tell her anything. Just be with her, Alex. I’m afraid you’ll regret it if you don’t.”
“I can’t do this, Pop.”
“You can do this. I’ve got you.” He puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me down the hall for what seems like an eternity until we’ve made it to her room. As we enter, he whispers. “Remember this time. I’ve got you.”
I nod.
When we walk in, there are so many more machines than last time. I’ve never seen so many. My other set of grandparents are on each side. They were the ones who told us to go home to get some rest. We had been taking shifts. I look to my beautiful grandmother, her reddened, tear-stained eyes. Then I look to my grandfather. They give me a half smile and move back. “Alex, baby. Come here.”
I close my eyes, not sure if I can do this. I’m not sure I can look at her. This can’t be the end. I can’t say goodbye.
I bow my head, begging for a miracle. This is playing out like something surreal we’d see on TV. The scene where everyone is gathered around her bed when it cuts to commercial. This isn't that kind of show, though. This is a horror movie. The part where the heroine runs upstairs, knowing there is no escape. Well, there's an escape. She'll either fall to her own death or be tortured by the villain. Pick your potion. Death is inevitable, but it becomes a matter of controlling her own destiny, keeping things on her own terms. If she chooses to try to jump to her escape, there may still be a chance for divine intervention.
It all starts to make sense. Why my mother made this decision. If we cut this respirator off, she still has a chance at a miracle. But it’s on her terms. She picked her potion. Why? Why did we have to find out the potion she picked? Why now? Why like this?
I open my eyes and wish that I could see hers again. They are closed. I’ll never be able to look into her eyes ever again. My chest starts to heave. I can feel the hyperventilation starting. Papa comes to my side and puts his hand where he had it in the hall. I hear him in my ear, “Remember, I’ve got you. Let it out, Alex. Let it all out.”
That’s the permission I need. Nothing is visible through the blur of the tears. I feel like someone has taken a splitter and cracked my chest open. Like my heart is a soaking wet rag being squeezed dry. This hurts so, so bad.
“Alex, she’ll always be with you. She’ll always be in your heart. Instead of one guardian angel, you’ll have two. We all will,” Grandma whispers.
I can hear the sniffles from everyone else in the room. I nod my head. It doesn’t make this any easier. It doesn’t change the fact that we’re all stuck in this horror film, and there’s nothing I or any of us can do about the fact that my mother is about to leap to her own death from a proverbial window.
I hear whispering from the door. I glance over to see a nurse speaking with Memaw. Then she walks over to the machine that I know is the respirator. “Stop.”
“Alex, it’s time.”
“I just need another minute. Please, just another minute.”
The nurse looks to my grandparents, all four of them. They nod.
“Can I touch her? Will I hurt her?” I ask.
“You can touch her, Alex,” the nurse replies. “You’re not going to hurt her. She’s under so much sedation that you can’t hurt her.”
I collapse onto her chest and hug her. I just need to hug her. “Mommy. Please fight. Fight. You can’t leave me.” I sob. “I love you. I love you so much it hurts.” My head is starting to pound. “This hurts so bad. I’ll do anything for you to be okay. For all this pain to go away. Please,” I beg.
Papa helps me up. “Baby girl.” He pulls me into his arms and smoothes my hair. “Do you want to be in here when they cut it off, or do you want to go to the waiting room?”
“The waiting room, please.”
Everyone moves out so we can leave. I hope I don’t regret this decision, but I can’t be in there. I can’t watch it. I can’t do this. Before we’re even down the hall, the beeping from the machines end. A few seconds later, my grandmother’s wail is all it takes for me to know that my life has yet again been irreversibly changed, and certainly not for the better.
When I think I’m about to collapse, I feel strong arms squeeze around me, carrying me the rest of the way.
We stayed at the hospital for another thirty minutes or so. Everyone was hugging and crying. I’m numb. I am beyond being able to try to wrap my head around the fact that I have lost both of my parents within a couple of days. I don’t think I have any more tears to cry.
No. That’s not true. All I have to do is open my mouth to try to speak, and I’m reminded that I have plenty left. The only thing is that I don’t want to cry them. I don’t want to hurt. I don’t want this pain. I want the non-existent rewind button.
We’re in the van on the way back to the house. Everyone is coming to Memaw and Papa’s house to just be together. The only good thing that has come from this is being with everyone. I didn’t want it like this, though. I don’t want any of this.
In fact, as much as I want to be around all of them, I desperately want some time to be alone. I think I must be overstimulated from it all. My head is either spinning or throbbing in pain from all the crying. I try to make my mind wander to other places.
I wonder what will happen with my friends. Where will I live? Will there be some kind of a big fight between grandparents as to who should have custody? Will I feel like I have to choose between them? I love them both equally, just in different ways. What will happen to our house in North Carolina? My home. None of these things make me feel any better. They just overwhelm me even more.
As I swipe the tears from my eyes, I hear a deep voice. Beautiful tears. If he only knew. Yeah. If he only knew, he’d probably wish he had never chased me and made a promise that he says he won’t break. I feel so guilty for even thinking about him.
When I get back home, I hang around the house and listen as everyone shares memories, eats, and basically treats this as a family reunion. I can’t. I can’t talk. I ca
n’t eat. I can’t share memories. It’s too hard. I pop one of the pills that the doctor gave me in my mouth and decide I need some air.
This time, I decide to tell Papa where I’m going. I find him sitting in his recliner, a piece of Red Velvet cake on a Corningware saucer resting on his belly. It makes me smile. My Papa loves his sweets. I’ve had a lot of Red Velvet cake in my life. No one makes it quite like Miss Shirley and my Memaw, though. It’s the best I’ve ever had. I know it’s supposed to have cocoa in it, but they don’t put so much to where it overpowers the cake. It’s light and fluffy.
Papa moves his plate and puts it on the big freezer that’s beside his chair. He pats his right thigh. “Come sit on your Papa’s lap.”
I plop down and wrap my arms around his neck. I feel like an empty vessel lost at sea. I don’t know who I am anymore. He reminds me. “You’ll always be Papa’s Little Girl. You know that, right?”
He rubs my back. I can’t speak. I just nod my head and sniff, refusing to give in to the tears. I hear people talking about me as if I’m not even in the room. “That Alex still sits on her Papa’s lap. How about that.”
It’s okay. I wish I wasn’t here. I wish I had been with them. What kind of messed up cruel joke is this, anyway? If it weren’t for my grandparents, I think I would just go into my room and swallow the entire bottle of pills. But I can’t. I can’t do that.
We sit like this for a few minutes and I come to the conclusion that I can’t be here any longer. I just need some time to be alone. The creek. Nope. Can’t go back there right now. I don’t need to be with Drew. I can’t deal with the guilt that I have for liking a boy.
“Pop,” I whisper.
“Yes’um.” He rubs my hair, my head still resting on his chest.
“Can we go for a walk?”
“I wish I could Alex, but we have company.”
I nod. I understand, but I can’t do this. “I need some space.” My shaky voice cracks. “I’m gonna go for a walk. Maybe to the creek.”
He kisses my head. “Take as much time as you need, but please check in every hour or so. You scared us last time.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” This guilt is eating me alive. Guilt for not checking in. Guilt for being with Drew and actually feeling something other than mourning. Guilt for every dadgum thing. When will it stop? I just want to scream. Maybe I will. Maybe when I get far enough from the house, I’ll just scream as loud as I can. A punching bag might be a better release. Maybe I could just box out all of this pain. Hit something so hard and so long that my knuckles bleed. That the pain I feel from the gaping hole in my heart is transferred to something that might actually heal. Because I don’t think I will ever heal. I’ll certainly never be whole again.
I give him a kiss on the cheek and go to my room to put on my running shoes. I don’t have a punching bag. I might ask for one of those for my birthday. It comes before Christmas. November. My birth. My mother. No more birthdays with my parents. Ugh. I can’t do this. I sprint through the house and out the back door. I wasn’t going to go back to the creek, but my feet must be on auto pilot because that’s exactly where I’m headed.
When I see Drew in the same place I’d seen him before, I think for a split second to keep going straight, but instead I round the corner to that side street that I unsuccessfully used to escape him last time. Maybe he won’t even notice me this time.
I hear feet pattering. “Alex?” I keep running, speeding up my pace. “Alex!” he shouts louder. He’s fast. Maybe he runs track or something. He reaches my side and grabs my arm.
I try to get away. I struggle with all my might, which isn’t much these days. “Leave me alone.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He clinches harder. “What did I do to you?”
“Ou –” He releases me immediately.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, but just stop for a minute. This is not at all how I expected this to go.” I turn and start hitting his chest as my cry turns into an ugly sob. His body is unmoved by my efforts. He grabs my arms and stills me. “What in the world is going on with you? Is someone hurting you?”
I just turn my head and shake it. He pulls me into an embrace. I am being squeezed again by his muscular arms and it feels so good. It feels safe. It makes the pain from the heaving more bearable. I shake my head. “No.”
“Then what? I mean. I’m at a loss.”
I sniff. It’s not fair to not tell him. This isn’t his fault. More guilt. I’m hurting everyone around me. I’m being selfish. Who the heck am I? “My parents just died.”
“‘Plural?” He pushes me off his chest and lifts my chin. My eyes are fixed on his pecs. Very nice pectorals. I turn my head away from him. I feel so bad for trying to use his body as my punching bag. “Look at me.” I glance up into those milk chocolate eyes. Compassionate, caring, soothing eyes. “Plural?”
I nod.
“Life’s so freakin’ cruel,” he hisses.
It makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time to see him so passionate. “It is.” I burst out into giggles. They’re delirious giggles. It feels so good. They just keep coming.
“Alex, that sucks. There are no sufficient words.”
The laughter stops. “Drew, it sucks so, so bad.” Then there’s guilt for even laughing, for enjoying his company. “So bad,” I say as my chin starts to quiver.
His beautiful smile vanishes as he pulls me back into his arms. “I know what it’s like to lose a parent, not two,” he whispers.
I wrap my arms around him as we have a moment. Sharing a connection that no one should feel. I murmur into his chest, “Sorry for trying to beat the crap out of you. Do you run track?”
“Um, once again, apology accepted. And that was random. I don’t run track. I don’t play any sports.” He pulls back and cocks his head. “Why?”
“You should run track. You’re fast.” I hesitate. Should I ask how he got a body like this not playing sports? I decide that would probably make this more awkward. I’ll wait.
“Good thing I’m fast. I’ve had to catch you twice.” He smirks. When he does that, it makes my insides flip.
“And twice you’ve made me feel like the sky might not be falling as quickly as I had thought.” I shrug. “So thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome,” He smiles as he threads his fingers through mine, causing sensations to travel through my entire body. Butterflies swirl.
What is he doing? Where is this headed?
“Now.” He brushes the tears away with the pad of his thumb, then he kisses his finger where the tear now lies. “I think I promised to teach you a few things...and I don’t break promises.”
I beam. Should I be beaming? “I can’t.”
“You can. I’ll teach you.”
“No. I mean, I can’t do this.” I bow my head and try to let go of his hand, but he squeezes it.
“Why not?”
“It just feels so wrong. My mom died a few hours ago and now I’m holding hands with a boy. A boy I just met. I don’t even know your last name.”
“Foster. Now come on.” He gives me a tug. “You’re still alive. You’re still here, Alex. Live.”
My feet start to move as I let the words he just spoke settle into my mind. Live. How do I live now? “I’m not sure I know how to anymore.”
“Sure you do.”
“No.” I shake my head and will myself not to start crying again. I think the medicine is taking the edge off of my emotions. “I don’t.”
We’re almost back to the creek. His walking speeds up, which means mine does, too. We’re attached. He pats one of the big rocks. “Sit.”
I don’t usually like being ordered around, but for some reason I do anything he says. I think it’s trust. He’s a stranger, and yet I trust him already. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. I see a butterfly fly by. It sits on a leaf beside me. Then it flutters to him, swirling around him, staying in his general proximity. “Okay,” I mutter as I sit. �
�Look at that butterfly.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty.”
“She seems to like you.”
“How do you know it’s a she?”
“Ah, um...”
He bursts out laughing. “Just say it, Alex. Because you think I’m hot, so naturally a girl butterfly would, too.”
I squint my eyes. “Oh, conceit is one of your many attributes, too?”
“No. Just have heard it a time, or two.” He winks. Every time he winks, it brings a rare smile to my face.
“So. If we’re sitting, then I take it you’re not giving skipping stone lessons right now.”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“So. What are you going to teach me?” This flirting is nice. Even though I just met him, I feel like I’ve known him forever. Like he’s my best friend.
“We’re going to work on the tears.”
I drag in a breath. “I don’t know that today is a good day for that.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“That was blunt. And what does that have to do with the tears. I told you why I had them.”
“This coming from the queen of bluntness. So...”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” There’s nothing better than being able to answer a question with a question.
“No. You?”
I giggle. “I have a girlfriend. Her name is Charlene, but everyone calls her Charlie. She’s been my best friend since I was five. Everyone always goes on and on about how our names are both boy names.” I pause. Will she still be my best friend? Does she even know about my parents? Will I ever see her again? “I had a girlfriend. Her name was Charlie. She was my best friend since I was five.”
He turns his head to the side as he watches the tear escape. “Not past tense.”
“You don’t know that.”
He swallows and looks to the creek. “Boyfriend, Alex?”
“Negative.” Do I want to know why he’s interested? Is it presumptuous for me to assume that it’s because he’s interested in me? “Why?”
He glances back towards me and leans forward. “Because I want to know if I’m allowed to kiss your tears away. Because I want to be able to hold your hand. Because I like you.”