My head spins as Mom gingerly tugs through wet tangles and blow-dries my hair. The noise sounds like I’m trapped in a jet engine, and it thunders through the muck in my head. A roll through my stomach has me covering my mouth and stumbling up to the bathroom. Darkest before the dawn? I hope the adage is right. I’m not sure how many more of these bouts I can take. I swear I just flushed down another pound of my body weight.
Wiping my eyes and mouth with the edge of my t-shirt, I sink down to rest against the bathtub. My head lolls forward, and I rub my forehead in frustration.
Mom watches, but keeps her distance so as not to hover. “Honey, why don’t you lie down? I’ll bring you some broth and crackers, or maybe we can play that alien hunting game.”
“That sounds like a grand idea except I can’t hold anything down, so save the broth and crackers. I don’t think my brain can handle strategic play. Can you bring the Yamaha on your way back instead?”
She closed-mouth smiles, and I can see her repressed joy at my request for my digital piano. Music has always filled the house. To have the sound swell and saturate the mood will help stabilize the days into some kind of normality.
THE NEXT MORNING, FEELING A shade better, I venture into the kitchen, interrupting a shushed conversation between Mom and Dad. They exchange shifty, guilty looks before making eye contact. It makes me halt my shuffling trek to the fridge. Ok, I’m worried.
“What?” I question slowly. Fear bubbles inside me. Perhaps they’ve spoken to Dr. Salavichne and have the latest test results already. Mom would be a mess of either happy or sad tears though, so that’s not it, right? What the hell?
Standing with both their backs to the sink, they again swap side glances, nudging each other. “Honey, you know we’re children of the 60’s right?” Dad asks.
One of my eyebrows arch up. “Uh…yeah.” I’m confused because this obviously has nothing to do with Salavichne. Now I’m really worried. They’re up to something. Maybe they’ve set up some bizarre homeopathic therapy or called in a voodoo doctor. My head swings left and right, checking around the kitchen for hissing baskets or apothecary paraphernalia. They continue exchanging conspiring looks filled with mirth. Hmmm…both eyebrows come together as my eyes narrow.
Mom whips out a zippered freezer storage bag from behind her back and unleashes an enormous smile.
My eyes widen. Holy shit! I can’t believe what she’s holding and point to the familiar dried greens. “Is that…?”
Dad rubs the back of his neck, and Mom shifts her stance. “They say it helps take the edge off,” she says, opening the plastic zipper bag and fingering some of the leafy buds.
I have not moved since entering the kitchen and ping pong my glances between them. “I’ve heard that,” I say with a slow, wary nod. These two are from another time. Heck, another planet, and they brought me an alien substance.
“Well, we just figured…umm…since we had it already…” Dad’s voice trails off as he pulls out a packet of small papers I’ve also seen before.
“Are you telling me to get high for my own good?” My voice shrills as I try to repress my combination of laughter and astonishment.
Mom and Dad let loose giggles that they are no longer able to suppress. Despite my upbringing, I’ve stayed away from drugs of any kind. They know I’m kind of a prude about things like that. I don’t smoke and hardly drink. But my parents on the other hand, are “nature lovers,” and I’m not naïve. As if I didn’t know my parents would go out to the barn and light up, or whatever they did when they smoked weed. The irony of the situation is hilarious. Not really.
Despite their encouragement, I don’t give in to parental pressure. I don’t feel that bad…yet. Shit, at least I have parent-approved options.
ON A GOOD NOTE, DR. Salavichne is right. The aftermath of the third treatment is not as severe. I still feel like ground up horseshit, though. He barked out laughter when I told him what my parents tried to pressure me into. And then he agreed with them. Whatever. When he calls the a few days later to deliver the test results, he says I don’t have to come back till mid-October unless I have any issues. Overjoyed with the news as I am, I still hold a precautionary doubt. He does give me news I didn’t expect, I’ve even been given permission to stray from my strict diet every so often. With this, I am practically doing backflips.
Eager to test this new allowance, I insist we stop at the nearest burger joint. Although I still can’t have fries or a milkshake and the bun has to be wheat, the freedom of having something I’ve been denied is urging me along. “I’m dying for a cheeseburger with everything on it,” I say.
I pull my lips back, cognizant of the words. Mom and Dad don’t say it, but I’m thinking the same thing. The hum of the engine filters through the afflicted silence in the car. Ok, wrong choice of words.
Instead of grilling me about it, Mom chimes in, “Ditto, kid. I’m going to get a double-stacker!” Her comment deflates the tension, ultimately blowing it off. Dad and I exchange unrestrained smiles. That hasn’t happened for quite some time.
After shouting our orders at the drive-thru speaker, we pull up to the window where our treasured meals await us. The burgers smell as fabulous as if they’re the overpriced kind at the finest New York bistro, even though they’re from the nearest greasy artery-buster we happen upon. My eyes are huge and my saliva glands are in overdrive. Sauce and burger juices drip down my hand as I scarf down the burger. Condiments drip down my face, down to the very last bite. For one tummy-bulging moment, I don’t have a care in the world.
Sadly, my joy is short lived. I barely make it out of the car and throw up every savory bite I took to my—and my parents’—disappointment.
“Too much, too fast.” Dad says rubbing my back as I shiver through convulsions and remaining heaves.
I could blame the poor quality of the food, but my parents do not seem to be having the same physical reaction as I do, so I know it’s not that. Damn.
Even though no one can see me behind the car, my face flushes hot with embarrassment. I’m thankful we went through the drive-thru instead of going in. Mom bites down on her lower lip as she tries to wipe the vomit from my sweatshirt. She’s not very good at concealing her efforts not to cry.
It’s a surreal moment. My family is wallowing in sorrow, and I realize we’ve been through this entire process with only flashes of momentary laughter. This is no way to live and, sure as shit, no way to survive. I decide not to hide from Desi anymore and to do everything possible to not drag my ass around the house. I’m not living my “not wasting time and live in the moment” philosophy; instead I’ve been living like I’m dying. Well, fuck that shit! I don’t care if I throw up a $100 steak dinner, I’m gonna eat every juice, dripping bite!
OCTOBER IS MY FAVORITE MONTh of the year. Not only do the leaves turn into amazing gorgeousness, the air is crisp with autumn and Halloween is around the corner. Not that it’s a holiday, but it might as well be in my eyes. The costumes, the children, the candy, the parties, all tickle me as if I were a child again. My parents are known for their Halloween Haunt and Howl Party. I talk them into not cancelling it on my behalf—I begged, actually. I want to feel normal, and their annual charity spook and ghoul party is part of normal.
Everyone in town knows why I’m back; small town gossip and all that. I get their sympathetic eyes as I peruse through the aisles of the grocery store and at the party store, while gathering last-minute supplies for the event. Some of my high school classmates still live in Arena. Running into them is awkward, to say the least. Not only was I an introvert, my parents were wealthy hippies. Even though they didn’t act like upper class snobs, some of my peers treated us like we were aliens from Mars. I was branded with the unearned reputation of being a standoffish rich bitch. I was also the “weirdo band geek.” To say Desi was my only friend is an accurate statement. She was wild and from the other side of the tracks, so we made for an odd looking pair walking down the halls. Some of our classmates wer
e not so kind back then to either Desi or myself. Bullies can suck it!
Now they approach me with kid gloves and plastered-on smiles that do nothing to hide the pity in their eyes while they try to engage in superficial conversations. Each time, I save myself by bringing up Desi and her big New York City modeling career. I talk about her with such pride and adoration, Mom says it lights me up and shuts them up. Doesn’t really matter what I was to them. I can’t hold onto the past and couldn’t care less how they treat me now. They aren’t part of my integral today and, sure as the sun rises, won’t be tomorrow. Many of them tell me they’ll see me tonight. My response? I give them tight, polite smiles and excuse myself. All of my seconds are presents, and I have better things to do than make fake niceties to people who don’t deserve that gift.
Back at Timeless, with the help of our ranch hands, we convert our barn into a spooky haunted barn. It is fully transformed with flying ghosts, huge multiple googly-eyed hairy spiders, and fake cobwebs that stretch garishly from beam to beam and corner to corner. I wanted to do a graveyard, but both my parents were adamantly against it. Go figure, eh? There are pumpkins in a variety of shapes and sizes in every nook and cranny along the walls. Some carved, some not, so the kids can partake in the fun by making their own spooky creations with markers and stickers. Even a big, cliché bobbing-for-apples barrel sits in the corner. I set up the last of the Kid’s Corner and admire my work. Building fond memories will be my lasting legacy.
A tug on my arm pulls me away from my self-gratuitous pat on the back. “You look tired, honey. Maybe you should get some rest before everyone gets here,” my mom says.
I don’t feel tired, I’m excited more than anything, but perhaps she’s right, so I agree with a nod. When I get to the kitchen, I catch my dad shoving something in his mouth. The look on his face is priceless. A yelp of laughter bursts from me seeing him busted with his eyes jutted and cheeks distended like a chipmunk. Mom scolded him earlier about picking out his favorite candies from the Trick ‘o’ Treat bowl. She had even bought him his own stash so he wouldn’t pick through the bowl.
“Mon’t tell Mom,” he says through nougat and chocolate slurps. I wink and give him the thumbs up.
“Going to lie down for a bit,” I say, heading up to my room.
Moving to me, he places an unchocolate-covered hand to my forehead. “Feelin’ all right? Think you should skip the party?” he says licking the chocolate evidence from the index finger and thumb of his other hand.
I sigh and run my thumb along the corner of his mouth to catch a chocolate glob of proof. “I’m fine. I just want to refuel before everyone gets here. Can’t be tuckered out for the Corn Maze, ya know.” I press a reassuring peck to his the cheek and continue to my room. My feet feel heavy, and by the time I reach the top of the stairs, my whole body seems to be sinking into the floorboards.
My bed looks too welcoming so I oblige and crawl under the blankets. A few minutes have gone by when there is a soft knock at my door. I hear movement in the hallway, and Mom’s voice filters through my hazy slumber. “Honey? You should get up if you want to start getting dressed.”
When I open my eyes, I am confused. The sun is gone and my room is cast in a cold darkness. I blink wearily, trying to untangle myself from sleep. “What time is it?” I rasp.
The door opens a crack. With the light spilling in from the hallway, it takes a moment for my squinting eyes to adjust.
“It’s a little past five, silly.”
Warmth rushes through me as my heart starts picking up speed, and my smile blossoms. I am instantly awake. Delighted, I leap off my bed and rush to embrace Desi. “What are you doing here? I thought you had that thing at Maxelle’s!” I palm her face and press a chaste kiss to her lips, then hug her again.
“The magazine can wait. This is your holiday, and I wasn’t going to miss it,” she says running her fingers through my thinning hair. “Have you been sleeping this whole time?” She’s breathing into my hair, and it is the most comforting thing I’ve ever felt.
Ignoring her, a tiny part of me is irritated. “I told you before, I don’t want you to put things off for me.” Despite my protests, she knows me better. I celebrate all holidays, but Halloween, Christmas, and birthdays are never-miss kinda things for me. And now we have an anniversary to add to the list.
She holds me tighter, which I hadn’t realized was possible. “I don’t know how many holidays we have left, and I’m not going to waste even one of them. We have yesterdays and now. This is your favorite, and I’ll be damned if I don’t celebrate it with you.”
She pulls her arms away and cups my face to see into my soul. “No more wasting time, remember?” Her eyes glisten with the light from the hallway. My heart must be made of some space age elastic material from God, because whenever I think it can’t take anymore, I feel the walls of it bulge with more love. So much that it pushes tears to my eyes every single time.
Her lips touch mine, and I’m lost in her. Nipping at her lips, I part her mouth with my tongue and silently tell her how much I love her. I can feel her heat as her hands grip my blouse, raising it above my lower back. Mine explore the inside of the back pockets of her designer jeans and bring her hip to hip. My heart pulls me, connecting to her. I’ve missed her so much it hurts. I can’t get enough of her scent. Tonight she smells like pumpkin spice, and it’s driving me nuts.
“Do we have time?” she whispers against my mouth through a smile.
“NO, YOU DON’T!” Mom yells from the hallway, and we both jump. “I’M NOT EAVESDROPPING, BUT YOU GUYS HAVE THIRTY MINUTES TO GET DRESSED AND GET YOUR ASSES DOWNSTAIRS!”
We both fall to the bed in uncontrollable giggling fits. “Ok, ok! Thanks, Mama Beth!” Desi chimes, wiping her eyes.
Mom’s voice fades away, but I can still hear her mumbling. “Can’t keep your hands off each other for five minutes. What is this youth coming to?”
The giggling fits take over again. Desi doubles over, and I’m holding my side as it begins to cramp up from laughter.
FOLKS IN ARENA HAVE THEIR suspicions about me, but no one knows about Desi. With her being a supermodel and former cheerleader, they believe the rumor rags and think she’s dating some pop music star. I don’t feel the need to exhibit our relationship and catch that kind of attention. However, Desi openly wraps her arm around my waist, kissing me whenever she can. I’m going to need a mop for all the drool coming out of the dropped jaws in the barn. She doesn’t care and says they can all go tip a cow. Between her mom’s drug overdose and her abusive father, who is currently serving a seventy-five year sentence for trafficking ecstasy over the Canadian border, the town has been buzzing about her since she was seventeen. Her skin is much thicker than mine. I can practically feel each pair of eyes on us and hear the wayward whispers. Pulling away from her, I feel all too conspicuous, and fade into the Kid’s Corner to hide.
A chilled breeze knifes through my Batgirl costume, sending a shiver through me. No one seems to mind, as the barn is filled to the brim with costumed townsfolk. The party is in full swing, and I see my dad toweling off his dripping hair, chomping on an apple. Smiling with a little wave, I take stock of my surroundings. My eyes warm with tears, but I blink them away, since I’m coloring a pumpkin with Mrs. Jenkins’ grandson. His little fingers are more colorful than the pumpkin he’s decorating. He smiles up at me, and then his face falls going ashen. Something strangely tepid runs from my nose. Before I can catch it, a bright red drop falls on my pumpkin and confuses me. I lift my hand to touch a slow flow of blood that is descending from my nose and cresting over my upper lip. Without warning the room tilts, and the pumpkin falls from my numb hand. I know I am falling, but I lose control over my left side and can’t seem to move either my arms or legs to stop it.
Desi is at my side in an instant. “Reggie! Reggie! Look at me, babe.”
I can hear her, but her voice is distant and muffled. White, flashing stars fill my vision. I panic when I can’t see her, o
nly the blinding white blossoms growing in size. My arm thrash to reach for her. “Dez?” Someone lifts me, and I am floating. Alarmed voices mix with the music, then fade to silence. Mom’s and Desi’s blurry faces hover above me, stricken with anguish. There is so much fear in their voices, but I can’t find my voice to calm them.
It’s a mystery how I got here, but I’m in the backseat of a car. I hear Mom screaming, “Answer Goddamnit!” as she tries to get a hold of Dr. Salavichne.
My sight comes and goes as the trees whiz by in a flurry, making my head spin more. Daddy is in the front driving like a bat escaping hell. The ride is rough, and I feel the pothole he hasn’t fixed yet. I yowl with the jar. Every pinprick rips through my body, elevating it to an excruciating twenty on that one to ten pain meter. When I cry out, someone grabs my hand. I feel warm wetness, and when I look, Desi is out-of-her-mind terrified. She’s dabbing my nose with a tissue, which is crimson-drenched.
“When did you take your meds?” Mom yells back to me.
My eyes flicker. Who put the weight on my eyelids? All I want to do is to close them and sleep. Why is she still yelling? I’m right here. My mind is muddled, and I can’t understand the question.
With more force, she repeats, “Regina, when did you take your meds?”
I think I’m talking, but no words come out of my mouth, so I shake my head.
Dad’s voice fills the car. “Desi, did you see her take her pills tonight?”
Desi stops her hysteria, but not her sobs. “She haa..sn’t taken any pills tonight and she…she hasn’t eaten anything eee..iii..ther,” she says through diced, blubbering breaths.
My Last Season With You Page 6