Lumpy greyish egg salad, splat.
Lumpy greyish soup, splat.
Red gelatin bounced from its foam container, then broke apart, rupturing into glistening crimson shards and spotting the rest of the sallow mess, some of it hitting Pete. And Pete just stood there, a smorgasbord of splotches, blinking and holding that glove. He didn’t get why Jesse was so angry at him.
But Jesse wasn’t mad at Pete; Pete just represented all the things that Jesse was missing.
It would’ve been great if Jess had at least spoken. Screamed something, even. But he didn’t. Pete mumbled an apology for upsetting Jess and backed out of the room. Even though he wasn’t my favorite person, I felt bad for him. After that, none of Jess’s other friends were even allowed upstairs in the hospital.
Every afternoon I sat in that room with Jess, from four o’clock until a little after eight, when they threw me out. On weekends I was there from ten on. Every day I tried and tried to get through a brick wall. Inside, I felt the panic rising. A nightmare—it had to be a nightmare.
But it wasn’t.
Jesse stared at the specks in the foam white ceiling while I did frenzied, internal flips. How can he give up? Jesse always wins. He succeeds at everything he tries.
He just has to fight.
He can beat this.
We can beat this.
If he would just come back and fight.
When Jess was released, when he came home to his new hospital bed, he finally started speaking to me again. But he was different. Distant. Lost.
He was nice to me, at least. Not sarcastic like he got with Gwen. He wanted me to stay with him. I needed to stay with him. But he made it clear he didn’t want to talk about hope. He wanted me to zip up, not say a word on the subject. Then he settled into the muck of submission, burying himself in the mud.
And I cried myself to sleep every night.
Chapter Five
“Hey Samantha, you awake?”
“Kind of.” I’d been dozing off into a hazy sleep.
Jess’s voice came out of the dark, like from nowhere. “Do you believe in heaven?”
I propped myself up with my elbows and thought. It was a hard question; I didn’t believe in pearly gates and a guy with a beard. But there has to be something. Doesn’t there?
“I guess.”
“Don’t guess. Yes or no.”
“Yes.” Like I’d say no, anyway.
“Aww, you wouldn’t say no, anyway.”
I reached for the lamp and clicked it on. My elbow brushed the picture frame next to it, and I glanced at the distorted people behind fractured plastic. “Why’d you ask then?”
He was facing the wall. “I don’t know … just to make conversation.”
“Can’t sleep?”
“Not so much.”
“How ’bout you turn around?”
He didn’t answer.
“Jess?”
Nothing again.
I flipped the covers off and went over to his side of the room. “I refuse to speak to your back.”
He moved on to his back, slowly. His face was red and blotchy.
I touched his cheek, rubbing away moisture. “Jess, it’s okay to cry.”
“Two nights in a row. You must think …”
In world history we’d learned about cups the ancient Hebrews used to save their tears. The fuller the tear cup, the higher the person was esteemed. I’d have to remind Jess about the sacramental tears when he was up for a conversation.
For now I said, “I think you need a friend.”
I leaned over the bar and took him in my arms. My best friend.
My best friend.
***
“Time to wake up, my young friends.”
I heard the swoosh of the curtains parting and felt the sun shine on me, even with my eyes shut. I opened them and Maria was swiping Jesse’s trophies with a green feather duster.
“I need to clean dis room,” she said in her Spanish accent. “It is sty.”
Not that I could see, but then again, Maria had high standards.
As usual, Maria was immaculate. Her charcoal hair was pulled back and piled into a bun, with not a hair out of place. Her uniform, also grey, was crisp and spotless.
“Maria, “Jesse said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you to take those trophies away. Can you stick them in the closet or something?”
“Why you wanna do that? You gotta be proud!”
“Must you argue about everything?” he asked with a groan.
But he was only kidding. Maria was more of a mom to him than Gwen. She’d always taken care of him. She’d given us our baths, and it was she who’d pushed the stroller the day I met Jess.
“Yes, I do gotta argue about ev’ythin’,” she said, hands on her hips. “And why doncha get outta dis bed and go outside?” She gave him a poke with the feather duster.
“I got out of bed yesterday.” He folded his arms. Stubborn, I tell you.
“Today’s not yesaday.” True enough. “You gonna get out by youself or am I gonna make you get out?” She poised her duster threateningly.
“Okay, okay.” He pushed back his sheets, lowered his bar, and slowly swung his legs down. “Ow,” he winced.
I jumped up. “You need help, Jess?”
“Let ’im try by hisself, Sammy. It’s betta dat way.” She gave me a wink and turned to him. “Unless you wan’ da wheelchair?”
“No chair.” He hated that thing. And Gwen had to park it right in front of him. Bitch.
“You go for walk wit’ Sammy.”
“C’mon, Maria. I can’t.”
“You gonna go for walk, or she pushes you,” Maria said, pointing at him with the duster. “Wheech one?”
“I’ll walk.” He rolled his eyes.
“Dat’s betta. I go getch you medicine, den you two eat nice breakfast, den you walk.” She strode to the door, still brandishing her duster. She gave it one final jab toward Jesse. “And don’ let me fin’ out you sat in da lobby or anytin’ like dat.”
“Sam,” he started the minute she left.
“Don’t ask me to lie for you,” I warned, pointing my finger. “You gonna go for walk.”
His mouth crinkled into a smile.
Jesse could walk, at least on good days. It was just that he looked kind of bizarre doing it; he’d lost some of his muscle control and couldn’t coordinate his movements. His body veered.
We were outside maybe five minutes when he swung his arm around my shoulder for support. He couldn’t stand it—not being in command of his own body.
He didn’t say anything, and neither did I. We just hobbled along the sidewalk next to the park. A typical Sunday in New York City. Loud. Horns honking, radios blasting, people yakking on their cells as they hurried to who knew where. There’s no days of rest in New York City. There’s just hectic and frenzied; that’s it.
Inside the park it would have been quieter, but Jess never wanted to go in there; I didn’t even ask. Jesse didn’t want to be around the people in the park—playing, lounging, or whatever they were doing. They reminded him of what he was losing.
But more than that, the park itself represented what Jesse was losing. He’d grown up there. From the swings to the ball field, the park was Jesse’s life. And he’d turned his back on life, on hope. It was easier for him to avoid it. Acceptance was his pain pill.
But it wasn’t a pill I could swallow.
We moved slowly, probably looking like lovers. He in denim, me in a Windbreaker. Finally we sat on a bench. Jesse hadn’t eaten much of his French toast—he’d just shoved it around his plate; so I got us a couple of hot dogs from a cart and we sat on a bench outside the park wall. Jess stared at the food in his hand.
“So about that heaven thing,” he said. “Do you think we go somewhere, or is this the end of the road?”
It was so hard to talk about this, especially in the harsh daylight, without the veil of shadows.
“I think we go somewhere,”
I said. “I just don’t know where. Maybe we come back, like in that movie Dead Again.” We’d watched it about a year ago, with my mom. It’s about a husband accused of killing his wife, then being executed for it. They’re both reincarnated, find each other again, and uncover the truth behind the murder.
He shifted, creaking the wooden bench; we were silent for a while, watching traffic go by. I was more than halfway done with my hot dog, but he hadn’t even started on his.
“Will you keep my ashes?” he asked.
“Huh?” I almost choked midchew. What a question.
Jesse sucked some sauerkraut off the top of his hot dog and asked again. “Will you keep my ashes?”
I swallowed the rest of my bite. “I didn’t even know you wanted to be cremated,” I said softly. I set the rest of my food down on the edge of the bench.
“I just decided.” He chewed a bite and swallowed. “I don’t like the idea of worms and stuff crawling all through me.”
I felt a chill and zippered my jacket.
“Well?”
I looked at him blankly. He had ketchup on his lip. I wiped it and then licked my finger clean.
“Hello? Are you gonna answer me?”
I didn’t want to picture Jesse in a jar. “Yeah,” I said. “Of course—if Gwen lets me.”
“I’m gonna make a will. I’m gonna leave my ashes to you.”
I patted his leg. “Jess, you’re only seventeen. I don’t think it’ll be legal.”
He gave me an intense look. “Then I’ll have to make it to eighteen.” He stuffed the rest of his hot dog into his mouth. When he finished chewing he put his arm around me. “’Cause I’m not sitting on Mom’s mantle while she serves coffee and cake to her dates.”
We sat silently on the bench for a while, listening to the sounds of the city and breathing in its scents while our food settled into our stomachs. Two boys in green and yellow baseball uniforms passed us, springing down the sidewalk in front of their chatting moms. The boys looked a little older than Teddy. One of them vaulted to the sidewalk corner and called to the other to catch. He arced his arm back to pitch, causing several nearby pedestrians to halt, ready to duck. Both mothers broke in, chirping out a simultaneous, “No!”
“Don’t let Mom chuck my stuff, okay?” Jess said softly, slipping his fingers into mine. I guessed the boys made him think of his baseball days, and his gear.
“Gwen wouldn’t throw your trophies out.”
“I’m not talking about just them. I’m talking about all my … stuff—” He stumbled on that last word. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Everything in my room.”
Thinking of Jess’s room without Jess in it sucked. I didn’t say anything, just squeezed my fingers into his. He didn’t need me to answer; he just needed me to listen.
“That’s all that’s gonna be left of me, Sam.” His voice was barely there. It was soft and light, a feather disappearing with the wind.
“Oh, Jess,” I said, pulling him tight against me. His heart was beating so hard through that denim. “That’s not true.”
“It … is …” He was speaking through phlegm.
My fingers smoothed over his shoulder blades and back, skimming over rough, thick fabric as my mind worked. I knew what I wanted to say, but I wasn’t sure how to say it. “Your things don’t make you, Jess,” I whispered into his ear. “All the stuff in your room, it doesn’t add up to you. It’s only … stuff.”
“So … I’ll just be … gone?”
“No, no.” I pressed my hand into his back, willing strength into him. “Whether there’s reincarnation or not, you’ll be here. You’ll be with me, in my heart. As long as I live, so will you.”
I held him for a while. Finally he pulled back and looked into my eyes. I know it was an effort for him to do it because his eyes were so, so scared. “Do you … really believe that?” he asked, his voice quavering still.
I stared back without blinking. “I do.”
***
“How was school today?” Mom asked on Monday afternoon. I was heading into my room to do my homework. That was the deal. Homework at home, and then I could leave.
“Fine.”
“You sure about that?” Mom looked pissed; very un-Mom-like.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You sure you were in school today?”
Shit. “How’d you find out?”
“The school called. You’ve been absent quite a bit, it seems.” She crossed her arms. “I’m waiting for an explanation here, Samantha.”
I threw my knapsack down and fell back against the wall. “I meet Jesse at the hospital when he gets his treatments. Gwen never goes with him; he needs me, Mom.”
Mom still looked pissed. “I know that, Sam, but you need to think about your future. You can’t skip school and still pass. What’s going to happen to you?”
“I’ll get by.”
“You’re not getting by! Mr. Hensley said you’re failing math and English. English!” That really pissed her off, her being a writer and all, even if it was ultra corny writing. Her arms waved in my face. “He said if you don’t go to summer school, you’ll be left back.”
“Then I’ll be left back.”
“You went from being an honors student in tenth grade to flunking the eleventh grade. You’re destroying your life!” Tears were streaming down her face. I hated giving her more crap; I really did.
“Mom, take it easy.” It was so weird, this whole scene. It felt like there was a barrier between us—an invisible wall. “It’ll all work out. I’ll fix my life someday. I promise.”
Her face was streaked and she sniffled, all stuffed up. I fingered through my pocket and pulled out a crumpled tissue for her nose.
She made a trumpeting sound when she blew. It would’ve been funny some other time. “Will you?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“Will you fix your life?”
“Eventually.”
Chapter Six
There was this whole other problem, on top of everything else.
Jesse didn’t want to die a virgin. He never came out and said it, but I knew.
He’d done some stuff with lots of girls, but he’d never done that. I think it was my fault; I told him it wasn’t right to take a girl’s virginity if he didn’t love her. I’d asked him what he’d think if some guy did that to me? So, now that I’d blown his chances, I had to do something about it.
I thought about getting him a hooker, but where would I get one? From down on Tenth Avenue? I didn’t want to go down there alone, and I heard most of them were guys anyway. Poor Jess. Imagine if I brought him a guy by accident!
I could call an escort service from the ads in The Village Voice. I heard some of them were hookers. But which ones? And would a hooker come if we were minors? What if Gwen came home while she was there? And what if the hooker gave him some disease? I mean, he’s dying and all, but suppose they came up with a cure for his cancer, but she gave him AIDS? I heard you could get it even with a condom sometimes.
In the end, I realized it was much easier and safer to just do it myself, give myself to him.
He didn’t ask me; it was my idea. And it surprised the heck out of him.
It was the middle of the night when I climbed into his bed. I’d woken up, and something told me it was the right time. He hadn’t had chemo for two weeks, so he’d been feeling stronger. He’d had a really good few days; he’d walked outside with me again, and he hadn’t barfed at all.
The room was pitch black, and on the way over I tripped on the wheelchair; he didn’t wake up, though. I unbuttoned my pajamas, slipped them off, and hoisted myself over the rail. I gasped when my butt touched the metal, but he still didn’t wake up. The room was the temperature of a meat locker, and goose bumps ran up my arms and legs. I shoved myself under the covers and shook him.
“Jess?”
“Huh?” he grunted.
“Jess, wake up.”
He squinted at me through one eye.
“What? Why are you in my bed?”
“I want to give you something.”
“What do you want to give me, at this hour”—he turned his head and looked at the glowing red numbers on his alarm clock—“one fifty-two in the goddamn morning?”
I lowered the comforter; he sucked in a breath of shock. “Have you lost your mind?”
“It’s okay. We love each other, don’t we?”
“Not that way. And you’re like, my little sister, for God’s sake.”
“I’m two weeks older than you,” I said. It was true; we were both born in December. I was a grade behind because my parents started me in school a year later than his had.
He smiled—he couldn’t help it. “Well, you’re still like my sister.”
“I’m not your sister,” I said, touching him. “I’m just the girl next door.”
He removed my hand. “I can’t move around like I used to… .”
I kissed his lips. “I’ll do the moving for you.”
He gave me a little shove. “Sam, I can’t do this.”
“I told you, it’s okay. I want you to.”
“No, I mean I really can’t do this.”
I touched him again. “I beg to differ.”
He traced his fingers across my arm, pushing the hairs back down. “You’re freezing. Put your top back on.”
“I’ll be okay. I want you to have the full effect.” I reached over and turned on his lamp.
He laughed. It was so great to hear him laugh.
Sitting there all exposed was pretty freaky, though. I felt so vulnerable, so—naked. I was glad it was Jess; I don’t think it could have been anyone else.
I sat on his lap. He moved himself forward. I touched his sweet face. Perfect, except for one thing. “Do me a favor? Lose the hat.”
The Girl Next Door Page 3