Present Perfect (39 page)

“Matt, we need to talk. I need to tell you something.” He pulled back and looked at me with concern in his eyes.

“Are you breaking up with me, Stick? Because in my defense, I was completely wasted and didn’t know what was going on,” he rambled on.

“What are you talking about?” I stepped away from him.

“Usually when someone says
we need to talk,
there’s a breakup after that.”

“You slept with Danielle, didn’t you?”

“I thought about you the entire time. She wasn’t as good as I thought she would be. With her being so hot, I thought she’d be better than…”

“Me?!”

He walked up to me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and whispered in my ear, “Don’t be mad, Stick. I told you she wasn’t any good.” He started to nuzzle my neck.

“I have bone cancer, will probably have to have my leg amputated and go through chemo,” I said, flatly.

He stepped back. When he looked at me, his face was void of any emotion. I assumed he was waiting for me to finish, so I did.

“I just packed up my room. I’m not coming back next semester.”

He didn’t say anything for several minutes as he ran his hand through his hair.

He let go of a deep sigh and said, “I got the lead in next semester’s production.”

I thought I heard him wrong for a second. When I had played this conversation over in my head, this was not even a possible option of what I imagined he would say to me.

I headed to the door. I heard Matt’s footsteps behind me.

“Stick! Wait! You caught me off guard!” He grabbed my upper arm and spun me around to face him. “I didn’t know what to say to you. I thought you were coming to break up with me because you were mad about Danielle.”

“I don’t care about you enough to be mad about Danielle. I have to go. Noah’s waiting downstairs to drive me home.”

“Are you fucking him?”

He still hadn’t let go of me. In fact, his grip had gotten tighter.

“What?” I tried to yank my arm away, but his hold was too strong. “Matt, let me go. You’re hurting me.”

“I’m not an idiot, Amanda. I see how you react whenever he calls. And he calls a lot. How long have you been fucking him?”

“He’s my friend.” I yank again, harder, but still couldn’t free my arm.

The next few seconds happened so fast, it was a complete blur. I looked at Matt and saw a hand clamp around his neck and shove him up against the wall. He released his hold on my arm causing me to stumble backwards. When I looked up, I saw Noah’s hand tighten around Matt’s neck. Matt was gasping for air with each squeeze.

“A tight grip doesn’t feel so good when you’re the grippee, does it, Smurffucker?” Noah put more pressure on Matt’s neck, completely cutting off any air flow. Matt’s eyes began to protrude and he was starting to turn blue. “Tweet, go get in the car.”

“Noah, he can’t breathe. Don’t kill him.”

“Go get in the goddamn car. Now!”

I turned and rushed out the door. Once in the hallway, I heard some loud thuds, grunts, and the sound of furniture breaking coming from the apartment. Within minutes the noises ceased, and Noah walked out, grabbed my hand, and led me back to the truck.

He flung opened the passenger door for me and I got in. I watched as he paced back and forth in front of his truck, trying to calm himself down. He walked over to the driver’s side. There were a couple of loud blows to the side of the truck just before he got in. I thought something had been thrown and hit the truck. He was clenching and unclenching his hand. I could see his knuckles were red from hitting something and someone.

“Noah, are you okay?”

“Has he hurt you before?” he asked through gritted teeth.

I wasn’t exactly sure how to answer him. Technically, Matt had never hit me. He almost did one time, but he claimed he was just playing.

“He’s never hit me.”

“Has he ever
hurt
you?”

“Just grabbing my arm a few times too tight, but he was drunk and…”

His chest was rising and falling faster, pumping oxygen in and out of him in short spurts. “Has he ever forced himself on you? Don’t lie to me.”

I hesitated for several seconds before answering. “Yes,” I whispered.

Noah began pounding relentlessly on the steering wheel. Seconds later, he shoved his door open and jumped out. I heard and felt the pounding of metal over and over again while he yelled, “Fuck!!” over and over.

He got back in the truck, turned the ignition, and sped out of the parking lot. Beads of sweat were dripping down his forehead.

“Noah…”

He raised his index finger and said in a low growl, “I can’t talk right now.” The entire hour and a half drive home, he wouldn’t talk to me.

He walked me to the front door. We decided to unload the truck the next day. I desperately tried to think of something to say while I fumbled for my keys.

“Thank you for everything and I’m sorry about…”

“What time is your appointment tomorrow?”

“The MRI is at 10 o’clock and I see the doctor at 3 o’clock.”

“I’ll be over at 8 to unload your stuff. We’ll have plenty of time to get to your appointment.”

“You don’t have to go. Both my parents will be with me.”

“I know I don’t have to go. I want to go. Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” He gave me a kiss on the forehead and headed down the steps.

Tomorrow my life will start to change. It will be filled with doctor appointments, diagnostic tests, and hospitals instead of classes and frat parties. I will no longer be Amanda Kelly, journalism major. Instead I will be Amanda Kelly, cancer patient. As I watched Noah drive away, I realized that this was one of the last moments of anything ever being normal in my life.

When you’re diagnosed with a life altering illness, the first few days you walk around shell shocked, not quite believing what a doctor has told you.

After that, there’s a period of time in which you live in a state of limbo. You still feel like your old self, still look the same in the mirror, and you, occasionally, forget for brief periods of time that you are sick.

Once the doctor visits and tests start to become more frequent you turn into a patient with a life altering illness. You start to forget what you felt like before the diagnosis. Each time you look in the mirror, your pre-diagnosis persona starts to disappear and is replaced by a stranger who is sad, scared, tired, and at times wants to give up the fight.

The MRI was a giant colossal suck-tacular, mother sucking, suck fest. The machine looked like an enormous white penis and balls. Well, one ball actually. No doubt an inadequately endowed male invented this machine.

I laid down on the enormous white penis and the tech slid me up into the ball, where I had to lay perfectly still for one hour. When I felt the tech sliding me out, I breathed a sigh of relief. I had never been so happy to get off a penis in all my life.

After the MRI, we had time before my appointment with the oncologist, so we decided to go to lunch. During lunch, my parents, Noah, and I either sat in silence and ate or talked about everything except what was taking place. We were all in a state of limbo, not quite knowing what our roles were or how to act in this new world we found ourselves in.

Once we got to the doctor’s office, we sat in the waiting room for forty-five minutes before being ushered back into his office. I don’t understand why they say to be a half hour early to an appointment when you’re going to make me wait an additional forty-five minutes? I wasn’t going to be a very patient, patient.

Dr. Lang was a middle-aged man, which I liked. I didn’t want some young doctor holding his textbook over me while he figured out where my parts were or where to start cutting. He was a straight talking, no nonsense kind of guy. I wasn’t a patient person, so I liked that. Noah stood in the back of the room, while I sat in front of the doctor’s desk, flanked on either side by my parents.

“Well, I have some good news,” Dr. Lang said while he looked down at my records and results. “There doesn’t seem to be any evidence of cancer elsewhere. Your left leg appears to be the only area affected as of right now.” Four audible deep sighs filled the office. “But there does appear to be infiltration into the surrounding soft tissue. Because of this, I recommend a below knee amputation.”

He looked up right at me, I guess trying to gauge my reaction. I sat there staring back at him. It wasn’t a surprise that this was the recommendation. Before it was a possibility, but now it’s a reality. It took me a moment to adjust. The doctor glanced back down at my records, breaking eye contact with me.

In the short moment that we looked at each other, I could tell he was thinking of his own daughter. I saw a picture of his family on the table right as I walked into his office. He had a daughter, who looked to be almost my age.

“They have come a long way in prosthetic limbs. I’ve seen some that look so real, you wouldn’t even know they weren’t,” he said.

I guess this was
the making lemonade out of lemons
speech.

I heard my dad clear his throat and ask, “So if it’s just in her left leg, once the…” His voice cracked. He paused for a moment trying to compose himself before he continued. “Once the surgery is done, she’ll be cancer free, right?”

Dr. Lang kept his eyes focused on my file when he answered my dad. “Technically, yes. She’ll still have to go through chemo, though.”

“But if it’s just in her leg, why does she need to go through chemo?” Mom asked.

Dr. Lang looked up and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Kelly, Amanda, and young man.”

“That’s my best friend, Noah,” I said. The doctor nodded in Noah’s direction.

“Amanda has osteosarcoma. It’s a very aggressive form of bone cancer. From what I know about your case, I’d say aggressive is an understatement. Your symptoms came on very quickly. We need to make sure we kill any stray cells that could potentially metastasize to your lungs. The chemo will give us the best chance of stopping that from occurring. I know this is extremely overwhelming. Let’s take it a little at a time. My nurse will get with you about scheduling the surgery and information on amputations and give you a few names of prosthetists in the area.”

“A prosthetist?” I asked.

“They’re the ones who fit you for your new leg,” he explained. “It will be a few weeks before you’ll get fitted for the new leg and start chemo. We want you to heal from the surgery first. Do you have any questions?”

There was too much information coming at us and none of us could think clearly enough to ask anything. I was still trying to process that I was going to have my leg sawed off.

“I’m sure I’ll have a million questions as soon as I walk out the door.” I smiled weakly at him.

He looked at me with his warm brown eyes. “I have a daughter a couple of years younger than Amanda. I’d be beside myself if she got sick. We’re going to do everything we can for you, Amanda.”

“I know.”

He looked hesitant before he continued. “I don’t usually talk to patients about this. I’m saying this because of the type of cancer you have, the type of chemo that you’ll have, and your young age. Most young people don’t think about this type of thing, but Amanda, you may want to go ahead and talk to your parents about what type of arrangements you want, just in case.”

I heard my mom let out a slight gasp.

“I’m going to be staying with my sister, Emily,” I told him. “She lives on the ground floor in an apartment building closer to the hospital. My parent’s house has steps going into it. We figured Emily’s would be a good place to stay.”

As I talked, I noticed the expression on the doctor’s face. I looked over at my mom and then my dad. Their expressions matched the doctor’s.

“He’s not talking about living arrangements, sweetheart,” Dad said.

Then it suddenly dawned on me. He was telling me to start planning my funeral. What’s weird is that it never crossed my mind that I might die. I thought that was always the first thing that popped into a person’s head when they were told they had cancer.

We filed out of the office with a stack of information to read on the type of cancer I had, what to expect from the surgery and after, and names of local leg people. Calling them prosthetists sounded too much like prostitute for my liking.