Mustaches for Maddie

by Chad Morris

  I’d heard that in some divorces the mom and the dad were still nice to each other and talked and supported their kids. But even so, it wouldn’t be the same. And maybe some divorces weren’t like that. Maybe Cassie’s mom and dad didn’t treat each other nice. I had heard of those too.

  I sighed. That would be terrible. If my parents divorced, I would full-on, absolutely, nothing-held-back hate it.

  Maybe Cassie hated it, too. Maybe that was why she’d given me that look. Maybe that was part of the reason she was so mean. She had always been a little selfish, but when her dad left, maybe that made things worse. A lot worse. It wasn’t a good reason for Cassie to be mean, but I could see how it might have made it harder for her to be happy, to be nice.

  I lay on my back and put my pillow over my face. I remembered how I felt when I found out about my tumor. How that had made it harder for me to be happy.

  I remembered feeling afraid.

  And I didn’t want to be nice and smiley all the time. I definitely didn’t want my friends to know about it; I thought they might not like me if they knew. Maybe that was kind of how Cassie felt. Lexi said that going through her parents’ divorce was really hard on her. And no one gives you baskets full of gifts when your parents are going through a divorce. They don’t put on mustaches for you. Cassie probably didn’t feel like she had a huge cheerleading team. In fact, Cassie probably felt that she hardly had anyone in the world right now.

  I didn’t like that.

  But she had been manipulative and mean. She had lied. Why would we be her friends? But I didn’t like thinking about how she might feel.

  And I didn’t know what I should do about it.

  “Okay,” I said. “I want to see further into the future.” I had been staring into the oculator for the last few minutes, and depending on how my assistant changed the settings, parts of the future became clear to me. At first they were blurry, but with a few adjustments, I saw time machines, robot animals, and a chair that could read your mind. The future was going to be awesome.

  “Is this one clearer, or this one?” my assistant asked.

  I focused. “The second one.”

  Alright. I wasn’t really looking into the future, but that’s what it felt like with the huge, science fiction–looking goggles they put up to my eyes.

  I was visiting the ophthalmologist. That’s my favorite doctor name—and a fun word to say. Ophthalmologist. It means eye doctor.

  Endocrinologist is a close second. That’s the doctor that takes care of my hormones.

  Say either word ten times fast. Try it.

  I had to go to the ophthalmologist to get a prescription for my glasses. It had been six and a half weeks since my surgery, and my eyes had calmed down and healed enough that I was going to get glasses. Maybe I would get a pair with little mustaches on the side.

  I had thought a lot about Cassie. I even asked Hannah to invite her to play with us. That took some convincing. I guess Cassie had said some mean things to Hannah, but I still thought Cassie was more likely to listen to Hannah than to me. It didn’t work. And when Cassie said no, Hannah was so upset she told Cassie to never talk to her again.

  I didn’t know what to do next.

  “Your eyes have changed a lot,” the assistant said, bringing me back to the present. The ophthalmologist had asked her to start my testing and he would check in at the end. “Let me go and get the doctor. He can make sure that I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.” She got up quickly.

  “What are you seeing?” Mom asked.

  She hesitated. “Let me go and get the doctor.”

  I didn’t like that hesitation or that answer. Soon my ophthalmologist was in the room looking over my charts. He was a tall doctor guy with thick glasses. No mustache.

  “Hey, Maddie,” he said. And then he asked me a lot of the same questions doctors ask. How was I feeling? Did I eat a lot of ice cream when I was recovering? I noticed he looked over the information in my chart a lot of times, flipping back and forth through the pages. Then he asked different questions. I answered all of his “What letter do you see?” questions and looked up and down and left and right. He flipped through lenses on the cool machine, then lifted his own glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I’m going to send you across the street to the vision center and have them take pictures of the backs of your eyes. That will help me know for certain what I am seeing.”

  “What are you seeing?” Mom tried again.

  “Let’s look at those pictures first,” he said. Was he stalling?

  Oh, no.

  He wanted a scan. My insides knotted up instantly. I hated scans.

  More questions.

  And before I knew it, I was back in the escape pod machine getting another MRI.

  When I came out, Dad was at the hospital with Mom. He’d rushed there straight from work.

  Dr. Montoya was there too. “Your ophthalmologist noticed that your optical nerves are pinched again,” she said, looking at a computer screen that showed the inside of my head. She still didn’t show much emotion. “He wanted me to see into your head and figure out what is pinching them.”

  “The tumor is back?” I guessed, my stomach scrunching and twisting.

  “Sort of.” Dr. Montoya pulled up a picture of the front of my brain. “This little part here is all that is left of that tumor.” She pointed to a tiny white sliver. “And we were hoping it would be a long time before it would do anything, but . . .”

  But? But? I was desperate for her to finish her sentence.

  She scrolled forward and backward between the MRI slides revealing different depths of my brain scan. She stopped on one. “Can you see this bubble here? This is what we call a cyst. It’s not a tumor but more of a fluid-filled sac coming out of the tumor. And this cyst is pushing against your optical nerves here.” She pointed each thing out very calmly. “Your brain is here. And what is left of your pituitary stem here.”

  Pituitary is another fun word to say. But it wasn’t fun now. Nothing seemed fun now. I didn’t fully understand everything she said, but I was almost holding my breath trying to figure out what all of it meant.

  “And from how quickly the cyst appeared, it’s very likely that it will continue to grow and cause you problems.”

  My heart started to pound. I knew what she was going to say.

  “It’s not wise to leave it there. We’re going to have to do another surgery.” The terrible words came out of her mouth like she was talking about me cleaning my room or doing my homework. I wondered if doctors practiced saying really hard things like they were just normal problems. But even though she said them all normal, the words echoed in my mind.

  Another surgery.

  Surgery is not a fun word. It isn’t fun to say or to think about. I didn’t want to say it ten times fast, and I definitely didn’t want to do it again. It’s a heavy word, a word that can smash stuff. Like a huge boulder tumbling down a hill and squashing a house, or a car, or all your happiness. I hated that word.

  My monster was back. Scalier and uglier than ever. And bigger. A lot bigger. Right now, it felt like it could crush me with one stomp of its scaly foot.

  I hadn’t seen it coming when I looked into the future.

  I was almost shaking under my mustache blanket.

  Boo.

  Super boo.

  This time they were going to have to cut through my skull. Yep. Through my skull. They had to use a drill for that. Gross. And crazy. And painful. Thankfully medication would make it so I didn’t feel a thing. But this surgery would be scarier than the first. The doctors couldn’t go back through my nose because there was a lot of scar tissue. I guess that meant my body had blocked the way back as it healed. If they went that way again, it would be extra-dangerous. So they were going to shave a little part of my hair over my ear, cut a hole in my skull, and go under my brain to
get to the cyst.

  Ultra-nasty icky awful boo with rotten eggs and skunk-scented perfume on top. You can put all the mustaches you want on that and it isn’t funny or happy or anything good.

  My parents took me out for Shane’s Shake Shack shakes again. My dad made me laugh, but most the time I forced it. And my mom talked about how this could be a blessing in disguise. Maybe the doctors could get the rest of the tumor while they were in there. Maybe after this, I wouldn’t have to worry about the tumor anymore—ever.

  But I knew that also meant that maybe some of those terrible things I worried might happen last time might really happen this time.

  My brothers gave me big hugs when we got home. Max was the cutest. He hugged me supertight and said, “I wish my arms could be a huge mustache because then I could give you two things you really like at once.” A mustache hug. Isn’t that adorable? If adorable could kill a tumor and a cyst, this thing would be so dead. I love that kid. My brothers had all made me cards again, and this time no one asked for my candy or my money.

  My mom lay on my bed with me until I fell asleep, but I woke up.

  Again.

  Staring up at my ceiling with the glow-in-the-dark stars that weren’t glowing very much anymore. It had been too long since I’d turned off the light.

  In another two weeks.

  Again.

  Not a nightmare. Well, not a sleeping, dreaming one anyway. It was the real thing.

  I knew I had friends. I knew I had a huge team on my side, but I didn’t want to tell them again. I didn’t want everyone to worry about me. I didn’t even want another basket full of presents and notes. I just wanted it to go away.

  I hadn’t felt this bad in a long time. In fact, everything had been so good: my brothers actually treating me okay, my friends, my play, my parents. No one had it worse than me now. Not even Cassie.

  She was in a bad situation, but not like this. She wasn’t worried for her life. She wasn’t worried about brain damage. But she was worried that everything might turn out terrible.

  In fact, in a way, she might think it already had.

  Maybe her family would never be the same again, never be together again. That would kind of be like having a surgery go wrong. Her brain wasn’t damaged, but it probably felt like her family was.

  And no one was rallying to her. Maybe she had wanted us to, but she had a terrible way of showing it. By lying to get what she wanted. By throwing parties so she could look good and get attention from boys. By excluding people because she was jealous. I remembered when she saw me passing out cards and I could tell she wanted one. That led her to make up another lie.

  And she never apologized.

  And that left her alone.

  I rubbed my tired eyes. Then, lying in my bed in the dark, I had an idea. Turns out tumors and cysts can’t stop ideas.

  It took me almost the full two weeks to convince everyone, but eventually they did it. It was probably really hard to say no to the girl who had to go in for her second brain surgery.

  And it gave me something else to think about. I really needed that.

  I hoped it would do what it was supposed to do.

  The bell for recess rang—my last recess before my second surgery—and my heart thumpy-thumped. I waited for everyone else to leave the room. Well, almost everyone.

  “Are you sure you don’t want us to go with you?” Yasmin asked.

  I nodded.

  “Okay,” Lexi said. “Good luck. We’ll be waiting for you.”

  “I’ll catch up,” I said. I would have put on a mustache to make me feel less nervous, but that would have messed everything up. I walked over to the counter, pulled out a big brown bag I’d brought from home, and started toward the door.

  “Is everything okay?” Mrs. Baer asked, looking down at the bag in my hand. I guess going out to recess with a bag wasn’t very common.

  “I hope so,” I said and left the room. I loved Mrs. Baer, but right then I didn’t want to have to answer a bunch of questions.

  As soon as I stepped out of the big doors into the sun, I had to blink lots of times. It was hard walking out into the brightness like that. I knew my friends were all gathering to hang out one more time, but I couldn’t join them yet.

  I walked the other direction. I almost started counting my steps toward the big spruce tree and the girl wearing a super-­cute purple dress.

  She saw me coming.

  “Go away,” Cassie called out while I was still a half a basket­ball court away.

  I didn’t answer. I just kept walking.

  “Go away,” she repeated.

  “I will,” I said. I was close enough that I didn’t have to raise my voice. “But I need to do something first.”

  Cassie glared at me.

  “A while ago,” I continued, “I realized that maybe I’m not the only one who has to go through hard stuff.” I blinked a little extra. “I think everyone does. It’s just different versions of hard stuff. Like Devin’s dad lost his job a few years ago. That had to be really hard.” I nodded toward my group playing on the field. “And Lexi’s parents got a divorce and that would be really difficult. Even Mrs. Baer had a sister who had to have a kidney transplant.”

  Cassie looked back at me with her best I-don’t-care eyes.

  I kept talking. “Sometimes we don’t want others to know the bad stuff we’re facing.” I cleared my throat. “So I was thinking. I had a bunch of people cheering for me when I went through something hard. And I still do.” They had all been asking me how I was and offered to give me another basket, but I’d kept all of their stuff from the first time. I didn’t need anything else. “I wish everyone had that when life got ugly. I wish everyone had friends who told them it would be okay and tried to help out.”

  Cassie looked away. Was I boring her? Or did she just not want to listen?

  Deep breath. I had no idea if this would work.

  “I wanted to try to help,” I said. “At least a little.” I took a few steps closer to Cassie. That got her to look up at me again. “I’m going into surgery again tomorrow, but instead of having my friends give me more gifts or wear mustaches for me, I asked them to do me a favor. Something for someone in my class who was going through a hard time.”

  I reached inside my big brown bag and pulled out a red, sparkly box I’d made. It said Cards for Cassie on the front in glittery, colorful letters I’d made myself. And it looked goooooood.

  I set the box down in front of Cassie. She looked back at me, but this time her face was different. Not a glare, and not her sad-jealous look. Just different.

  “They’re cards. Lots of them. And they’re all for you,” I said. “And there’s one in there from me. I owed you one.” I pointed to the box, then turned and starting walking away.

  I counted twenty steps before daring to look back, even though I was super curious and my heart was still thumping.

  Cassie stared at the box, then glanced at me, and then back to the box.

  I walked across the playground and joined up with my friends.

  “Do you think she liked it?” Lexi asked.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “She didn’t seem to know what to think.”

  “I bet she liked it,” Yasmin said.

  I looked back over at Cassie, who was staring at the box. It took her another minute before she opened the first card.

  No reaction. At least, not that I could tell. I was kind of far away.

  She opened the second.

  Nothing.

  Then the third.

  Nothing.

  And then she started to bawl. Full-on, cry-her-eyes out bawling.

  This was the second time I’d seen her crying underneath that tree. It was hard to tell, but I was pretty sure these tears were very different from the last. I think they were good tears. I
think I can tell. I’ve cried all sorts of tears, so I’m kind of an expert.

  I had convinced everyone to write Cassie a card and tell her anything nice about her they could think of. I told them she needed them. She was going through something hard too. She needed cards like I had needed mustaches.

  And they’d done it.

  Cassie brushed away her tears and read another card. I hoped her lips lifted up a little at the corners.

  I hadn’t read the cards, but I knew at least one of them invited Cassie to come hang out with us again, because it was the one I’d written.

  All my brothers were lined up and wearing mustaches. Well, not really lined up. More like standing in a glob.

  “You’ll do great,” Christopher said and gave me a hug.

  “Don’t forget your hospital bag,” Ethan said and brought it over to me. It had my clothes and books and movies for the hospital stay.

  “We couldn’t find the snack bag,” Emery said. “It’s gone missing.” The snack bag was filled with granola bars and fruit and candy. If you’re going to be stuck in a hospital room for several days, it’s helpful to have a few snacks.

  I saw it behind his legs.

  “That’s so weird,” Ethan said. “I’m sure you’ll do alright without it.”

  “It’s behind you,” Max ratted them out.

  Emery put his finger to his lips.

  “Oh!” Max said. “I mean, yeah, we couldn’t find it.”

  Not much could make me smile before surgery again, but that did. This time we were going to the hospital the night before instead of waking up super early.

  I gave them all tight hugs, including my Aunt Kimmie, who was babysitting the boys.

  “Here you go,” Max said and handed me a stick. “It’s my magic wand. Just in case you need some, you know, magic. Usually it only works for me, but I put a spell on it so it can work for you for a while.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I whirled it around and said a few made-up magic words, pretending to cast a spell. “Now, my magic slave,” I said to Max, “go find me my bag of snacks.”