by Laura Wiess
He chuckled and shook his head. “Why does this not surprise me? All right, what’s the big plan? You’re going to run a blood drive for senior Greenpeacers on a Save the Whales ship while teaching English as a second language?”
“Oh, you’re a real wise guy today,” I said, giving him a look and going on to explain how my neighbors the Schoenmakers sort of ran an animal rescue sanctuary and Gran had Parkinson’s and not only did they need help caring for the rescue cats but Grandpa worked as a crossing guard to supplement their social security, which, as we all knew, was like a pittance compared to what they needed in real life just to afford her medication and all—
“Isn’t she in a nursing home?” he said, frowning slightly.
“No, and that’s the whole point,” I said quickly, because I knew it was against the rules for students to volunteer in private homes. “She doesn’t want to go into a nursing home, but they’ve used up the free day-care help from the church and all, and Grandpa is there with her every day except for the hours he needs to be a crossing guard, so—”
“Hanna,” he said.
“Oh, Mr. Sung, please, just listen outside the box for a minute, okay,” I said, giving him anxious spaniel eyes because I was not above using what I had to get what I needed, and besides, it always amused him whenever we tried to persuade him into supporting outlandish ideas. “They can’t hire babysitters because they have no money and they’ve already put in formal requests to all the high schools to be considered for the community service lists and were turned down but it isn’t fair.”
“Explain,” he said and sat back like he was ready to enjoy the show.
That was a very good sign.
“Well, if Gran was in a nursing home, then I could spend every single day there getting pinched by smelly old bald guys with waggly eyebrows and giant hairy moles, and breathing in every hideous geriatric germ known to mankind, and the school would still absolutely give its blessing, right?”
He covered his face and waved me on.
“But here’s someone in a private setting who isn’t a burden on society and who isn’t draining the system of resources…” I paused, waited until he looked at me again, and then gave him a knowing look because I was very proud of that phrase and wanted to make sure he caught it. “And so she gets told no, you’re not allowed to have any help because you won’t spend the rest of your life the way we think you should! That’s not fair.”
He glanced pointedly at the clock.
It was almost time for homeroom, so I gave it all I had. “I know this family, Mr. Sung. I’ve known them since I was born and I’ve been in their house a thousand times—who do you think lends me all those books you always see me reading? Gran, that’s who! Back when they had money she used to belong to maybe five book clubs, but now…” I sighed and shook my head. “Well, now she can’t even hold a book anymore—and how sad is that?—so Grandpa gets her audiobooks and she listens to them and they’re actually kind of boring now because she’s only getting these back-to-the-land biographies by old hippies…” I caught his amusement at my digression and rallied. “Anyway, it’s perfect. My parents are totally behind it, I can do my homework while I’m there with her, and they really, really need help. I mean, isn’t that the whole point of doing community service, anyway? Helping people who really need it and not just sitting around pushing papers or stuffing envelopes?” I sat up straight, nodded, and gave him my brightest smile. “So, what do you say? Will you go to bat for me on this? Please?”
Score.
There was more to it than that, of course—there always is whenever you have to ask permission for something—and Mr. Sung said he’d have to go out to the Schoenmakers’ to make sure they really did exist and it wasn’t actually something like Schoenmakers’ Billiard Parlor or Tanning Salon (he really is a wise guy) but it was as good as done.
I waited until I got the official nod and then told Sammi, who thought I was nuts for not going for the easy envelope-stuffing job at the local politician’s headquarters, and Seth, who just gave me a smug grin and said, “See? Now that wasn’t so bad, right?”
I felt like punching him and said so, and he laughed and kissed me.
I really do love him. I complain, but it really is great knowing he cares enough to look out for me.
Chapter 25
Hanna
I don’t know if I can do this.
Do my community service at Gran’s, I mean.
When I thought of it, I hadn’t been there in a while, so I didn’t know how bad it was, but oh my God, poor Gran is falling apart. I mean, she can’t even talk anymore.
I can’t think about it or I’ll start crying.
The place is a wreck. I mean, Grandpa is doing what he can, I guess, but there’s no way he can do it all. Just no way.
I mean, she can’t even talk.
And she scared me. This disease is scary. It’s like it’s taken her over and she’s totally out of control.
I came home, looked at my mother and burst into tears.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I cried.
“Tell you what?” she said quietly, leaning back against the kitchen counter and watching as I collapsed in a chair. “That poor Lon is going to work himself right into another heart attack if he didn’t get some help with Helen? That when you ask him how he’s doing and he says, ‘Well, it’s been hard sometimes,’ it’s the understatement of the century? That Helen will have this disease for years, Hanna, for the rest of her life, and the medication may slow the progression, but it’ll never cure it because there is no cure. Oh, sweetie.” She crossed the room and crouched beside me. “Tell me.”
So I did once I stopped crying…
The bus dropped me off in front of my house, but instead of going in, I headed around back and through the little woods to Gran’s. I had to walk fast because Grandpa had to get down to the grade school for his crossing guard job, so I followed the deer trail up toward the old farmhouse.
I felt pretty damn good at being so noble and doing something real for my service, something one-on-one, and as I passed the garden, I said hi to all the stray cats watching me warily and the bird feeders, which definitely needed filling. I skipped up onto the porch, knocked twice, and heard Grandpa call, “Come in!” I did, and oh my God, I was in the middle of saying, “Hi, your friendly neighborhood volunteer is—” when I saw Gran in a wheelchair by the window and Grandpa pulling on his crossing guard vest and checking for his wallet.
It’s a good thing he was in a rush, because I was so shocked by the sight of both of them, how small they had gotten and how old, that I don’t even know if I could have spoken.
“Her medication is wearing off, but there’s a church volunteer here with you today, so she can show you what to do,” he said, taking my hand and looking into my eyes. “You’re a lifesaver, Hanna. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t come to help. Now, I have to run.”
He left and I took a deep breath and slid my book bag off my shoulder, then went over and touched the woman in the chair whose arms and hands and feet were twitching and jerking. “Gran? Hi, it’s me, Hanna.” I waited because I knew she was moving slower, and she finally turned her head maybe an inch. I figured that meant she knew I was there, because after all, she wasn’t deaf, so I said, “Um, do you need anything?”
“She can’t talk,” someone said, and I turned and saw an older lady with sleek gray hair coming out of the kitchen and wiping her hands on an old striped dish towel. She glanced at it, wrinkled her nose slightly, and said, “Well, Lon says he can still understand her, but I believe that’s wishful thinking on his part.” She smiled and smoothed her hair. “She’s had some applesauce and I changed her diaper and she has a sippy cup full of water, and Lon says he’s been putting on one of those books on tape for her every afternoon and she listens to a couple of chapters, so if you don’t have any questions, then I’ll be off.”
“I…uh…” I didn’t like this lady, I didn’t
like how comfortable she was here or the way she said Grandpa’s name, like they were best friends or something, and I really didn’t like the way she told me she’d changed Gran’s diaper, because, oh my God, that wasn’t something I’d even thought of, and it was private and she just said it right out loud without even caring that Gran had heard her…but this lady was a grown-up, and once she left, it would just be me and Gran, and I honestly didn’t know if I could handle it.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she said briskly, picking up her purse and heading for the door. “Just be careful not to let her slide out of the chair and fall. Bye now.”
“Bye.” I waited until I saw her headlights sweep out of the driveway, then looked at Gran.
She looked back blank-faced, no expression, but her eyes, oh, they weren’t blank at all, they were full of sadness and fear and all the things I knew she was dying to say but couldn’t. I felt my own tears rising, and tamped them down fast, because who knew what would happen if she cried? Could she blow her nose, even if I held the tissue, or would she choke on it?
“Well, I’m glad she’s gone,” I said into the silence, watching her watch me, hands waving and jerking, body trembling, legs twisting and feet in spasms. It was bad, really bad and the longer it went on the more I wanted to beg her to stop, please stop, because my Gran would never scare me like this, would never leave me standing here in shock, lost, shaking and near tears without opening her arms and holding me safe. This gaunt, twisted old lady with the messy hair and stone face, this silent woman hunched over in the wheelchair was a stranger, someone I didn’t know, could never know…
And yet I did know her, I did, and so I sank down on the ottoman across from her and caught hold of one of her fluttering hands, surprised at how warm and soft it was. I kept it between mine, feeling it strain to fly free but I didn’t release her, only held her gaze and she held mine and I smiled, overwhelmed and said, “Did I ever tell you that I love you?” Her eyes filled with tears and I realized what I’d done and yelled, “Crap!” and jumped up, released her and grabbed a tissue. She blinked and two tears fell but she was still breathing okay so I said, “All right, let me put your book on and then don’t tell my mother or she’ll make me do it at home, too, but I think I’ll straighten up for you and maybe do some laundry.”
Grandpa had put their little old-fashioned stereo unit with a tape player and CD player right near her, and there were two CD cases next to it. One title was How It Ends: A Love Story and the other Country Home Blues, and that second CD was already in the player so I switched it on and half listened as the narrator started telling a story about maple syrup season in Vermont.
I made sure Gran was belted in okay, gave her some water from the sippy cup and waited until she swallowed each minuscule drop, found her ChapStick on the tray table, and put that on her too—and let me tell you, that was rough because her head wouldn’t hold still, so I ended up getting her on the cheek, then the chin, then the nose, and I didn’t want to laugh, but I did because it was so silly, a terrible situation but also an absurd one, and I think (I hope) I saw laughter in her eyes, too, but maybe it was wishful thinking because mostly I saw fear, and then nothing.
I kept an eye on her and listened to the book (which was kind of dull) while getting the cat food ready for the strays. I didn’t talk as I did it, figuring she wanted to hear the story, but when the chapter was over, I chatted some, nothing big, just the kind of stuff you say to fill a silence.
I finally put the TV on because there was only one chapter of Country Home Blues left and then only one audiobook left and I figured we’d need that for tomorrow, so I did homework waiting for Grandpa to return because I couldn’t put out the cat or deer food until there was somebody to stay with her.
And then I started thinking about that, about how if Grandpa wanted to, he could just put her in a nursing home tomorrow and there would be nothing she could do about it because she couldn’t talk, couldn’t e-mail or IM or protest, couldn’t even stand up and run away. She was trapped, totally and completely, and the more I watched her tremble and writhe, twist and sweat, my God she was sweating so bad, the more horrifying it got because it wasn’t ending. She couldn’t change it, couldn’t shake it off, stand up, and say, Whew, I’ve had about enough of that!
She couldn’t stop it. Ever.
And that freaked me out even more because that meant she would never bake me another carrot cake for my birthday or walk the back acres or tell me a story, crochet mittens or even get up to go to the bathroom or reach across the table for another biscuit at Thanksgiving.
This wasn’t an attack from someone else, someone who wanted your money and would beat your face in to get it; no, this was yourself attacking you from the inside out, and you could never escape yourself.
And that’s what I told my mother, sitting at the kitchen table, the words falling low and hoarse and still stunned because in a world where everything could be changed, could be bought, begged, borrowed, or stolen, it was too incredible to think that this could not.
I wanted to believe that if she just tried hard enough, she could stop it, if she just hoped hard enough, it would change and she could save herself but she just wasn’t trying hard enough…. But it wasn’t true.
She had no choice.
I tried to tell Seth about last night but when I got into the heart of it, when I said, “Can you imagine just waking up one day and not being able to talk and thinking, Oh, it’ll pass, but it never does and then realizing, Oh my God, whatever words I said last night were the last I’ll ever be able to say? What if they were nothing words like See you later or I washed your blue shirt or Don’t forget to set your alarm and all the things you figured you had plenty of time to say, all the questions and answers and things you were holding on to, just waiting for the right time to say them—”
“All right, already, I get it,” he said, holding up a hand and cutting me right off.
I looked at him, astonished.
“Come on, Hanna, it’s depressing and I don’t want to get depressed, I want to enjoy being with you,” he said, putting his arm around me but avoiding my gaze. “She can’t talk. I get the idea. Now, can we move on?”
And without waiting for me to answer, he did move on, talking about stuff like his work and how people couldn’t bowl for shit and some new song he was learning on his guitar while I sat there full of words and with no one to receive them.
I tried again later to tell him how it felt to see her helpless but he cut me off again, this time annoyed and was like, “What the hell? I already told you I didn’t want to talk about it; do I have to come right out and say I don’t give a shit? I mean I feel sorry for her, I do. She was a nice lady—”
“Was?” I said. “Seth, she isn’t dead.”
“Well, you know, maybe that’d be better,” he said, running a hand through his hair and avoiding my horrified look. “Would you want to live all fucked up like that? I wouldn’t.”
“Well, no, but it’s not that simple,” I said, groping for the words to explain how I felt. “Maybe it’s only bad from the outside, the part we can see, you know? Maybe inside, in her mind, she’s still okay with being able to see the yard and the deer and—”
“Yeah, okay, all right, Hanna, you’re getting a little too intense,” he said, leaning away from me and staring off across the courtyard. “I mean, I just want to be with you, okay? Have some fun, you know? Remember fun?” He glanced at me and smiled, put his arm around me and pulled me close. “I get what you’re saying, but there’s nothing you can do and it’s getting you all freaked out. Just keep your distance and do your time there and put it behind you when you leave.” He dropped a kiss on my head. “She’s old, you know? Shit happens.”
And we sat until the bell rang, with him smiling and joking with people going by and me smiling and wondering how I could love someone and he could love me, and I could still feel so alone.
Chapter 26
Hanna
> I went back to Gran’s to continue my community service because I had to.
When I got there Grandpa was distracted and running late again. He told me Gran was having a pretty good day, that she could still communicate but only sometimes, very slowly and by blinking—one for yes and two for no—only it didn’t always work, so I shouldn’t take the blinks for absolute truth.
He said he’d gotten a little baby food into her—baby food, oh God—and put the next audiobook in, too, but not to play more than a chapter or two a day because she would fall asleep somewhere in the middle and miss parts and she hated that.
He squeezed my hand and hobbled out. I took a deep breath and was going to try to be cheerful, but that would have been fake and I just couldn’t do it, so I just said to Gran in a shaky voice, “I hope you don’t mind but I’m not really in the mood to talk, so I’m just going to put on the tape. I hope that’s all right.”
I waited, watching her face, and there was one slow blink and if it was on purpose it meant yes, so I quick hugged her (and got whacked in the ear with an involuntary backhand for my trouble), then laid out my homework, started the next audiobook and sat down to work.
“How It Ends: A Love Story, by Louise Bell Closson,” the narrator said smoothly. Her voice was low and held an intriguing hint of intensity, and I looked at Gran, who sat listening all alone, and I thought about how many books we’d shared and talked about and so I put down my pencil and curled up in my chair next to her wheelchair.
“I would not willingly peel back the scar tissue protecting the deepest chambers of my heart and reveal the bruised hollows pooled with the blood of old wounds—the terror comes just thinking about it—but now, facing darkness, I am left with no choice. I love you, and because of that I am going to try and raise the dead.”