by Hannah Gray
I wish he could see that there’s life outside of this. That he doesn’t have to always walk through hell day in and day out.
Unfortunately, I can’t lose myself in trying to fix him. I’ve already lost too much of myself. As I stand here, grabbing and pulling at him, getting in his face, even hitting his chest, I don’t even recognize who I am or what I’ve become. This isn’t healthy. It isn’t healthy at all.
I love him. I love him more than I ever believed my heart was capable of loving another human being. But it isn’t enough. It will never be enough.
Stepping around him, I open the door. Looking down at the ground and never at him, I gather every bit of inner strength left inside of me. “I need you to leave, Lane.” My voice begins to crack, but I swallow down my sadness and push through. “I need you to leave,” I plead, looking him right in the eyes. “I need you to leave and not come back.”
His eyes, which swirl with so much anger but also so much pain and sadness, glare into mine. I can’t take it. Looking away, I keep the door open.
He doesn’t speak, just stands silent for what seems like eternity. Finally, he steps out and shuts the door. Hard.
He’s gone, and all I can do is fall into a pile on the floor. I knew this day was coming. He’d warned me it was, and he’d told me it would hurt. It turns out, he might be a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. Because, my God, does it hurt.
forty-five
Lane
“The captain has turned the seat belt sign on. We will be landing in Michigan in twenty minutes. The temperature is seventy-one degrees, and it is partly cloudy. We would like to thank you for traveling with Brighton Airlines.”
I listen to the flight attendant rattle off the same words I hear every time I travel back and forth from campus in Massachusetts to the airport closest to home.
I flew back last week to finish up a few things for graduation, which is now only a little over a week away. I plan to fly back the day before it.
I can’t even stand myself. I’m so angry, and I know my family will know something is up. I need to get it the fuck together for my dad’s sake. He doesn’t need to deal with his son’s shitty attitude on top of all his own shit.
When I used Memphis’s laptop, I was so fucking furious when I saw the words Abby Leland and Littleton, Michigan.
Littleton is a small town, so of course, Abby’s accident came right up.
I was upset. But I was ashamed more than mad. Ashamed that Memphis finally knew the truth about everything. Although it couldn’t have said how I was tied in, I knew that she knew that I was in some awful way. Which is true.
I shouldn’t miss her. But I do … so fucking much.
I didn’t think I would after what she pulled. But when I saw how much I’d broken her, I was so fucking mad at myself. It made me want to puke. I almost scooped her up, carried her to her bed, and showed her how much she meant to me. And to let her know that I was sorry. Unbelievably sorry.
But I remembered that once she asked me for the entire truth, she’d probably never look at me the same anyway. Not that I could blame her.
With my head pressed against the window, the entire world beneath me, I have to wonder, Why did I let her get that close to me in the first place?
I knew better. I fucking knew so much better. If I had just kept away, if only I could have kept my self-control, I wouldn’t be hurting this much. Blue eyes wouldn’t be staring at me when I fall asleep. I wouldn’t have memories of her hands on my body running through my brain. I wouldn’t be imagining the look on her face as I brought her to an all-time high, her needing and craving every second of it.
I should have seen the signs long ago. She’s loved me since the beginning.
But I know my fate. I have demons that nobody will ever have the strength to fight and defeat. How could they? I can’t even face them. Let alone fight them.
forty-six
Memphis
Pushing the door open, I drop my messenger bag next to the door and then throw my keys on the end table.
“Is that you?” Ava calls from her room.
“No, it’s Dolly Parton,” I say back sarcastically.
Coming around the corner, she gives me a small smile. “Glad to see your weird sense of humor is still intact.”
“Eh”—I shrug—“I have a bitchy personality. But at least I can be funny … sometimes.”
“How was today?” she asks, taking a seat on one of our barstools in the kitchen.
“Oh, it was peachy,” I say dryly.
“Memphis,” she starts in, “I hate seeing you like this. You usually love your teaching gig.”
“I do love it. I’m just … in a sour mood. It, too, shall pass,” I try to joke. But I know she sees right through it.
It’s been five days since Lane ripped my heart into shreds. I don’t even think that does it justice as to how I actually feel. I feel like he took my soul with him when he left.
I’m well aware I sound pathetic and corny.
I never knew what it was like to feel your heart beating perfectly with someone else’s. I could never look into someone’s eyes and see their every thought. I had never felt what it was like to be wrapped up in someone’s arms, feeling completely safe.
Until Lane.
He is everything inside of me that is adventurous, confident, free, sexy, and selfish while also being selfless. He. Is. Everything that I never knew I had inside of me. I know a man doesn’t make you. Yet, somehow, I do believe with everything I am that he helped me become who I never knew I was.
With him, I felt like I could conquer anything and everything. Because self-esteem was something I thought I always lacked. Until he showed me how to be comfortable in my own skin. I’ll always love him for that.
My appetite has been next to nothing lately. Which I know isn’t good. I cannot bask in misery forever. Even if I feel like I could.
“That’s it.” Ava pulls out her phone and connects it to our speaker.
“What?” I play dumb. Like I don’t know what’s about to happen.
Pulling me by the wrist, she drags me over to our normal dancing spot in the living room. “I’m tired of your sulky ass. What always makes us feel better?”
“Ben & Jerry’s and the Sweet Home Alabama movie?” I don’t always like movies involving superheroes or shows like Grey’s Anatomy. I also love a good chick flick.
“Shake It Off” by Taylor Swift begins to blare through the speakers.
“Wrong,” she says. Grabbing the remote from the nightstand, she pretends it’s a microphone, making the most ridiculous faces.
I attempt to shut it down, but it’s no use. If there’s one thing Ava doesn’t take, it’s no for an answer. My heart might be hurting, but right now, being embarrassing and silly with my best friend is just what I need. It won’t fix my problems, but it will put a temporary Band-Aid on it at least. Even if only for five minutes.
When the music stops, Ava pulls me into her arms. “You’re going to be all right. I promise.”
Because of the lump in my throat, I find myself unable to answer. So, instead, I give her one more squeeze and then release her. I thank God that in a time like this, I have Ava here to help me through.
forty-seven
Lane
“Make yourself useful and pass me the five-eighths socket, would ya?” my dad says with a grin, wiping the grease from his hands onto his white shirt.
God love my mom for washing his clothes after he’s been in the garage, working on this damn car.
When I hand him the socket, he wastes no time in burying his head under the hood of his ’67 Chevelle. This car is basically like a fourth baby to him. Only he might love this car the most.
“Mom’s going to kick your ass when you bring your clothes in, looking like you rolled around in a pile of grease.”
When he glances up from under the hood, his lips turn up into a smile. “Boy, she doesn’t even complain when I do. That lady is a
saint.” His eyes become misty. “You boys are awfully lucky to have her as a mom. Don’t you ever forget that.”
Dad is never too serious with my brothers and me. But with his diagnosis, I’m sure he has a lot of things left to say and not much time to say them. We might be lucky to have her, but we’re equally as lucky to have him. He taught me everything I know. From working on my own vehicles to holding the door for women. He’s the epitome of a good man.
“We know, Dad. I promise, we do,” I answer back.
He nods. “Good.” His eyes glaze over, his mind traveling somewhere else. Shaking his head, he nods his chin. “Bet you don’t remember the firing order on one of these.”
Giving him a pointed look, I grin. “Old man, are you serious? Give a guy a little credit,” I say, tilting my chin. “One-eight-four-three-six-five-seven-two,” I rattle off.
He nods his head and chuckles. “Guess that thick skull of yours was listening all those times after all.”
It’s nice to see him still doing what he loves, like working on this damn car of his. I know, soon, it’ll become harder for him to do simple things, like even lifting his arms. But right now, he’s still doing all right.
Wiping the sweat off his brow, he looks me right in the eyes. “So, when are you going to tell me about this girl?”
Taking the socket back from him, I lean over the hood of the car, checking his handiwork. “There’s no girl.”
His eyes glimmer. “I was born at night. But not last night. There’s a girl.”
I don’t answer. Just continue to check the engine all over.
“It’s all right. You can tell me when you’re ready,” he says, coming behind me and patting my back. “Just don’t wait too long.”
I know his last words mean he doesn’t want me to wait until he’s too sick. Or worse, gone. The thought of that is unbearable to even imagine.
I’m forming what the hell to even say back when my mom bursts through the garage door.
“Honey!” She frantically waves the phone in her hand around. “The doctor called. He wants us to come in as soon as possible.” Looking my dad’s grease-stained clothing up and down, she wrinkles her nose. “For heaven’s sake, how do you get so dirty?” She smiles and shakes her head. “Better head on inside and change your clothes first, love.”
Heading toward the door, he stops and kisses her cheek. “Yes, dear,” he answers as if she didn’t just mention his doctor needs to suddenly see him.
“What’s going on, Mom?” I nervously adjust my ball cap over and over. “Why, uh … why does he want to see Dad?”
She shakes her head and grabs my hand. I must look as worried as I’m sure she feels. This whole thing with Dad has been so hard on her. They aren’t just husband and wife. They are best friends too.
“I honestly haven’t a clue, honey. But we’ll find out soon enough,” she says and walks back inside.
Once in my room, I can’t shake the sudden feeling of dread. I can’t even keep my brain focused on the task of changing my own clothes because my mind keeps wandering back to all of the what-ifs.
What if his disease has progressed further than they thought? What if he has a secondary disease as well as this one? What if his time with us is even more limited?
There are so many different scenarios that it could be. With a diagnosis like Lou Gehrig’s, I just don’t see how any could be positive.
Looking up, I close my eyes. “Please, God, if you’re there, please, please, please just give me more time with him. I’m not ready to lose my dad. Please. I’ll be so fucking good. I’ll do whatever I need to. I swear.” Reaching up, I wipe my eyes. “I know I’m a fuckup. I know I’ve done things that I can’t take back. If you need to take someone, take me. Just not him. Please, not him.”
Other times I’ve prayed, he hasn’t come to my rescue. But I hope with everything in me that this time, he will.
forty-eight
Lane
“And you’re sure?” my mom says to the doctor while reaching for my father’s hand and squeezing it.
All of us stand there in that room. Waiting on the doctor’s next words like it’s our last breath.
“I’m sure. Words can’t begin to describe how incredibly sorry I am that you were told something else. But something kept telling me to dig further. So, your last visit, we ran some tests and found out that it is in fact not Lou Gehrig’s, but instead, it is myasthenia gravis. More commonly known as MG.”
It seems no one can even form a coherent thought or sentence.
Finally, Landon speaks up, “What does that mean? What even is MG?”
Grabbing a few pamphlets with the words Myasthenia Gravis on the front, he hands them to each of us.
“MG can often mimic similar symptoms to ALS. And while MG cannot be cured, it’s not typically fatal.” Looking around the room at all of us, he holds his arms out. “I’ll be blunt with you—this is a hell of a lot better than ALS.”
“He went to the state’s best hospital. How the hell did you all get this wrong?” I question. “And how do we not know you aren’t misdiagnosing him right now?” I’m probably being a dick. But the past month, we thought my father was dying. While I’m thrilled that he isn’t, I’m angry with these so-called doctors for scaring the shit out of all of us.
His eyes soften. “I’m sorry, Lane. The doctors up at Limestone were quite confident with the diagnosis. But there were a few things that just didn’t seem like ALS to me. We’ve been in contact directly with his doctors up there at Limestone, and I pushed for further testing.” He pauses, looking at my father. “They weren’t thrilled that I was challenging them. But they agreed to more tests. I would have told you all my suspicions earlier, but the last thing I wanted was to give you false hope,” he explains.
“Son.” My dad’s voice pulls my attention from the doctor to him. “This is a good thing. I know you were scared. And I understand you’re angry that they messed up. But it’s okay.” Pulling my mom against him, he grins. “I’m just damn happy to not be dying,” he says, kissing the top of her head. “So goddamn happy.”
“So, what are the treatment options? I mean, where do we even go from here?” my mom asks.
“With medication, we should be able to control the disease and keep it at bay. Although, given the severity of his symptoms at times, it might be worth looking into surgery in the future.” Pulling out a printout, he hands it to my mom. “The surgery would be a thymectomy. Which would entail removing the thymus gland. I’ve had patients who have had great results from it.”
My mom steps in front of the doctor. “I’m going to hug you now. And you can’t tell me no.”
He laughs and holds his arms out.
She hugs him and begins to sob. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
I know this means he still has a disease, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s a blessing compared to what it could have been. And because of that, I am so fucking grateful.
On the way home, my mom stops and gets everything for a celebratory dinner. And even though I’m surrounded by my entire family, I feel homesick. Because what I’m homesick for … well, it’s Memphis.
forty-nine
Lane
Tomorrow, my entire family and I are flying back to Massachusetts for my graduation ceremony. I told Dad we could skip it, but he swears he’s feeling good enough to go and wouldn’t miss it for the world.
There’s something I need to do though before I leave. Something I’ve been putting off for way too damn long.
My stomach is turning, and I feel like I could puke. Still, I push the door to my dad’s truck open and get out.
Walking into the garage door at Tyler’s shop, I look around. A half-dozen cars are up on lifts with at least ten mechanics running around.
One looks up from what he’s doing and yells, “Can I help you?”
He doesn’t look very old, and I don’t recognize him.
“I, uh …” I stuff my hands into my jean poc
kets. “I’m looking for Tyler. He around?”
Part of me hopes and prays he says no. But the other part knows I’ll never move on in life if I don’t face my demons. Tyler happens to be one of them.
“Yo, Ty!” he yells. “You got someone here for ya.”
“Be right out,” Tyler’s voice calls back.
“You can have a seat in our waiting room if you want,” he tells me and points to a room in the corner.
It’s loaded with snack and soda machines. Along with new couches and chairs. This place is impressive. Definitely the nicest auto shop in Littleton. By a long shot.
Sitting down, I try to prepare myself to see him. It’s been four years. That’s a long time to go without seeing your best friend. But after everything that happened, the least I could do was stay away, like he’d asked.
“Well, look at the hotshot football star.”
Snapping my head up, I see Tyler coming into the room in his motorized wheelchair. The sight still hurts. So fucking bad.
I stand up. “Hey, man. I was around. I hope it’s all right that I stopped in.”
“I knew you would sometime. When you were ready,” he answers.
Confused, I frown. “You told me not to ever come around you again. That’s why I … that’s why I never came to see you.”
“I said that out of anger. I couldn’t accept that this”—he points to his wheelchair—“could be my reality. Especially since we were supposed to go to college together and play ball, you and me.” He pauses, moving closer. “But I forgave you years ago, Rivers. And I knew, one day, you’d be ready to come and face your past. Looks like I was right.”
Shaking my head, I look at him. “You can’t just forgive me, Ty. You’d be headed for the NFL right now if it wasn’t for me. We both know that.”