by Susan Fodor
Being near John made me feel relaxed.
“You crazy fool,” I chastised playfully. “Didn’t your mother tell you to not swim at night? You could have been eaten by sharks, and as is you almost drowned...”
I sat on the edge of his bed and took his tan hand in mine; it was as cold as ice but warmed at my touch. “I’ll totally forgive you for scaring me if you just wake up...”
I waited, embarrassed by what I’d said.
“I see my forgiveness is not a big enough incentive. How about an invite to Miss Miranda Steven’s party on the weekend?” I teased sarcastically. “That’s a huge incentive at school. Most of the guys would sell their youth for an invite to party with Miranda. I’d prefer a good book myself, but hey, I was a pimple socially, till I rescued you. Now everyone wants to know me. I realized today that being invisible wasn’t as bad as everyone looking at me. I don’t really want to be known by everyone, least of all in the biblical sense. That’s a religious joke; my Mum’s kinda religious, in the non-churchgoing way. Wow, you’re a good listener ...”
It was easier than I thought it would be to talk to a comatose individual. It had been a long time since I’d been able to say the first thing that popped into my head. Being able to talk to John openly made me realize how much I’d missed Jaimie since she started dating Tim. While we were still best friends, Jaimie prioritized Tim, and I spent most of my time alone.
“I’m pretty lucky,” I confided. “I have lots of people to talk to. My Mum’s pretty great, and even my Dad’s OK, for a grumpy old ethnic. My best friend, Jaimie, is beautiful and fun and smart, but her boyfriend is like a rash that won’t go away. They’re both friends with Miranda, as much as you can be friends with a conniving serpent that could strike at any moment. Me, I blend into the scenery, but I don’t feel like I belong anywhere. Does that make sense? Like my family are great and I get to sit at the popular table, but I feel like I should be somewhere else, something else. I just don’t know what or where? Maybe that’s the angsty part of being a teenager, trying to work out who I am and where I fit... Anyways, you’d totally help me out if you could wake up and tell everyone who you are. Then you can go sleep in the comfort of your own bed and you can deal with Miranda’s crazy and I can fade back into the shadows...”
I stayed for a bit over an hour talking about my family and sharing my homework. I joked to myself that I didn’t need a boyfriend; a comatose boy did the job just as well. I walked the few blocks to my house weighed down with loneliness, longing for a place to fit in and someone to belong to.
The thought of John being alone made me sad. I’d been raised to treat others the way I wanted to be treated. I imagined myself being abandoned and alone in a hospital; I’d want a visitor, even if it were a stranger. I was determined to visit John till someone claimed him.
The rest of the week went by much the same as Monday had; I went to school, people stared, Miranda questioned my worthiness, and I spent my homework time with John.
***
“Do you know this boy?” demanded the Friday morning newspaper with John’s comatose photo. There was no need to pass the paper around; everyone had one. John’s tan skin and handsome face dominated the lunch conversation.
“It’s a damn shame the boy is still sleeping,” Tammy lamented, pouting. “I’d break me off a piece of that.”
“Well he’s no 9.5,” Miranda concluded with finality as she laid the newspaper on the table.
“He’s way hotter in real life,” Jaimie disagreed.
I ignored most of the conversations about John’s looks; trying to avoid the animosity the discussions conjured. Miranda watched me like a lioness waiting for its prey to make a mistake so she could finish it off.
I missed flying under the radar; all the attention was making me paranoid. Jaimie loved to show off the fan pages that people had posted on networking sites. At first I had followed them a little myself, until people started posting nasty things about me.
Complete strangers said terrible things like, “Did John ride her into shore? Mya’s fat enough to be a whale,” or “I’d rather drown than meet her on a darkened beach.” My least favorite was the posts that called me a “Fat Bitch.” At least some of the comments were well-composed, suicide-inducing quips; to just call me names was so unoriginal. That’s what I told myself to minimize my hurt feelings.
I decided not to follow the sites and even closed down some of my social networking profiles because of the mean things people were saying. Sure, there were lots of well-wishers, but all the positive comments in the world couldn’t erase the hateful things people said.
Jaimie was careful to edit anything she showed me after one of the comments made me burst into tears; it was about my Dad. It hurt because it must have been someone who knew me to have made a racist remark about Dad. Overall, I tried to ignore the whole thing, which was easier said than done.
I had no desire to go to Miranda’s party on Friday night, but Jaimie insisted I put in an appearance to appease the popularity gods. Despite John still being comatose, Miranda wanted me at the party; my life had been reduced to showing loyalty to Miranda and her posse.
Jaimie and I arrived at Miranda’s seaside mansion; it was the usual drunken teenage make-out-fest. A group of drunken girls were already gathered in Miranda’s driveway, two of them screaming at each other about who had kissed whose boyfriend.
We pushed through the entrance where some guys ogled me. The only difference from previous parties was that some of the guys were there to deflower me. Couples made out in the living room, and the smell of alcohol, sweat and cheap deodorant filled the house. It was the last place I wanted to be.
Miranda was poised over an esky full of ice and beer. She reminded me of a VB commercial; I was pretty sure she was waiting for Dylan looking like that. Jaimie ran to hug Miranda, while I greeted her with a wave.
“You made it,” Miranda said unimpressed, “John is…”
“Still in hospital,” I finished.
“Hmmm.” She sipped her drink gracefully. “Make sure you bring him next week.”
“Sure if he’s awake,” I said, but Miranda pushed past me to greet Dylan.
I gave Jaimie an exasperated look and she shrugged. Jaimie was unfazed by Miranda’s mean-girl antics.
“Hey babe.” Tim bounded in from the pool; he wrapped his wet arms around Jaimie. I could tell by the exchange that there was a fight brewing.
After Tim’s arrival I was left to my own devices, Jaimie wanted to dance, and Tim had to get changed. They disappeared to do couple stuff. I hated being alone at parties; it made me feel so exposed.
I bailed out and walked to the hospital after Samuel Larson asked me if I wanted to give him mouth-to-mouth. While my social star was rising, all I wanted to do was retreat to the hospital and spend time with John.
I slipped into the hospital shortly after dark. I climbed the quiet staircase to John’s room and avoided touching the handrail because of my mild germ phobia. The lights were already dim in the ward in preparation for the end of visiting hours, but I knew that Hannah would let me stay if I was quiet. The hospital felt different at night. During the day people bustled about the halls, healing or being healed or visiting, but at night everything became still. Even the machines seemed more relaxed, like everyone was glad they had survived another day.
“It’s Friday night,” Hannah clucked. “Shouldn’t you be out perpetrating debauchery at your age?”
“I’m not really a debauchery kind of girl.” I sighed. “I’d rather read a good book.”
“You’re a weird girl.” Hannah laughed, her red curls bobbing in agreement, before she continued on her rounds.
John was wearing a fresh gown, and the bed had been smoothed over him. His blond curls spilled onto his pillow as he slept.
“Hey, you,” I greeted, taking his hand, “you’re so cold all the time.” I rubbed his hand till it warmed through a little.
“You didn’t miss anything a
t the party tonight. I’d rather be here with you. I brought Twilight to read to you; if that doesn’t wake you nothing will.” I laughed at my own joke. I was sure that I was the only girl in school who hadn’t either read Twilight or seen the movie. On a whim I’d decided to read it to John.
I spent the rest of the evening reading the book with my own commentary. I began to take for granted that the most significant relationship in my life was with a comatose person. A small part of me wanted things to stay the same, but mostly, I wanted him to wake up.
friday night
School settled into an uneasy monotony, every morning Miranda would ask me if John had awoken yet. After responding in the negative, she would flip her hair over her shoulder and expect me to follow her around like a lost puppy for the rest of the day. With each passing hour, I missed my invisibility. Each conversation about John’s hotness made me feel more frustrated.
The only thing that was worse than being part of Miranda’s extended posse was the expectation that I would attend all their parties. The buzz around the lunch table all week was about Tammy’s house party on Friday night. I was desperate to avoid it, but Jaimie and I were having a sleep over, which meant that we would both be putting in an appearance at Tammy’s party.
The third quarter moon shone over our sleepy coastal town the following Friday night. Tammy's parents were out of town. Most of the people in Jaimie’s group lived in huge mansions; it never ceased to amaze me that people spent so much time away from their palatial homes and affection-starved children.
Jaimie and I stood in front of her huge mirror with dressing room lights around it, doing our makeup. I was being sparing, in light of the fact that I would not be at the party for long. I was hoping to do another drop-in and finish the night at the hospital, but Jaimie was incensed.
“You’re not sleeping at my house if you don’t stay at the party with me,” she insisted. Jaimie was happy that I was popular because it reminded her of what it had been like in primary school, she couldn’t understand why I didn’t love the preening and teenage drama.
“What’s with the hard-hat treatment?” I whined.
“You’re totally part of the popular people now.” Jaimie smiled. “Enjoy it, kiss a boy or two, have a good time.”
“Yay! I’m a part of the pop peeps!” I repeated, trying to sound like a rock star. “So?”
“So... you’re not even trying.” Jaimie shook her head. “You spend all your time with a comatose guy, whose own parents won’t claim him.”
“Maybe they’re out of town,” I defended.
“Whatever, Mya.”
“Why is this such a big deal to you?” I asked, genuinely surprised at how passionate Jaimie was.
She looked pained. “Mya, you get attached to things quickly.”
“No I don’t,” I denied.
“Remember when we went to the burger joint and you kept that serviette for like ten years?” she reminded with a motherly tone.
“It had a ducky—it was our friendship sign,” I cooed, as I remembered the checkered linoleum and the cute little ducky, and then I realized that Jaimie had made her point. “Oh ...”
“Exactly. I’m worried that you’re investing all this effort into a guy who may wake up and have a girlfriend and a whole life that will never include you, or worse, that he’ll never wake up and you’ll spend the rest of your life being his nurse maid,” she finished.
“It’s not like that,” I denied, knowing she was right.
“Prove me wrong and spend the night with us,” Jaimie challenged.
“Fine. I’ll come to the party, and I’ll stay as long as you want,” I agreed heavily.
Jaimie insisted on giving me a wardrobe makeover and forced a tiny dress over my saddlebag hips. I felt like a Christmas ham trying to erupt from its constraints; I was amazed again by her ability to get me to do whatever she wanted.
“You look like a total hottie.” Jaimie beamed.
“I look like the before shot in a weight-loss commercial,” I joked.
“You know that you’re actually not fat,” Jaimie challenged, putting her hands on her boy hips, like she used to when we were kids to illustrate that she had the final word.
“This dress doesn’t look like it’s about to burst open on you,” I told her, pointing to the stretching seams.
“That’s because I’m too skinny,” she complained.
“Wow, I wish I had your problems,” I whined sarcastically, before pausing and adding, “Actually, I take it back. You’ve got Tim; that’s a problem I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”
“Be nice.” Jaimie laughed, putting the finishing touches to her own outfit.
I was constantly ribbing Jaimie about Tim; what she didn’t realize was that what I said as a joke was often exactly what I meant. It wasn’t that Tim was a bad guy, just a stupid one. He was all about appearances and having everyone think he was the coolest guy at school with the hottest girlfriend. He didn’t appreciate how amazing Jaimie was; his eyes were constantly straying, and he was always on Jaimie’s case to dress more provocatively so that his mates would be jealous.
I hadn’t always seen what a shallow tool Tim was. In year eight there were two hours during science class that Tim was really nice to me. I even harbored a tentative crush on him, until I overheard him telling one of his friends that he had to get in with Jaimie’s DUFF, if he was ever going to win Jaimie’s affections. It took him two years to wear Jaimie down, but they eventually started dating in year ten and had been an item for fifteen months.
Tim picked us up to take us to the party. The only thing more flashy and over the top than Tim was his cherry-red VW convertible Beetle. He wouldn’t accept that it was a chick’s car; he was convinced it was another snapshot in his hall of cool.
The party was in full swing by the time we arrived. People loitered in Tammy’s long paved driveway. Tim parked the car as close as he could to show it off. Tammy’s house could easily house six average three-bedroom homes; it was enormous.
Tammy ran out and hugged me. “You look so sexy,” she said, bouncing with excitement. I couldn’t work out if she was deliberately garnering attention to her mountainous chest or if she was oblivious to what a sex-bomb she was; I suspected it was the later.
Miranda languidly strutted toward me. “Look who found the designer rack,” Miranda said, passive aggressive as always.
“You know you’re only worth as much as the dress on your back,” I replied sarcastically.
“I know, right,” she agreed, ignoring my sarcasm.
Dylan wrapped his arm around Miranda’s waist; the smell of alcohol radiating from him should have been visible stink lines. “Who’s this?” he asked, ogling me.
“No-one!” Miranda snapped, dragging Dylan, Tamara, and Julia back to the party.
Tim told Jaimie he was getting drinks, while he went and did a perv tour. Tammy and Jaimie yanked me to the living room, where the expensive furniture was pushed up against the walls so people could dance in the middle of the room. We danced for ages. I always felt self-conscious when dancing, because I didn’t want to do it wrong. The music was so loud that it was infiltrating my DNA, but I endured it for Jaimie’s sake.
As the night wore on people paired off into couples and found quiet corners to canoodle. Jaimie and Tim disappeared, and Tammy met some guy who she wanted to get to know. I admired the die-hard dancers, but I was glad to escape out the back door into the cool night.
After navigating the discarded cans littered across Tammy’s manicured lawns I finally made it to the beach. I hobbled through the sand dunes in my borrowed shoes, and plopped onto the soft sand.
I pulled the strappy shoes from my feet, running my fingers across the crisscrossed dents. I cursed the people that made women’s shoes like implements of torture. My toes found comfort immediately in the cool sand, the tiny silver grains illuminated by the moonlight, eased the pain of having been on my toes for hours.
I sat a safe d
istance from the surf, watching the white froth roll onto the sand. The waves made mesmerizing patterns on the inky sand under the soft luminescent glow of the moon. I enjoyed the warm breeze that would too soon disappear into the cool of winter, lost in thoughts of university and John and how different my life had become in the last fortnight.
Down the beach there was a girl spewing into the sand, while her friend rubbed her back. I was glad for being the designated dag who drove Jaimie and Tim home, because it meant that I didn’t have to drink. It was not that I was opposed to alcohol, but I didn’t like the effect it had on me. The first time I’d had a drink, I’d barely taken a sip before my head started spinning and I had to lie down for forty-five minutes. That small brush with feeling out of control had cured me of any desire to drink again.
My reverie was interrupted after midnight when my phone rang.
“Mya, this is Hannah from the hospital,” the distant voice said crisply.
My heart rate accelerated. “Is he awake?” I asked, unable to hide my excitement.
“No,” she replied, urgently. “He’s crashing fast. I know you didn’t see him today, and I wanted to give you the chance to say goodbye.”
“He’s dying?” I choked in disbelief.
“It seems that way,” Hannah said, sounding as confused as I felt.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I told her. “Tell him to wait for me.”
While I had been outside, the party had caught its second wind. The crowd was undulating as I tried to find Jaimie. I spotted Julia on the dance floor with some preppy private-school boy. I pushed through the sea of dancing teenagers, and stopped in front of Julia.
"Have you seen Jaimie?" I yelled over the music.
"On the beach," she yelled back, too loudly.
I headed back out the way I'd come, pushing through the sweaty teeming dancers. I found Jaimie and Tim rounding second base in the sand dunes, not far from where I’d been earlier. Usually that would have grossed me out, but the urgency of the moment pushed everything from my mind except John.