by kc dyer
cc Dr. Rob Valens, MD, DFM
cc Ms. Abigail Zephyr,
Education Department Head
November 29
Cleo J.
7:03 p.m.
Happy Birthday to me.
Friday night. Perfect night for a party. Except no one remembered. You didn’t come into work today, Abbie. I know you’re not allowed to come in here if you have a cold and I guess you are entitled to a sick day now and again. But on my birthday?
My sister is gearing up because Miss Winter Snowflake has laryngitis and now my sister gets her moment in the spotlight. I know my mom is going crazy sewing Helena’s new baton-twirling costume. And she has to worry about calling the nursing home about my grandmother. Nona is not doing well. My mother sent me flowers for my birthday, which did not make things easier, especially since she couldn’t find the time to come herself. I know she meant well, but I was pretty upset when they arrived.
Flowers are for dead people and I truly fear Nona will soon be one of them.
It’s probably just as well that no one was here for my birthday. The day has certainly not turned out as I had hoped. I’m now fourteen years old and, according to Medusa, I’ve gained seven pounds. She says I’m now eligible to go home for a weekend whenever I want. How fun — home to an empty house for a weekend, with no clothes to wear because I am too fat for everything. Seven pounds means saying sayonara to my new Gap skirt. I can still get it done up but all you can see is bulging stomach. Maybe if I put my big red sweater over it I could get away with it if I do go home. If I plan it right, I can walk through the mall when Adine Terrapini is hanging out with her hoodlum friends. “Hi Adine! Notice my size-zero skirt from the Gap?”
And she’d say… nothing. Just look right through me and chew gum like a cow. Maybe with a vapid giggle or two. At my expense, of course. “Heh-heh. Hey Eddie. Look at the fat kid, trying to pull off a size-zero skirt. Who does she think she is… a hippo in a bikini?”
To give credit where it is due, Logan remembered my birthday. He actually choked down his hatred of the hospital for an hour and came back to the ward to bring me a gift. But in the end, it didn’t go very well. Before the flowers came I did get a chance to say sorry about our fight yesterday, but he was feeling sort of down, himself. He thinks his dad will be mad at him. It seems he missed the tryouts after all. Anyway, he’s not on the rugby team and he’s pretty bummed. Guess that makes two of us.
Cleo
Sent: November 30
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Hey Abbie,
You’ve probably read the report by now, but Dr. Valens says that he thinks I can be pretty much treated as an outpatient from here on in. Wish I felt more like celebrating.
I know it’s your day off and all, but I want to let you know that Cleo is feeling pretty low and I’m worried she’s going to do something stupid. I mean, she’s already done many stupid things but I just don’t want it to get worse.
Now that I’m out, I’m hoping she’ll be out soon, too. Fellow sufferers, y’know — that’s all. Don’t read anything into it. We’ve kinda been through a few things together, so I’d like to see her do okay.
Anyway, I was feeling bad about the whole rugby disaster and I couldn’t face hanging out at school. So since it was her birthday and all I dropped by to bring her a celebration chocolate bar now that she’s eating once in a while.
Turns out the nurse had just told her she’d gained weight — a good thing, if you ask me — but Cleo was upset. Takehiko said she can go out on day passes any time now. But her family didn’t show up for her birthday and of course she had to spend it in the hospital. So she was pretty low, but she ate the chocolate bar anyway, which I thought was a good sign.
Things sorta took a turn for the worse when the flowers arrived from her mom. I don’t know what kind they were, but man, was she pissed. The card said: “Sorry we missed your birthday, sure you’ll understand.” Cleo did NOT understand. She ripped the head off every single flower and then gave the dead stems back to the poor delivery guy and told him to take them away.
Then she went into my bathroom, didn’t even close the door, and barfed up the chocolate bar. I would have been totally grossed out if I hadn’t been so sad for her. I thought she was getting better. She was still crying when I left.
Maybe you can think of something. I can’t.
Logan
Evergreen Hospital
ICU Ward – Desk 11
Office: 101-45l6-7890
November 29
To: Ward Nurses – Children’s Ward, Desk 9
Re: patient Kip Graeme
Patient Transfer – ICU to Children’s Ward
Patient stable. Kidney transplant successful.
Expect transfer to Children’s Ward November 30.
cc Dr. Rob Valens, MD, DFM
cc Ms. Abigail Zephyr,
Education Department Head
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Abbie, by now you have probably figured out that I have not been transferred to a different ward. I don’t care what the other staff think, but I know that you are a good person and have always wished the best for me. I want you to know that I am never returning to that hospital hell-hole. I have endured one humiliation after another. It is simply more than a person can bear. You are the only good thing about the place (well, little Kip is pretty special, too) and therefore I want you (and Kip and Logan) to know that I am safe and you don’t have to worry about me at all.
I did want to take this chance to say …
9
The bus lurched violently sideways and Logan jerked awake. He could hear a babble of voices, but there was nothing to be seen in the black night. Even his little nightlight overhead had gone out. He looked around blearily for a moment and then, grateful for the darkness, wiped the side of his face where he’d drooled onto the smelly seat.
With a blast of cold air, the bus driver climbed back onto the bus. Where’s he been? thought Logan, still foggy.
“Sorry, folks. End of the line. That last rut took us straight into the ditch and nothing short of a tow truck is going to get us out of here tonight.”
The driver cut off the chorus of groans with the wave of a hand. “Don’t fret! We’re only two city blocks from the bus station. For those of you who aren’t interested in making the trek, another transport will be along smartly to ferry you to the station. Otherwise, it’s only a short clip. And I’ll turn the engine back on to keep you warm.”
Logan realized he must have been more tired than he thought. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but here he was at the end of the line. As the engine revved to life, the light came on over Logan’s seat again. He ignored the grumbling of the other passengers and gathered up the pages of Abbie’s notebook that lay scattered at his feet. A bit damp, some of them, but he thought he had them all. Somehow, though, the last page he’d been reading was torn. Maybe he’d ripped it in his sleep? He dropped to his knees and peered under the seat. Nothing.
He stuffed all the loose pages into the notebook and slipped the whole thing into the plastic bag. Logan pulled himself to his feet and clomped down the centre aisle of the bus. The driver nodded at him and Logan stepped out into the frigid night, immediately regretting his decision. He ducked his head further into his hood and pointed himself in the direction of the lights that blinked “Pus Sta ion” a block and a half away.
Three a.m. A bad time of the morning for feeling cheerful and worse when a person’s fingers are so frozen they couldn’t dial a phone for help even if there was a phone to dial. Logan slogged up to the bus station just in time to see the other bus passengers pull up in a heated cab with luggage stowed in the open trunk. The adversity of the weather must have had some kind of bonding effect as there was much hugging and bellowing of good-byes in the frozen air before they all headed off into the icy dark. The coffee shop was closed and as Log
an crunched across the ice to the main door of the station a man inside flipped off the remaining lights and stepped out into the cold.
“We’re shut down for the night, young fella,” he said briskly.
“But I don’t have anywhere to stay until daylight,” said Logan. “I thought this was an all-night coffee shop.”
“In Clearwater?” The man laughed. “Best head for the Sally Ann, young man. They can usually find a bed for homeless folks. Might be a little tight for space on a night this cold, though.”
Homeless? Logan opened his mouth to tell the guy he wasn’t homeless, but his audience was walking away. The man waved at the bus driver, who was stepping into a waiting car. The car honked twice — two sharp staccato notes that cut through the air like crystal. The man turned back to look at Logan. “I’ve got to go, young fella. Burt’s missus was kind enough to offer me a lift. She doesn’t like driving on icy nights, so I can’t keep her waiting.”
He pointed across the street and down a few blocks, in the direction the bus had just come from. “The shelter’s back there, maybe a block before where the bus conked out. No walk at all for a strapping young man like yourself. You’ll be there in no time.” He climbed into the waiting car, which gave another sharp honk and then pulled away, red taillights gleaming like a wolf’s eyes in the darkness.
Logan huddled in the bus station doorway and looked out across the street. Clearwater’s downtown had seen better days. There were at least a dozen cars abandoned to either cold or rust along the main road. Many of the storefronts were shut down with windows boarded over. Logan kicked at a chunk of frozen muck on the sidewalk in frustration. He was not anxious to make the return trip across the same icy, rutted road he had already struggled along once that evening.
His head snapped up to the sound of footsteps crunching through the frozen snow. A figure seemed to materialize out of the shadows into the pool of light beneath the only streetlamp that still functioned outside the station. His breath formed a cloud around his head and he looked at Logan through one good eye. The other appeared to be swollen shut. His feet were encased in old rubber boots tied up inside clear plastic grocery bags. “Cold enough fer ya?” he asked cheerfully.
What am I supposed to say to that? thought Logan. Is this guy crazy? He finally settled on “Yeah. I guess so.”
“Plannin’ on standing out here all night? Station’s closed, y’know.”
“Uh, yeah. I do know.” Logan wasn’t about to tell this old idiot anything about what he was planning.
“Well, yer welcome to keep company with me. I’m headin’ back to the highway. Need to hitch a ride to Evergreen. It’s too damn cold in this fool town.”
Logan was shocked out of his speechlessness. “I’ve just come from Evergreen,” he said. “I’m not going back there. The guy from the station told me about the Salvation Army shelter…”
“Full up, son. Jest been there m’self, I’m sorry to say. No room at the inn and all that. You come with me. Buddy o’ mine’s got a place in Evergreen we can crash at. Be there by morning. When it’s this cold, no problem catching a ride. People feel sorry for ya freezin’ on the side of the freeway.”
“I can’t. I need to stay here in Clearwater. I… I’m meeting someone here in the morning.”
“Suit yerself. It’ll be a cold wait out here, though yer young bones likely don’t feel it the way mine do.”
Right, thought Logan, bitterly. I hadn’t even noticed the cold. He shrugged and turned away.
The old fellow put a hand on Logan’s arm. “If yer set in yer mind, then you might have a look at that shop over there. See the one with the plastic on the window?”
Logan repressed a desire to yank his arm out of the man’s grasp. He peered through the darkness across the street where something was flapping in the wind. He nodded. “I see it.”
“One of them boards at the front is loose,” said the old guy, tucking his head down away from the wind. “There’s a burning barrel inside to keep ya warm, but better make sure you damp the flames down good before dawn. Cops around this town ain’t too friendly towards strangers.” He winked his good eye at Logan, nodded, and was gone into the darkness before Logan could think of any reply.
“Thanks,” Logan yelled, but the wind whipped the word back into his face. He hurried across the road to see if what the old drifter had said was true. Sure enough, under a sign saying “DAYAL’S MARKET,” Logan found a board that was loose. He pulled it as far away from the door frame as he could and squeezed through.
Just being out of the gale made him feel as though he had stepped into a warm cave. The store smelled as though something had rotted very thoroughly somewhere inside, but Logan was still overcome with a wave of relief. He hadn’t realized how anxious he really had been. Stepping cautiously in the dark, Logan clanged one of his boots into something large and metal. The ashy smell told him he’d found the burning barrel. He spent a few minutes scrambling around to pick up a pile of debris from the floor but realized how foolish this was just as he stuffed the material into the barrel. No matches. No lighter. The thing was useless to him.
His eyes adjusted to the dark, and a little warmer from all the exercise, Logan stepped toward the outline of something low a few feet away. It turned out to be an old wooden bench. Logan sank down on the bench and pulled out Abbie’s notebook from his pocket. He could feel moisture on his cheeks from his hair and eyelashes thawing. Maybe a little heat was leaking from one of the adjoining store fronts. It wasn’t really warm enough to undo his coat, but at least he knew he wouldn’t freeze.
On one end of the bench was a pile of newspapers, neatly folded. Logan lay down and spread the papers over his legs as best he could. Too dark to read any more of the notebook, he listened to the plastic blow around outside the window and tried to push thoughts of his rugby team out of his mind. What about driving? He could think about that. His mom had signed him up to start lessons in the spring, but he didn’t need them. He knew how to drive, not that it really mattered. The chances of getting a car from his dad likely evaporated when he didn’t make the team. No rugby scholarship. No beaming father. Life sucks and then you die, Dad, he thought. Haven’t you figured that out by now?
He didn’t want to think about his dad, shacked up with his new secretary-slash-girlfriend in Denver. His dad had probably heard all about Logan getting booted off the team by now.
Logan shivered a little and tucked his left arm under his head. He’d think about the lists of cars he had made for Abbie. Right. That was safer. He’d dig through her notebook and read them over again in the morning to see if he’d changed his mind at all. Maybe he needed to reconsider a few newer models. Maybe the Zephyr merited a place on the list after all — just because. And thinking of running boards and gull wings, Logan fell asleep with Abbie’s notebook as his only pillow against the hard wood of the old bench.
10
It was like someone was touching his face, over and over again. Maybe butterfly wings or a feather tickling him. Butterfly feathers? Whatever it was, it was damn irritating. Logan reached up to brush it away and cold shot though him like ice water in his veins. He sat up, immediately awake, the pages of a newspaper pooling around his feet on the cement floor.
The butterfly wings had been snow. In the night the plastic had blown off the tiny window above the door and now the snow swirled in — the same big fat flakes filling the air outside. The sky through the glass was now white instead of black, so it must be daylight, though there was no sign of sun. It was cold enough in here for the snow to skiff across the floor — not melting. But under his makeshift blanket of newspapers it had been warm — or at least warm enough to offer Logan the peace of a few hours slumber, anyway.
He propped his elbows on his knees and tried to rub a bit of the sleep from his eyes. His mouth tasted like a dragon had slept in it. He grinned a little at the thought of what his dad would have to say if he knew Logan had slept on a wooden bench inside an abandoned store
front. He wasn’t quite sure of the actual words, but he knew what the tone of voice would be. Loud. And his mother would want to raise money for a shelter for the disadvantaged. Or contribute to a food bank. She had a soft heart and the truth was he loved her for it. She was his mother, after all. But she had no damned sense. So busy solving other people’s problems.
Logan’s own problems came flooding back to him. He needed to talk to Kip in case Cleo had contacted him. And he needed to get something warm inside him, because the river of ice in his veins was making him sleepy again. And that kind of sleepy in this kind of cold was not a good thing.
Shadows moved in among the snowflakes swirling out on the street and Logan thought a cup of tea from The Bean and Gone might be just the thing while he used their internet connection. His body creaked as he stood up, so he stretched and then paused a moment to collect the newspapers into a pile, leaving them neatly on the bench. Someone else might need them — someone who probably didn’t have the price of a cup of tea to warm themselves after a cold night. He pulled his hat down low and yanked up his hood as he slid sideways through the broken board. He had to quit thinking like that; he was starting to sound like his mother.
The Bean and Gone was bustling as commuters stopped for coffee on their way to work. In Clearwater, the snow might fly and the slush might pile but life still muddled on.
It had taken him a while to figure out, but now it seemed so obvious where she was headed. And he was sure that as soon as her family found out she was missing, they would figure it out, too. But who knows? Maybe her family were as out of touch as Cleo said they were. In her mind there was only one person who knew her and loved her for herself. And maybe now she needed her Nona more than ever before. But Nona was pretty sick. And time was short.