Blue Saturn (29 page)

I finish up the song, thank the crowd for their attention, gracefully accept their applause and put my guitar back in the case. Straight away, the lady who had been playing cards when I first came in approaches me.

“You’re just so wonderful,” she says and she wraps her thin arms around my neck in a hug. “I just adore you.”

“Thank you,” I say, my eyes still on the kid at the back of the room.

“You have a good soul,” she says as she gently pats my cheek and lets go of me. “Bless you.”

“Thanks.” I smile down at her.

As I approach the kid lying on the couch, I take a deep breath. I feel for this kid. It must suck to be sick at such a young age. It must suck to be sick at any age, but to be sick as a teenager, when you should be out wreaking havoc and going out and meeting new people and doing all those other “normal” teenage kid things, that would especially suck. But to be sick and seemingly all alone, well I can’t even find the words to describe how that must feel.

I stand over the couch and look down and that’s when I realise this kid is a girl. Her delicate features, her small hands and the subtle curves of her body give it away.

I kneel down behind her, my knees hitting the cold floor and fight the urge to reach out and touch her.

“Hey, I’m Mike,” I say. “Are you cold? I can get a blanket for you if you’d like.”

“No thank you,” she replies quietly, her voice sounding just as frail as her body looks. It’s at this moment that I realise she’s crying.

“Are you okay? Are you here alone? Can I…”

She starts slowly shaking her head and as she does, the scarf that’s tied around her head slips off, revealing her head and part of her neck.

And that’s when my world spins out of control, my vision momentarily blurs and my mouth goes dry.

She grabs at her scarf and tries to cover her head and neck again but it’s too late. I’ve seen them. Those beautiful patches that belonged to one of the most beautiful necks I’ve ever seen, patches that I spent hours looking at every morning while the love of my life slept peacefully next to me.

I slowly lift my hand and pull the scarf free from her head. I gently trace the patch on her head, the one that gave her that shock of white hair before I allow my fingers to fall to her neck, still tracing those familiar markings.

She takes in a shuddering breath of air and I put my hands on her shoulder.

“Lyndsay?” I say.

“Go away,” she answers.

“Lyndsay,” I repeat her name as I apply just enough pressure to her shoulder to force her to roll toward me.

Our eyes meet and although hers are red from crying, I recognise those green eyes anywhere. They look different now, bigger, more defined in that thin face, but they’re her eyes, no doubt about that.

“Lyndsay.” The word is spoken with a rush of air as I gather her up into my arms and hold her against me. “My god, Lyndsay.”

She cries into my chest as her arms wrap around my body. She doesn’t hold me anywhere near as tightly as I’m holding her, but she doesn’t try to push me away either.

And then it hits me. Lyndsay is fighting cancer. Lyndsay could be dying, right now in this moment. Fate has finally bought her back into my life and now I have to face the idea that she might not be here long enough for it to even matter. No wait, it does matter. Even if we only get to have a short time together, it will be worth it. No, why am I thinking like that. I have to be strong, be positive. Because I know for a fact that Lyndsay is strong and there is no way she’d give into negative thoughts.

She can’t die.

She cannot die.

My mind is a mess of thought and my body has its usual response to stress. My body is telling my mind to reach for a cigarette. A cigarette will ease this ache.

So, instead of reaching for a cigarette, I tighten my hold. I hold her tightly to me and eventually her sobs begin to quieten.

“Mr Greene, is everything okay here?” A nurse is standing next to us. As I look up at her, I realise the entire room is still and everyone’s attention is on Lyndsay and me.

“Yeah,” I answer. “It’s just that...I haven’t seen Lyndsay in the longest time.”

The nurse smiles down at Lyndsay. “Is everything okay?” she asks again.

Lyndsay nods her head. “Yes, it’s fine.”

The nurse gives me one more look before she turns and tends to other patients.

“Sorry,” Lyndsay says as she pats at the wet patch she’s left on my shirt, trying to wipe the evidence of her despair. “It could be worse. I could’ve puked on you.” She smiles at me before she looks down.

And there is the Lyndsay I know, the Lyndsay who always sees the bright side to everything. Even in her current state, she’s smiling.

She lifts her hands to wipe her face. “I almost died when I saw you walk in, Mike.” She lifts her scarf and ties it back around her head. “I look a fright, huh?”

“No,” I say adamantly. “You don’t.” I get up from the floor and sit next to her on the couch. I reach out and take her hand, hoping she won’t pull away from me. When she doesn’t I look down at her small hand in mine. “Where is the cancer?” I ask. I silently beg her not to say lungs or breast. I silently ask her to tell me this is all a joke and she’s perfectly healthy. But then I tell myself to shut up because this is not about me. It’s about Lyndsay.

“It was in my ovary, my right one. But it’s gone now. Today is my last treatment.”

I hold her hand a little tighter. “What’s gone? The cancer or the ovary?”

“Both,” she says.

I shake my head at her, overwhelmed that she’s gone through so much and I wasn’t there for her. “You should’ve called me,” I say.

Her voice lowers to a whisper. “You said you didn’t want to see me.”

“No.” My voice is as quiet as hers. “I didn’t want you to see me.” I look around the room and notice we are still getting a bit of attention from the staff and patients alike. “We need to talk,” I say. “But this isn’t the place. How are you getting home?”

“A volunteer from the hospital is driving me home.”

“I’ll take you home. We can talk then.”

She shakes her head. “Mike, I’m so tired after chemo. I’ll just want to sleep.”

“Then we’ll talk after you sleep.”

“I sleep for a long time. Sometimes for two days straight.”

I lift my hands and carefully hold her face. “I’m taking you home today.” And before she can come up with another excuse, I kiss her forehead and stand up. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

I spend the next forty minutes or so talking to other patients but my eyes are constantly darting back to Lyndsay. She’s lying back on the couch with her eyes closed. She looks so peaceful, and I wonder whether she has fallen asleep.

I blink and look away and when I look back only moments later, I see a terrible image. An image of her in a coffin, looking pale and delicate, surrounded by flowers, the exact same way my mother looked on the day we buried her. I blink and the image disappears.

I feel that all too familiar tension building inside my body. It starts at my head and moves down my torso and settles in my abdomen. It’s a gripping pain, and in the past, a cigarette or something even stronger would’ve eased it. But today, I have to rely on the power of body and mind.

“I have to go,” I say to no one in particular. I walk to the front of the room, grab my guitar and walk outside.

I pace; taking in deep breaths of fresh air. Out in the hospital car park, I drop to the ground and push out as many push ups as I can. This is a distraction technique, designed to give my body something other than its own cravings to think about. Push ups normally work a treat, but that damn image keeps coming to my head and the pain in my abdomen becomes stronger.

“Damn it Greene,” I mutter to myself. I get up and start pacing again. Normally I’d run, but I have nowhere to run to. And in a few minutes I have to go back inside to get Lyndsay. “She’s not going to die,” I remind myself. “She said the cancer is gone.” But the pain gets stronger, no matter how much I reassure myself. My panic builds and so does my desire to slip into that oblivion that only a certain white powder can give me.

I pull my phone from my pocket and call my sponsor.

He answers on the second ring. “Mike, you okay?”

I’m sure he can hear my panting down the phone so there is no use trying to hide how desperate I am. Besides, I have nothing to hide from Chris. He’s there for me whenever I need him. And my god do I need him right now.

“Chris,” I manage to say before my face screws up with the pain. “Man, this is a bad one.”

“What triggered it?” Chris asks me.

“Remember Lyndsay?” I say.

“I remember what you told me about her.”

“I saw her today.” The pain cripples me and I double over. “She has cancer.”

Chris knows my entire history. I met him on my first day at my first group meeting. He volunteered to be my sponsor and I’m so glad he did. He’s the one that got me working out. He’s the one who saw me through my worst times. He’s seen me cry. He’s seen me punch holes through plastered walls. He’s become a very close friend. Chris is one of the very few people I trust implicitly. Heck, I’d trust him to take care of Mikey.

He’s overcome his own drug addiction, so he knows just how hard it can be on the mind and body. He has never, not once, judged me or made me feel inferior.

I tell him about my brief meeting with Lyndsay. And just talking about it helps the pain to ease up. “She said the cancer’s gone, so I can’t understand why I’m so upset.”

“Because you love her mate,” Chris says plainly. “You’re feeling the pain she would’ve felt when she was diagnosed.”

“Yeah,” I pant.

“If you had been acquainted with her when she was diagnosed, you would’ve felt this pain then.”

“Yeah,” I say again.

“It’s normal what you’re feeling. It’s a strong feeling. But so is that feeling of wanting to be senseless. Mike, you told me that Lyndsay was the reason you wanted to sober up. You drove me crazy with how much you spoke about her. Now you’ve got a second chance to prove to her that you’re stronger than you were, physically and mentally. You do not want to blow this second chance.” He pauses while I absorb his words. “Now take a deep breath, Mike. Tell your body it’s not going to get what it wants. And go get your girl back.”

I find myself laughing, despite the lingering tension in my chest. I take a few deep, long breaths, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, just as I learnt during rehab.

“How you feeling, Mike?” Chris asks me.

“I’m feeling better,” I say.

“I’ll stay here with you as long as you need me to.”

“Thanks mate, but I think I’m all good. I have to get going, she’ll be waiting for me.” I take a few more breaths, slowly edging the anxiety from my body before I say goodbye to Chris and head back inside.

Lyndsay is sitting in the waiting area near the front doors. She looks exhausted. She has a small backpack at her feet and when she sees me she bends to pick it up.

“I’ll get it,” I say. I need to feel useful because god knows I feel inadequate right now.

“Thanks,” she says as she uses her arms to help lever herself from her seat. Once she’s on her feet, she closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths.

I reach out to her and take her by the elbow, giving my support. “Are you okay?”

“Just a bit dizzy,” she says. “I always feel dizzy afterwards.”

“Do you want to wait here while I bring the car around?” I ask.

“How far is it to walk?” Her speech is slow, showing just how fatigued she is.

“It’s not far, about fifty meters.”

She takes another deep breath. “I can walk. Don’t let go of me.”

There is absolutely no chance of that happening.

I help her into the car and when I see her fumbling for the seatbelt, I reach up and put it around her, clicking it into the fastener.

“Thanks,” she says as her head falls back against the headrest and her eyes close. Before we’re even out of the car park, I know she’s fallen asleep.

We never did discuss whether I was going to take her back to her house or to mine. But considering how tired she is, she needs to get resting as soon as possible. An hour in the car will not only be uncomfortable but will add to her fatigue; she can’t rest properly in the car.

I decide to take her to my house. That wasn’t a hard decision to make. I park the car in the garage and turn the car off. Lyndsay doesn’t stir. Not even when I unclip her seatbelt does she register that it’s time to move. She remains completely still.

I pick up her backpack and put my arms through the straps. I gather her into my arms, her head falls against my shoulder and she moans ever so quietly into my neck. She tries to say ‘thank you’ but the words come out very slurred.

As I carry her up the small staircase into the house, I can feel just how much weight she’s lost. She was light before, but now...it feels as though she is skin and bone. I feel that panic start to rise again but sternly tell myself this is not the time to fall to pieces. Lyndsay needs me. Lyndsay needs me to be strong.