Where We Fell (6 page)

11.

            TODAY’S APPOINTMENT IS IN ATLANTA, and
I’m feeling optimistic. Almost to a fault. The ride there is long, and instead
of staring out the window or making nervous small talk with my mom, I make a
list of things I want to do if . . .
when
 . . .
if
 . . . the doctor says that my tumors are even smaller.
If he says the treatments have worked and that they’re gone. If he uses the
word ‘remission.’

            My list is only three points long by the
time we get to the hospital, but it’s enough. It’s as follows:

#1
- Run

I miss running more than I ever thought I could. I
miss the feel of my feet pounding the pavement, my lungs expanding to the point
of tasting copper on my tongue, and the intense satisfaction of completing a
mile in less than six minutes.

The doctors have allowed me to begin more rigorous
exercise, though it is limited. They want me to keep up my stamina, increase my
health. But what I want to do is break into a full sprint and just keep going.

If I close my eyes, I can pretend for a second that
I’m healthy and on the track. I can pretend that after this, my mom will hand
me a new pair of shoes and tell me to get the hell out of the house and work
off some of my newfound energy. It dawns on me that, through all of this, I’ve
never removed my track bag from my trunk. Everything is clean and waiting for
me – just another goal to set for myself.

#2
- Visit Hannah at school

I’ve imagined this in my head a million times. How
it will be when I pull into her driveway. What her expression will look like
when she answers the door. The smell of her hair and the feel of her in my arms
when I pick her up. Because I’m strong enough to.

#3
- Do something nice for my parents.

I’m at a bit of a loss on this one. But I’m sure,
with more thought, I’ll figure something out. There’s a possibility that I have
all the time in the world for it now.

The hospital is decorated for Halloween, and I find
myself smiling at the cheesy pumpkins and fake cobwebs stretched across the
Information Desk. Mornings are chillier, and once night falls, it’s a definite
reminder that November is around the corner. But walking into the specialist’s
office from a world that’s sunny and almost eighty degrees could make you
believe otherwise.

We wait and wait until finally my name is called.
And as soon as we’re inside those doors, in that small little room, I know this
is it. I can feel it in my bones. It radiates in my chest and through my mom’s
hand as she holds mine. Which I don’t mind, because this has been a long time
coming for the both of us.

When the doctor’s words are spoken, she cries again.
But this time, it’s from relief. Because I’m going to live.

***

“I’m going to Macon.”

There are kids getting off the school bus dressed in
costumes, sprinting home with the same urgency I feel in my fingers and toes.
My parents are both looking at me like they want to tell me no, but I know they
won’t. I’ve shoved some stuff into a bag, slung it into the passenger seat, and
now I wait to see who says the magical words that will allow me to see Hannah
for the first time as a guy who isn’t sick. As the person I have a vague
remembrance of being.

“We were hoping to have dinner with you tonight.
Celebrate a little.” My dad’s eyes are already scanning the street and I can
tell that he doesn’t actually want to have dinner, but he’s an officer and
therefore knows that driving on Halloween night is just a bad idea in general.

“It’s just over a thirty minute drive,” I remind
him.

“Then why don’t you invite Hannah here? We haven’t
seen her since school started.” My mom is trying her best, but I’m not going to
be swayed.

“Because she’s busy at school, and I told her that
she didn’t need to come up on the weekends because I’d be getting treatments,
and I wouldn’t be good company.” I pause and try to push down the feeling that
I’m not as free as I had fooled myself into believing I was. “Besides, we have
a deal. She said when I got better, I should drive up and see her. And I don’t
want to wait for the weekend. It’s not even like I have school tomorrow,
right?”

Hannah’s Friday classes don’t even start until
eleven, anyway.

“Are you planning to stay the night?”

I shrug because I’m not exactly sure what the answer
to that question is. The truth is that I haven’t even called to say I’m coming
to see her. I’m running on pure elation and adrenaline. All I want to do is
get
to her
.

My dad steps forward and presses some money into my
hand. “Be careful. Watch for kids. No drinking. And call before you leave to
come home so we know when to expect you.”

It’s all I need to hear.

***

The ride is not long, so I use the time to call
Terrence—who is still attached at the hip to Kayleigh, so she hears every word
I say—and tell him about this morning’s appointment. It feels a little
premature to ride the high of good news. God knows it might not last. But I
don’t want to live with that thought tonight. Tonight, I want to be alive and
take nothing for granted.

“We’ll come home next weekend. Celebrate.” Kayleigh
has taken the phone from my best friend and put it on speaker. “Whatever you
want to do. You tell us.”

“Deal.” Then I think better of it. “Deal as long as
you’re nice to Hannah.”

“Whatever,” she sighs. “She’s growing on me.”

The sky is beginning to darken, and I have to drive
slower through roads I’m unfamiliar with, causing the last few minutes to turn
into an aggravating stretch of time that causes my heart to beat a little
harder and faster. The anticipation of seeing Hannah and holding her and
telling her that a doctor said the words “hopeful” and “remission” within the
same sentence is causing me to take long, calming breaths.

By the time I find her place, an apartment just off
campus, I’m a live wire of electricity. I know better than to bring my bag with
me, because I don’t want to assume that she’s just going to invite me in to
stay. But I do grab the photo book I’d promised to bring for this exact
occasion.

The sidewalks are full and costumed people are
hanging out of doors, red cups in hand, already starting to look sloppy. Half
of them are yelling, and the other half are posing for pictures. For the very
first time, I feel out of place. Like this is how my life should have been, but
I’m an imposter. There’s a chance that I look like I belong here, but maybe
not.

It’s a distracting idea that I can’t shake as I step
up to her door. She has the windows open, music blaring through the screens and
blinds raised.

This is how I see her in the living room. On her
couch. She’s laughing hysterically, dressed as a nurse. And not like any of the
nurses I’d been privy to during my ordeal. No, Hannah is wearing a blonde wig,
her skirt pulled up high over her thigh as she leans back against the couch and
laughs, yelling something to a person I can’t see from this angle.

Until I can.

He’s holding Hannah’s phone, angled with his back to
me, broad shoulders covered in a white doctor’s coat. His dark black hair is
slicked down and shiny in the blue light coming from the television behind
Hannah’s head. This person,
this guy
, who is wearing the other half of a
couple’s Halloween costume with
my Hannah
, takes her picture and the
girl I drove to see for the evening jumps up from the couch and embraces him in
her arms. Like I’d imagined that she’d do with me.

It’s like the wind has been knocked out of me and I
look away before I see too much. Before it hurts more than any chemical that’s
been shoved into my blood stream via a needle. I take a deep breath and swallow
the pain that’s formed in a lump in my throat. Without knocking on her door, I drop
the book of pictures on her doorstep.

And I do the very first thing on the list I made
earlier.

I run.

12
.

FIFTEEN MINUTES INTO MY DRIVE, Hannah sends me a
text. It’s the picture I saw her posing for on the couch. Without hesitation, I
turn my phone off and throw it on top of the bag of clothes in my passenger
seat. My stomach rolls and I have to concentrate on not letting the bile rise
in my throat; I have to focus on the road ahead of me. Because getting home is
the most important thing in my entire life right now.

My thoughts are unclear as I turn into a Wendy’s and
sit in the parking lot to calm my nerves.

Did she send this picture to taunt me?

Has she been playing me this entire time?

Like, maybe she was afraid to tell me she wasn’t
interested anymore. Or she thought I wasn’t actually going to make it, so she
continued being good to me under the guise that I was never going to come to
her apartment. Perhaps she pitied me like some child that she felt needed a
mother figure or something stupid.

I’m not some damn project though.

My life ended the day the doctor’s told me that I
had lymphoma. But it began that day, too. Because it was the day I met Hannah
and found something worth living for.

However it occurred, at this very moment, I wish I’d
never met her. I wish I’d never survived just to have my heart feel the way it
does right now.

In an act of defiance, I pull up to the drive-thru.

I order three Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers. And I eat
every single one of them on the way home.

***

My parents are surprised to see me walk through the
door so soon. Maybe it’s the look on my face, or the fact that our doorbell is
ringing incessantly by children dressed in their Halloween best, but they leave
me alone for the night.

The next day I’m greeted with a house full of
silence. Both of my parents have gone to work, leaving me to sleep well past
noon. It feels good. Normal. Like it’s what a nineteen year old, healthy guy is
supposed to do. But now the house is too quiet. I have nothing to do but wallow
in my own misery.

I still haven’t turned on my phone, and I’m not
about to do it now. Instead, I hole up in my room with the blinds closed. And I
play
Tomb Raider
for the next five hours. By the time my parents get
home from work, I’m still in my boxers with an empty bag of Cheetos by my bed.
I haven’t showered or brushed my teeth. I haven’t had an actual meal in almost
twenty-four hours.

My mom knocks on my door and pushes it open with a
worried look on her face. I’m sure I am the reason for the deep crease in
between her eyes. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“Did something happen with—”

“Can you order a pizza? I’m hungry.”

I don’t even look away from the television to ask.
Focus is very important right now. It numbs everything. I actually miss the
numbness from so many months ago. It was so much easier.

“Your father and I are going out to dinner tonight.
Unless you need us to stay?”

This makes me pause. I’d forgotten about their date.
It’s been months, though it feels like a year, since the two of them could do
something for themselves. And that
is
my fault.

“No. Of course not. I’m fine. I can order a pizza.
You two go. Have fun.”

She doesn’t look like she believes me. She’s still
tiptoeing around, not just on eggshells but like I’m the eggshell she’s
dodging, and I already have cracks. And if she breathes the wrong way she'll
wake up and realize that none of the good news was even real. To assuage her
fears, I give her a smile, though I’m certain she knows it’s fake. Then I get
up and shower because it seems like this is the thing that will make her think
I’m okay enough for her to leave me alone.

By the time they head out for their date and the
pizza is delivered, I’m back to being angry and pissed off.

I debate calling Terrence, but that would require me
to turn my phone on. And part of me thinks maybe Hannah has called or sent a
few more texts, and I really don’t want to face her right now. I’m twenty
minutes into telling myself that I’m better off without her, and that I can
just ignore her and she’ll go away—head off into the sunset with her massive
boyfriend—when the doorbell rings again. I’m inclined not to answer it. It
could be kids trying to get more candy since it’s Friday night and some parents
are weird about their kids trick-or-treating on school nights.

It rings again. And again. And finally I lose my
patience and pull the door open with a scowl that I hope conveys just how damn
annoyed I am. But instead of some kid in a Spider Man
costume . . . I get Hannah Hartwell on my doorstep.

Holding my photo album.

This is the moment when I’m glad I took a shower.
When I’m glad I’m holding a piece of meat-lovers pizza in my left hand. This is
when I narrow my eyes and tell her off.

But before I can even utter a word, she gives me a
dirty glare and holds out the book between us. She looks exhausted and I chalk
it up to spending a wild night with that guy, even if the very thought makes me
want to vomit sausage and bacon all over her bright purple toe nails.

“You haven’t answered your phone in two days.”

I don’t respond.

“You came to my place? What does this mean? I opened
the door to go to a party and this was lying outside.” She looks utterly
confused and more than a little hurt. “Is this your way of, like, breaking up
with me or something?”

For some reason this seems incredibly funny to me.
She’s
so indignant
. I’m crowding the doorframe and don’t make one move
to invite her in. Instead, I laugh.

“Sorry. I couldn’t be bothered to knock when
I
saw you with your boyfriend.”

This is when her eyes get wide and confusion clouds
her face. “My boyfriend.” It’s a statement that makes the hair on the back of
my neck stand on end. She crosses her arms and looks me up and down. “Go ahead,
Oliver. Tell me what my boyfriend looks like.”

I wave my hand as nonchalantly as I can, since I’m
still holding a piece of pizza. A bit of hamburger falls off and lands at her
feet. I make no move to kick it out of the way. Like that meat is a line
between the two of us that she won’t cross. “Your boyfriend? He’s pretty tall.
Big shoulders. Black hair. He was wearing the other half of your couple’s
costume, right? Because your ‘sick, non-college—whatever I am to you—‘couldn’t
be the doctor to your nurse. Am I right?”

“No, you’re not right. You’re an idiot.”

“Hannah.
I saw you
. You can’t lie or pretend.
I was there. I drove up to tell you . . .” I stop and shake my
head, unwilling to let her have the little glimmer of happiness I have. Because
it’s getting smaller by the second. “Just admit it.”

Her eyes are beginning to fill with tears, but she’s
holding them back before she speaks. “For your information, my boyfriend
doesn’t look like that at all. He’s pretty skinny because he almost died of
cancer. He doesn’t have black hair. It’s actually light brown, what there is of
it. And he’s the biggest asshole in the entire world right now because he would
even entertain the thought of me cheating on him. After what Ryan
did . . . it’s just insulting to think that I’d ever,
ever
do that to you.” She shoves my book at my stomach and barely gives me time to
grab it before she takes a staggered breath and steps back.

“
My
boyfriend doesn’t look a thing like my
roommate, Coco. Who is a
swimmer
. Who I talked into donating her hair to
Locks of Love. Who said because my boyfriend was going to another appointment,
she would dress up with me for Halloween. I’ll be sure to tell her you think
she looks like a dude from behind, though. That will
really
stroke her
ego.”

The food I’ve just eaten is starting to sour in my
stomach, and all of my rightness, all of my bravado is fading as I stare her in
the face. Because I know she’s telling the truth.

“Or maybe I shouldn’t say ‘boyfriend’ because you’ve
never actually defined this, right? What we have. You keep me at arms’ length
because you think you’re going to die.”

“But I’m not,” I whisper. Her mouth opens a little
and then closes as she narrows her eyes at me and lifts a hand to angrily wipe
away the tears that have escaped onto her cheeks.

“I get it. You got the good news. And now you don’t
have
to define this.” Her chin quivers and she closes her eyes, taking a deep
breath. “Message received, Oliver.” She turns to walk towards her car, and I
can’t find the words to stop her. It’s spiraled too quickly. Suddenly, she
turns back around and points to where I’m standing. “You had a good summer.
According to that.” I know she’s referencing the photos. “You should know that
you got one thing wrong in there though.” She doesn’t elaborate. She just walks
to her car and opens the door.

I watch her get in.

I see her start the car.

I stand at the threshold to my front door long after
she’s out of my sight.

It’s only then that I have the strength to open the
book to see what she’s talking about, and I find it almost immediately.

There, below the picture of the two of us at the
water the night of my birthday, where I had written the words “
Where I fell,
”
she’d crossed them out and written in huge capital letters “
Where WE Fell
.”

It’s enough to make me lose my dinner in the bushes.