I'm Not Her

by Janet Gurtler

  “Hey. You having a bad day?” he asks.

  She nods her head and, even from where I am, I see she’s struggling to keep it together, biting her lip and blinking.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  It’s such a simple question, but not one I thought to ask.

  “Not really,” Kristina tells him. “I don’t know.”

  “Okay,” he says. “I can’t imagine what it’s like, but I can imagine how hard this is. I’m here for you. You know that, right? Anything you need, you just ask.”

  I grab one of the steel chairs and push it up to Jeremy so he can sit with her. He turns when I slide it up. “Thanks,” he says.

  “No. Thank you,” I say and then I quietly leave the room so the two of them have privacy.

  I plop myself into a chair in the waiting room and stare at the TV that seems to play twenty-four hours a day. No one else is around and I’m glad I don’t have to make phony conversation.

  A little while later, Jeremy approaches and sits beside me.

  “Thought I’d find you here,” he says. “Word has leaked at school. About the amputation,” he says.

  I inhale deeply and nod. I don’t know how, but I suspect that Nick told Gee or Devon. We couldn’t expect to keep it hidden for long. I don’t want to think about Nick though, or anyone else at school, or what they might be saying. It’s so far removed from life in the hospital and the gloom when we’re home.

  “Clark’s asking for you. He’s worried about you,” Jeremy says.

  “How’s your mom doing?” I say instead of commenting.

  He smiles. “She’s back at home.”

  I’m happy for him but don’t say a word about Kristina or ask why he’s still spending so much time at the hospital. Kind of obvious.

  That night I log on to the computer and see Clark has left a long private note in my Facebook inbox, but I don’t read it or write him back. Not yet. My Facebook wall and Kristina’s are filled with notes from kids from school. Condolences. Get well soon messages. There are even a couple of anonymous posts making jokes about it. One calls Kristina “Peg.” I delete them, but they burn me up inside.

  Nick hasn’t posted anything on my wall and I pretend it doesn’t bother me, but don’t dwell on it. He’s not stepping up, that much is obvious. When I check voicemail, I hear Gee and Devon’s separate messages on my cell phone and on the phone at home, but I don’t call them back.

  Someone posts pictures of the volleyball tournament on the weekend on my wall. The team dedicated the game to Kristina and had blown-up pictures of action shots of Kristina pasted all over the gym. I think Kristina would hate that, so I don’t tell her.

  The next morning, Mom and I go back to the hospital. At lunch, we go to the cafeteria, and as Mom and I are eating soggy lettuce and rubbery chicken, I decide to open the discussion.

  “Kristina doesn’t talk to me,” I say between bites of chicken. “I’m kind of worried.”

  Mom sighs. “Well, Jeremy is here for her. She talks to him.”

  I hold my fork in the air. “Jeremy is the best thing that happened to her.”

  She shrugs. “He is. He’s the only one she’ll talk to. I guess family is not what she wants right now.”

  We’re both grateful for Jeremy, I think, but also a little bit jealous.

  After the first week, Mom insists I go back to school. I try to get out of it, but surprisingly she won’t give in. I don’t announce my return online and all eyes are on me when I show up for my first class. Everyone knows Kristina’s leg was amputated, but I’m not capable of talking about it without crying, and thankfully people don’t bombard me with questions. They give me space.

  A few of the teachers corner me to ask questions about Kristina and ask if there’s anything they can do, but I assure them there’s not. Kristina doesn’t want a rally or gifts or anything at all from the school.

  All week I wear hoodies, and pull the hood over my head between classes and wear an iPod with music cranked. It’s almost like it used to be before Kristina got sick, with people leaving me alone. Except they stare now and everyone knows my name. But no one tries to penetrate my bubble, not even Clark, who continues to escort me to class despite the fact I’m hooded and plugged. I see Nick once or twice in the hallway, but don’t have the energy to worry about what he thinks of me or what I did. Melissa keeps her distance and for that I’m glad too.

  And then as if he knows I’ve been hiding out in the library at lunchtime and senses my desperation and growing isolation, Clark asks me to join him and Jeremy for lunch. I’m actually grateful for human contact and, for reasons I don’t even understand, agree and walk with him to the lunchroom. Jeremy joins us at a table, but doesn’t mention my sister.

  Across the room at their table, the volleyball girls and guys watch with big eyes when I sit down with my healthy packed lunch, but thankfully they don’t approach me. I don’t imagine they know what to say.

  The following week, the doctor gives her okay for Kristina to be discharged from the hospital. Kristina’s desperate to leave. Well, according to Mom. She still isn’t saying much to me.

  Mom’s already bought Kristina the best wheelchair money can buy, crutches, and had ramps installed by workmen at the back door to the house. Dad’s office has been converted to a main-floor bedroom, and she’s moved down Kristina’s bedroom furniture.

  I volunteer to go with Mom to pick Kristina up in the morning. I’m surprised when Dad meets us at the hospital. I’m used to his absence.

  The nurses pop by as we are getting things ready to leave. They offer Mom last-minute advice on changing the wound’s dressing and helping to care for Kristina. When Kristina uses the washroom with the help of one of the nurses, another asks about psychological help. Though Dad is present in body, he doesn’t say a word, and Mom evades the question.

  When Kristina gets back, Mom and I help her into the wheelchair. She doesn’t smile or speak as we wheel her down the hallway. She keeps her hands folded in her lap and her eyes down the entire way to the parking lot. Dad walks behind us, silent.

  We manage to get her in the passenger seat of Mom’s car without much of a problem. I sit in the back, and Dad goes to his own car to head to work. Neither Kristina nor I speak on the ride home, but Mom chirps on and on about the nice weather, the traffic, her plants, and while it’s a little unnerving, I have to salute her efforts. Once we get her inside the house, Kristina insists on going to her new room.

  I follow her and linger as she hoists herself out of the wheelchair and settles herself into her bed. The nurses told Mom to let her do it herself, but I ache for how clumsy and unsure of her own body she is. But she does it, her mouth set with determination. Wincing as if with pain.

  “So?” I say once she’s settled, trying to be natural. “Glad to be home?”

  She stares at me and I think she’s going to continue with the silence, but when she laughs it’s a harsh sound. “What do you think, Tess?”

  “I know,” I say. “But things will get better.”

  “Yeah? You think I’ll be like a salamander and grow a new leg?”

  I can’t think of a reply to that one.

  She reaches down and smoothes out her pants. Her fingers stop at the safety pin holding up her pant leg just above her stump. “It’s weird how much it hurts. I know it’s phantom pain. How can my leg hurt, when it’s not even there, right?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, wishing I had more. It’s the most she’s spoken to me since her operation and I have nothing to give her back.

  “No,” Kristina says, and breathes out a heavy sigh. “It’s my fault. That this happened. I’ve thought and thought about it. All the running and jumping I did. I should have taken it easier. I pushed myself too hard and brought this on.”

  A single tear runs down her cheek and drips on her shirt.

  “Kristina, you have cancer. You can’t bring that on by exercising too hard.” My heart swells with pain for her and I do
n’t bother pointing out that no one else on her volleyball team has a limb amputated from pushing themselves too hard.

  She shakes her head. “No. It was me. I kept going even when it hurt. I waited a long time before I said anything. Didn’t want to upset anyone. Push. Be the best. I wanted to be the best, and look what it cost me.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I repeat.

  “I kind of hoped I’d die in the surgery. That they’d cut the wrong vein or something. But no such luck.”

  “Kristina!”

  “Well, look at me!” She points at her missing limb.

  I glance around her room, searching for hints, for the right thing to say.

  “You’re still you. And I don’t want you to die,” I finally say. It’s not profound or fancy, but it’s how I feel. I search for more. “I love you, Kristina. I do.” My cheeks flush, but it’s the only thing I can think of to say that means anything. I know it’s not enough, but it’s everything I’ve got.

  chapter eighteen

  Every day the mailbox overflows with cards for Kristina. I didn’t know people even used snail mail that much anymore. Mom opens them and puts them on the mantel in the living room. I don’t think Kristina even looks at them.

  Flowers arrive almost every other day too, and I think we have a year’s supply of chocolate, which horrifies Mom. She doesn’t like to have it in her house. I open a couple of boxes and sample some of the good stuff, but mostly they taste like pity and I can’t finish them. Eventually Dad starts taking unopened boxes to work.

  Another week goes by at school and eventually my hood stays down on my shoulders and I stop avoiding everyone. Well, I continue to avoid Nick, but I’m pretty much used to the fact that he’s avoiding me too. I try not to think about the delicious horrible pity kiss.

  At lunchtime, I eat with Jeremy and Clark. Clark still acts like a bodyguard and we’re spending so much time together I’d have to call him my new best friend. Jeremy and I have an understanding. We don’t talk about Kristina at lunch or the fact that he’s practically a fixture at my house after school. He’s Kristina’s friend first and I don’t want to interfere. I don’t ask him what they talk about.

  He did tell me his mom is scheduled for reconstructive surgery in a few more weeks. He doesn’t even flinch talking to me about it.

  Since Clark and Jeremy both have early birthdays, they have driver’s licenses, and Clark offers to drive me to school. I turn him down since I actually prefer to bike now. My calves have developed muscle tone. My hamstrings aren’t as scrawny. I can bike the whole way to school without getting winded. I know the weather won’t hold out forever but it’s unusually mild for late November, so I pedal on.

  While my physical condition improves, Kristina’s deteriorates. She’s disappearing further and further into herself. The only person she spends time with is Jeremy. She’s weak and not feeling well most of the time, on heavy pain meds and antibiotics. I guess what energy she does have, she saves for Jeremy. Mom takes her to physio appointments twice a day, but tells me Kristina won’t push herself and doesn’t seem interested in learning how to use the specially designed prosthesis she’s been fitted for. She hasn’t started using her prosthetic leg at home.

  Friday afternoon, when I walk down the hallway to class, I pass the water fountain where Gee and the volleyball girls hang out. They wave at me and I paste on my fake smile.

  “How’s Tee?” Gee calls. The other girls study their nails or gaze into their BlackBerries or iPhones.

  I shrug. “You know. Okay.”

  Gee steps closer and lowers her voice so our conversation is private. “Man, I wish she would talk to me. She won’t answer my calls or emails or anything. My mom told me to be patient.”

  I nod back. “She’s struggling,” I tell her. So am I.

  “Yeah.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Devon slide up beside us. I flash my teeth in a smile again, for Kristina’s sake.

  “Hey, Tessie. We’re having a party this weekend. At Cee’s. Some sophomores and a few freshmen are invited. You should come,” he says.

  “Me? No. No.”

  “Seriously. You should,” Gee adds. “It would be great. Almost like having Kristina around. You remind us of her.” She smiles and I wonder what the hell she could possibly see in me that reminds her of my sister.

  “I heard there’s a certain guy who has the hots for you and he’s going to be there,” Gee says in a singsong voice.

  The other girls around her giggle and nod. The popularity thing is trying to lure me in so I play along, pretending some guy is actually into me.

  “You should come. I can drive you. I’ve been wanting to chat with you about something.” I turn around. It’s Nick. He’s grinning down at me like it hasn’t been weeks since we spoke. And he’s daring me to turn him down in front of everyone.

  “Nick, don’t you dare lay a finger on this girl,” Gee tells him. “Or I will kick your butt.”

  “It’s okay, Tess and I are friends, right?” He grins down at me and I frown slightly, wondering why he’s offering to drive me. “Besides, she seems pretty hooked on that Superman kid.” He winks.

  “Superman is awesome,” Gee says. “You stay away from Nick. He’s bad news.” Gee flicks his shoulder with her fingers.

  Nick grabs at his heart and takes my hand in his. “Me? I have nothing but deep respect for Tess. She’s safe with me. Tell them you’ll let me drive you, Tess. Redeem my bad reputation for me. Let me demonstrate that I am nothing but a gentleman.”

  The girls start oohing and aahing and egging me on, telling me to come to the party, to get a ride with Nick, and let him walk the talk, show off his gentlemanly side. They all assure him if he lays a hand on me, they will beat him. I think of the kiss, and my cheeks turn pinker.

  “Okay, fine, fine.” I can’t believe I’ve been peer pressured. Me!

  “Good. I’ll pick you up at eight. I’ll get your address off the Internet.” Nick grins and spins around and walks away before I can give him an excuse, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.

  Gee taps my arm. “Don’t worry, Tess, he’s not into freshman girls. For obvious reasons. He’s just being nice. But I’ll keep my eye on him. Kristina will kill him if he messes with you.” She pauses. “Well, I’ll kill him for her now.”

  The mention of my sister takes away some of my excited buzz and I wave and head off to meet Clark and Jeremy for lunch, tempted to tell them I’ve been invited to the cool kids’ party. And I’m getting a ride with a senior. A boy. The first boy I’ve kissed. I want to ask their advice. If they think it’s a date or just a ride.

  Of course, I keep it to myself.

  After lunch, when we’re throwing out our trash, Clark asks what I’m doing on the weekend. For some reason, I lie and tell him nothing and hurry off to my next class alone.

  chapter nineteen

  On Friday, Mom asks me to be home from school early so she can go to her doctor. Jeremy is taking his mom somewhere and won’t be around until after dinner. I don’t know which doctor Mom is going to but suspect it’s her shrink. With her and Dad barely talking, and him still hiding at work, I’d go to a shrink too if I were her.

  I peek into Kristina’s makeshift room to see if she wants to talk or anything but when I stick my head in the door, she’s lying down resting, so I leave her and head to the living room for mind-numbing television.

  Halfway into a show about the red list of animals facing extinction, the front doorbell rings. I glance up from the TV, startled. No one comes to our house anymore except Jeremy and he’s not due for a couple hours. I drag my butt from the couch and when I open the door, my mouth drops open. Devon is standing there, holding a single red rose. His face looks blotchy and sweaty and I’m afraid he’ll faint right there on the porch.

  “Yeah?” I say instead of hello.

  “I’m here to see Kristina.” His voice shakes. He holds the flower higher as if I missed it or something. As if it’s h
is ticket to get inside.

  “Uh, she’s sleeping.” I take the flower from him. “I can put this in a vase.”

  “Tess,” he says. “Can you tell her I’m here? I’d really like to see her.”

  I shift from foot to foot and look behind me inside the house.

  “Please,” he says.

  “I can’t make the decision for her,” I tell him, but I open the door and let him come inside and point to the living room. “Go sit in there. I’ll see if she’s up for a visitor.” I wave toward the sofa.

  He takes off his shoes, and I leave him to walk down the hallway to Kristina’s room. I knock on the door but she doesn’t answer. When I push it open, she’s lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, awake. Her room is obviously temporary. There are no pictures on the wall, nothing to personalize it as her space. I want to grab some of her posters from upstairs, bring them down, and put them up for her.

  “What?” she says without looking at me.

  “Devon is here.” I hold up the flower.

  She glances over. “What?”

  “Devon. Is. Here.”

  “What does he want?”

  “He wants to talk to you.”

  She doesn’t say anything, and I’m about to shut the door and go back and tell him she won’t see him when she speaks. “Okay, I’ll see him,” she says quietly. “Might as well get this over with. Can you ask him to come in here?”

  I look over my shoulder, surprised. “You sure?”

  She nods. “Can you help me sit up?”

  I’m not supposed to help her. Mom told me the physio woman wants her to do things alone, but I go to the bed and take her arms, let her lean on me and help her prop herself up.

  “Fluff out the covers around my leg, so it’s not so noticeable.”

  I do as she asks, still holding the stupid flower in my hand.

  “Okay,” she says. “He can come in.”

  She looks tiny in the bed. Her face looks smaller without hair on it. There’s stubble sprouting from her scalp but it’s fuzzy and lighter in color. But even like that, even without a stitch of makeup on, she still manages to be more beautiful than anyone I know. I smile at her.