“What the hell did you do?” asks his brother again.
“Shut up!”
“This is what’s gonna happen from here on,” I calmly say to Gary. “Number one, you’re going to stay away from Vlad when he plays ball. If you’re so hot, the scouts will see that. So step away from Vlad and prove it.”
Vlad crosses his arms and glares at Gary.
“Number two,” I say. “You’re going to stay the hell away from my brother. Both of you.” I look at them in disgust. “You’re never going to lay a finger on Simon again.”
They squirm as if they’ve been left out in the heat too long.
“Neither one of you is ever going to touch him again,” I repeat. “If you do, these photos and this shoe will come to light, and your chance of making any university team will be zero.”
Gary gulps.
“Zero,” Vlad repeats in satisfaction.
Gary’s lips thin into a streaky white line. Derek eyes me like he wants to kill me, but Gary obviously rules him, for with one slight shake of Gary’s head, his brother steps back.
I look down at the skinny black lines flitting across the water. I shrug at Gary. “You don’t cast such a big shadow anymore yourself.”
Gary sputters, but he and his brother don’t say another word as Vlad and I walk away. Sweat dribbles down my temple but I remain composed.
Victory. Glorious success. Simon’s gonna be all right.
Vlad and I hop on the next bus, grinning. I squeeze my long legs into the seat and hold onto my aching side.
“Damn,” says Vlad. “That was awesome.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I’m worried about Jennifer and her broken arm as I’m lying in the hospital treatment room several hours later. I make myself think of something good – like how much better off Simon is now and how Jennifer probably made a full recovery after her car accident – to keep my mind off the IV chemotherapy dripping into my arm. I’m in one of my scheduled appointments. However, my ribs are still throbbing from my physical exam, when I told the nurse I think they might be cracked. My mom, haggard and anxious, sits across from my bed. Her blond hair’s pinned up at the back, but some of it’s come loose and tumbles across her flushed face.
“It’s okay, Mom. I’m gonna be fine.” I cross my sneakers over the edge of the bed. I’m in my jeans but they made me remove my t-shirt and put on the stupid blue gown.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone you hurt your ribs?”
“I fell and didn’t think anything of it. I knew I was coming here today, so I told everyone now. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is you’re supposed to take care of yourself. Treat an injury when it happens.”
“I did. I’m here. Besides, the X-ray shows only one cracked rib. They taped me up just like I did for myself.”
“And gave you pain pills. That’s not something you could do for yourself.”
I sigh. I’m not taking any pain pills. I slipped them into my pocket. I’ve got too much on my mind to dull my senses. “Right. So there’s no need for you to worry.”
“You...you look tired, Luke. You’ve got that blue color under your eyes. Still very handsome,” she adds with a smile, “but you need to rest. How about we go home, you lie on the sofa, and we all watch some movies. A good comedy. Would you like that?”
The idea seems to make her happy, so I go along with it. Besides, a rest would be good.
“Who gets to pick the first movie?” I tease.
She smiles. “You.”
“Okay then.”
The pediatric oncologist, Dr. Reid, enters. Her long blond ponytail swings across her shoulders. She’s chewing bubblegum. She’s been one of my doctors for the last year and I like her. “All set, Luke. You’re to take it easy for the next few days, okay? Same routine. The anticancer meds aren’t as strong this time, just strong enough to help keep you in remission, but you still need plenty of rest. Soft foods if you can’t stomach anything solid. I’d advise against school Monday and Tuesday. If you feel good, Wednesday’s fine. I wrote you a note and left it with the nurses.”
“Thank you,” my mother and I say at the same time.
I’ve been through this routine before. The side effects of chemo can hit right away, but they don’t usually hit me until a few weeks later. I usually rest for two or three days after a treatment, though. I’m lucky because the nausea and vomiting don’t last too long. It’s the loss of appetite that I struggle with most because everything at that point tastes bitter on my tongue, another side effect, hence my weight loss. It’s weird because even though I’m in remission, I need to keep up the chemotherapy for a while to make sure that every last abnormal cell in my bone marrow is destroyed. It’s like maintenance. Like regular oil changes for your Lamborghini.
AML. Acute Myeloid Leukemia. When I first got diagnosed, I couldn’t even pronounce it. Now I know how to spell it in two languages. I can even talk about survival rates. Survival rates are not as high for my type of leukemia…but looking at the bright side, I’m in remission. It means, I remind myself, that when they look at my bone marrow under a microscope, over ninety-five percent of my cells are normal.
It’s gone. It’s not gonna do me in. It does not define me
.
“And what about his ribs?” my mom asks.
She already asked a million times about my ribs, but Dr. Reid patiently repeats her advice. “They’ll heal on their own, Mrs. Eric. Just needs time. Six weeks and the fractured one should heal. The bruising on the others will go away sooner. A couple of weeks at most. No sports until they heal, okay Luke?”
I mutter. “No basketball?”
“Not for six weeks. You’re more at risk for internal bleeding, and we don’t want that.”
My mom gives me the evil eye, like she knows what I’m thinking. Good thing she’s unaware I played a big game yesterday with the cracked rib.
They help me up. The doctor removes the IV and my mom helps me get back into my t-shirt. It’s a nice sunny afternoon when we get outside and drive home.
Half an hour later, we’re in the living room. I sink onto the sofa and kick my feet over the edge.
“I just phoned Dad,” says Mom. “He’s working till six, then two of the staff will take over. He’ll be home for dinner.”
Ivy walks in. She’s wearing a plain white shirt and her black hair is lying flat on her head. No spikes. No tattoo visible. I’m disappointed.
“Hey, you on the sofa again, Luke? Sometimes I’d like to have it too, you know. Don’t be such a hog.” She’s joking and I think she’s funny, so I laugh. Except it comes out as more of a wince due to my rib situation. Her face stiffens when she notices the small bandage on my arm from the IV, and maybe some of the gauze padding around my ribs, noticeable through my t-shirt. I guess she forgot today was one of my chemo days. “Oh, geez. Sorry, Luke, I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have said that. You can have the sofa all you want. That was mean, I don’t want to make you–”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I took it as a joke.” Poor Ivy. Nothing’s changed between us.
I wonder where Jennifer is, and if any of her memories have blended together yet. I wonder if she ever thinks of me. That hollow core of loneliness strums through my gut.
Simon walks in tossing a rubber ball. He looks at me, at the bandage on my arm, and with a tender expression, plops down on the carpet by my feet.
Oh
. My heart wobbles. Simon
looked
at me. He sat beside me. Things
have
changed. The time traveling made a difference with him. It made a difference!
He leans back, resting his shoulders on my leg. He doesn’t withdraw. It feels nice. He doesn’t despise me, I can tell, and I’m shaken by it. I don’t know how much he remembers, but maybe he remembers my apology and my vow to protect him.
A ball of emotion seizes my throat.
Simon tosses me the TV remote control. I scroll through the choices.
“Another zombie movie?” says my mom when I select it from the TV guide.
“Zombies make us laugh,” I explain.
“Yeah,” says Simon.
“Who doesn’t like a good zombie movie?” Ivy adds. “They’re hilarious.”
“Isn’t there a comedy on?” Mom says. “I don’t know if I can watch a bunch of dead people walking around.”
“They’re not dead,” says Simon. “They’re half-dead.”
“I think they’re dead,” says Ivy.
Mom scowls. “What’s so funny about them?”
“Think how much fun the makeup artist had,” I say. “Look at the goo on that one’s face. It looks like stale beer mixed with blue cheese dressing.”
Simon laughs. “It looks like someone puked on him. How do you make fake puke?”
“Flour and eggs,” I say.
“Blue and green food coloring,” Ivy adds with amusement.
“His ears are falling off,” declares my mom.
“I think he’s kinda cute,” says Ivy. “If I had to pick one to trust and run away with, I’d pick him. The one with the ripped earlobes.”
“What about his buddy behind him?” I ask. “He’s missing his scalp. But if you can ignore that, wouldn’t you say he’s got nice eyes?”
“He doesn’t move as gracefully as Ripped Ears,” Ivy explains. “See? See how Mr. Ripped Ears is dancing to the music? Missing Scalp doesn’t get it.”
“You always did like good dancers,” my little brother says to more laughter.
We can’t seem to get past my mother’s lack of humor, though, as hard as we’re trying.
Mom sniffles. “Ever since your grandfather died, I can’t watch movies like this. You didn’t see him, Luke. You didn’t see him in the end.”
Did Grandpa look like a zombie at the end of his life? I don’t think so. He didn’t die of anything gruesome. His heart gave out at seventy-eight.
“Grandpa didn’t look like that,” says Ivy softly. “He looked old, but he looked nice.”
My mom wipes away her tears. She’s trying to do it quietly, but I notice. There are a lot of reasons ‘why’ mixed into her tears. One is that she always has a hard time after my visits to the hospital and gets very emotional. She’s seen a therapist about it, group therapy for parents of children who have cancer. She says it helps but I wish it did more for her. Another reason for the sorrow, maybe just as powerful, is that it still bugs her that I never visited Grandpa before he died, like the rest of my family did.
I am sorry about that. My heart aches more than she’ll ever understand.
The moment is changed. I switch the channel to a ten-year-old comedy movie about two guys running a farm. We continue watching TV, but no one’s laughing anymore. My mom’s wiping her eyes with a tissue, Ivy’s perched stiffly on the chair, Simon sits quietly on the floor rolling a rubber ball, and I feel lousy that my mom’s hurting.
During the next commercial, I go to the bathroom. Except I’m really here to use my cell phone. I speed dial Dr. Burgen’s office and listen to the weekend recording to see who’s on call tonight.
“...on call tonight is Dr. Burgen...”
Yes! I wait for the recording to finish then leave my message. “Hi. This is Luke Eric. I’d like to speak to Dr. Burgen please. It’s urgent.”
I go back to the living room, accidentally knocking my shoulder on the doorway because the spaces around here seem too narrow since my growth spurt of the past year.
I hope Burgen calls soon.
∞
“Why do you have to leave now?” Mom says to me twenty minutes later in the kitchen, after I get the call. “Why not wait till Monday to speak to Dr. Burgen?”
Because I get the feeling that I need to make every moment count. I can’t take two more days of being at home with my mom upset at everything I say and do. I need to try to fix it.
“Dr. Burgen says it’s no problem if we meet now. And...and I just want to talk to him.”
“About your ribs and not being able to play basketball?”
I nod because I can’t tell her the truth. I’m going to see Burgen because I know what mistake number three is. Unfortunately, it doesn’t involve Jennifer, and I have to put her on hold again. Soon. I’m going to find her soon, I vow.
Simon pokes his head out of the living room. “What’s wrong with Luke’s ribs?”
“He can’t play basketball?” Ivy calls out.
I leave my mom to explain as I go upstairs to change my shirt and retrieve my Las Vegas apples.
∞
Oh, great. My trip to see Dr. Burgen is turning into a BIG ORDEAL.
My dad gets home and insists on driving when I’d rather take the subway. “Give me a moment to change and pull the van out. We can all go for a ride.”
“Okay,” I say, knowing I can’t fight it when they overrule me.
“Did you take another pain pill?” asks Mom. “To make yourself comfortable?”
“Yeah,” I lie. Actually, binding up my ribs like they did at the hospital has helped the soreness.
“I’m hungry,” says Simon.
My mom stands at the hallway mirror and applies lipstick. “I didn’t get a chance to start on supper.”
“Can we stop for a burger?” Simon tugs into his sneakers. “I’m
really
hungry.”
“Not if Luke isn’t,” says Ivy.
“I don’t mind stopping,” I say, “if you guys
please
hurry it up.”
“What’s this about a pain pill?” says Dad when we’re all in the van. “I thought the chemotherapy went well.” He shakes his head, shaggy hair flying. “I knew I should’ve been there.”
“It’s fine, Dad.” I’m glad I convinced him to go to work and not stay behind for my chemo treatment. Sometimes my dad’s a worse crier than my mom, and when he gets started I find it difficult to hold it in.
He and Mom sit up front, followed by Ivy and Simon, and me alone in the back, just the way I like it. Enough room to spread out.
“I was going to tell you when you got home,” my mom says to my dad. “Luke cracked a rib.”
“You broke a rib?” My father’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “That must hurt like hell. Can you breathe okay?”
“It’s not a big deal. It’s gonna heal on its own.”
“How’d it happen?”
“…I fell.”
I watch his expression change in the mirror as he’s driving. His lips twist in sympathy and his eyes water, but he doesn’t say anything more about it. He looks over at my mom, who’s still got a tissue to her eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“Zombies,” she whispers.
My dad sighs, lost in this crazy world of ours.