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Two Girls Staring at the Ceiling

Page 10

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!

 

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