by Tammar Stein
“Did you come here alone?”
“I called a taxi.”
“Do you want me to call someone to come get you after the doctor sees you?” It upset me to think of her in fear of her life, coming here alone, waiting to be seen alone, going back to an empty house. Alone.
“Don’t bother,” she said. “I’m probably fine. It’s no big deal.”
“Two of my friends are here. One of them could take you home. Maybe you shouldn’t be home alone tonight.”
“Don’t bother,” she said again. “I’m fine.”
Then Justin came in, smiling, leading a tired resident who looked like he’d just been pulled out of bed. Which, as it turned out, is exactly what had happened. Payton was a few steps behind them, smiling tentatively.
“Time to see the good doctor,” Justin said. He grabbed my wheelchair and started wheeling me out of the waiting room.
“Wait, what’s your cell-phone number?” I made him write it down and handed it to Yami. “Good luck. Call if you need help getting home.”
She took the number and nodded, but I could tell she wasn’t going to call.
“Who was that?” Justin asked as we left the waiting room.
“That’s the woman who cleans our dorm,” Payton said, looking over her shoulder at Yami. “She doesn’t look so good.”
“She might need help getting home,” I said.
“Let’s deal with getting you home for now,” Justin said, wheeling me toward a long hallway.
“Okay,” I said. I was suddenly nervous with a doctor nearby. “Let’s get this over with.”
It was very late by the time Justin and Pay were helping me up the stairs to my dorm room.
“This is going to be fun,” I said. “Two flights of stairs on crutches for the next four weeks.”
“As Confucius says—a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”
I rolled my eyes at Justin’s weak attempt at humor.
“You’re stronger than you think,” Payton said, her new personal mantra. “You can do this.”
They each held one of my crutches and had an arm around my waist. My left arm was over Justin’s shoulder and my right was over Payton’s, and their height difference made it awkwardly lopsided.
Sweat beaded between my shoulder blades and I fought down nausea rising from the effort, the painkillers, and the lack of sleep.
I stopped on the landing between the two floors.
“Give me a minute.”
“I could just carry you,” Justin offered again.
“No.” I swallowed. “I’ll give you a hernia and then we’ll have to go back to the emergency room.” My face was hot. My hands were icy cold.
“God, you’re stubborn.”
“Just give me a minute.”
The three of us stood there while I fought off a cold sweat and rolling waves of dizzy queasiness.
“Forget this,” Justin said. He handed his crutch to Payton and swung me up in a cradle carry.
“Oh God, no.” My world tilted and the nausea clicked higher. I clung on, nearly choking him. “I can’t do this.”
He took the stairs two at a time and I felt the pressure ride up the back of my throat. We reached my hallway and he headed toward my room, with Payton hurrying after us.
“Bathroom,” I managed to croak before the gagging started.
He caught the look on my face and grimly headed to the women’s bathroom. He walked straight to the toilets and set me down gently so I half lay, half sprawled against the commode.
“Oh God,” I moaned, feeling very sorry for myself, and heaved into the pot.
* * *
“You’re okay now.”
I felt a cold washcloth on my face. I kept my eyes closed.
“I called Jonah. He said to go easy on you. He said you should eat something next time you take the ibuprofen … I didn’t mean to make you sick.”
I kept my eyes closed but smiled despite myself.
“She lives,” he said. “I saw that.”
I opened my eyes. He was sitting on the edge of my bed, looking as tired and scraggly as I felt. I patted his hand.
“No worries.” My voice sounded raspy. “I feel much better now.”
It was true. I was floating softly on a wave of painkillers, an empty stomach, and the end of a long, adrenaline-filled day. With my eyes closed, I only saw a soft darkness; there were none of the usual swirling colors and shapes that normally live on the inside of my eyelids.
“Where’s Payton?”
“She went to get Yami from the hospital.”
I tried to think about that. About what that meant. I was alone with Justin.
“Tell me a story,” I said. “Until I fall asleep. Give me something nice to think about.”
“A story?” I had surprised him. “Hmm, let me think about this.” He shifted uncomfortably on the edge of my bed. “Can you scoot over a bit?”
I shifted so that I lay at the very edge of my bed, wedged in against the wall. He readjusted the pillow that my leg was propped on so that it supported my ankle properly. Then he settled down, back against the headboard, long legs stretched out next to me. My head rested near his hip. We were both quiet for a moment while he thought about his story.
This was the closest I’d been to him since the night we’d slept together. This was the longest we’d been together since then. If I moved my fingers just a little bit, they would touch his thigh, but I didn’t move. When he started talking, his voice sounded like it was coming from far away.
“My brothers and I would sneak out at night sometimes to look at the stars.” He spoke quietly, trying to lull me to sleep. I heard the soft hum of the heaters, steady and dull, as he spun a web around us. “We’d go to our backyard and stretch out, a lot like this, and tell each other stories about how the stars got where they were. My older brother, Cooper, would tell the most amazing stories, about kings and evil warriors. He would create and destroy empires and swear it was all true.”
He fell silent. I kept my eyes closed and tried only to picture what he was saying. I could see them, three blond boys outside late at night.
“I guess he learned about the constellations at school, and he liked to read a lot. So he would mix the stories up and invent stuff and then leave his story in the sky for me to think about.
“I remember how when we would go back inside, I could never stop thinking about the stories he told and I would look at the stars from my bed and not be able to sleep.” His voice was disembodied and floating toward me. “The next day, I would be exhausted and my mother would yell at my brothers to leave me alone. I was always worried they would listen to her and not wake me up next time they went outside, but they always did. Cooper made me love the stars. Made me see how special they were. I can understand why you love them.”
I wondered how he knew that. I wondered if he was trying to break my heart. I was still trying to decide that when I fell asleep.
When I woke up, he was gone. Payton was in the room, quietly working at her desk.
“Hey.” I struggled to sit up. “You’re back.”
“You’re awake! I was starting to worry.”
“What time is it?” My voice was raspy and I cleared my throat.
Payton came over, sat on my bed, and glanced at her watch. “Almost one.”
“Wow. Late.”
“Yeah,” she said softly. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I was run over by a truck.”
“You look like it too.”
“Great.” I didn’t want to ask about Justin, but she saw my look and grinned.
“He only left about an hour ago,” she said. “In case you were wondering where he was.”
I shrugged as if to say, “Who, me?”
“He was so sweet,” she said, not falling for it. “He kept reminding me to make sure you eat something before you take your anti-inflammatory pills.”
I winced at the memory of what happened last night
when I didn’t eat before taking the pills.
“We’re friends,” I said to Payton, trying to stop the eyebrow-waggling and significant looks she kept sending my way. I’d overheard a girl in the cafeteria say that once. I remember thinking it was such a lame thing to say. Look at me now.
“Sure,” Payton said. Despite looking like a sweet cheerleader, she had not, in fact, been born yesterday.
“Did Justin say that Yami called last night?” It seemed like a good idea to change the topic.
“No, she didn’t call. But Justin seemed to have things under control.” She gave me another look. I ignored it. “He said I could use his car, so I figured I’d stop by the ER and see if she was still there.”
“How was she?”
“She was fine. They couldn’t find anything wrong. I think they gave her a Valium or something. They were really patronizing.”
“But she’s okay, right? What did she say when you showed up?”
Payton snorted. “She was pretty surprised. And yeah, I mean, I guess she’s okay. I drove her to her apartment.”
I shifted and scooted up on the bed to a sitting position. Payton fixed the pillow under my leg.
“I don’t know, Maya,” she said, shrugging uncomfortably. “It was one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen. She was all relaxed from the drugs and she started talking as I was driving. Did you know she had a son?”
I shook my head.
“He died five years ago. He was just three years old. Can you imagine that? It was some stupid drunk driver.”
“Oh.” I had an uncomfortable feeling that this made sense. That the reason Yami could talk to me was because of that. We understood what it meant to stand at the edge of a precipice and then reluctantly step away, leaving someone precious behind.
“She was driving and this car just slams into them. You should have heard her when she was telling me. I almost started crying.”
I was in bed with morning breath, greasy hair (I never did shower after my run), and aches and pains that were returning with a vengeance. I was starting to regret ever mentioning anything. I didn’t want to know any more.
“She thinks it was her fault. After all these years, she’s still punishing herself. It’s like after her son died, she never wanted to be close to anyone ever again. Never wanted to care about anything or anyone. Imagine being sick enough to need an emergency room and to be there alone. But I think she wanted it that way.”
I tried not to flinch. I wondered if it was Yami she was talking about.
“Now, then,” she said, rising from my bed. “What can I get you to drink? The fridge is stocked. Diet Coke, orange juice, iced tea? You name it and chances are we’ve got it.”
“Iced tea,” I said. “In a glass, not a bottle.”
“Coming right up.”
Was Payton right? Last night, as I waited for Justin and Payton in the emergency room, I’d realized that somehow, despite myself, I had made good friends. Friends who took care of me, whom I would protect, even though I was still scared to admit I truly cared for them. Yami lived life without anyone to love, without anything to lose. No job she cared about, no friends or lovers. She lived the life I thought I wanted. And yet all I felt for her was pity.
The next day, I called Justin. He’d called me twice and stopped by when I wasn’t in. I knew if I didn’t get back to him soon my behavior would cross into unpardonably rude and pathetically cowardly. So I took a deep breath and dialed.
“It’s me,” I said.
“Alive?”
“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t call sooner.”
There was a pause, and I hated the fact that I was sitting alone in my room, clutching the phone and feeling like a complete idiot.
“I haven’t thanked you for everything you did for me. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come when you did.” I heard him take a breath to answer and I rushed on. “Let me take you out to lunch, it’s the least I can do.”
“Okay.”
“Good. That’s great.”
“Where?” His one-word answers were starting to annoy me.
“What?”
“Where do you want to meet for lunch? What time?”
I started to answer, then stopped. My heart was racing, my mouth was dry. Stupid, I thought to myself. It’s different here. Be an adult. But this reminded me so much of my conversation with Dov that it made me feel a little sick. I felt that cold rush of adrenaline making my hands shake.
“It doesn’t matter to me,” I managed to say. “Just pick a place.”
“You’re paying,” he said. “You pick.”
“It doesn’t matter!” He was silent. “Fine, how about Star Hill Café?” I named a nearby place. “But you say when.”
“I’m free any day after eleven, so it doesn’t matter to me.”
“It does!” My voice sounded shrill and my knuckles had turned white where I was clutching the desk. Even I could see I was being ridiculous. I took a deep breath. “This is so hard,” I said. “I know this sounds strange to you, but I can’t pick the time. I just can’t do it.”
There was silence on the line and I would have given a lot to know what he was thinking, the look on his face.
“I’m not sure what this is about,” he said slowly, the way you would talk to a man brandishing a knife. “You’re almost as upset about this as you were about your ankle.” He stopped. I held my breath. “This has something to do with your past, in Israel,” he said.
I felt my stomach twist, and I swallowed, trying to get rid of a bitterness that suddenly filled me. That’s the problem with having a professional student care for you—you’re studied, compared, contrasted, and certain conclusions are drawn.
I thought about denying it. I thought about hanging up. But instead I sat up and, with my heart hammering, I didn’t run away.
“Yes,” I said. My voice was low and husky but steady, and it strengthened me. “I’ll tell you about it. But not on the phone. Meet me today. At one-thirty.”
And just like that, I made plans.
We met for lunch, and while I couldn’t help but eye people’s backpacks and one shifty-looking businessman, I did manage to order lunch and enjoy my portobello mushroom sandwich and roasted-bell-pepper soup. I had picked a late lunch on purpose so that the café was more than half empty. It was cold and gray outside, and the café was bright and warm and cozy. I’d draped my jacket on the back of my chair but left my soft blue scarf around my neck like a safety blanket. We talked for a while about my ankle and getting used to crutches. My arms were sore from the effort. Justin told a funny story about envying his brother’s broken leg and crutches and trying to break his own leg in third grade. Fortunately he failed; unfortunately his mother found out.
“I was grounded for two weeks,” he said. “Not only didn’t I have the cool cast and the crutches, I didn’t even get to watch TV or eat any dessert.”
I laughed.
He smiled and shrugged. “That’s how life goes, you don’t always get what you want.”
“And sometimes you want things that it’s better you didn’t get in the first place.”
“That too.”
I took a deep breath and plunged in.
“A year ago I applied to UVA, and when I was accepted, I wasn’t sure what to do.” I stared at my half-eaten sandwich and the empty cup of soup stained red from the peppers. “I had a boyfriend—his name was Dov. And I loved him.” I met Justin’s eyes. “I loved him very much.”
He nodded. The words were coming easily, much more easily than I’d expected. Now that I’d decided to tell him, everything was rushing out. I had to make an effort to slow down, to speak coherently.
“I wanted to come here very badly, but I also loved Dov and I didn’t want to be away for four years. I thought if I left then, we would break up—and I didn’t want that. So I was very unhappy. I couldn’t decide. Which one, right? All the excitement and adventure of coming to another country, or staying in my hom
eland with my family and my friends and Dov.”
I stopped, because this was the hard part. The part where everything went wrong. I felt Justin’s gaze on me. Justin Case, who had rescued me, who had made love to me, who waited now with more patience and kindness than I would ever have imagined.
“But finally I made my decision. I decided I would come here and that if Dov really loved me, he would let me, and we would make it work. I would go home every summer, he would visit me here.… I told him to meet me at my favorite café because I wanted to tell him face to face, not on the phone.” I felt hot tears make their way slowly down my face. I let them fall and kept talking. “There was a bomb.” I closed my eyes. “A suicide bomber. A waiter who used to work there. I was the one who got him fired and after that he never got another job. For almost a year he was unemployed and his bitterness just grew and grew. I wasn’t even there, I was running late. Isn’t that a joke? I was on the bus and I even heard the explosion and I had no idea I had just killed my boyfriend.”
Justin grabbed my hand and squeezed it hard.
“You didn’t kill him,” he said fiercely, and gave me a little shake. “That bomber killed him.”
“If I hadn’t gotten him fired, if I hadn’t told Dov to meet me there, it would never have happened.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he said. I looked up from my lap because no one had ever said that before. “If you hadn’t existed, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But whatever that waiter did to get himself fired would have probably happened sooner or later with someone else. You can’t live life hoping nothing you do affects anything or anyone else. That’s just life. You can’t predict how the most simple thing will turn out, but that doesn’t mean that you step away from living life and try to hide away.”
People were staring at us, and realizing he was nearly shouting, Justin let go of my hand and leaned back in his chair.
“It wasn’t wrong of you to want to talk to your boyfriend face to face, just like it wasn’t wrong of you to want to tell me this face to face. It wasn’t wrong of you to get some crazy waiter fired. It is awful that he became a suicide bomber. It is terrible that your boyfriend was killed. But you are not responsible for either of those events. There is one person who is. And he’s dead.”