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Authors: Lucy Frank

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BOOK: Two Girls Staring at the Ceiling
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F
orget
a little light reading
to take my mind off things.
Lotions, cute cartoons,
pretty notebook for my thoughts,
flowers to brighten up the place.
Give those to this Shannon girl,
the sick girl, with nothing
on her table but a sippy straw.
Bring me my running shoes,
a black bikini, a bottle of sriracha,
a kite, a Bernese mountain dog,
chandelier earrings that throw sparks
in the light, a ticket
to Machu Picchu.
W
hen the nurse comes,
pleasant as I can,
I tell him no more visitors.
None. I don’t want to see or
talk to anyone.
One good thing:
Looks like I lost
my phone.
B
lared from sleep, I almost rip
the IV needle from my vein,
grabbing the red-flashing
bedside phone before
my clanging heart
can stop me.
“Chess!”
It’s Lexie:
“I’m so upset you’re sick!
Are you okay?
Are you any better?
Your mom just said—”
“We waited and waited
for you.”
Bri’s on, too:
“We met no one, needless to say,
and when you didn’t text or call,
we figured you were still
with Berry Boy,
and when my dad came
to get us …”
“This is not, like, our fault,
is it?”
“No. It was fine.”
Monitor Me hates
the quiver in my voice
as I picture wide-eyed,
stork-legged Lexie,
Bri, elf-small with
rowdy black hair.
“And I am so
much better.
Seriously.
No worries.
I’ll be fine.”
“You know, I knew
something was up with you!
I mean, cramps are supposed
to be once a month, right?
And that mono that wasn’t mono
last winter? And quitting choir.
Which you love? Telling Mr. Jensen
you wouldn’t try out for Ophelia,
which you could have gotten,
especially with that whole ethereal
thing you’ve got going lately—”
“And we finally get an invite
to Ruby’s pool party and
you refuse to go?
If it wasn’t for that crush
on Mr. Sugar Snap,
we wouldn’t have gotten you out
of the house all summer.”
“But something good
happened, right?
Something as in
Something.
Or you’d have come back to the party.
I know this isn’t the ideal time
to talk about it, but
I mean, did you guys,
you know …”
“Chess? It’s kinda silent on your end.
Is your mom there?”
“Umm. Yes.”
Lying to them,
for the first time ever,
to drive the night beetles away.
B
etween the curtains
I watch two ladies sit
with Shannon as she sleeps.
Hear click of knitting needles,
rustle of starched legs
crossing and uncrossing.
“See all them earrings?” the older one
tells an aide hanging
a new bag of medicine.
“She’s got one for every surgery.”
“Seriously?” The aide looks impressed.
Or shocked. “That’s a lot of surgeries
for a young girl.”
“Oh yeah. And that little cross
in the other ear? That’s to keep
her from any more.”
The older one counts stitches
on something pink, crinkles open
a starlight mint, sighs,
Hands another to the heavy,
younger one, whose name necklace
might say
Yvonne.
When I wake up,
a baby hat is almost done.
The older lady stabs her needles
through the ball of yarn.
“Seems like they gave her
a double dose of sedative this time.”
She hauls herself to standing,
Untangles tubes on the IV pole,
smoothes the comforter,
the pillow, the girl’s jagged hair.
“Not sure how soon
we can get back, kiddo.”
Yvonne leaves the mint
on Shannon’s pillow,
bends to kiss her forehead,
So close to me that if she knew
I was watching through the curtain,
she could pull it aside and kiss me, too.
I
n a dream David sets my lips tingling
with his eyes, even in the dark.
“I really want to kiss you.
Is it okay if …”
“MWAAH!”
Stubble scrapes my cheek.
“Heyyy! How’re you doing,
Chessie Chestnut?”
Strawberry-slick lips brush
my forehead.
“Hello, sweetie.
You weren’t sleeping,
were you?”
“Huh?
Oh, hi, Aunt Dawn.
Hey, Uncle Charlie.
I’m doing fine.”
“Because, sweetie,
I just want to tell you
the woman down the street
has what they’re saying
you might have,
and as long as she stays away
from certain foods …”
In neon running shoes I race
through sand, sprint
through the rainbow
droplets of a sprinkler,
run straight up a waterfall,
Shoot out a purple cloud
of squid ink so no one
can see me jetting
through the ocean
on
You’ll never catch me!
bubbles.
“Genetic. I looked it up online.
Cousin Joanie had it… .
Wouldn’t surprise me a bit
if Uncle Bobby …”
Now if I can just stay
inside the dream.
“Dawn. Why make her upset?
Nobody’s said for sure—”
Blur their voices.
“They know
something’s
very wrong. I’m no doctor
and I could tell she wasn’t well
for months …”
But Bri’s and Lexie’s words
creep in like beetles:
“That time you ate
the entire bottle
of my dad’s Tums …”
“My dad’s single malt
to kill the pain …”
“Julia’s sleepover
where you spent
the whole night
in the bathroom …”
“Why does everyone
in this family think
if you don’t talk
about things,
if you just smile
and don’t look,
or look polite
they’ll, like,
miraculously …”
“Dawn’s right, Chessie.
You had to have known
you were—”
“And I get
that you must have been hoping
it would go away—”
“Or trying to protect your mom—”
“Right. God forbid
there should be something amiss
in my sister’s perfectly
constructed perfect world!”
“But protecting?
By going for a swim
in the middle
of a freezing-cold night
in the pouring rain
with some boy who
she won’t even tell
anyone his name?”
“That’s not the issue now.
What’s important is
finding out what’s—”
“Not important?
Getting home at three
in the morning?
Crying too hard to talk?”
“What happened, Chess?
I know you were sick,
but something
must have happened!”
“Did that boy push
you to do something
you weren’t ready for?
Did he …”
“If there was a, like, asteroid
headed for the Earth?”
pipes up Natasha Oldenburg
from fifth grade,
“And the only guy you could find
was, like, Mr. Flood, the septic tank man?
Would you do it with him?”
“What about Donald Trump?
SpongeBob SquarePants?
If you knew it was your
one and only chance to ever know …”
“WHY DO YOU THINK
SOMETHING
‘HAPPENED’?
“NOTHING HAPPENED!
AND IT WAS NOT RAINING!
AND IT DOESN’T
MATTER
ANYMORE
WHO
HE
WAS!”
My words boom
in my ears,
turn the air
Nile-bile-algae-vile
While David’s words
on that endless drive home
echo in my head:
“You should have said something.
If you’d just said something …”
And the night beetles swarm.
T
he nurse sets down a basin
of warm water, soap, and paper towels
to clean up for the night.
I ask her to help me scrub
these damn wings
off my hand.
S
omewhere in the clockless night,
the sobbing starts, so quiet
I have to strain to hear, so terrible
I could believe it’s me,
while on my other side
Mrs. Klein demands a cab,
her pocketbook, her shoes:
“Sam, my pearls were right here
and now they’re gone. Sammy,
I told you that new cleaning girl
would rob us blind… .”
Then, from Shannon’s side again, I hear,
“Do I really need another
crazy person?
Would somebody
shut her up
before I go
friggin’
ripshit here?”
Trapped between voices,
buzzing like a fluorescent
tube about to die, I buzz
for help, wait, buzz again,
wait, until, not sure which side
of the curtain creeps me out more,
I unplug my wires from the wall,
inch my pole around
to the old lady’s side, and
looking past her face,
uncurl her hand.
Her nails bite my palm;
I want to flee. But from some
forgotten corner of me
in a voice that barely quavers,
come the words I’ve wanted:
“It’s gonna be all right.
We’re here with you.
You’re not alone.”
Lizard eyes click open.
“Who are you?
Where’s Sammy?
You stole my clothes!”
“Me? No! No. Look at me.
I don’t have clothes either.
We’re in the hospital.
No one here has clothes.”
“Gimme that phone!”
Scraggle-haired, red-eyed,
Shannon stands beside me,
turns thumb and pinky
into a phone.
“Hello, Sam?
It’s me, Shannon.
“How’re you doing tonight?
So you know which shoes
she wants, right?
And you’ll be here
in how long?
“No, half an hour’s perfect, Sam.
Don’t worry about a thing.
Mrs. Klein’s doin’ fine.
Just pick her out something
nice to wear, okay?
She’s gonna want to look good
for going home.”
Her voice gentles:
“Okay, Mrs. Klein,
he’s on his way. But
traffic is terrible, he says.
So don’t wait up.
He’ll wake you
when he gets here.
“What’s that, Sam?
Oh yeah, and he says
tell you he loves you.”
Her voice wobbles as she adds,
“A bushel and a peck.”
But Mrs. Klein’s hand’s
already eased in mine.
Her eyes flutter closed.
I stand by her bed listening
to the oxygen machine
till Shannon raises a hand
to slap me five,
and mutters
“Damn, I’m good.
“Hell, I should have
told him to bring us
a breakfast burrito
while he’s at it.
And some coffee.”
Her eyes slide away.
“And underpants.”
I know, I know, I know.
I nod too many times.
“Bring mine, too, Sam,”
I say into my
thumb and pinky phone.
With proud, sad,
crooked smiles
we push our poles
back to our beds
to wait for sleep, or Sam.
BOOK: Two Girls Staring at the Ceiling
10.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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