by Lucy Frank
Thumbs bumbling,
type the numbers.
Read, reread his note.
What to say
to match his tone?
Thanks.
Too dry?
Or is dry good?
Did I hit send too soon?
I’m much better, thanks!
Getting out tomorrow!
Two texts,
two exclamation points,
too eager?
Like I’m hinting
I want to see him?
Do I?
In the mirror,
skin blue as skim milk,
hands purply
with IV bruises,
bloated belly,
jutting collarbones.
And yet …
“Chess?”
Mom’s knocking
on the bathroom door.
“You’ve been in there a long time.”
“I’m—”
The text chime rings.
Wasn’t sure u’d want to see anyone
so I just dropped it at the desk.
That was so nice of u.
I was kinda worried about it
so went to look the next day
and put back the canoe we hijacked
Got yr jacket too, btw.
“Chessie? Sweetie?”
U swam out there?
Duh.
“I’m okay, Mom.
You don’t have to stand outside the door.
How ’bout I meet you in the room?”
Was with my dad all weekend.
I told u he lives near the lake.
O, right.
He thought i couldn’t fix it.
The noodle dessicant did it.
What’s noodle dessicant?
How long
can we keep talking
about the phone?
I know I already said
sorry about that night but
at least I got yr phone working again.
He knows.
He has to know.
u don’t have to be sorry.
It wasn’t u it wasn’t me.
I seem to have a disease.
No reply.
Night beetles
begin to fly.
David don’t worry. U can’t catch it.
and if ur getting out u must be ok
but why didn’t yr friends
say something to me
besides u were in the hospital and
giving me looks like i was some kind of
evil demon.
I told them not to talk to u.
Didn’t want anyone to know.
My cell rings.
“Listen,” he says.
“I never say stuff like ‘be there for you,’
but how can your friends be there for you
if they don’t know what’s going on?”
“Friend?”
The word
prickles in my nose,
mists my eyes.
“Hello?
Chess, you there?”
I nod
as if he can see.
“I was a little worried, you know.
I mean … it’s not exactly
what I had in mind
for the night.”
Before Monitor Me
can stop me, I’m saying:
“You know what
my friend Shannon
would say to that?
No shit!”
“So my friend David?
Who I was with that night?
Who fixed my phone?”
I feel the heat of Mom’s wanting
to know everything fighting
her not wanting to screw up
what we’ve started.
And though all I want
is to climb under the covers,
replay the good parts,
delete the bad parts, maybe cry,
I perch on her chair arm,
rest my head on her shoulder.
She scoots over
to make room in the chair,
lifts an arm around me.
I nestle down beside her.
“He lives in Hillsdale, Mom.
And he’s working at Sugar Snap Farm
for a year so he can save enough
for college. He’s really smart, Mom.
And really nice.
And I don’t know when yet, but
I’m pretty sure
I’m gonna see him.
“And I need you to know.
What everyone thought
happened that night?
It wasn’t what happened.”
“I know.
I found the dress in the trash.
I washed it.
Don’t worry, Chess.
It came out fine.”
“When I give it back to Lexie
do I have to tell her?”
“You don’t have to tell anyone anything
you’re not ready to tell.”
So … if I don’t feel like talking to anyone
for a while?”
Her arm tightens
around me.
“It’s okay.”
“It sucks being sick.”
“Truly,” she says.
I nod
into her armpit.
Keep on
nodding.
“YO!
NO CRYING HERE!”
“Oh. Sorry, Shannon.
Did I wake you?”
“And what’d I tell you
about that sorry shit?
“You’re not sorry.
You told me yourself.
You’re pissed as hell.
Like me.”
“So I was right! You did hear
what I told you in the night!”
“Yeah. Now you gonna open
that curtain and
tell me what I’ve missed
these past two days,
or what?”
“So … did you hear
the other stuff?
“The gross stuff?
About what happened?”
“Yeah. Bummer.”
“Well, I just talked to him.
He knows, Shannon.
He saw.
And I think he still
wants to be with me.”
Many texts,
some chats,
plans made,
a lot of laps,
bad food,
a nap.
A tube removed,
some hobbling
bathroom walks,
some sitting up,
a lot of naps.
Sweet dreams
of going home.
“Shannon? Y’awake?
“Listen. I don’t want you
to be disappointed
if he’s not, like, movie-star hot
or outwardly amazing.”
“Who’re you telling?
I’m not the one in luuvv and shit.
I’m not even gonna see the dude.”
“To someone who doesn’t know
him, he might be kind of gawky.
Possibly a little geeky.”
“Geekier than you?”
“But with the warmest, darkest eyes.
Hair the color of caramel,
that like curls down around—”
“So you’re saying
you’re in geek lust.”
“Yes. No.
I don’t know.
No. It’s way more.”
“You really think you meet
some boy and … boom!
The world is beautiful!
Your trouble’s gone!
“No. No. I know.
But …”
It ain’t like that.
Except in songs.”
“So, besides the famous Anthony
Morabito, you never fell in love
at first sight?”
“Only with my dau
ghter.”
“What about her father?”
A noise like air whooshing
out of a balloon.
“So you wanna see her picture?”
Holding her belly, wincing
with each step,
She hobbles to my side.
On her phone, I see
Joya sprawled on an afghan,
in felt antlers;
In a Valentine’s Day onesie.
grinning in a baby bouncer;
Running through a sprinkler,
mischief in her eyes;
In the plump arms
of a smiling red-haired lady.
“Oh wow. She looks
like you.
She’s beautiful.
“Your other grandmother
looks nice, too.”
I sound
so lame.
“Here’s me.
I told you I was hot, right?”
Shannon, prom queen shiny
in a silver, slitted strapless gown
stiletto sandals;
Shannon, mugging for the camera,
giant sunglasses,
ginormous hoop earrings;
Shannon, in a black puffer,
animal-print leggings,
on the steps of a white ranch house
with green shutters.
“Yeah, I don’t live in a trailer anymore,
case you were wondering.
We’ve lived here since we left my dad.
“Who won’t be drunk or
back here, I’m guessing
till next weekend,
when you’re long gone.
Case you were worried.”
There’s so much
I want to ask, say, but
I don’t want to stop
her talking, so
I thumb to the next picture:
Shannon leaning into
a buff, buzz-haired, smiling guy
in an army uniform,
Red-and-blue striped tee
stretched tight
over her belly,
No hint of sick
or dragon
in her eyes.
“Yeah. I didn’t need
to think about being sick then.
Look at me: I had it so in control.
“And he was all patting my belly
and shit about being a father.
Till I stopped taking my meds.
Which I already knew was a bad idea
“Cuz I was already kinda flaring
even on the meds, but
I didn’t want anything
messing up my baby.
“So my mom’d fill the prescriptions
and I’d flush ’em. Lie.
And for a while,
even when it got bad again,
“I didn’t miss one day of school,
showed up for my job
at the vet clinic every Saturday,
telling myself
“It wasn’t the Crohn’s,
just being pregnant. Cuz I read
Crohn’s takes a time-out sometimes
when you’re pregnant.
“Except the only time-out I got
was in the damn hospital.
On the damn tubes
and evil juice again.
“Which, as you can see
from the pictures,
didn’t mess up Joya,
thank God, but …
“TMI, right?
“Only reason I’m telling
you is so if you ever think
about stopping your meds,
no matter how much you hate
taking them, you’ll think of me
and know
it’s the dumbest
stupidest,
most asinine
thing you could do.”
“Chess? You still awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Whatcha doing?”
“Lying here.
Staring at the ceiling.”
“Before?
When I said
I didn’t care
about Joya’s father?”
“Yeah.
I know.”
“Chess? What time is it?”
“Twenty past three.”
“I could use a bowl of that
ice cream around now.”
“Me too.”
SEVENTH DAY
“Look at you,
all dressed and ready to go
before they’ve even come
to draw your blood. That’s one thing
you won’t miss, I know!”
Celandine, the night aide, smiles
as she takes my very last vitals.
“You better tell your mom to feed you up.
That or buy you smaller pants.
“And how you doing, Miss Shannon?
Looks like you’re getting some of
the old sparkle in your eye.”
“Still here. Still me.
Don’t ask
About the gas.”
“I don’t wanna hear the G-word,”
she warns the surgeons.
“And don’t tell me it’s Job One,”
she tells the duck brigade.
“I got my daughter to get back,
my GED, get my ass to college
so I can be a doctor
like you guys, only better.”
“It’s fuckin’ gas.
It’s passed before,
it’ll pass again.”
“Hey. I hear someone’s leaving us,”
says Dr. Nguyen on his way out.
“Bet you can’t wait
To kiss this place good-bye.”
Shannon turns her TV on.
Even through the curtain
I can feel her eyes.
“Is it weird to hug your
doctor?” I ask the Orange Croc Doc
when she officially declares me
good to go.
With a “Hmmph!”
worthy of Mrs. Murch
as she trudges to the bathroom,
Shannon tells her IV pole,
“Next she’s gonna be talking
about hugging me.”
“Don’t bring my lunch.
I’m outta here,” I tell the lady
who comes to take away
my breakfast tray.
“The only reason I’m still here is
my mom has to stop by her office
before she can drive up
to get me.”
Shannon turns her TV louder.
“I won’t be needing that,”
I tell Green Jacket Man
when he parks a wheelchair
beside my bed.
“Thank you for taking such good care
of my trash,” I tell the cleaning man.
“I’m leaving today.
I’m going—”
“YO! NEWSFLASH, CUPCAKE!
WE KNOW THAT! EVERYONE
IN THIS HOSPITAL
KNOWS THAT!
“WANT ME TO RENT THE
GOODYEAR BLIMP
SO THE WHOLE WORLD
WILL KNOW?”
A few laps
around the nurses’ station.
Check my phone.
Think about texting
Bri or Lexie.
Decide it might feel easier
when I get home.
Inspect myself
in the bathroom mirror.
How many times
can one person pee?
Check my phone.
Try on my other sweats,
the other tops,
twist my hair up,
braid tiny braids,
try to tie my hair back
with my hospital bracelet,
which I probably should not
have bit, sawed, nipped
with my nail clippers,
because now some alarm
might g
o off
when I try to leave.
“Shannon. Why does my hair look so bad?
It looked so good yesterday.
“These pants are so baggy!
Like I’ve got on, like, Pampers …”
Her TV’s blasting now.
I yank open the curtain.
I grab her clicker.
Kill the sound.
“HEY!
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
“Shannon. I don’t mean
to be annoying you.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re like the dogs
in our kennel, pacing in their cages,
ears up, tongues dangling, butts wiggling.
I’m surprised you don’t bark
anytime anyone goes past!