Till it Stops Beating

by Hannah R. Goodman

  Pause. “Yes, yes, it is. Can I help you?”

  “Hi, uh, this is Maddie. Maddie Hickman.”

  “Oh! Gosh, I thought it was a call about the house. How are you, dear?”

  “I’m good. How are you?”

  “We’re selling the house. I bought a place in Florida. Gosh, you must be graduating soon, right?”

  “Yes, tomorrow.”

  I hear her sigh. “Time certainly flies! I suppose you are looking for Justin? I assume you aren’t calling about the house for sale, right?”

  We both laugh. The butterflies inside fly everywhere, not just in my stomach. “No, no. I’m looking for Justin.” Saying it out loud makes my body shake a little. I sit down on the stool by the counter.

  “He’s actually with his Uncle Tony for a week. They’re fishing in Rhode Island. We’re moving a few weeks after he returns, but I can have him call you or better, give you his cell phone number. I’m not sure what kind of service they have out on the boat but let me give it to you.”

  I write the number down on the same wrinkled piece of paper with his home phone number and thank her. Before we hang up she says, “I hope you reach him. I know he’d love to hear from you.”

  “I hope so, too,” I tell her.

  “And happy graduation, Maddie. Congratulations!”

  . . . . .

  I call the number from my cell before I lose my courage. It goes right to voice mail, which isn’t even his voice. Just the automated woman repeating his number. I’m jealous of that woman saying his phone number. Doubt trickles in but I don’t hang up. When the tone beeps, I freeze, nothing for three full seconds and then: “Hi Justin. It’s Maddie. I called your house and your mom gave me your number. Uh, I just um…wanted to catch up.” I shake my head. Catch up? “Anyway, you have my number now on your phone so call me when you can. Bye.”

  Now I have to wait. I lean against my bureau and count my breaths. This is harder than it sounds because my breath is running away from me, and I’m desperately trying to catch it.

  I fall asleep with the phone in my hand and a few times wake up to make sure the sound is on and that it’s set to vibrate. It doesn’t make a peep all night. In the morning, I check the voicemail anyway. Only old messages from Peter and Susan. I lie on my back and hold the phone to my chest. “Call me back,” I whisper to no one. “Just call back.”

  . . . . .

  When the phone buzzes, my body jolts. I open my eyes. I fell back asleep. The phone buzzes again. I search for it in the covers and then, “Hello? Hello?”

  “Maddie?”

  “Yes,” I’m out of breath but I don’t want to sound deranged. I sit up and slow my breathing. I got you, breath!

  “Hi, it’s me. Uh, Justin.”

  I let the sound of his voice seep in.

  “I got your message and we’re on this boat…”

  I hear a loud honk in the background and the sound of water splashing. “Listen I can’t talk for long, but I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad you called. I sent you all these emails awhile back and when I didn’t hear back from you, I thought that—”

  “When?”

  “November.”

  When I was a mental case and deleted my inbox. Right. Of course.

  I hear more noise in the background. “Listen,” he’s practically yelling now. “I’m coming home for a week and then I’m supposed to go out to California and stay with my uncle but maybe—”

  “California? Like the California that I’m going to?”

  “You’re going to California?”

  “Yes! Where will you be?” Now I’m yelling and not because he’s on a boat. My heart is so excited it wants to jump right out of my chest.

  “He lives in San Francisco.”

  I break into a smile. “You won’t believe this.” I yell. “I’m going to Bubbie’s in San Francisco.”

  Chapter Three

  Graduation

  Around me, my fellow classmates float in billowing clouds of graduation gowns. Some turn backwards in their desks, others stand up and lean against the radiator and still others sit on top of desks. Snippets of their conversations I’ve heard many times before drift by me like those eye floaties you get when you’re tired.

  “…that party was so crazy!”

  “…I was sooo high…”

  “…she was such a freak…”

  “…I totally hooked up with him…”

  To my left is Kim Ingraham, who, like me, sits properly in her chair and is not (and never has been) one to engage in post-partying banter.

  She catches my eye and says, “Should we finally tell those idiots to shut the fuck up?”

  “That would be the perfect way to end high school,” I say and reposition my cap that, despite endless amounts of bobby pins, keeps sliding to one side of my head. “Besides, no matter what they tell each other, they are not the cool ones.”

  “In real life everyone knows Nerds Rule!”

  We fist bump and laugh.

  “Actually, I’m going to miss—” I gesture to the crew of jocks and princesses. “—this.”

  She smiles, and I see the tiniest drops of water in her eyes. “Me, too!”

  “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, it’s show time.” Mrs. Marino yells over all the noise.

  Kim and I leap up at the same time then giggle nervously. I take a few breaths and mutter to myself, “Okay, time to push your stomach down and get in line, Hickman.”

  “What?” Kim leans into me. “You’re not gonna throw-up, are you?”

  “No!” I nudge my cap back to center again. “Not yet, at least.”

  . . . . .

  My high heels click on the pavement as I follow behind Johnny Holden. Our gowns blow behind us like sails on a sailboat. Patchouli tickles my nose and a fainter smell, which despite my lack of experience, I identify as pot, wafts by. For the first time ever, my class doesn’t talk much. Just the tapping of our footsteps, and the wind rustling our gowns. Up above, not a cloud in the sky or a drop of humidity in the air. As we approach the tent on the lawn outside, the school band plays Windy. Teachers and parents turn around to watch us march to our seats. The administration, gray haired men and women in dark suits, line up on the stage, smiling.

  I crane my neck, but don’t see my family. No Susan. No Peter. Nobody. My cap keeps melting off my head like ice cream. I push it back into place. It slips again. I find my seat and with one hand on the cap, lower myself carefully onto the metal folding chair.

  “Madeline!” Holding my cap for dear life, I turn around to see who’s calling my name.

  “Bubbie!” A knot of tears bunches up in my throat.

  “We’re over there,” she says pointing to the far, left corner of the tent. My dad holds his video camera, Barb has the regular camera around her neck and Cliff, looking uncomfortable in khakis and a tie, his braids blowing in the wind, is showing her how to use it, and Mom—no kidding—is holding a box of Kleenex. They all wave simultaneously like at a football game. I wave back and hiccup. The knot of tears is choking me.

  I watch Bubbie go back to her seat, her floral dress billowing behind her just like my graduation gown. Gasping like a guppy, I rub my eyes, sure that the mascara is already running down my neck.

  Someone knocks my hat completely off my head.

  “What the—” I catch it before it slides to the ground. “Damn thing. Bane of my existence!”

  Susan grins at me, not noticing my capless head, then she growls at Johnny Holden. “Move out, John-boy!” She tells him he has to switch seat
s with her, and Johnny is so high that he gets up and leaves. To where, I have no idea. Maybe to smoke another doobie. “Hey, John, where can I get some…” I stop. Somehow graduation isn’t the right setting to make my first weed purchase.

  Maybe Bub and I will smoke together when I go out to California. Helps with the side effects of chemo. I once asked one of my shrinks if I automatically should avoid drugs and alcohol because of the family history. They claim I don’t have to worry but should keep an eye out for signs of trouble like drinking or smoking daily. But I can’t even take Rescue Remedy without worrying.

  But I don’t have to worry about it today, because I LEFT IT AT HOME. I tell this to Susan and then add, “I should have stuck it in my bra.”

  Susan wrinkles her brow and pulls at the top of my gown. Peering down, she says, “Na, not much room in there, chickie. By the way, you might want to substitute that white cotton for lacey underwire.” She winks at me.

  I push her hand away. “It’s graduation, Susan. Not a date.”

  We look at each other and then together let the full impact of the word hit us. “Whoa! Graduation!” We high five.

  “Now help me re-pin this stupid thing,” I order her.

  She places the cap on my head and expertly pins it into place. I touch it. It doesn’t budge.

  “Hey, don’t you have to be up there?” I ask her.

  “Not yet. Look around. This is gonna take a while,” she says.

  “You’re not nervous?”

  “Nope.”

  The band plays a rousing rendition of U Can’t Touch This. We shake our heads. Another stupid thing I will miss…our awesome band playing outdated tunes.

  “I have some news.”

  “You’re coming to California with us?”

  “Noooo.”

  I pout but then say, “Spill it.”

  She tries to suppress a smile, but I can see the corners of her mouth quivering, “This morning Shamus asked me to go to the Cape with him!”

  “For the whole summer?”

  She nods. “I’m helping him and his brother with the opening of their tattoo shop. Lounge around the beach, relax…Maybe go eat at Cliff’s place with B.” We both roll our eyes.

  “And your parents are totally fine with it, of course.”

  She beams. “I vow to never complain about their clueless asses again.”

  U Can’t Touch This ends. No one claps.

  “I’m going to miss you!” We squeal like little girls.

  “We’ll see each other, Maddie. You’re planning on visiting your sister.” She grabs my hand. “We have to pinky swear.”

  “We’ve never in our lives uttered those words…”

  “Pinky swear!” She demands.

  I hold my pinky to hers. “Pinky swear!”

  We listen to more bad music—Don’t Stop Believin’— and watch Johnny Holden look for his seat and promptly trip over nothing.

  “Where’s Peter?” I ask.

  “He won’t leave his seat. He’s worried the dean is gonna find him in someone else’s seat and renege his diploma!”

  I laugh. We watch the rest of the alphabet file in.

  “I can’t believe Daddy Homophobe said yes to the California deal. Does he know that Peter’s new boy-toy is driving?” Susan asks still watching the line creep by us.

  “I wouldn’t call Larry a boy-toy. Peter claims they’re only friends. He’s still recovering from Jack. So, Peter’s new friend,” I put air quotes around friend, “is driving us all in his red convertible.”

  “Wind in your hair…” Susan says.

  The line of white robed classmates has stalled. The wind blows white silky polyester all around us, in our faces. We laugh, trying to escape the onslaught.

  Susan tucks a lose strand of blonde hair into her cap. “Ready to tell your parents the slight changes in your plan?”

  “Not at all.” I play with the blue and white tassel that dangles from my cap. “I’ll tell everyone later. It’s not a priority right now.” I drop my hand onto my lap, smoothing the creaseless fabric.

  Then we hear, “Hey!” and turn to see Peter. The gown swishes in the breeze around him. He puts his hand on the front of the gown, and it falls flat for a moment.

  Susan and I wave.

  “Can’t believe you made it over here!” I say.

  We all hug and kiss. Then Susan says, “I gotta go be with the gray hairs.” She straightens her hat and pulls out a tube of lipstick from nowhere and slides it on. “I might be the hottest valedictorian this school has ever seen!”

  “And the most modest,” Peter gibes.

  We watch her run up the aisle towards the stage, her gown flowing like a super hero cape around her.

  Peter puts his arm around me. “How are you holding up?”

  “Fine.”

  “Liar.” He squeezes my shoulder.

  “Just want to get this over with,” I say.

  “So we can get to the road trip.”

  “Yes!”

  “So you can get to old Blue Eyes,” he teases.

  “And Bubbie,” I add.

  “Bubbie is right over there,” he says.

  “Smart ass.”

  Then the band stops, and everyone hushes a little. We sit down.

  “This is it!” Peter whispers. “Look at her up there! She looks beautiful.”

  “I know.” I watch Susan stand up at the podium adjust the microphone and a delicious chill of happiness fills me. Susan, Peter, and I. Still together.

  “Shamus asked her to go to the Cape. They’ll be minutes from Barb and Cliff. We can make one trip and see them all.”

  “Really? He better not break her heart.”

  “Better to have lost at love—” I begin.

  “Then never to have let yourself love an asshole,” Peter snickers.

  “That doesn’t even make sense, Peter.”

  “Whatever…Love sucks.”

  I sigh.

  “Except for you and Justin, Maddie. I think it’s the real deal.”

  I can’t find a reply for that one. Peter gives me one last hug and runs back to his seat.

  “Welcome to the last day of childhood,” Susan begins her speech.

  That’s right, if childhood ends in a few hours, then adulthood begins, and as an adult, I decide my future—not my parents.

  Now, I’m ready to graduate.

  Chapter Four

  “Don’t you think you should

  have talked to us first?”

  It’s midnight when I walk into the house. Bubbie is on her way home. She had to get back immediately for her treatment on Monday morning.

  The smart light flicks on as soon as I close my car door, and it splashes onto the driveway as I walk to the side entrance of the house. I take my shoes off before I cross the threshold into the mudroom. I do not want to wake whichever sleeping parent is resting in the living room. As I tip toe into the kitchen and head towards my room, I hear a rustle and then, “Maddie?”

  Dad. In his favorite chair.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hey, honey,” He rubs his eyes and yawns. “Did you have fun?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper. He cups his hand around his ear. I repeat myself and he smiles.

  “I’m really tired,” I say walking towards him as he stands up.

  “Listen, before you go to bed, I just want to ask you something.”

  I freeze.
r />   “The admissions office at Emerson called yesterday.”

  My eyelids hurt from how wide eyed I am.

  “I wanted to wait to bring this up to you, but they wanted to confirm that you did, in fact, mean to modify your acceptance status?”

  No blinking or movement of any kind.

  My dad’s eyebrows furrow. He folds his arms over his maroon robe.

  “Maddie, do you need to tell us something?”

  “I was hoping—” to avoid this conversation totally until I was safely in California.

  “Don’t you think you should have talked to us, maybe, before you checked the box?” He doesn’t say it like he’s mad.

  Fatigue rolls me over. Sweat beads up on my forehead and my eyelids fall. I sink onto the arm of Dad’s chair.

  My father’s hand, warm and sweaty, on my forehead. “Look, go to bed. Your mother doesn’t know about this because I was hoping you would tell me this is all a mistake.” I open my eyes but have nothing to say.

  “And apparently that’s not the case. Let’s sleep on this all and talk in the morning.”

  So, he’s not going to freak on me.

  He kisses the top of my head. “Goodnight, Maddie.”

  I watch him walk up the stairs and thank God I’m so tired, otherwise I would have a full-blown panic attack.

  . . . . .

  The next morning, thanks to the best night’s sleep in months—I guess honesty is the best policy— over hazelnut coffee and fresh cranberry bread, I tell my parents the details about my slight change in plans for the fall. My father runs a hand over his head a million times, and Mom’s face falls into a heap.

  “…I’m not going to start until January.” I brush the crumbs of cranberry bread off my lips with a paper napkin.

  Mom hasn’t taken a bite of bread yet.

  “We had those sessions with Dr. Foster about all this and you were on board with starting in the fall.” Dad has stopped eating too at this point, which is unthinkable.