Mason salutes the bartender and trips over a barstool. I can’t stop the fall without hurting myself, so I just act as a witness to his tomfoolery. I’m relieved but surprised that he’s able to catch himself at the last minute. “Let’s go.”
I pour him into the back of the car. “Put your seatbelt on.”
He blows a kiss out the open window and says, “Don’t wean me, Chloe!”
So much for not making a scene.
As I head back in, the bouncer looks me up and down. “Give the guy a break, lady. He’s obviously broken up.”
I just…I can’t even. Every sassy thing I could have said dries up the minute I see Em hurrying towards me.
“Bathroom, now.” She offers her arm, and I take it.
“Thank the Lord, I need to pee.”
As we make another walk of shame right down the middle aisle of the bar, and we’re sure everyone knows our business, Em hugs me close and starts to whisper. “Chloe, Lola knows something. She’s asking all kinds of questions. And she’s more than pissed at me right now. I can’t keep bobbing and weaving and expect her to talk to me when this is all over.”
I nod as we walk into the bathroom.
Mason
I keep wondering out loud, “What kind of asshole would ask that beautiful goddess for a ‘lip hug?’” all the way home. Once I see the steps, I turn to the driver. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you’ll get me up those stairs.”
The driver checks out the obstacle course, and I notice the teardrop tattoo at the corner of his eye. “Keep your money, man. I’ll do it for free.”
As he hauls me up the stairs, pulls my keys out, and gets me in the door, I can’t stop staring at his tattoo. “You wear your pain out in the open, I like that. I might just have to get one of those.”
He smiles and shakes his head. “She didn’t give you a goodbye kiss or nothing, eh? Dumped your ass in my car like garbage, you might need two.”
……
I grab a jug and start downing it. No messages. The driver was right. It does feel like I just got dumped.
A friend dump. Is she pissed that I stayed?
I tried to sober up, I really did. As I sat drinking my water at the bar, I couldn’t take my eyes off of Chloe surrounded by her friends. She didn’t look sick. In fact, she looked animated, rejuvenated, more alive than I’d ever seen her. She was different with them, loud, boisterous, the life of the party. They talked and interacted like they’d been doing it for years.
I’ve only known her minutes. I’m jealous. Like a fucking chick.
I lie in the quiet room, and for the first time since Chloe came into my world, I feel truly lonely. Sure, I knew I would be losing her, she’d been upfront since the beginning. But it was one thing to lose her because she was gone, and quite another to lose her to her friends while she was still living.
I have a grim thought as the room begins to spin. Netflix is calling, and they want her back.
I know I call her repeatedly at one point, never leaving a message. I just want to hear her voice.
……
Lola
“Chloe, what in the hell were you doing with Angel Hat right now? That’s the guy that kept staring over here. Do you know him?”
For some reason, she looks to Em for the go-ahead before talking, but I’ve had it with the two of them. “Chloe, you better start talking, and I mean now.”
She looks down at her hands. “That was my friend, Mason. He had a little too much to drink, and I wanted to make sure he got home. You may have seen him on the news?”
I shake my head. “No TV in mourning, you know that.”
But she continues like I didn’t comment. “He has a website called the F#ck It List…and sometimes he helps people with cancer.” She looks up, and I try to look away, anywhere, just so she won’t say it. “Like he’s helping me.”
All of a sudden, I want out. It’s too stuffy in here, the music’s too loud. Em’s quiet sobs sound like screams right now. I shrug Roxy’s hand off my back. I can’t stand the weight of it. And Chloe’s too skinny. Much too skinny. I look at Chloe as she looks at me…with defiance? Her eyes daring me…to see.
She doesn’t look away as I take in the hollows of her cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes. My heart hammers in my chest. Her usual full mane of Irish curls hanging limp around her bony shoulders.
“I thought you were a heroin addict!” blurts out of me before I can stop it. I slap a hand over my own mouth and feel…like I knew this was coming. Maybe I won’t find her slumped in a bathroom with a needle hanging out of her arm, but I knew it would be something. It always is with Chloe. But there’s no fix for cancer.
As she clears her throat, and starts to spin tales of chemo and radiation with an abrupt ending only months away, the crying jag I’d known was in my future begins.
……
A fucking year she’s known about this and didn’t tell me. How the hell is that even possible? I look to my twin next to me, no answers there.
While Chloe talks, I keep examining Em, crying into her skuit lapel. Something isn’t right. She should be talking about jetting off to foreign countries for treatments, making a list of cancer-zapping foods, anything to rally the troops to fight for Chloe. Instead, her steady shoulders sag like the weight of the world has been lifted. She looks like a prisoner confessing to her crimes.
She looks… “Guilty!” I yell. “You fucking knew. Didn’t you, Em?” It’s more of an accusation than a question. I’m up off the booth—not an easy feat in my condition. I’m drunk. My body wants to lean, but my words don’t slur.
Em’s head snaps up. “Of course I knew, drunko. Who the hell do you think has been taking her to all of her damn appointments? Jeez, get a clue, Lola. While you’re out denying Matt his BJ rights, I’ve been helping Chloe with real world problems. Get over yourself.” She stands and tries to glare at me before turning to flee to the ladies’ room.
Chloe, frail but still feisty, turns on me next. “Lola, you’re drunk. Drink some water before I get back.” She limps away. When did Chloe start limping?
Wow, okay, Mom. “Now I’m the asshole,” I say to the empty booth across from me.
“You always are.” My twin, ladies and gentlemen.
……
When I wake up, I can’t believe my ears.
“Think of it as a sociology experiment. Thirty blowjobs in thirty days. We could find her different guys from different walks of life. Compare smells, tastes, et cetera, like do fireman have a smoky aftertaste? Do fisherman taste saltier? Inquiring minds want to know.” Em giggles and it’s so absurd, I laugh out loud.
Chloe makes a noise like she’s in trouble. “Uh oh. She’s awake!”
I sit up and hold my head. “Ugh. My head is pounding. How long have I been asleep?”
“About two hours, give or take. You needed it.” I sit up, surprised Roxy’s still here. “Moral support, Dahling.” I nod and get up to pee.
Em holds up a bottle like a peace offering. “Hair of the dog? You’ll feel better.”
I put my hand over hers and squeeze. “I don’t think I yelled a thank you at you yet, did I?”
She smiles, and that’s all I need. I take a healthy swig and give it back to her before making my way to the bathroom.
So many unspoken words in Em’s smile. Don’t have another thought about it. I forgive you. I love you. I don’t blame you. I’d feel the same way if I were you.
After I pee, and brush my teeth with my finger, I feel surprisingly better. Hair of the dog was just what I needed. I rejoin the party with a positive attitude. I’ll deal with the rest later. Just like they’re doing out there. Making my problem the problem of the hour so none of us have to talk about the real problem. Chloe’s sick.
……
It appears everyone’s got two cents on my problem, even Roxy with her bun in the oven. I mime holding my hands over the ears of my unborn nephew in her belly, then tickle her gently.
&nb
sp; “Lola, stop, I’ve gotta pee!” She jumps up and runs to the bathroom.
When she comes back, she’s holding the bottom of her belly.
Concerned, I ask. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, he just wants out. I think I’m going to call it a night, girls.”
Em begs out, too, giving me a meaningful look. When she pulls me in her arms to say goodbye, she whispers, “She needs you. Just be you.”
I nod.
When it’s just me and a very drunk Chloe, I push her futon flat and snuggle in next to her. “When’d you get the new futon?” I ask.
“Mason, my end friend,” she mumbles and cuddles up against me.
……
I wake in the middle of the night feeling like the heater’s on. I kick the blankets off, which is no help since it feels like there’s a hot coal in the bed with me. Chloe.
“Chloe?” I whisper, afraid she won’t answer.
“Yeah?” she mumbles.
I’m so relieved when she answers. “I think you have a fever.”
I feel her forehead, which is burning.
I look for Tylenol, then remember, “Motrin and a muffin.” She doesn’t take Tylenol. I grab two pills, and am concerned by the way her hand shakes when she takes them. “Drink all of it.”
She nods, finishing the water.
“Chloe...you don’t look so good.”
But she waves me away. “I just had chemo. This always happens. Stop waking me up. I’m so hungover.” She flings the blanket over her face, and I lie on my side and watch her for I don’t know what.
From under the blanket, she says, “Stop being creepy and go to sleep.”
After a while, I do.
……
When I wake, it’s past noon and I smell bacon. “Chloe…are you cooking?”
She grins and looks better. “No, it’s compliments of my friend. He has food delivered every once in a while.
“Scrambled?” she asks as she hands me a Styrofoam container.
Throughout the morning, she draws, but she’s not feeling it, keeps ripping pages out of her sketchbook. She talks about some Mason project, but I can’t focus. “That’s nice. Is he one of your cancer friends?”
A drumbeat is playing in my head. Chloe’s sick, Chloe’s sick.
She puffs out a breath. “Will you pay attention? This is important.”
“Well it’s kind of hard, my best friend dropped a bomb in my lap last night.”
And she’s had it. “That’s right, my bomb, Lola. Mine. Not yours.” She sighs and sits down on the futon and takes my hand. “I know this is hard. You’re playing catch up, I get it. But I don’t have a lot of time to sit and hold your hand while you learn the plays. I’m in the fourth quarter here, and you’re just coming off of the bench. I can’t. Not today. Call me shellfish, but I can’t talk this to death. I’ve got fucking cancer. Yes, it sucks. I know that. I don’t need you to make it any worse by moping around here all day. Can I have a meal with my best friend? Is she here?” She leans forward, looking me in the eye. “There she is.”
I hug her to me and do my best to stay in the moment. Sunbeams burst from her face when I say, “Shellfish? Do you have cancer of the tongue, too?” But the storm clouds roll in when I drift away again, wondering how I didn’t see it.
Am I that self-absorbed that I can’t see my best friend fading before me?
She drops her laptop on my lap. “That’s why I’m giving him to you.”
Perplexed, I ask, “You what now?”
“Oh, are you back? Oh, that’s great. Hi, Lola. I was just explaining to you for the last forty-five minutes that I need your help and you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said. Too grief-stricken by my impending doom to pay attention to the actual me.” I look up. She’s frowning. Is she…pissed?
She taps the laptop, then taps her nose.
And I’m still not fucking listening.
“What is wrong with me? How is it that I didn’t notice what you were going through?” I try not to cry, but it doesn’t look like I have any say in the matter.
“Because I didn’t want you to. Notice, I mean. I tried to keep you away. You were right. I thought if I kept you busy, well, it wouldn’t leave you any time to think. To notice. I’m sorry for that.” She gives me an apologetic smile. “I can’t even remember why it was so important to keep you in the dark.”
I smooth hair away from her face so I can see her and am alarmed when some comes off in my hand. “Your hair is a mess.”
She gives me a tired smile, and I notice she’s breathing heavy. “I need your help now, friend.”
I hug her close. “Anything.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Help me up, would you?” I notice the way she holds her bony hips and tries to scoot herself off the futon and jump up, laptop forgotten.
“Here.” I extend a helping hand.
She starts to say something else.
But I miss it. I’m too busy watching her face. The grimace of pain, the perspiration on her flushed face, she’s in agony. “Chloe, maybe you should wait a minute.” I’m hesitant, but she’s already pulling herself up.
She stands and then realizes. “Mason.” She bends down to get the laptop.
I take it from her. “I’ve got it. I’ve got him.”
“Lola...I feel like…I need…to sneeze.” Or something like that. It’s not the words, it’s the way she says them that makes my blood freeze in my veins. It sounds like she’s talking through a closed door. When it happens, I’m not ready for it.
She falls.
I reach for her, but I’m too slow. I can do nothing but watch as blood pours out of her nose, her mouth, everywhere. The space between us feels like a canyon. I can’t get to her quick enough. She crumples to the floor. “Chloe? Chloe!”
I’ve got 911 on the speaker as I try smacking both cheeks to get her to open her eyes. She’s too pale and cold. I keep one hand on her as I grab her favorite blanket and start tucking it in. Her eyes flutter and then…
“She’s choking!” I scream at the receiver. I turn her head to the side, and somehow she coughs up even more blood. It looks inky against her ashy skin.
“There’s too much blood!’
“Hang in there, Lola. They’re on the way, and you’re doing great. Is she breathing?” Thank God for the dispatcher, I don’t know what to do!
I move her hair out of the way. “It’s hard to tell. There’s too much…it’s everywhere!”
I hear the sirens and start screaming at the top of my lungs for help.
The dispatcher asks me to open the door, but I’m afraid to. If I let her go, if I turn my back for even a second…what if my touch is keeping her here?
“Tell them to kick the fucker down, I’m not leaving her!”
“Chloe,” I sob, rocking her head in my lap. I continue to scream for help until I feel hands on my shoulders.
I hand her to the first paramedic I see. “Please save her. I love her. I wasn’t listening! I wasn’t listening!” I beg them, anyone who will listen to me. I’m sobbing. I’m pushed out of the way. They’ve got more important things on their mind.
When the medic pushes the robe sleeve up, I have to look away. There are black and blue marks covering her bony arms. It looks like there’s not enough skin to cover all the bones.
An explanation rushes out of me. “That’s not anything she’s done to herself, she’s got...”
Fuck! I didn’t even ask her what kind of cancer she has, or if she told me, I don’t know. I can’t think.
On both arms, they poke her. Repeatedly. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t wince, no response. I look around.
“Is she breathing?” I shriek.
I feel a hand, and I shrug it off. Turning, I ask again. “Is she?”
An older fireman who looks like he dresses up as Santa every year nods. “Yes. What is she is on?”
I’m furious with him, my own intervent
ion attempt forgotten.
“She’s got cancer. Act accordingly.” I glare at him and the others working on her. They’ve cut her shirt off and are applying stickers to her chest. A war is waging inside of me. Cover her up! Save her! Chloe’s dying!
As I watch, a look of relief passes around the men, glad that the blood they’re covered in is not contagious. It softens my hard edge.
But it comes back when one of them says, “Hey, Captain. We got a DNR here.” It’s just quiet. Everyone’s moving slower. Where’s the sense of urgency? This is my constant on the floor. I don’t know what happened. A DNR?
“Help her, she’s dying.” I can’t stop crying.
The captain says, “Are you her next of kin?”
I nod, my tears dripping everywhere.
“She’s wearing a Medic Alert bracelet. Her last wishes. She doesn’t want to be saved.”
“What? What are you trying to tell me? If her heart stops, if she dies...?”
“You didn’t know about this?”
I shake my head. “She was acting different, not herself.” I mean to explain that we haven’t been as close as usual, but I can’t get the rest out.
“If you don’t have her written paper and you can’t verify that this is, in fact, her bracelet, as her next of kin, we’ll do whatever you ask.”
I drop to my knees and hold her big toe, the only place I can think of to put my hands that won’t be in their way. I defy the bracelet. And whisper. “Save her.”
He reassures me as best as he can. I mean, the evidence is right in front of me. She’s in bad shape.
“We’ll be taking her to Overton.”
I butt in. Central is on her bracelet. At least, I’ll listen to that much. “No, she needs to go to Central. Her doctors are there.”
He nods and leaves me to talk into a radio.
I watch as a paramedic shoves what look like tampons up each of her nostrils, and another one wraps her in a silver sleeping bag, hits something, and it inflates. “What’s that?” I ask, not sure what they’re doing to her.
He doesn’t turn to me, he just says, “She’s lost a lot of blood. This will help us get a blood pressure on her. It pushes all of her blood to her vital organs.” He stands, lifting a blue plastic board that I didn’t even know was under her, and elevates her legs, taking her toe away from me.
dots Page 20