by Shari Arnold
My nurse checks in to help me to the bathroom — no catheter for me. Later she brings me chocolate pudding and applesauce (which my dad eats once I’ve convinced him I’m not hungry).
My eyes grow heavy soon after, but I’m too upset to sleep. I can’t seem to work out the details. I keep seeing Sheila’s confused expression and hearing the words, “Who’s Meyer?” None of it makes sense. And when I asked my mother if Sheila spent any time in the hospital last month she immediately called the doctor in who shines a light into my eyes and asks a bunch of questions to make sure that I’m not completely insane. A part of me wonders whether I do have brain damage — did something actually happen to my brain during the seizure? Wouldn’t the doctor know that? It’s not like they haven’t done enough tests. The only rational conclusion I can come to is that Neverland really was a dream.
But then how do I explain the depth of my memories? How do I explain the ache I feel when I think of it? How do I explain Meyer?
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
It takes another two days before both Dr. Garrett and Dr. Lerner determine that neither my brain nor my body is needed further. After many more tests they finally make it official and tell me I’m allowed to go home. Dr. Lerner tells me that because of my week-long sleep, I won’t have to worry about any sort of recovery due to the bone marrow surgery. He says to take it easy just in case, and Dr. Garrett agrees. Luckily my mom isn’t present to hear this bit of news otherwise I’d probably be confined to my bed for the rest of the year.
I’ve stopped asking questions about the events leading up to my surgery. After overhearing a conversation between my mom and Sheila, I realized it was better to work the mystery out on my own. I mean, yeah, it’s great to see them coming together over something, but I’d rather it didn’t involve questions regarding my sanity.
I drop by the PICU on my way out but Jilly’s visitation level is still listed as family-only, so the only thing I can do is leave a message for her grandma. It’s killing me that I’m not in there with her, but at the very least I want Jilly to know that I’m okay.
My parents help me climb into the car like I’m an invalid, and I let them because I do feel somewhat wobbly. Now that we’re on our way home they appear nervous, as though they’re afraid that once we’re all back to the apartment things will just return to how they were before I slipped into a coma. Truth is, so am I.
“So, how’s the election coming?” I ask when the silence in the car becomes unbearable. I’m scrolling through my phone, searching again and again through all of my saved numbers, but I can’t seem to find any that belong to Meyer’s friends. How is that possible? I saved them all. I know for a fact I didn’t delete them. And yet they’re nowhere, not even in my call log.
“Well, that’s the thing,” my mother begins, shifting in her seat so that she can look back at me. “I dropped out, Livy.”
I nearly drop my phone. “What?” I reach over and carefully place my phone on the seat next to me. “You did what?”
“I dropped out,” she says with a smile, like she’s telling me about a new shade of paint she wants to try in the bathroom.
“But… how is that even possible? The election was only a few days away.”
“Yes, it was,” she says spinning back around in her seat. “And because I dropped out, the spot automatically went to Curtis.”
Curtis Brunning is the man who lost to my mother last time, but was determined to win it this year.
“But…wait…I mean, but it’s Curtis!” I can’t even count how many times my mother has rolled her eyes after saying Curtis’s name. I wonder if that’s why she turned around, so that I wouldn’t see how much saying his name affects her. “Are you really okay with that?”
“I’m very okay with it, Livy. I’m more than okay with it.”
“O-kay.” My heart suddenly feels heavy. I can’t tell if it’s guilt weighing it down or remorse. “But why?”
“Believe me, I’m actually enjoying my time off. Government jobs are so draining. It took your seizure— well, it took me a while to realize this, but now that I have, I’m very happy with my decision.”
My mother spins around in her seat to smile at me again, and I want to believe her. I really do, but it’s about as believable as a boy who can fly.
“One of my favorite things to do when I was younger was cloud gazing,” she continues. “Your father and I used to go to the park. He would sketch the buildings around us and I would stare up at the sky, and daydream.”
I stare at my mom, not quite seeing this version of her in my head. I’ve never known my mom to not be busy. I honestly can’t imagine her sitting still for longer than a minute or two, especially in the grass. She’d get her clothes dirty.
“Once you came along I was too afraid to take my eyes off you and cloud gazing became something of the past.”
“So you dropped out of the election to cloud gaze?” I’m sorry. I’m just not buying it.
“In a way,” she says, all mysterious-like. “I guess I just want the option.”
“Well,” I say, waiting for more, but not getting it. “If you’re sure…I mean, you can always—”
“I’m very sure.” She reaches back and squeezes my hand. Once she’s spun back around in her seat, I watch her fingers tap tap tap against her knee.
I open my mouth to argue a bit more and then close it with a snap. With my father out of the house and my mother rethinking her life, it feels wrong to be the one to pop this shiny bubble around us. I don’t know how long my mom can stay not busy, but I guess some time off can’t hurt her.
Our apartment looks the same: clean to the point of appearing barely lived in. We all step off the elevator as though there’s a monster lurking somewhere inside.
“I changed your sheets and washed them,” my mother says once we’re in the kitchen.
“Thanks,” I say, hovering near the hall.
To get to my room I have to pass Jenna’s. I wait for my mom and dad to move on to their opposite sides of the apartment, but they don’t. They’re still together in the kitchen when I make my way down the hall. I stop for a moment outside Jenna’s door and listen as they talk in muted voices. Maybe worrying about me is a reminder that they still have some things in common. Or maybe my slipping into a coma reminded them that I still exist.
After a brief moment of hesitation I slowly open Jenna’s bedroom door. I don’t know what I expect to find in here, but it’s all still the same: pink walls, pink bedspread with pink and purple pillows. Our homemade version of heaven still hangs from her ceiling; the marshmallows are also still pink. I move to her bed and sit down, noticing how it still smells like Jenna in here. Strawberries and bubblegum, her favorites.
I’ve thought of this moment since this morning when I knew I would definitely be coming home today. I imagined myself sitting here, looking at all her things. I truly believed I’d feel different. I’d hoped to feel peaceful. Now that I know where she is, and that she’s more than fine, I really believed I’d be more okay with her being gone.
But I’m not. Now that I’ve said my goodbye she feels even further away than before.
Back in my room I lie down on my bed and think about all that has happened since the last time I was home. But mostly I think about Meyer. I don’t understand how Sheila could forget him or how I could lose all those phone numbers. It’s as though he doesn’t exist. Or never existed.
Is it possible I really did just dream it all? Was I so out of mind with worry for Jilly that I imagined a boy in the stairwell? A boy who could fly? Could Neverland be a drug and coma-induced dream? I know if I tried to tell anyone about it they would have me back in the hospital, perhaps even in the psych ward. They would think it was some kind of hallucination or side effect of the seizure.
But what about Meyer? Could all of it have been a dream?
I close my eyes and remember Neverland. I focus on the details and the colors, allowing myself to feel everything I felt when I was t
here: the happiness of the children, the joy at seeing Jenna again. With my eyes closed I think about Meyer and the kiss we shared. I can almost feel his touch, firm and then frenzied. I let myself remember how I felt just before I left and the sadness washes over me. It’s just not possible that I imagined it. The feelings are too intense — too real — to be a dream.
I open my eyes and stare out the window at the Space Needle. It is hovering above us all, half in and half out of very diluted sunlight as the rainy mist of Seattle attempts to cover it completely.
At some point my mother comes in and checks on me. It’s well past late afternoon, and I pretend to be sleeping. I’m too wrapped up in my thoughts to chat with anyone. I just want to be alone.
When she leaves, she closes my door, and that’s when I notice it. Jenna’s painting. It’s hanging on the back of my door, like it’s always been there — its own little hiding place from everyone but me.
I sit up and blink at it a few times, convinced that it’s a flashback of some sort. That I’m imagining it. And then I get up off my bed, and cross my room to touch it.
How did it get here? Did Meyer send it? Did he deliver it himself?
My fingertips brush against the cool glass protecting the painting, and then slide over the rough texture of the gold frame that holds it all in place. It is real. It feels real. And somehow, it’s mine now. Meyer has not only given me a part of Jenna, something that meant a lot to him, but he’s given me the answer to all the questions I’ve been struggling with since I got back. Neverland is real. It wasn’t just a dream, I was there. I did spend time with Jenna and the other children. And I did meet a boy who could fly.
I sit on my floor and stare up at the picture. I’m so overwhelmed by the sight of it I feel as though I’m floating.
About an hour later I get up and open my closet. I flip through my clothes until I find it: Meyer’s dark green sweatshirt. I slip it on over my head. It still smells like him. Like fall.
I curl up on my bed, making sure that I can see Jenna’s painting. I don’t close my eyes, I don’t need to, Meyer’s face is more than a memory to me. What does he mean by giving me this gift? What did he mean when he said back in Neverland that I might be right about everything? What didn’t he tell me? I wish I could have had just a few more minutes in Neverland. Even though those few minutes would never have been enough.
“Thank you,” I say out loud, hoping that he can hear me. “Thank you for this.” And of course there is no reply. He’s not here. I may never even see him again. But he’s thought of me, and sent me something of his to share. A bit of proof that everything I feel is real. A reminder of Jenna. Where she is, and how she is now. A simple reminder of the things I love.
Around dinnertime I get a text from Jilly’s grandma. She’s finally been given my message and she wants me to know she’s cleared me to visit.
Come now, she writes me. As soon as you can. And I don’t even bother to respond. I just leave.
I make it to the hospital in record time but it still feels like a lifetime has passed before I arrive on the second floor. Jilly’s grandma is waiting for me at the nurse’s station. Her hair is tied back at her neck and she looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks.
“She’s sleeping right now,” she tells me, “but you should go in. She’s been asking for you.”
“How is she? How did the surgery go?” I’m holding her hand while we hurry down the hallway. I’m not sure why we’re rushing, but we are.
“It went very well at first,” she says, and then her eyes well up.
No.
No. No. No. NO.
“And she was recovering great. That’s what they kept telling me.”
We stop outside room 2332 and Jilly’s grandma clutches my hands in hers.
“It was just yesterday that everything began to change.” Her eyes spill over and she completely breaks down. Her sobs are heavy, like she’s been holding them back, waiting for someone to share them with. “She looks so pale, my Jilly. Like she’s some other child.”
No.
I shake my head, not believing anything she’s telling me. This wasn’t supposed to be how it happened. She was supposed to get better. She was supposed to be okay. She promised, just like I promised. Before I went away.
“I need to see her!” I pull my hands free of hers and hurry to open the door.
“I’ll give you some time,” she calls after me. “But, Livy!”
“What?” My hand is on the door handle when I turn back around.
“She may not…” Her bottom lip begins to tremble and then she forces in a deep breath, digging deep for the last of her strength. “She may…
Be awake? Know I’m here? I keep myself from yelling at her to say what she needs to say and let me go, already.
“… not remember you.” And then she turns from me, moving back down the hallway.
I open the door slowly, my breathing so loud and heavy in my head and chest I feel like I’m thunder entering a church. The divider screen is pulled back, keeping the rest of the room concealed from anyone passing by in the hallway. I close the door softly behind me and then force myself to move beyond the screen.
There’s a man sitting on the side of Jilly’s bed, blocking her from my view. For a second I hesitate, wondering if this is some member of Jilly’s family I don’t know, someone here to say goodbye. But then he shifts slightly and I suck in a breath.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss at him. “Get away from her!”
James turns to me, his expression so serious and calm, I want to smack it right off.
“You can’t do this! Not to her! She was doing great! They told me.” I hurry toward the bed and pull at him, yanking at his arm, desperate to get him away from her. “You can’t do this. I won’t let you. You can’t take her!”
“Livy.”
James isn’t moving anywhere. He’s like a big solid wall that seems more permanent the more I push at it.
“Please, not her. Anyone but her.” My tears are spilling down my face, soaking the collar of my sweater. “I hate you for this! Please. Just leave her alone!”
“Livy.” James reaches up. His hand brushes against my cheek, turning my face so that I see Jilly for the first time. “Look at her,” he says.
A guttural cry escapes from me. I cover my mouth, holding back the emotion that threatens to follow. Jilly is lying on her back. She’s so still, her eyes open. She is looking at me, but not really seeing anything. She’s practically already gone. I collapse against the bed, and James reaches for me, holding me up. She looks so pale. Her grandma was right. She does look like someone else’s child. But she’s still Jilly. I can see it in her eyes.
“Is she…?” I can’t bring myself to say the word. I just keep staring at her. It appears she’s staring back. And then she blinks at me. Once. Then twice.
I whimper out loud, covering my mouth.
“Livy?” Her little voice is so faint. I lean closer and touch her face. “Livy,” she says again. “You came back.” She smiles at me, her eyes brightening in the dark room. “He told me you would.”
“Jilly,” I cry, not caring if I frighten her. I can’t keep it in any longer. Not when a minute ago I thought she was dead. Not when she’s now smiling at me.
“I missed you,” she tells me, reaching for my hand. “But he told me you’d come back. He promised.”
I glance back at James, waiting for an explanation, but he’s gone. It’s just Jilly and me now.
“Who?” I ask her. “Who told you I’d be back?” I’m wiping my tears away, but they’re happy tears. I don’t actually mind if they stick around. “Who are you talking about, Jilly?”
“You know who,” she says, smiling as though it’s a secret. “He told me you’d know.”
“Was it…?” I turn and take in the rest of the room, afraid that James could be lurking in the shadows. “Was it the man who was just here? The man who just visited you?”
“What man
?” she asks me with a hint of a frown. “There’s no man. Just you.”
“No, I mean, he was just here. He was sitting on the edge of your bed.”
Jilly stares at me a second longer and then she shakes her head. “He’s not a man, he’s a boy.” She giggles, her entire face lighting up. “And he has the most beautiful green eyes.”
I lean closer, squeezing her hand. My tears have stopped now. Her words have driven them away. “What did he say to you, Jilly? What did he tell you?”
She must sense how important my questions are, how important her answer is to me. She thinks about it for a moment and then with a rather serious expression she says, “He told me not to fall asleep. That I had to keep my eyes open.” Jilly sits up a bit, her movements shaky but determined. “And I stayed awake, Livy. I promise I did.”
“You did great,” I tell her, grinning. “You did better than great. You’re amazing.”
Jilly’s grandma comes in at this moment and stares down at her granddaughter not quite believing what she’s seeing. Jilly calls her name and reaches a hand out to her. There is much crying from Jilly’s grandmother and even more from some of the nurses when they enter the room and find that Jilly is now sitting up in her bed. They flutter around her, checking her vital signs. To them there is no explanation for this sudden change. As the minutes slip by, bringing more color to her cheeks, they just stare at her, disbelieving.
No one notices when I sneak out. They’re too astounded by the little girl who can’t stop smiling. I run toward the stairwell, hoping Meyer will be waiting there. I have to see him, but instead I just find James.
He’s waiting for me at the end of the hallway with his long black coat slung over his arm. And I know then. I know Meyer isn’t here anymore. I know in that moment I’m not meant to see him today.
“Thank you,” I say to James. “I don’t understand… but thank you. I really thought—”