Breathing (16 page)

 

 

Out of sheer boredom, I call Joie. “What’s up?” I say, aiming to show her all is forgotten.

“Why are you calling me?” she asks, rather rudely.

“I’m in the hospital,” I say, thinking that might cause her to calm her tone.

“I heard,” she replies coldly.

“Thanks for checking up on me.” I laugh.

She’s silent.

“What are
you
mad for?” I ask. “You’re the one that tried to trick us.” Now I’m getting pissed again.

“I have to go,” she says. “My
true
friends are meeting me at the beach.”

“
True
friends?” Now what is that supposed to mean?

“Bye,” she says.

I’m telling you, this hospital has got some bad juju.

 

 

Mama rouses me from a nap to tell me Jackson’s on the phone. He’s been calling me every day since I got here. He promised he’s going to come down to visit on the weekend sometime real soon. My head hurts so bad from where I knocked it on the lamppost, even him calling can’t cheer me up. I’ve got a bruise the size of Texas back there. I’m lonely, bored, and rightly sick to death of this place.

“Hey,” I say, sounding as pathetic as I feel.

“Y’okay?” he asks.

And suddenly, without even putting any thought to it, I say, “Tell me the truth, Jackson, would you ruther be done with me?”

He’s dead quiet at first, scaring the bejesus out of me. But then he turns all serious and says, “Ain’t nut’n changed on my end of things. That how you feel?” And his voice sounds all hurt and tight.

“Me? Are you kidding? Lord, Jackson, I’d give my right arm just to see you for ten whole minutes!”

He laughs and tells me I done scared the pants off him. I feel so relieved, my mood finally brightens. And even though it took me getting all melancholy to get to where I could ask him that question, I sure am glad I did.

“By the way,” I say, “I’ve been meaning to tell you, I went by the art gallery at the junior college one day and I told the guy there about your paintings and he said he’d really like it if you’d bring some by for him to take a look at.”

He’s real quiet. “Why?” he finally says.

“Why
what
?”

“Why should I bring ’em over there?”

“I don’t know. He said he’s always interested in meeting talented young people.”

“What good will it do me?” He sounds nearly angry.

“It’s a connection,” I say. “You never know.”

“Hm,” is all he says. Then back to the usual, “I got to run.”

Oh well, at least we cleared up the heavy-duty question. I believe Mama nearly had me convinced that he was through with me, had me imagining him out there in Greenville dating all sorts of girls. Shoot. Maybe now she’s got a man interested in her (even if he does look old and scummy), she’ll lay off of dumping on Jackson.

Speak of the devil, here comes Mr. Caterpillar Mustache for yet another visit, stinking to high heaven of cigars and Aqua Velva. I understand he helped get me an ambulance when I needed it. But he ain’t fooling nobody. The way he’s drooling all over Mama, wouldn’t nobody believe he’s here to check up on me. Mama
is
pretty. I’ve always known it. But salivating over her right beside her daughter’s hospital bed seems to me to be in bad taste.

“Hey there, Savannah,” he says, his eyes on Mama. “Miss Porsha,” he says softly, bowing slightly.

“Hello again,” Mama says, looking a mite irritated by his presence.

I’ve got to hide my smile on that, not like anybody’s looking.

“Thought maybe I could take you out for a walk, get some fresh air,” he says to Mama. “If that’s a’ight with you,” he asks me.

Like I care. Least it’ll get Mama out of my hair for a spell. Having her around every minute of every day usually means she ends up riding on my nerves.

Mama gives me a slight shake of her head like she’s wanting me to say no. But I ain’t in the mood for games.

I shrug. “Y’all go on ahead,” I say.

“You want to come with?” she asks me.

I hate walking around attached to the IV pole. “I’m tired,” I say, laying my head down like I’m fixing to go to sleep.

Mama looks pissed. But I know she won’t turn him down, she owes him that much, and truth be told, she could use some fresh air.

Soon as she goes, the nurse comes in for my next nebulizer treatment, which I’m getting awful sick of, thank you very much. After she finishes, I flip channels on the TV, feeling sort of sorry for myself. Least I ain’t half as bad as the crazy folks what air out all their dirty laundry on daytime television. What in the world can they be thinking?

Jackson calls back, rescuing me from my boredom.

“Guess what?” he says.

“What?” I ask, hoping maybe he’s coming to visit.

“My Aunt June just called.”

“How come?” I ask.

“Billy Jo and Junior got into a knock-down drag-out over some girl they both liked. While their parents was pulling them off each other, Junior got so mad, he told ’em how Billy Jo brought that punch in the nose from me all on hisself, goading me by calling you names and such.”

“Are you serious?”

“Sure am. Then, get this, he said the whole party was Billy Jo’s idea, not mine, and Billy Jo said it was Junior’s. Their parents got so mad, they took away the boys’ truck for a month and grounded ’em both.”

“Holy cow!”

“My aunt said she was calling to tell me they were sorry for blaming me and kicking me out and all.”

“That’s amazing. I reckon you were right about giving ’em some time. You sure are smart.”

“I’m just relieved we put this to rest,” he says. “I hate having people mad at me.”

“Maybe now you can come down for a visit,” I suggest.

“Maybe,” he says. Then he gets real quiet.

“You okay?” I ask him.

“There’s sump’n else I need to tell you. I wadn’t sure if it was a good idea when we talked earlier on, but I think being truthful is the right way to go.”

I swallow hard, wondering what in the world he could be talking about.

“I went out with somebody the night before you ended up back in the hospital.”

“Whatcha mean by somebody?” I ask.

“Like a girl,” he says, “but listen, now, ’fore you get upset, it’s good news.”

“Good news?” I cry. “Since when is being cheated on good news?” And my brain rushes into all kinds of terrible thoughts about Mama being right and men being untrustworthy by their very nature and Jackson being just like my daddy.

“It ain’t like ’at,” he says. “Let me explain. See, Mama kept ridin’ on me to go out with other girls. She kept on saying we’re too young for a long-distance thing and making a big deal about the difference in our ages. And I just went right on ignorin’ her. But then, that night, I came home from work and my old girlfriend was there.”

“Your old
girlfriend
?” I believe I’m about to have a seizure.

“We used to go out ’fore I met you, but we split up right before my dad died. Anyhow, like I was saying, Mary Elizabeth was there at the house.”

“
Mary Elizabeth
?” I whine. Somehow that name conjures up images in my mind of the perfect little woman, not just a kid like me. Needless to say, I pale in comparison.

“I ain’t sure if Mama invited her or if she just showed up. But at that point my choices were to set with her and my ma all evening or to take her out.”

“You could have said no,” I whimper.

“You’re missing the point, girl. I did it like an experiment. And see, what I found out was, well, what I feel for you is sump’n special.”

“You didn’t already know that?”

“I did. But Mama had me all mixed up. It was like I had to prove it to myself. So I’d know once and for all she was wrong.”

“And just how did you do that?”

“At the end of the night, when I kissed Mary Elizabeth good-bye—”

“You
kissed
her?”

“Wait, now. Listen. It was a good-bye kiss, ’cause I told her I wadn’t interested. And the thing I’m trying to tell you is ’at it was like kissing a sister or an aunt. I didn’t feel nothin’. So you see, it made me get it how what we got is special.”

The thought of him kissing somebody else is just too much. “I believe I better go,” I say real quiet. Then, for once, it’s me that clicks off. I reckon it’s for the best he told me now while I’m under medical care. You see what I mean about bad juju?

 

 

I must have cried myself to sleep, ’cause I wake up when I hear Mama coming back in the room. Lord, it’s nearly dark out!

“That’s a lot of fresh air,” I snap. What if I’d needed her? What if the doctors had wanted to do something more than my regular treatments and she wasn’t there? She never leaves me alone so long in the hospital.

“You said you needed to sleep. I didn’t want to disturb you,” she explains.

But something about the way she’s trying to look busy folding clothes tells me that right there is a fib. Somehow that old goat has caught her attention. Yuck!

“You actually like him?” I ask.

“He’s friendly enough,” Mama replies.

“Oh, yeah, he’s a real peach,” I say, thinking back on how he threatened me with calling the cops. “If you’re okay with leaving me alone so long, maybe you ought to get on back to work.”

“Now, Van, a couple of hours is different than being gone all day.

Besides, I told the nurses where they could find me if anything came up.”

“You’ll lose your job again,” I fret. “Just explain it to your boss.

He’ll understand.”

“He’ll have to trust me without explanations. I ain’t opening the door to nobody’s pity. Now why are you looking so forlorn?” she asks.

“No reason,” I say. “No reason a-tall.”

 

 

The next afternoon, I wake up from a nap to hear Mama yelling on the telephone. She is steaming mad. She done lost her job. It’s the same every time I get hospitalized. Why wouldn’t they fire her if she doesn’t show up to work all week and refuses to give any explanations? Here we are trying to talk it through, when who strolls in but Mr. Caterpillar Mustache, handing Mama a lunch bag he brought for her, which I guess is a lucky thing, ’cause she was irritating me earlier, so I didn’t share my hospital lunch with her like I usually do.

“Hey, there, Savannah, how you feeling?” he says, all too cheerful.

I give him the stink eye, ’cause frankly, I ain’t got time for his shenanigans today. But Mama slaps my thigh, so I smile all fake at him.

“Swell,” I say.

They don’t even notice my tone, ’cause now he’s staring all googly-eyed at her and she’s blushing and turning away. I’m telling you, it is just disgusting. Can’t she see what a slimeball he is? He’s smelly and aging poorly. Plus, I can’t rightly stand the way he twirls his old caterpillar mustache when he’s ogling her.

Lord, does she have bad taste in men! Holy hell, it’s going to get worse, because all the sudden, the room starts to swaying around, and the feeling that comes over me is that these two are in it for the long haul. I imagine what Mama might look like in a wedding dress, and she sure would be beautiful, but then I picture him up there with her, his balding, cigar-smoking, caterpillar-mustache self. Ugh! I close my eyes and try to blot out the image.

“No, sir!” I yell right out loud. “I will not have it!” Course they ain’t got a clue what I’m hollering about. If she wants to marry someone, couldn’t it be some nice young dude her own age, who at least has a full head of hair and doesn’t smoke cigars or douse himself in cheap cologne?

“Savannah, where are your manners?” Mama chides, bringing me back to the present.

“Mister, I think you better go. I’m not feeling too well,” I say. And then, honest-to-God, I throw up my lunch right there on the bed.

Everybody starts to rushing around. Mama’s getting all upset. She’s calling the nurses. They’re calling the doctor. ’Cause they all know, there ain’t no reason for me to be hurling like that, unless something’s gone wrong with my meds or whatnot. Mr. Caterpillar Mustache slinks on out the door.

When things settle back down, Mama says, “That was thoughtful of him to bow out when things were getting messy. Prob’ly didn’t want to embarrass you.”

The calm doesn’t last long. ’Cause next thing you know, I’m running to the bathroom and cramping something fierce. Come to find out, the chicken they served for lunch was bad, and half the patients are puking their guts out! Some freaking hospital!

Mama’s gloating ’cause Mr. Caterpillar Mustache brought her an egg salad sandwich he made himself. The smell of it sends me into a state of constant stomach contractions.

 

 

I wake up drenched in sweat and dizzy. I ain’t never felt this bad in my whole entire life. It must be late, ’cause the ward is actually quiet. Mama’s sleeping in the recliner, but the TV is showing reruns of
Scrubs
. I still feel like I might throw up, but there ain’t nothing left in me to heave. I ought to sue this dang place.

Mama must have heard me stirring, ’cause next thing I know her hand’s stroking my hair. “Lord, darlin’, you’re wet as a dishrag.” She gets a warm washcloth and starts sponging my face. But it feels all clammy.

“I wanna go home,” I say, and even I’m surprised how weak my voice sounds.

“Soon enough, baby girl,” she says. “Jackson called while you were sleeping.”

I try to sit up, but my head is swimming. “Why didn’t you wake me?” I moan.

She looks kind of stern at me. “You weren’t in no condition to talk. He said to tell you he’s real sorry and he hopes you feel better soon. You want to tell me what it is he’s sorry about?”

“No, ma’am,” I reply.

“All right, then,” she sighs. “I got some other good news, too.”