Cellular (6 page)

“You're not listening.”

I don't respond to that. Instead I say, “I met a girl.”

He looks surprised. “Here? In the hospital?”

“Yeah.”

He wags his finger. “Cassie's gonna be pissed.”

I snort and roll my eyes. As if Cassie matters.

“Whoa, you mean it.” Kesh gives me a sleazy grin. “So, is she hot?”

I glare at him. “It's not like that.”

“No?”

“No!”

“Hey, sorry. So it's like, what, just friends?” He looks doubtful, as if he doesn't believe I could meet a girl without wanting to get in her pants.

“Yeah!”

“Okay, okay. So tell me. What's she like? Can I meet her?”

Two minutes ago I couldn't wait to tell him about Lark. Now I don't want to. I couldn't stand to have him talk about her as if she was just some girl. Just some girl to get it over with. Besides, where do I begin? How do I describe Lark? I don't have the words.

“Never mind.”

“Come on, Bren. I didn't mean anything. Tell me.”

I shake my head. “You don't get it.”

He looks hurt. “How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“That's not fair.”

He's right. It's not fair. We've always trusted each other to understand. And we always have. But this is different. All of a sudden I don't want to share Lark with anyone. Not even Kesh.

“Forget it,” I say.

Kesh gets up. “Man, you know what? I don't care if you're sick, you're really being an asshole.”

He puts on his jacket and leaves.

I feel terrible. I know Kesh is right. I
am
being an asshole. But I don't care. There's only one thing on my mind. I can't wait to see Lark.

Chapter Thirteen

I hurry to her room. She's sleeping.

Standing in the doorway, staring at her, I'm shocked. She's even thinner. I know it's not possible that she actually lost that much weight overnight. It must just be that I'm seeing her with fresh eyes. The hollow under her collarbone is like a crater. Her cheek is sunken beneath the ridge of cheekbone. The wispy curls have fallen out again and her head is bald. Her skin is so pale that I almost think I can see the skeleton beneath.

I turn away, tears in my eyes. For the first time, I think the unthinkable. Then, immediately, No!

Blindly, I stagger into the hall. Harj catches me. “Hey, watch where you're going,” she teases. Her smile disappears as she looks past me to see where I've come from. She pauses. “Brendan.”

I dash away my tears. “Yeah?”

“Don't get too attached. Don't get your hopes up.”

I throw her arms off. “Shut up! Don't say that!”

I run to my room, slam the door, throw myself on my bed.

It can't happen, I think. It can't.

A chill shudders through me. I feel more afraid than I've ever felt.

I have blood tests. Finally my counts are coming up. Slowly. Too slowly for me. But up. More healthy white blood cells. Red blood cells. Platelets.

Up.

Up.

Lark's cousin Annie, who is donating her bone marrow, has checked into the hospital. They're spending lots of time together, and I don't see much of Lark.

Annie is blond like Lark, only taller and more solid. She's a terrific person. She has a warm smile and she makes Lark laugh. She's nice to me when we meet and she tells me she's glad to hear that my treatment seems to be going well. She fetches lemon tea for me while she's fetching it for Lark. It's incredible of her to go through this for Lark, because donating bone marrow is painful and it can be dangerous for the donor.

I want Annie to go away. I'm jealous of her. I know it's stupid and petty and ridiculous of me, but I don't care. I want Lark to myself.

One evening I go to see Lark. She's finished with her chemo. Tomorrow she starts several days of radiation, the last blast before her bone-marrow transplant. From that point, she has to be in isolation because she'll be so defenseless. This is my last chance to see her before the operation.

She's in the middle of a riot of color, sitting on her turquoise bedspread, canopied by the purple scarves. She's wearing a red wooly sweater and a blue and gold tuque. Lottie, the yellow stuffed sheep, is on her lap.

Typical Lark.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey! Come sit.”

I do. “How are you doing with…you know…what's coming?” I ask.

She smiles. “Good. Excited. Ready.”

I can't believe how calm she is. I think I'm more nervous than she is.

She gives a little shiver and hugs herself.

“What's the matter?” I say.

“I'm fine, don't worry. Just cold.” She shivers again. “I've been chilled all day.”

No surprise, I think, considering she's skin and bones.

An idea hits. “Come with me,” I say.

“Where to?”

“You'll see.”

She grins. “I love surprises.”

I wrap her in the bedspread and lead her down the hall to the hydrotherapy room. There's a deep tub in it, with jets. They use it to ease muscle aches from chemo. I've soaked in there when I've had the chills.

When Lark sees where we're going, she smiles. “Perfect.” She stops and turns. “Be right back.” She trails the bedspread like a royal robe.

While she's gone, I start filling the tub. She comes back with candles, which she sets around the ledge of the tub.

Humidity from the hot water starts filling the room.

When the tub is full, she lights the candles. I dim the lights. We stare at each other, then start to undress. It's the first time I've ever done this and not felt self-conscious. There's nothing sexy here, no seduction. It's just a boy and a girl getting naked.

She's even skinnier than she looks with clothes on. Her breasts are two tiny bumps. Her hip bones jut out. Her legs are sticks. She's beautiful.

She shivers again. I take her hand and we lower ourselves into the water. At first she sits clutching her knees to her chest, and I can tell she's still cold. But little by little she stretches out. Soon she's floating next to me.

We don't talk. There's everything to say, and nothing. We just float, fingertips touching, our bodies lit by candlelight that shimmers on the water.

When it's time to come out, I wrap Lark in a huge towel and rub her all over. I help her dress in all her layers.

We walk hand in hand back down the hall. Always before, Lark's taken care of me. Tonight I take charge. I tuck her in. I stroke her bare head until her eyelids droop.

Then I go back to my room.

For the first time in my life, I pray.

Chapter Fourteen

I'm feeling stronger. My blood counts are up. I haven't had another infection. In a few days I'll have another bone-marrow biopsy. If the cancer cells have come back, I'll have to have another cycle of chemo. If not, I'll be in remission and I can go home. I'm trying not to be too confident, but my doctor says it looks good.

Lark has her operation. All day I can hardly breathe. Every half hour I bug Harj for news.

She shakes her head. “Still in surgery.”

“No news.”

“Too soon.”

Finally she rushes into my room. “She survived the operation!”

I leap off my bed and grab her in a hug.

The news is good. Lark's body isn't rejecting Annie's bone marrow. She's recovering. She's stabilizing.

But then, a few days later, Harj pushes past me in the hall, her face averted.

I grab her arm. Her face is lined, tense.

“What?
What?

”

“She has a low-grade fever.”

Infection.

My insides clench. “Does that mean—?”

Harj shakes her head. “No need to panic. She's on antibiotics. They should do the trick.”

I hear what she's not saying.

I don't let myself go there.

The infection gets worse. They double the antibiotics.

Lark rallies a little.

I hold my breath.

“Congratulations, Brendan,” says my oncologist. “Your biopsy results are excellent. You're in remission.”

My mom grabs me in a hug. My dad bursts out crying, then laughs, then cries again.

“Whoo!” A jolt of joy runs through me. For the first time since I heard the word
leukemia
, I feel a weight lift off me. The bands that have been cinched around my chest loosen, and I breathe deeply.

Remission. No cancer. I have a chance. I'm not
cured
—no one's using that word, and no one will for a long time. I'll have more treatments over the next nine months and then, if all is well, go on pills. I've got a long way to go. But I've made it through this round. For the first time I allow myself to think,
I'm going to live.

I go back to the ward with my parents. I have to pack up, get instructions, make appointments for more tests.

I go to my room and start collecting my things. My clothes, which are now loose on me. My schoolbooks, which I've scarcely opened. My basketball picture, a few novels, my music. My collection of baseball caps and tuques. I'll still need those for a while.

I move more and more slowly as I pack. I know I'm dragging my feet. I don't want to leave without seeing Lark, without knowing she's going to be okay. Besides, I need to find out how to get in touch with her outside the hospital. Because I'm definitely going to do that. We'll hang out. We'll tease each other about our wispy hair growing in, and I'll take her to a basketball game and we'll dance and eat pudding and listen to music.

My parents come in. They've done the paperwork, and they're all smiles. They look like they've dropped ten years each. They're anxious to get home, call everybody they know, celebrate.

“I can't go yet,” I tell them.

“What? Why not?”

“I have to find out about Lark.”

“But, Brendan—”

“I have to.”

They exchange a look.

“I'm not going until I've seen her—”

Just then, outside my door, I hear, “Oh no.”

I rush out. Harj has her hands over her face. I pull them away. Tears roll down her cheeks.

“Harj—what—? Please—no—”

She shakes her head.

“No!”

Harj puts her arms around me. “The infection got out of control. She didn't make it,” she whispers, choking back sobs.

I throw off her arms, stare at her.

“No! No—you're lying—It can't—no!”

“Brendan—”

I turn and run back to my room, past my parents, who are standing in the hall. I start throwing things. The stuff I've gathered. Books. Clothes. Shoes. Pillows. Blankets. They hit the walls, scatter on the floor.

My parents rush in. “Brendan, no,” my mom says.

My dad tries to grab my arms.

I throw him off.

“Brendan, please, get ahold of yourself. This isn't good for you. Let's go home. We'll—”

“Leave me alone. I'm not coming.” I heave a book at the wall.

“Brendan—,” my dad begins.

My mom cuts him off. “He needs some space,” I hear her whisper. She puts a hand on my arm. “We'll wait for you in the car.”

They leave.

Chapter Fifteen

There's nothing left to throw. I pace back and forth.

It can't be. It can't.

I pound my fist on the wall. It hurts. I enjoy the pain.

She can't be gone.

The inside of my head roars. I want to kill someone. I want to murder God.

I want to hurt myself.

I can't go on without her.

Something cracks. I throw myself on the bed and howl. A sound comes out of me, like an animal roaring in pain. The sobs rip up from the pit of my stomach.

I draw my knees up and curl into a ball. I feel a hand on my back, gentle and warm, and know it's Harj. I hear her sobs. I lean into her hand.

She strokes me. I grunt and cry.

After a while I feel her get up. I hear her move around the room, picking up my things, putting them in a bag.

Finally my tears are spent. I lie there in a heap.

Harj comes back. She sits down beside me again. “It's hard. Believe me, I know, Brendan.”

I have no answer for this. I don't say anything.

Harj leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “You take care of yourself, Brendan,” she whispers. “Stay strong. Stay healthy. I'll see you in a couple of months.”

She leaves.

I lie there for a minute, then force myself to get up. I take one last look around my room. It looks empty now, a stranger's room. I pick up my bag and trudge down the hall.

On my way out, I go into Lark's room. Her stuff is still in it. The purple canopy. The turquoise bedspread. The sunflowers, the peacock's feather. The picture of the ballerina, the chocolate-smeared children. Lottie the sheep.

Lark is so present. I can see her. Smell her. Feel her.

It can't be.

The anger returns. Screw this. Screw everything.

I grab Lottie from the bed, crush her to me as if I want to crush the stuffing out of her.

“Why?” I wail into Lottie's wool. I don't know who, or what, I'm asking the question of. I just know there's no answer.

I sit down, under the canopy, clutching Lottie. I see Lark, fluttering her arms, that day she told me about “The Dying Swan.” I remember when she showed me how to lie on the floor to fight the nausea. Her delight in the taste of chocolate, of butterscotch. When we danced.
I got a little red rooster too
lazy to crow for day…
How we floated in the candlelight.

Was that only a few nights ago?

I remember our fights. When she insisted it was
so
worth it to make her room beautiful. When she laughed at me for calling her a saint. When she gave me crap for being rude to my relatives.