First of Many

by Ashley Suzanne

  “Go. Fight. Win,” he yells, and I smile in return. “I’m not even watching.”

  I nod, and Sheena bumps my hip while she winks at Jansen.

  “Going to get nachos!” His final statement is all I need. I’m good to go.

  As the first few races start and end, those nerves ebb away, until it’s our turn. The four-by-four is where Sheena and I set the bar high. I start the race with the backstroke and Sheena anchors with freestyle—I set ‘em up and she knocks ‘em down. Jumping into the water and letting my body sink beneath the surface, I slowly kick my way to the edge, where I grip the side and pull my legs to my chest, prepared to fire off when the horn sounds. With a wink from Sheena, I smile and nod. I refuse to let the girl from Salemget in my head. Not with her smug, knowing grin.

  This one’s mine, chick.

  “Swimmers, take your mark.” I pull up tight, almost able to kiss my knees. “Ready.” I stick my tongue out at Sheena. “Set.”

  “See ya on the other side.” Fitting it’s Rowan’s voice is the last I hear as the horn blares, the crowd erupts, and with all my strength, I push off the wall, dive backward, and start the first leg of the race. I come above the water and my arms rapidly stroke, evenly and fluid. In my head, I count each stride methodically, knowing exactly how many I need until I’ll reach the opposite end of the pool. As I pass the marker above the pool, my count’s dead on, and I smile to myself as I continue. Just as I’m heading into my turn, I lose track of where I am, my vision clouds, and my head smashes into the wall …

  And that’s when it all goes black.

  *****

  “Charlie?” Sheena says.

  What the hell? I’m dry. Where’s my suit? Where’s the humidity?

  “Huh,” I groan, my head aching, and the memory of what happened in the water hits me like a ton of bricks. “Oh God, we lost, didn’t we?” I’ve never missed a turn. Not even in a junior or city league. I was built for the water, so says my dad.

  “Not important right now, dude. You gave us all a good scare,” she responds.

  My vision’s still fuzzy, along with the events leading us to this point. Where the hell’s my damn suit?

  “Are we in the hospital?” Looking around as my sight clears, I notice all the machines, sterile walls, and the stench of industrial antibacterial cleaner. Oh, and the hospital gown. “Where’s my suit?” I finally ask aloud. Those suckers aren’t cheap, and if they cut if off to put this itchy, uncomfortable gown on me, I’m gonna be pissed.

  “Well, after Sanderson fished your ass out of the water, the paramedics brought you here in an ambulance, genius. It’s been a rough few hours. And don’t worry your pretty little head, all your stuff’s in my duffle, safe and sound.”

  I exhale, thankful for the small things, then realize what she said. “Hours? It feels like it’s only been a minute or two.”

  “No, baby cakes. You’ve been out for like six hours. They did some tests, and I even peeked up your gown.” She winks, points to her butt, then gives me a waggle of her brows.

  “You’re a dick.” I laugh. “You and my ass … can’t you find something else to obsess over?”

  “Speaking of dicks, did you know you don’t have one? I confirmed it. And here I was, this whole time, thinking you had balls of steel or something. I was wronger than shit,” Sheena adds, doing a damn good job of lightening the mood.

  My mom picks that moment to come into the room, and the look on her face tells a story that can’t possibly have a happy ending … something a whole lot worse than me blacking out in the pool and getting a bump on the head.

  “Charlie, baby, I’m so happy you’re awake,” she cries, running to my bedside and yanking me into a too-tight hug. I mean, the woman all but hurls herself onto my bed and into my arms. I don’t have the heart to tell her my entire body aches in places they’ve never ached and I need her to do less of the touching and more of the leaving me alone.

  At least until she spills the beans. Having never been a good liar, she’s not improved since my sixteenth birthday and someone couldn’t keep her trap shut about the car I was getting.

  “Hey, Ma,” I say, my voice muffled by her weight.

  “Yeah, angel? What do you need? Some water?” She moves off me and I gulp for air. Looking her in the eyes, the truth’s written in big, bold, sparkly letters, only it’s written in a language I don’t understand and the translator can’t get here quick enough.

  “Love you with my whole heart, but you’re lying. Badly,” I state matter of factly. “Happy people don’t look like the cat pissed in their Prada bag. What gives?”

  She looks to Sheena and I notice a similar fishy expression. Sheena tries to escape and oh hell no. We’re all in on this, we all deal with it.

  “No. Sheena, sit. What do y’all know that I don’t?”

  “Baby girl, I think this is something you and I should discuss and you can fill Sheena in later.”

  No, ma’am, that’s not how this works. She knows better. Forget the fact my dad’s not here for whatever reason, I need my person. Mom’s face isn’t changing. If anything, it’s getting more suspicious. So unless something’s changed in our family dynamic and I wasn’t given notice, Sheena’s not going anywhere.

  “Sorry, Ma, Sheena stays. She may as well be my sister, and if you’re going to give me some real unpleasant news—as I suspect—I’m going to need her. She. Stays.” I leave no room for argument. Final answer.

  “Fine,” my mom sighs and takes my hand in hers. “When they brought you in, nobody knew why you’d just passed out. The doctors started with blood tests and then a CT scan.” She pauses and wipes a tear away with her free hand.

  OMG, just get out with it already! If I thought Rowan made me nervous, I’ve never experienced nerves at all.

  I grab Sheena’s hand with my empty one, squeezing it tightly, and I’m even more concerned when I notice her hand’s clammy—more than my own. Sheena never worries. I cast her a knowing look to which she doesn’t respond. Whereas my mother’s a terrible liar, Sheena’s much better … except for when it comes to me. The girl cannot lie to me.

  “The scans they did … they’re not sure … looks like a … mass.” Mom’s voice trembles and shakes, trying not to crack.

  “Mass? Like a tumor? Isn’t that what they said about Gram? A mass?” Shooting questions off a mile a minute, I try desperately to wrap my head around the situation. Finally doing so—or at least I think I do—I ask, “Cancer? Is it cancer?”

  Sheena’s grip tightens to the point of pain, and I kind of like it. The pain’s keeping me grounded. The pain’s a reminder that no matter what this mass is or what it means—though masses are rarely a good thing—right now, I’m here. Alive.

  “We just don’t know, Charlie,” Mom responds honestly. “They’ve called the oncologist and all I know is he’s reviewing the scans and tests. Your dad’s parked outside his office waiting for his opinion.”

  Ugh, I knew there was a reason my dad wasn’t here when I woke up … though I hoped he was in a meeting … stuck in traffic … pinching a nurse’s ass—not waiting for cancer news … for me.

  “Sorry for the language, Mrs. T, but this is a fucking joke, right? She passed out, that’s it. Maybe she forgot to eat and her blood sugar dropped? That’s a thing. It happens. All the time.” Sheena moves her line of sight from Mom to me. “Right? You didn’t eat lunch? This’s crazy, right?”

  Unable to form a coherent sentence, I remain silent, my eyes blinking way too fast to be considered any sort of normal.

  “The hell, Charlie? Tell her you forgot to eat so we can leave. Fuck, say anything, dammit.”

  “Sheena, sweetie, I know you’re worried, we all are, but let’s calm down a little. Let Charlie breathe a little. She just had a bomb dropped on her, we all did.”

  “No, there’s no calming down. Charlie’s healthy and smart and seven-damn-teen. We don’t get cancer. It’s wrong. The doctors here are dumb. Bet they got their degree
s online. And Charlie’s not sick. Look at her. Other than that bump on her head, she’s perfect.”

  “I gotta side with Sheena on this one, Ma. There has to be a mistake,” I agree in solidarity. “Seventeen-year-old swimmers don’t get tumors. They probably got me mixed up with some seventy-year-old woman. It happens all the time. Pretty sure it happened on Grey’s Anatomy just last week.” Feeling sure of my assessment, I nod rapidly and smile. “Just a mistake and we’re all sitting here freaking out over nothing,” I whisper.

  “Baby,” Mom’s voice is somber and absolute. “It’s not a mistake. The doctors should be back in a little bit to tell us what we’re looking at. We just can’t get ahead of ourselves. Hope for the best and prepare for the worst, right?”

  The fuck? I don’t know about everyone else in attendance, but I’m not preparing for cancer. Not today.

  “Hell no!” I yell. “The best is me preparing to go on a date Saturday night. I’m going to Homecoming. I’m going a lot of places and going to do a lot of things. Preparing for cancer isn’t one of those things.” Preach, girl.

  “It’s not up to us, angel. Let’s just wait for your dad and the doctor to come back.”

  I cross my arms over my chest like a child having a tantrum and refuse to make eye contact with anyone—staring straight ahead at the wall in front of me.

  “Can you guys go somewhere, please? I wanna be alone for a minute.”

  “That’s a big, fat hell no,” Sheena scoffs. “I’m not leaving this damn room. You’re insane. Proof that your bump’s just a bump.”

  “I don’t think you should be alone right now, angel,” my mom sides with Sheena, only making me angrier.

  “Seriously, guys. I need to think and I can’t think with your sad faces looking all gloomy over there. Ten minutes, then you can come back.”

  “No,” Sheena answers firmly, but my mother surprises me.

  “Come on, Sheena. Let’s go get something to eat and come back. We’ll grab Charlie some cheesecake.”

  “I’m not leaving her, Mrs. T.”

  “Yes, you are, or I’m calling your mother. Do I need to call your mother, Sheena Gene?”

  “Ten minutes,” I plead.

  “Fine,” Sheena huffs, and at the same time as my mother, rises from her seat, grabs her purse, and walks out the door, no doubt unhappy with the general consensus.

  When I’m left alone with only my thoughts, I lay my head back on the pillow and stare at the ceiling wondering how any of this is even possible. I’m an athlete in perfect health. I eat my vegetables and brush my teeth after every meal. I don’t smoke, don’t do drugs, never even thought about taking a puff off a cigarette. I have good grades and finally found a boy I really like, and I’m pretty sure he likes me just as much. And even still, of all the sicknesses known to man, cancer’s on the table? Seems like a raw deal.

  Every year, right on schedule, since the day I was born, I’ve been to the doctors, received my vaccinations, been evaluated … if cancer were an area of concern, shouldn’t it have shown somewhere? Blood work? How does something like this come out of the blue—BAM—and try to ruin your life?

  “Knock knock,” Rowan whispers as he softly raps his knuckles against the door and peeks inside. “Can I come in?”

  Oh, thank God. A distraction. Then my cheeks heat—he was there. The first time he got to see me in my element, not only did I bomb but I damn near died.

  “Yeah,” I murmur, mortified. The last time I saw his face, he was cheering for me and now here he is, in the hospital. When he could be anywhere else, he chose to come see me. What kind of person has the best and worst luck at the same time?

  “I bet you’re bummed, but if it makes you feel any better, you were on your way to kicking that girl’s ass. There was no catching up for her.”

  I laugh. “Actually, that does make me a little happy.” I’m sure she won by default, since the whole crashing-into-the-wall thing, but had that scene never happened, that smug look would’ve been wiped clean off her face.

  “So what’d the doc say?” he asks, and I don’t know what to say. I remain silent and he inquires further. “I heard Sheena bitching about low blood sugar? Is that it? Or are there no answers yet?”

  We’ve only been dating for a few weeks, and tumors aren’t exactly a “let’s take our relationship to the next level” topic of conversation, so I lie … a little. Before I open my mouth, I flashback to the lake and our first kiss, so at least my smile will be honest.

  “They’re not sure yet. I’m thinking Sheena could be right—the blood sugar deal. I know better than to race without enough protein and sugars in my body,” I reply casually as if my entire world’s not falling apart, using Sheena’s excuse, even though in the pit of my stomach I know it’s wrong. I had a salad for lunch and a protein bar before warmups. My blood sugar was just fine.

  “I bet you need a little rest now. That bump on your head’s pretty rough looking. I’ll swing by later tonight after I get my mom what she needs from the store. I don’t see anything on your fancy board that says anything about what you can and can’t eat. Want me to grab you something while I’m there? Maybe some Skittles?”

  People who say teenagers don’t know what love really feels like have obviously never had someone offer to buy Skittles and show up when their presence isn’t required. They’ve never felt so cared for … not like I have. I feel badly for those people. They missed out—big time.

  Then again, if the news is as bad as my gut screams, I have conflicting emotions. I’d want him here to lean on, but I don’t want to fall apart in front of him. This is all so new, and there aren’t many boys who would want to date the cancer girl. Maybe just a tiny fib will do.

  “Skittles sound great. I’ll text you when I wake up, rest sounds nice.” I probably won’t call. This isn’t his cross to bear. I have Sheena, I’ll be okay. I’ll be the selfless one and give him an out if it comes to that. That text will be sent depending on how this meeting with the doctor goes.

  Rowan kisses my forehead and leaves the room the same time the doctors are walking in, my parents and Sheena following close behind. Apparently, my door’s ever-revolving and giving me a little time to pretend I’m fine and enjoying the company of my boyfriend’s too much to ask.

  He glances back at me, silently asking me if I want him to say. I pass off a fake smile, telling him I’m okay and he should go about his plans. He winks and continues out the door and down the hall. A sigh of relief leaves my lips as Sheena sits in the chair to my right and my parents flank either side of the bed at the foot while the doctor’s dead in front of me, a grim look on his face.

  He really should work on his bedside manner and trying to hide his emotions. It can’t be easy to give bad news, but at this point I don’t need his words to know this isn’t going to be anywhere near good. We could be talking worst-case scenario. Out of habit, I grab onto Sheena’s hand, preparing for the sad-looking man to open his long-too-silent mouth.

  “Charlotte, I’m Dr. Lewis, the Chief of Pediatric Oncology.”

  “Nice to meet you. Please call me Charlie. I’m only Charlotte when my mom’s mad I didn’t take out the trash.”

  “Will do, Charlie,” he corrects, a small upward curve of his lips appearing. “The test results, while very telling and alarming, aren’t conclusive. To put it simply, we have a lot of information to go off of but not nearly enough to give any definitive answers.”

  “Where do we go from here, then? More tests? You got a game plan?” my dad asks, or rather demands him to answer the way he wants.

  “Well, Mr. Thompson, I do. I want to take a biopsy of the tissue to see if the mass is just a benign tumor or if it’s something more serious. We’ll take some further scans, more in depth, to get a surgical plan to remove the tumor regardless. If it’s affecting Charlie’s coordination, it will have to be removed.”

  I don’t know if I’m more irritated that he’s making surgical plans or because he’s so calm wh
ile relaying the information.

  “You’re cutting into Charlie’s brain?!” Sheena yells.

  “Long story short? Yes. Dr. Abramski, the Chief of Neurology, will be by my side the entire time and performing the bulk of the tissue sample removal as well as the reception if we can get clear margins.”

  “When?” I mutter, almost too silently for anyone to hear. “When are you wanting to do this?”

  “Soon,” he answers flatly. “Many brain cancers—not that you have any of them—can be rather aggressive. If the mass isn’t benign and is cancerous, we need to act just as aggressively to fight it. You’re young, your body’s resilient. At this time, there’s no need to be worried. Not until we have more answers, and we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

  “Sorry, doc, but you wanting to cut into my brain is something to worry about. I’ve watched enough medical dramas to know just about anything can go wrong and I can end up a vegetable with one slip of the hand. Worrying is what we should be doing,” my mother speaks up after clearing the lump from her throat.

  “Mom, please stop. If he says to stay calm, we stay calm. I’m the one with the brain they’ll be playing with and I’m not a mess. Please don’t, okay?”

  “Charlotte, take this serious. There’s a tumor … inside your head.”

  “Mother,” I groan. “I don’t want to ask you to leave, but if you don’t stop, I’m going to have to make you. I need you. Please don’t make me make you leave. Please.”

  For a few moments, she just stares at me like I have two heads, then nods and wipes tears from her cheeks. I think she understands what I need, so I turn to Sheena.

  “Sheena? Can you grab my phone and text Rowan? I didn’t give him all the information and I don’t want this to be something he thinks I deliberately withheld from him. I’d like to see him before surgery.”

  A little white lie only a few moments ago seems a lot bigger now. I can’t have my brain sliced into without telling him. Even more so … not telling him how I feel.