by Jahn, Amalie
“Can I help you Senorita?” he asked.
“Um, well, yes sir, I was wondering if I could speak to Branson for a minute?”
Branson gave me a quizzical look and struggled to get up out of his chair. I hurried in to kneel down beside him so he did not have to get up.
“I was just wondering what the doctor said about your leg,” I whispered to him.
“Are you kidding me, Sis?” he laughed. “It’s just a rash from my shin guards. He gave me a prescription for some cream and wrapped it up so it doesn’t get all dirty. What’s gotten into you? You act like I’m dying!”
I blanched at his comment. If I was acting as if he was dying, it was only because he was. I knew I would have never in a million years have reacted so extremely the first time. I did not remember even acknowledging his rash, except perhaps to tease him that he was itchy due to a lack of good hygiene. I had to admit that I was acting weird. I tried to backpedal.
“It’s just, I uh, was wondering if he said if you can play Thursday or not,” I stumbled.
“I can play. He said the meds should work fast. Mom’s filling the prescription now and I can put it on when I get home. Now go to class spaz,” he joked.
“Okay. Yeah. Bye,” I said.
I backed down the aisle, tripping over three backpacks along the way. I thanked Mr. Hernandez, apologized for interrupting his class, and quickly left, closing the door quietly behind me.
I was on my way to the office for a tardy slip when I changed my mind. The only way I was going to get my hands on that cream before Branson was to get home before he did and somehow get it from mom between the time she got home from work and Branson got home from school. In the meantime, I needed to find a suitable replacement to have for Branson in place of the methotrexate sodium. I admonished myself for not having lined it up in advance. I could have easily had the replacement cream waiting if I had had the forethought to plan ahead.
I knew Branson would go to soccer after school even though he would not be able to play. I had never known him to miss a practice, regardless of his situation. I snuck out the back door of the building and made it to my car without being seen by any school personnel. On my way to the store, I considered that, without the correct cream, there was the possibility that the rash would continue to fester and that Branson might be out for the rest of the season. It would devastate him. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. Sitting out the last three weeks of the season was a small price to pay for his life.
At the pharmacy, I was shocked and impressed by the vast selection of creams from which I had to choose. I pulled out my tablet and researched which over-the-counter cream might be the best choice for actually helping to clear up whatever it was on Branson’s leg. As long as I was taking away the cream that would heal the rash, I wanted to replace it with one that might at least help to clear it up.
After looking at dozens of pictures associated with various skin creams, I decided to purchase a lotion used for the treatment of psoriasis, as it most closely resembled the rash on Branson’ leg. I picked up three tubes and paid the pharmacist.
“Howdy, Brooke,” he said. “Just saw your mom in here about an hour ago. Must be some rash Branson has that she sent you back out for this too!”
I thought quickly and replied, “Oh, no sir, this is for me. I have a small patch of something on my back. I’m sure this will do the trick!”
“Your mom know about that?” he asked.
“No sir. It’s really no big deal, but thank you,” I said, as I grabbed the bag of creams and headed for the door.
“Take care,” he called after me.
I hurried home, music blaring as I pulled into the driveway. I immediately turned down the volume when I realized my mother’s car was parked in the garage. I was unaware that she had planned to take the entire day off from work instead of just the few hours for Branson’s appointment. I was not due home from school for at least another hour. She would be suspicious about why I was home already, so I immediately starting devising a plausible explanation. After my little white lie to the pharmacist, I figured I was on a roll. I smiled to myself as I considered that time travel was going to cause me to become a pathological liar.
I pinched my cheeks a few times to bring out the flush and patted some water from my water bottle on my face. Sure enough, my mother was happily reading at the kitchen table as I came through the door.
She turned as I walked in, and then glanced at the clock on the stove.
“Why are you home so early? Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice full of genuine concern. It broke my heart to have to lie to her, but I had to remain silent about my mission at all costs.
“Ugh, Mom, I just feel lousy. Maybe I’m coming down with something. I’m clammy and I have a horrible headache. I think I’m just going to go upstairs and lay down for a while.”
“School didn’t call to tell me you were coming home.”
“Yeah, I didn’t bother to go to the nurse. I felt so bad after calculus that I just left. Please don’t be mad at me, I just didn’t feel like dealing with ‘Nurse Ratched.’”
“Okay, honey, well go lay down. Do you think you are going to want dinner?”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know. Also, how was Branson’s appointment?” I asked, fishing for information.
“He thinks the rash is from his shin guards. I bought him some new ones. Dr. White prescribed some cream and said it should feel better in a few days,” she responded. She subconsciously glanced over at her purse, signaling the location of the cream. Getting it from her was not going to be easy.
I headed upstairs. I had almost three hours before Branson would get home. Somehow it did not seem like nearly enough time to divert my mother’s attention away from her purse long enough for me to swipe the cream, peel the label off, place it onto the psoriasis cream and return it without being noticed.
I threw my backpack on the bed and sat at my desk. I had spent so many hours of my life sitting at that desk, staring out the window into the forest. I watched as a squirrel buried a nut in the yard. I wondered if he ever found them again. I scolded myself for thinking about the wildlife instead of my mother when I saw her cross the yard and walk up the driveway. She was heading to the top of the hill to the mailbox.
I dumped the contents of my backpack on the floor and found the pharmacy bag filled with the cream. Taking one of them out of its box, I raced down the steps two at a time, nearly squashing the cat sleeping at the foot of the stairs. Once in the kitchen, I carefully searched the contents of my mother’s purse. Luckily, the tube of lotion was in the first pocket I inspected. I took a second to look out the window and check on my mother’s location. She was still heading up the hill, away from the house.
I took the box out of the plastic bag only to find that the pharmacist had placed the prescription label on the box, not the actual tube of cream. I meticulously peeled back the corner of the label. Slowly, slowly, I inched the label off the box, being ever so careful as to not rip either the box or the label in the process. After what felt like an eternity, I was able to remove the entire label from the tube. I took another glance out the window to see Mother returning, slowly, flipping through the mail as she walked back down the driveway. The label was slightly large for the replacement tube of cream that I purchased, but it would have to do. I wrapped the label around the psoriasis cream tube and placed it back in the box. I put the prescription tube in my pocket and shoved the rest back into the purse just as I heard Mother’s footsteps on the porch. Quickly, I moved over to the sink and began pouring myself a glass of water. She opened the door.
“You okay?” she asked.
My heart was racing. My mouth was dry. I felt like my legs were going to give out at any moment. I had done it.
“Yup. Just getting a drink of water,” I replied shakily.
“Oh, you really don’t sound good. Get on upstairs and lay down. You want me to make some tea?” she asked.
I lo
oked at my mom. My caring, beautiful mother. I believe in you, she had said. She believed in me. I could not let her down. And in my mother’s world, a warm cup of tea could cure anything.
“Sure Mom, I’d love that,” I said.
I headed back upstairs with the tube of methotrexate sodium heavy in my pocket. Once I was in my room, I shoved it in the bottom section of my backpack to dispose of later. I could not risk getting rid of it at the house. I laid down on my bed, sitting up against the headboard. I had gotten rid of the suspicious medication. I only hoped that the cream that Branson would be using instead would help enough that he would not need a refill. Now that I had taken care of phase one, I needed to prepare for phase two.
Branson worked at the Cooper’s Hardware Store several times a year when the owners needed extra help. In the spring, during the planting rush, he would work for three or four weeks. He worked the entire summer. Finally, he always helped out during the month of December for the holiday shopping season. The roof had been replaced during the December shift in the year Branson got sick. Somehow, I needed to convince Branson that he could not go to work at the store. Or at all. Or something.
I was pondering my options when Mom showed up at the door with my tea.
“Feeling any better?” she asked.
“Actually, yes. I took some medicine and my headache is much better. What’s for dinner?”
“Eggplant parmesan, Dad’s favorite.”
“Can I help?”
“Not tonight. Stay up here and rest until the boys get home. Call me if you need anything.” And with that she was heading back down the steps.
Hours later, I still did not have a single good idea for operation “Avoid the Hardware Store” when Branson showed up in my doorway.
“Are you quarantined, Sis?” he asked with a smile.
I turned around to look at him. He was filthy. He had played on his leg after all. His backpack was thrown over his shoulder, his smelly duffle bag was in one hand and the tube of cream was in the other. I had to force myself to look away from the cream.
“I’m fine. Got a bad headache and came home. I’m feeling better now though. How’s your leg?”
“A little sore but I can’t wuss out with the championship on the line, right?”
“Right,” I said. That was my brother in a nutshell. Don’t wuss out. I thought of him battling for his life. It was a battle he had lost, but certainly not because he had wussed out.
“I’m gonna go clean up. Eggplant parmesan for dinner… barf,” he said pretending to put his fingers down his throat. “And oh yeah, Chad and I wanted to go see that new horror movie that comes out Friday night. Will you drive us? You can bring Sarah if you want to see it too.”
“Sure. I can drive you,” I replied. “I’ll ask Sarah, but maybe we’ll just go to the mall instead.”
“Thanks Sis,” he said as he hurried down the hall.
After dinner, Branson and I sat together in my room doing our homework together, as we had done hundreds of times before. He was stretched out lengthwise on the bed and I was seated at my desk. We were listening to a new playlist on his tablet and Branson could not help but sing along. The simple act of doing homework together was one of the many things I missed since he had died. Just the presence of him. There was something comforting about having him in the room with me. I decided there was no time like the present to bring up his plans for the hardware store since December was only days away. It was always risky to broach a new topic since the current timeline was certainly no longer a perfect match for the one I previously lived, but I decided the conversation was worth it.
I looked up from my government essay and turned to face him. “Been down to the hardware store recently?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.
“No, why?”
“Oh. Just wondering if they were going to need you to work again for Christmas.”
“Yeah, I guess I oughta call them to see if they need me. I could use the cash if I’m gonna get my license this summer!”
Had he forgotten? Had I reminded him? Surely, he would have remembered on his own in the next few days. Or the store would have called him. Surely, I did not just ruin what could have been the easiest part of the trip. My stomach felt like I was going to be sick. I should have just kept my big mouth shut! I tried to do some damage control.
“Well, I wouldn’t call them,” I replied as casually as I could. “Maybe they won’t need you this year. You don’t want to be a nuisance. Maybe you could find some holiday work somewhere that would pay better. Maybe at the mall or the sports store? If you worked at the sports store, I bet you could get some kind of discount! That would be great, wouldn’t it? Never gotten a discount at the hardware store, that’s for sure!” Every defense I had come up with spilled out of my mouth all at once and Branson stared blankly at me as if I had lost my mind.
“You’ve thought an awful lot about this, Sis,” he replied slowly.
“No. No. I just, uh, know you’ve been saving up for your license and I just was brainstorming about ways that you might do that, uh, more efficiently,” I stammered.
“You’ve been ‘brainstorming’ about ‘efficiency?’ Seriously?” He stared at me.
I had dug myself into a proverbial hole and decided that switching topics was my only choice if I wanted to get back out.
“Yeah, whatever. Just trying to help. Speaking of helping, is your leg any better? Did you use the medicine?”
Branson looked at me skeptically, “Actually yeah, it’s helping some. Maybe it’ll be better by the championships.”
“Maybe,” I said hopefully.
Branson sat up, stretched, and threw his legs over the edge of the bed onto the floor. “I can’t look at another cosign or tangent tonight. I’m trigonometried out. Do you wanna go watch TV?”
“Nah, I’m tired. I think I’m just going to bed,” I replied.
“Okay.” He picked up his pile of books. “See ya later sweet potato,” he said.
“After a while tator tot,” I responded. He smiled and was out the door.
I could not believe how horribly my attempt to sidetrack Branson from the hardware store had gone. Not only did I fail to convince him not to work there, I reminded him that he had forgotten all about it. The only thing I had successfully convinced him of was that I was losing my mind. I probably had long ago. As I fell asleep that night, I resolved to remedy my mistakes and be back on track by the end of the week. My only problem was that I had no idea how I was going to make that happen.
CHAPTER EIGHT
At lunch Friday afternoon, Sarah and I sat in our usual spot in the cafeteria at the far end of the senior table. I was stewing about how to convince Branson not to work at the hardware store. It had been three days since I opened my mouth and inserted my foot by accidentally reminding him to inquire about the holiday season.
“So Branson wants me to drive him and Chad to the movies tonight. I told him I would, but I could care less about the movie they are going to see. Do you want to drop them off and just hang out at the mall instead?” I asked Sarah, nibbling on a carrot stick.
“Yeah. Sure.” She paused. “Actually, I overheard my parents talking the other night about Christmas. Since Mom was laid off last month, they are totally freaking out about money. I know they are stressing about saving for my college, and there’s not going to be cash for Christmas presents this year. They were talking about not getting anything for one another and actually pawning some of Mom’s old jewelry for presents for Katie and me. What do you think about me getting a part time job during the holiday season? The mall might be a perfect place so maybe I could fill out some applications while we are there.”
“Oh my gosh, Sarah! I think you are brilliant!” I squealed, nearly jumping out of my seat. If we had not been across the table from one another, I would have hugged her.
Without knowing it, Sarah had given me a wonderful idea. “Really? You think a mall job is a brilliant idea?” Sarah said inc
redulously, putting the last bite of her tomato sandwich into her mouth.
“Yes, because I am going to get a job with you,” I declared. “We can both work at the mall. It will be way more fun it we do it together. And I’m going to try to convince Branson to get a job at the mall too!” I said a little too excitedly.
“Branson too?” Sarah asked. “Doesn’t he usually do the hardware store thing?”
“Yeah, but I’m trying to convince him to branch out this year. I really think he could make more money somewhere else. Plus, if we work at the same place, I could just drive us both at the same time. I could pick you up too if you want,” I explained.
“Sure. I guess I should run it by my mom, but I’m sure she’ll be fine with it.”
“Okay. I think the boys’ movie starts at 6:30, so I can pick you up at 6:00. I’ll make a list of the stores that sound like fun to work at and you can make a list too. We’ll apply to the ones we both have on our lists. Sound good?” I asked, finishing my salad.
“Sounds perfect,” Sarah smiled. She looked at her watch. “Three minutes until the bell. I’ve got to run,” she said as she packed up the remains of her lunch and grabbed her backpack. “Meet me at my locker at the end of the day and we can compare lists.”
“Okay. See you then,” I said. As Sarah left I felt a wave of relief wash over me. She had given me the idea I had been searching for all week. If I got a job at the mall, it would be easy to convince my parents that, if Branson wanted a holiday job, his should be at the mall too. Especially since I would be the one driving him around. They would have to err on the side of logic and insist that the hardware store, in the opposite direction of the mall, was out of the question. I smiled to myself as I threw my trash in the compactor and left the cafeteria.
Sarah pushed her way through the sea of people heading out of the building at the end of the day as she struggled to reach her locker.