Single Player: Humor, Love, Breast Cancer and a Gaming Girl...
Page 29
I lay here, my mind thinking in circles, in spheres, in the shape of Master’s favorite tennis ball and I’m amazed at what the human body can tolerate. The kind of punishment it will accept on behalf of its bereaved owner even while the mind refuses to accept the new reality it’s being forced to face. The body, however, never acquiesces. It will fight for your life even when you no longer believe you can. That, my friends, is the miracle of life. That is the soul’s very own show of determination at work.
People have come and gone over the last several days. I can hear them. I can see them. I may have even talked to them as food was brought to me and then dutifully taken away when I finished. My laundry has been washed and then put away. I thanked, I welcomed. I have been walked from the bed to the couch and then back to bed again. TV on…TV off. Games on… games off. I have been with friends and I have been friendless. Liddy even helped me shower when apparently I smelled, her words, “like ass.” Yet, through all the noise I feel… forsaken.
Day seven with no Master. Day seven with no doggy kisses received, no pee-mail returned, no treats given. We’ve all heard the bible story, ‘and on the seventh day God blessed it, he sanctified it and he rested’. Well, I’m resting. I’m sanctifying. I’m blessing (if blessing is being stinky then I am doing some MAD blessing). So who thinks they have the right to come in here and push me around on the sanctified day? Who dare disturb the SEVENTH DAY?!?! Mr. Know-It-All Small, that’s who!
The front door unlocks and I lay and await my daily admonishment from either Liddy or Connor. Each day that I spend wasting away in my bed their frustration with me and my withdrawal grows stronger. And then, in response to their frustration, as if I’m a turtle sliding back into its shell, my withdrawal goes deeper. It’s a terrible cycle that Connor and I are all too familiar with but one I’m hell bent on repeating nonetheless.
Until today happens. We’ll call it the day that I’m rudely and forcefully shoved from my cozy and comfy stupor. Well, technically I’m not really shoved from the stupor. More accurately, I’m doused from it because Chris has suddenly decided that he’d like in on the action.
“GET UP!” Roar. SPLASH! SURPRISE! SOAK!
“NO MORE!” More roaring. “I will NOT stand by and watch this go down! UP YOU GO!” He’s manhandling me. Is this legal? Call the cops! My doctor’s breaking his Hippocratic Oath! I’m being water-boarded by my doctor! Someone! ANYONE! HELP ME! Sputter sounds are all I can make as I wipe the remnants of one gigantic bucketful of water from my face.
“HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?!” I’m so killing someone for this. I took NO oath!
“Your brother loves you, you nit-wit. Don’t ask stupid questions, you’re smarter than that.” Oh, he’s so getting kicked in the shins for this one. I’m going playground style on his ass!
“Well. You can tell him it was a waste of time. All you’ve done is cleaned me up for the day. So, I thank you.” My politeness does not go over well. See? Look right there. Those are angry crinkles you see at the corners of each of his eyes. He’s pissed.
“Funny. Get dressed. Here,” he seethes as he shoves a pair of running shoes and a pile of clothes into my hands, none of which I recognize as my own. “We’re going out. You have five minutes.”
The door slams behind him and I’m standing alone in my room wondering who won the fight when I hear him stomping around in the kitchen making me my morning coffee. Damn him and his water boarding mixed with kindness. I’m so confused.
I don’t even look at what I’m wearing because, frankly, I don’t give a damn. I’m tying the shoes up as he comes through the door (without knocking!) and hands me the coffee.
“Drink this. We need to leave.” Wow, shocking, no please from MrNoManners@all!
Several piping hot swallows later I’m being forced through the doorway like a toddler being taken against her will for shots. As soon as my feet hit the porch a familiar stirring begins and I start to immediately freeze up. My fingers are numb and tingly, I can no longer feel my toes and I’m pretty sure the barfing is imminent.
“I can’t. Please, listen. I’m not the strong person you think I am. I’m just not. I’m a hide-under-the-covers type of girl. A there’s-no-shame-in-quitting kind of person. A…a... ‘if it doesn’t work, no problem, move on’ kind of gal. Please just let me hide in peace. Let me be the failure I’m destined to be…”
I plop right down on the ground and our relationship has just come full circle. This is a very de-ja- vu-y kind of moment for the two of us. It’s how we first met, me cowering on the porch, him standing on the walkway. This is irony in action, irony if it were a verb.
“If I have to pick you up and throw you over my shoulder I’ll do it.” We are having one hell of a glare off. It’s obvious he’s in it to win it but, so am I. My resolve can sometimes get me into trouble, as I suspect it’s about to now. I make a harrumph noise and bear down even further into my sitting position, adding a pair of crossed arms to make my intentions crystal clear.
“Okay. So the hard way it is. No problem.” He marches over, picks me up under the arms and tosses me over his thick shoulder as if I’m a singular sandbag being passed along in a hurricane-relief assembly line.
This is when my maturity raises its lovely head and I shout, “NONONONONONONONONO!” as one long continuous string of words. If I had been on my own two feet you can bet your bottom dollar there would have been a whole lot of foot stomping accompanying that rant to make my point even stronger. Instead, I just bang my fists against his butt repeatedly. His stupid, tight butt!
I’m tossed into the backseat of his Audi (snob) and from the passenger seat Angela greets me sounding all pretty and Britishy, “Morning darling.”
“HA!” I could give the super nanny a run for her money this morning. Those Brit’s think they corner the market on fixing people. PA-SHAW!
“Ignore her. She’s having a morning.” Mr. McDoctor face says to his British freak of nature like I’m not even here, in the back of his stupid, dumb, waste-of-money, rich kid car. Man, I am on a roll.
We drive off and I refuse to acknowledge either of their existences. This is kidnapping and I’m turning their butts into the authorities whenever we get to wherever it is we’re going. Oh deportation… oops, SORRY Angela! Angry Cecilia is awake and she’s accepted the lead role of crazy bitch.
Twenty minutes later we pull into the cancer center parking lot where I’m faced with a sea of people. There must be thousands and they’re all wearing the same shirt, which just so happens to be the one I’m wearing. That’s when the light flicks on in my tiny, self-absorbed brain and I figure out what it is we’re doing. We’re here for the yearly breast cancer walk that I’ve always wanted to do but never had the courage to face.
The shrink in the car knew that this would work, that I’d face my pain this way because I’d do anything for my father, anything; even this, even now. He’s simply reminding me of the promise I recently made him in therapy to always fight for my life. Fight to be better than my mom. Fight the anxiety that will always live dormant within me, ready to take me down when life gets tough, because it’s going to get tough. Fight! Fight for my dad because he no longer can. JUST FIGHT!
At first my tears are quiet; I’m even unaware of them falling. But soon they turn riotous, rowdy and loud. These are the only tears I can remember crying over the last week. The others that may have fallen were just my body leaking them from me in the agony my mind was trying so desperately to avoid. These are the tears I need to cry for Master. They are my love for him in liquid form, my desperation for him to return, my fear of always being alone, they are the ice that was forming around my heart, melting away through my eyes. Hot, melty, red and angry.
After several minutes of this headache-inducing snot fest, I speak up as soon as the hiccupping slows, “What am I (hiccup) going (hiccup) to do? (sniffle, sniffle) I’m so sad (hiccup, sniffle),” Angela hands me a tissue, “I’m so broken.” Hiccup, hiccup, sniffle, sniffle.
“Okay,” I whisper from the back because I know I need to be taken care of, otherwise the loneliness will get the best of me and I’ll become a sunken ship again. The titanic will be an easy find compared to the hiding tricks I’m prepared to pull.
“Hey? By any chance did you happen to pick up my phone? I need it.” I say through the tissue that’s collecting my excess of mucus. I know, gross right?
“Yes. I would’ve given it to you earlier, but I was kind of afraid you would use it as a weapon and lob it at my head when I was driving, sorry,” he looks over his shoulder and hands me the phone with a smirk on his gorgeous face.
“You know me better than I thought. Very wise decision.” I grab it from his warm hands and before I have a chance to pull away he takes a hold of my wrist.
“You’re going to be all right. I know it and you will know it soon. Just let the people you love and who love you in return, back in. Let us be there for you. Let us help you.”
When he finishes I blow him a snotty kiss and he lets my hand go and then the three of us pile out of the car into the beautiful, sunshiny day. It seems wrong that the sun would shine on a day like today. It should know what happened to Master and be in mourning as well but, it’s not. The world proves to go on twirling no matter the heart ache that circles around with it.
We arrive in time to sign in and walk around for about fifteen minutes before the race is set to begin. Heading in the direction of the start/finish line I spot several tented booths with people showing and selling their wares. Among them I spot a tiny little blond who just so happens to also be my business partner!
“Liddy what is this?” I say looking at the table donning the largest smile my mouth is capable of spreading across my face.
“We’re going to do a line for breast cancer survivors. Don’t you love it?” In front of me are a selection of bra’s that will be made to order and they are for women who have had mastectomies or reconstruction surgery.
“When did you decide this? I love it. They’re beautiful!” I run around the table and hug her petite body to my own tiny one. It’s the first time I’ve felt that I was still capable of feeling joy since Masters been gone.
“Last weekend when Chris was telling us about the walk today it just sort of came to me. You were so down and I wanted so badly for you to remember what you’d accomplished, who’d you become. What you’d already endured and beaten. I guess you don’t remember when I mentioned it last week, but I did tell you.” She smiles sadly and I hug her even harder to me.
“I’m back. I’m sad, but I’m back and I’m going to fight through this. I love this idea and I would love to do some survivor art on the material. Make a sort of homage to the past and future breasts they’ve each been given.”
“Anything. We’re partners. If you want to make bra’s with handprints or nipples on the front we’ll do it. Whatever, as long as I know you’re sticking with me you can be the creative director of PrettyPanties. Consider it done.”
“Where’s Connor? I would’ve thought he’d be out here enjoying the party with you,” I say looking around for him.
“He’s coming. He had a couple of things to pick up, no worries. You’re walking right?”
“Looks that way,” I say pointing to my shirt and sneakers.
“I want my sneakers back… oh, and my shorts.” Sneaky.
“You’ll get them back,” I toss over my shoulder as I’m pulled away toward the starting line by Christian and Angela.
“See you after? Right here?” I holler as we work ourselves further into the crowd.
“Sure thing. Have fun!” I hear her shout, right before I lose sight of her.
Turns out the walk was just what the doctor ordered. Literally. As soon as we finish, Angela and Chris go to “find some friends” (I predict that actually means, they’re going to go do “it” in his office) and they’re set to meet me back at the Bra booth shortly. Liddy and I are talking to a couple of women about our plans for their recently revamped chests when Connor finally decides to show his face.
“A bit late aren’t you?” I ask with a smile.
“Nah. I never had plans to walk today, but I did get a lot done this morning with the house being so quiet.” Ew, burn on Liddy.
“It sure is good to see your mug,” he says playfully pulling me into a headlock, giving an extra-knuckly noogie to the center of my head.
“Asswipe! STOP!” I cry out, as I try to push him off.
“Look at what you’re doing to my hair! PLEASE!” You’d think a plea for the sake of your hair would stop a noogie, but think again. I push again and harder this time, only to find that my brother is quite possibly made from impenetrable steel.
He finally acquiesces to my plea’s and pulls me into a much more comforting side hug to prove he still loves me, then tells Liddy, “I’m taking Hotpants here home. Tell Chris we’ll catch up later will ya babe?” Hotpants? Only Ashton can call me that… and there it is, now I miss Ashton… more. My fingers have actually become itchy this week with the desperation with which I’ve been feeling to text him. But I can’t. It wouldn’t be right to deliver the news about Master in ten words or less and besides, I’m not yet ready to say it or write it out loud. When I can, I will.
“You can’t just take me home. I’m supposed to be going home with Chris and Angela. Connor, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, I’m good. Really.” As long as I’m being babysat, is my very next thought.
“Listen. We both know what they’re really up to right now.” Grrrr.
“Yes, we both do. But, I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop rubbing it in. I know what they’re doing. I know what everyone’s been doing. The lot of you are off having amazing monkey sex ninety percent of the time and I’m NOT! You don’t need to keep reminding me. I KNOW!”
“Wow, someone needs some monkey sex,” he whispers before continuing on as if I didn’t just hand him his ass. “What I was trying to say before is, we can text them now and tell them to take their sweet time. Then, I’ll take you by your place so you can pack a bag. And on the way there we can go through a drive thru, grab some breakfast and then just hang out until the happy couple comes for you.” Best. Brother. Ever.
“I can’t argue with a single thing you just said. It sounds perfect.” He kisses Liddy goodbye and whispers something in her ear which causes a Grand Canyon sized smile to spread across her fiery cheeks. I don’t even want to know. He’s worse than the regular monkeys, he’s a damn Gorilla. Gahk!
“I’m so happy you made it today Cee. Call me later okay?” I give Liddy a nod and a wave, affirming that I will do just that as we head out.
The car ride to my place is peaceful. Being siblings, neither of us feels the need to fill the space with a bunch of mindless chatter. And, as promised, Connor stops to get us breakfast sandwiches before heading home. The windows are down, our hairs blowing wildly in the wind, all while we listen to the fine harmonizing of George Harrison and Paul McCartney as they sing Here Comes the Sun. This day is almost perfect. My life is full of almosts.
When we pull up to my place he comes around and opens my door for me like the gentleman my father raised him to be. When I’m almost to the front door I hear his car start back up and turn to see what he’s doing.
“Where are you going? I thought we were hanging out?” I say, confusion marring my face as he starts to shut the shiny, steel, door.
“I’ll be back.” And this time he does slam the door shut and is out of the driveway before I have a chance to open my mouth for a second time.
“Something’s afoot,” I say aloud to no one while sliding my key into the lock and opening the door.
I he
ad into the kitchen, setting down the bag of sausage biscuits for two and make myself a much needed cup of coffee. As I reach to grab my favorite cup from the cupboard I hear something coming from my room around the corner. My heart picks up speed and my tiny breasts begin to sweat (this new habit they’ve picked up is getting old fast).
I can’t decide if I should do what all the idiots in horror movies do and go check out the strange noise all by myself or wait like a good girl, the one who wants to survive, and call 911 for backup. “Mrrrrr” goes the sound again. Jesus, Mary and Joseph what was that? With my phone in hand prepared to call the Po-Po, I kick off Liddy’s sweaty sneakers and begin to tip-toe down the hall in my socks. “MMrrr…”goes the high pitched sound once again.
“OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD,” I rant as one long whispered plea to my lord and savior above, hopeful he’ll show mercy on my bruised and freaked out soul.
As I get closer I can hear that the noise is indeed coming from within the confines of my room. I lay my ear flush against the door and now I also hear a shushing sound. “Sssshhhh….ssshhhh.” My pleas continue as I contemplate opening the door. “Please don’t let it be a murderer. Please help me NOT to die. OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD,” I continue as I swiftly turn the knob and throw the door open all in one fluid motion while screaming, “YOU WILL NOT DEFEAT ME!”
It’s important to note that while I am screaming my eyes are glued shut protecting me from having to come eye to eye with my soon to be killer. It’s just way more than I can bear at the moment.
I’m holding my phone out in front of me as some kind of, I don’t know, shield (?) when I hear the menacing ‘mmmrrrrr’ sound yet again (Why the hell didn’t I grab some sort of weaponry? Now all I’ve got is a phone. Whatever’s coming next, I deserve it!). With the sheetrock no longer separating me from it, the sound becomes at once recognizable and my eyes fly open in surprise.
“Look at you!” I say dropping to my knees in front of a beautiful, miniature version of Master Chief.
“Where did you come from sweetie,” I say as I pick her up out of the brown, blanket clad box she’s been sitting in.