Where We Fell

by Amber L. Johnson

  “Who’s her dad?”

  “Darryl Hartwell. He works . . .”

  “I know where he works,” I say, a tight knot forming in my gut. Doctor Hartwell works at the same hospital I am going to be treated at.

  Hannah appears with our food, and leans her face close to mine as she slides my plate over. “Six pieces of bacon this time. Because Jordy said you needed to eat more.”

  “Jordy did not say that.” I place my napkin in my lap and give her a pointed look.

  “He wrote it on the ticket. Hand to God.” She places the receipt next to me and I can see ‘6’ scratched across it. With a chuckle, she moves away and attends to another table.

  “I like her,” my dad says as he sips his coffee and watches her walk back to the kitchen, and I have to duck my head to hide my smile. When we’re done eating, my mom excuses herself to the bathroom and my dad goes to the register to pay the check.

  Hannah appears and quickly sits down in their seats. “Still warm.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Look, I know you’re with your parents and all, but I wanted to let you know that if you’re ever bored and want to hang out – I’m open. Like, wide open. All of my friends went home for the summer, and literally, all I have to do is work here and then do practically nothing for the rest of the time.”

  I’m shocked, and I’m sure the look is apparent on my face, so I close my mouth and curl my lips around my teeth to give myself some time to think of an answer. I’ve had a girlfriend before, and I have a couple of female friends, but never, at any time, did any of them approach me so openly.

  I take a second to think of an acceptable activity she’d be interested in. I can’t deny that she’s someone I’d have wanted to get to know better under different circumstances. “My friend Terrence is having an end-of-school party at Flat Creek tomorrow night. It’ll be all of the kids from the private school, but it’s usually a good time.”

  Her whole face lights up. “A Westfield party? That sounds fun.” She digs into her apron and pulls out a piece of paper and pen, scratches her phone number across the sheet and slides it to me before jumping up and waving goodbye.

  Staring at the scrap of paper, I feel a rush of heat as my earlier intuition proves correct. Her ‘6’ matches the one from the order pad where she’d claimed Jordy had given me something extra. And it’s the first time I feel like maybe I’m getting into something I may not be able to see through to the end.

  3.

  I HAVEN’T TOLD TERRENCE anything about what’s going on. So he doesn’t even give me a second glance or pitying look when I walk up to the bonfire the following night. His dad is a bishop, too. Just a different kind. Which is probably why we became friends in the first place. Well, that and he was the one to help me learn how to knee board when I was nine.

  He’s sitting on a log, his black hair cropped on the sides and puffing straight up in the middle. It’s a miniature mohawk, his first show of rebellion. The second would be the can of Bud in his left hand. His right arm is securing his girlfriend to his lap. Kayleigh has the same shade of hair as Terrence, but her porcelain skin stands out against his dark complexion. She is his third act. The one that sets his parents off more than anything. She’s the antithesis of the church. She’s the thing he lives for.

  Kayleigh spots me just beyond the flames and waves frantically. The glow of the fire bounces off the collection of piercings in both of her ears. Her short hair exposes them all, and her blood red lipstick makes her even more obvious in the crowd. She jumps to her feet, which brings her almost to my eye level. Terrence and I are about the same height, and he swears that dating a tall girl is amazing. But I kinda like girls that can fit under my chin when we hug. Just my opinion, though. And it doesn’t much count since I’ve only had one girlfriend . . . who happened to be one of Kayleigh’s best friends. A quick scan of the crowd affirms that, much to my relief, Rebecca isn’t at this party.

  “Hey.” She hugs me around my middle and I pat her on the back in response. “I heard you caused a scene at your graduation.”

  Kayleigh is homeschooled, but somehow she still hears every last piece of gossip in the area.

  “I just didn’t run from the rain. How was that a scene?”

  She smiles at me, her feet digging deeper into the sand as she does. “Your mom was pissed?”

  “I ruined my diploma.”

  “No!” She fakes tears. “All that hard work. All of those hours in public school. What will you put on your bedroom wall now?”

  Terrence pulls her back into his lap. “Leave him alone. He survived public school. That’s something to celebrate.”

  The crowd around us agrees and someone passes me a Bud, while hands lift in the air for a toast. I can barely hear what they're saying over the music but I nod and cheer with them, never opening my beer. We stand around for a bit, making small talk, watching people drink too much. I check my phone for the tenth time to see if I’ve missed any calls. There are no calls or texts, and my heart drops a little in my chest. I’d only sent Hannah one message to give her my number and let her know what time the party started.

  She’d responded with a bunch of emojis.

  The fire is too hot, so I wander down to the edge of the lake, staring out over the water. The moon is low and yellow in the distance, and I take a minute to just stare at it. Sometimes I feel so small and insignificant when I look at the moon. It reminds me that there are bigger things than me out there.

  A dusting of dirt hits the back of my ankles and I turn to see Hannah kicking her toes in front of her, her shoes in one hand, a plate in the other. “There you are. I had to ask a million people where you were. And one girl was not happy to give me answers.”

  “Which one?”

  “Tall. Skinny. Dark hair. Red lips. Lots of holes.”

  “That’s Kayleigh.”

  “Hmm. I don’t think we’re gonna be making friendship bracelets any time soon.” She shuffles backward until she plants herself on the lower portion of a stack of rocks. “I brought a snack. Jordy made them especially for me. Us. Well, they’re for me but clearly I’m bringing them to share, because why else would I walk across five miles of this with a plate in my hand?”

  “More Jesus pie?”

  “Ha! No. Rice Krispy treats with butterscotch chips.” She unwraps the plate and holds them up for me to inspect in the darkness. “Sorry, no bacon. We’re sharing this, and while I respect your decision to eat little, hairy pigs . . .”

  I sit next to her and hold my hand out for a piece of dessert. “You don’t eat meat?”

  “I went vegetarian a couple years ago. The health benefits are amazing. I don’t have the willpower to be vegan yet. But we’ll see. It makes cooking a challenge. I like that.” She bites into the treat and hums happily. “It’s been proven that a plant based diet can cure so many illnesses.” There’s a pause before she adds, “Even cancer.”

  My hand drops to my lap and I stare at the square that I was about to eat.

  She chews and stares out at the same sky I was just looking at. “When do you start treatment?”

  “What?”

  Hannah regards me in the moonlight. “My dad’s an oncologist. Did you think I didn’t know?” She pulls another dessert off of the plate. “My cousin had lymphoma.” She hesitates and puts the plate down. Turning toward me, she reaches out and gently lays her hand on my knee. “It’s not always a death sentence, you know.”

  “Yeah, because instead of going to college, I’ll be going to radiation and chemotherapy. That’s a better alternative.” I haven’t spoken out loud about it – ever. And here she is, talking about it like it’s no big deal. There’s a part of me that feels violated, and I’m sure it goes against some sort of law that her father told her my business. I want to be angry. I want to be furious. But again, nothing comes except the resignation and numbness that I’ve become so accustomed to lately.

  We sit in silence while I concentrate on the feel of her palm against my leg. Fat
igue begins to set in so I lean back against the crooks and crags of the stones, closing my eyes to listen to the water. She moves her hand and the warmth is replaced by abrupt coolness, causing me to shiver.

  “Should we head back? Closer to the fire, I mean.”

  “No. I like it here.”

  “Okay.” She leans back, too, and I crack an eye open to look at her. She’s in jeans and a t-shirt, her dark hair is down and free, unlike when she works and it’s out of her face. The ends are curling from the ever present humidity. And I think this might be my favorite sight I’ve ever seen.

  Her mouth opens. “You should come to dinner at my house tomorrow night. I work the morning shift and my dad will be at the hospital until . . . who knows. It seems like he works seventy-two hours in a row sometimes. But he won’t be there. I’ll make you something delicious.” She opens her eyes and turns her face to mine. “And I promise I won’t spill anything on you.”

  I nod and we both turn our faces back toward the moon. Not saying another word.

  4.

  HER HOUSE IS ENORMOUS, and when I first pull up in the driveway, I hit the brakes a little too hard because I’m not sure I’m in the right place. But when I get the nerve to get out and knock on the door, she opens it within seconds. She’s barefoot, and wearing a grilling apron. Her toes are painted bright green.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? An invitation? Come inside already.”

  I follow her through a large marble entryway, a lushly decorated living room, the nicest kitchen I’ve ever seen, and onto the back patio where she has music playing and the grill covered in foil-wrapped . . . somethings.

  “I made a bunch of stuff because I wasn’t sure if you’d like anything and I’m not interested in taking you to get a BLT. So . . .” Her eyes are bright with mischief as she settles onto one of the deck chairs. “How was your day, dear?”

  “The usual,” I reply. “Saved the planet. All of humanity bowed at my feet.”

  She shakes her head. “I can picture you in your room, all huddled up in front of your television, lights out . . . eyes glued to the screen while you play video games. It saddens me. Really it does.” Her phone chimes and she bounds over to the grill to remove the food and place it on a metal sheet. “Follow me.”

  I obey because, really, what else am I going to do?

  “Do you need help?”

  “Me? No. But you do.”

  I rub my forehead and sit down at the table where she’s prepared a plate of steaming vegetables. “How do I need help?”

  “You need to live a little, Bishop.”

  “I’m living just fine.”

  “Fine.” She hands me a drink and sits across from me. “Fine is not a way to live. Fine is something you tell your mom when you want her to leave you alone. You deserve more than to just live a ‘fine’ life.”

  Leaning back into the chair, I push the food away from me. “Is this one of those things where you think you’re going to, like, let me live a little before I die and then you’ll feel really good about yourself and pat your own back at my funeral? Because you became friends with the cancer kid because of his cancer and . . .”

  She throws a fork at me, whizzing it past my ear, just missing my face. “I’m not friends with you because you have cancer. Or in spite of your cancer. You. Are. Not. Cancer. And cancer isn’t you. So don’t be self-righteous about it, and just let me serve you vegetables and bask in the ‘oh-so amazing’ ambience of your friendship, State Patrolman Bishop’s son, Oliver.”

  A laugh bubbles up inside of me, but my face has screwed up into something very unfunny. “You have no idea what this is like, okay? I don’t . . . I haven’t even told my closest friends about this. I certainly wasn’t planning on telling you. As a matter of fact, I didn't tell you. I barely know you. And I don’t want to come across like a complete asshole, but the only thing you really know about me is who my dad is and that I’ve got The Big C. And yet, you’re sitting here, trying to cure my disease with some broccolini and grilled corn.”

  “I’m not interested in curing your disease. I just wasn’t going to cook you a steak.” Her chin is set defiantly. “You know, I talked to you before I knew about your cancer. I talked to my dad about you – how I’d met this nice kid at work. That maybe we’d be friends over the summer and that you were coming to my school next year, and won’t that be awesome, Dad? I can show him around and stuff. He’ll like Macon. I know he will. And then my dad pushes up his glasses and gets this look on his face and says that you were just in the hospital getting a diagnosis. Which, to be honest, I should have known. You had that look on your face, staring out the window.”

  “He’s not even my doctor. I should be pissed he’s telling you stuff. It’s against a HIPAA law or two, right? I could get him fired.”

  “Get over yourself. You’d never.” She rubs her eyes and adjusts in her chair. “Wouldn’t it freak you out if I took my hair off right this second and was like, ‘Oh my god, Oliver, I had cancer, too!’ ”

  “Don’t lie. That’s a shitty thing to lie about.”

  “Is it?”

  I shrug, trying to control my emotions. “It would explain why you changed your hair, I guess.”

  She straightens her spine. “I guess it would. Or maybe it makes sense that my mom had cancer. And lost her hair. So I dyed my hair and cut about sixteen inches off to donate to her for a wig. That might make sense, too.”

  Hannah Hartwell is weird. And she’s awkward. But at this exact moment she is not a liar.

  “I might not know what you’re going through first hand, okay? But I know what it’s like to see it from the sidelines. My mom didn’t even tell me that she was going in for testing. Didn’t tell me she got a diagnosis. She just called me on a Wednesday and said she was going in for surgery on Friday, and could I please make sure to pay my phone bill on time this month? It was like, how did she just go to these appointments without telling anyone? So blasé. Like you. It baffles me.”

  I’m silent as she talks because I have nothing to say.

  “It’s kinda ironic that the woman who leaves an oncologist because he’s ‘married to his job’ ends up getting the one thing he could potentially help her with.”

  The room is so quiet that I can hear the music from outside filtering into the house between the window panes and cracks under the doors. Our food is going to go cold, which bothers me a little, even though I’m no longer hungry. She did spend a long time cooking it, after all.

  Instead of saying anything about her confession, I pick up the ear of corn and start eating.

  “This is good,” I say. And I mean it.

  She forces a tight smile and picks at her own plate.

  “It’s not ‘cure my cancer’ good. But it’s good.”

  This time, it’s a spoon that she throws at my head.

  5.

  TUMORS. BIOPSIES. SICKNESS. These are the words that run my life now. These words . . . and Hannah Hartwell.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sleeping.”

  “I’m sure you need it, but there’s a Super Moon tonight. Think you’re up for some sky gazing?”

  I fight the urge to tell her to leave me alone and let me die in peace. She hates it when I say shit like that. “I have my first radiation tomorrow.”

  “Then it’s the perfect night to stay up and live like there’s no tomorrow, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Fine.”

  “Don’t say fine.” I can hear her huffing on the other end of the phone.

  “Okay. All right. Yes, ma’am, Miss Hartwell.”

  “Better.”

  She disconnects and leaves me in peace to sleep more.

  ***

  “Super Moooooooooooon.” The whisper startles me awake and into the sitting position while Hannah clicks on the lamp next to the chair in the corner of my little room. “Mr. Bishop, you rise.”

  “How the hell did you get in my room?” My head hurts and my throat is really
dry. I would kill for some water.

  She holds up a bottle in her hands. “Want this?”

  “You’re incredibly perceptive.” I take the bottle and drink the whole thing in a series of painful gulps. Her eyes are trained on my throat and I know she can see the swollen nodes sticking out from beneath my jaw. It aches. I feel lightheaded. I’m too tired for this.

  “Your mom let me in. She only gave me one weird look when I told her I was coming to wake you up.” Hannah’s attention is focused on my bookshelf instead of my throat now, and I feel much less self-conscious.

  “I doubt she’s worried that you were gonna come up here and crawl into bed with me.” The truth of the matter is that I don’t think Hannah sees me that way, but even if she did, I wouldn’t be up for it.

  “The moon is going to be its brightest in the next hour. Is that enough time for you?” she asks, completely ignoring my comment and solidifying my previous thought.

  I nod and move as fast as I can to the bathroom to brush my teeth and run a comb through my hair. It’s not very fast at all, but it’s all I can muster at this point.

  When we make it down to our rocks at Flat Creek, she hands me some children’s plastic binoculars.

  “What?” She shrugs. “It’s all I could find on short notice. At least you didn’t have to buy them from The Family Dollar.” Rummaging in her bag, she starts to hum, and doesn’t stop as she hands me a small bag of popcorn. “Organic. Seasoned by yours truly.”

  I laugh because I wouldn’t expect anything less. “If the moon is so super, why do we need the binoculars?”

  “What if it’s not as super as they claim? Then what? We came out here for a big fat nothing.”

  I nudge her with my shoulder. “It wouldn’t be for nothing.”

  It’s not as magnificent as we expected, but sitting there on those rocks with her, it feels appropriate. A big fuss over something that didn’t live up to expectations. Maybe that’s all life really is. Moving forward to the next big thing to make a fuss over and being disappointed time and time again. I wonder if I’ll make it long enough to be disappointed a few more times.