Poster Boy (5 page)

“He said the best we can do is keep her comfortable with pain medication and…” Her voice rose. “Her favorite activities.”

It was an ugly moment. Dad's head seemed to gain a pound.

“He's going to give us some prescriptions to see what works best. What has the least side effects.”

The movie set loomed bright. I could hear the violins moving into a minor key, my stomach along with them.

I'd never seen my parents look so helpless before. Made me feel real sketchy.

“I thought we might get her a kitten,” Mom said to her napkin as she crushed it again.

“Julia — ” Dad began, finally lifting his head, but Mom kept going.

“She's always wanted a kitten but what with my allergies… but, hey, I can take medication. Join the pill-popping club.” She laughed, kind of, and ironed flat what had become an infinity of paper wrinkles. “But then if Maggie got attached to it…” Mom's voice started to quaver. “It might make things harder — ”

“Julia,” said Dad. “We'll get a second opinion for starters. Don't get morbid.”

Mom looked at him and nodded repeatedly. “Yes, a second opinion. A third, even. And there's lots of alternative cures out there that doctors don't even know about. You hear of miracle cures all the — ”

“We'll keep her comfortable for now,” said Dad. “I'll talk to a couple of profs I know in cancer research.”

He sounded in control. It was going to be okay.

“And we won't tell Maggie,” said Mom, still nodding.

“She knows they're looking for cancer, Julia. We should tell her the diagnosis but don't have to tell her the prognosis.”

“Yes, not the prognosis.” She continued nodding.

“You look tired, Mom,” I said, wanting her to stop nodding already. I stepped across the threshold into the movie. “You wanna lie down? Or want some tea or something?” I'd only ever made tea for my mom on Mother's Day.

She looked up, as if she was startled to see me.

“Thanks, Gray, but I couldn't lie down.” She smiled as if I was being silly and went back to her napkin. “Do you really think we should tell her the diag — ” This time, as she spread the napkin flat, it ripped down the middle. She grabbed it, shoved it against her closed mouth and abruptly stood up, whipping around to face the doors to the deck.

She leaned her hands on the glass as if she wanted to push it out of its frame, she spoke in a monotone. “I asked the doctor what could have caused it and he said this sort of thing can begin in utero.” Her voice went real soft. “In utero?”

Dad closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. I picked up the kettle. I was going to make tea whether anyone wanted it or not because I needed something to do right about now. I let the water run, found the sound soothing and hoped they did, too. Then I filled up the kettle.

“He said some children can have a genetic predisposition for cancer,” continued Mom, “and be particularly sensitive to environmental carcinogens.” Her hands on the window became fists.

“It's nobody's fault, Julia.” Dad got out of his chair to go to her, bumping awkwardly against the corner of the table.

Mom made a half cough, half sigh sound, as if someone had punched the air from her stomach. She was going to cry and my stomach clenched as if that might stop her.

Dad turned her from the window and she practically dropped into his arms. The sinister hiss of the kettle filled the room. I willed the water to hurry up and boil so I could get this over with and go downstairs.

“It's okay,” said Dad. “It's going to be okay.” He didn't sound very convincing.

Mom started to sob, loud and clumsy sounding, while I stood there, holding a tea bag by its tiny string.

6
The C-Word

Back downstairs, I had to tell someone what was happening. Unload this shitty information. I called Davis and got the answering machine. He didn't have a cellphone. Davis's dad's new wife was events coordinator for her church and was always on the phone, even at nine-thirty at night.

I tried a few more times, then called Natalie instead.

“Hey, Nat.”

“Hi, Gray. Guess what? I'm getting my hair highlighted.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Guess what color.”

“God, I don't know. Blonde?”

“Blonde? Are you insane? With my skin? Guess again, though you'll never.”

I wasn't really up for guessing games. “Green?”

“Green? No, you goof. Midnight blue.”

“Wow. Sounds great.”

“I thought of just getting it hennaed but saw this girl in a magazine with black hair like mine and dark blue highlights. It looked so great. A little out there, but not freakish or anything. My mom even likes the idea.”

“It'll go great with your eyes,” I said, trying to please her.

“You don't sound very enthusiastic.”

“Oh, well, it's just that we've had some weird news.”

“Really? What is it? You can tell me, Gray.”

“It's my sister, Maggie. She's got this kind of cancer.”

“Cancer? Are you kidding me? That's awful. I mean how bad is it? She's only like eleven.”

“Twelve and it's stage four which is pretty bad. She had an MRI scan thing. I had to get one, too.”

“Do you have it?”

“No, it was just a precaution.”

“You better not have it,” she said, as if she'd be pissed if I did.

“Yeah.”

“So, like, does she have a tumor?” Natalie asked in a small voice.

“A lot more than one, I think. They're in her muscles.”

“Ew, God.”

This was followed by silence. I didn't know what I expected her to do or say. Something, anything, to make it feel less real.

“I'm sorry, Gray,” she said, “but I got to get off. My mom's calling me.”

“Yeah, sure, go on.”

“I hope your sister gets better and I'm so glad that you're all right.”

“Thanks.”

“See you at school.”

“Yeah. Did you think of where you want to go for dinner?” I asked, wanting to end on a more positive note.

“No, I'm still thinking.”

“Okay. See you.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

I thought it would make me feel better telling someone.

It didn't.

* * *

Like usual, Davis stopped by on his way to school so we could walk together. It was overcast and cold, the sky the color of a dirty sheet. The wind stung my face. The day felt mean, and enjoying it.

“How ya doing?” I said. I was feeling pretty messed. Mom was inside making an appointment with another oncologist. A second opinion. Her eyes were puffy and red, like she'd been up all night crying.

“I'm cool.” His feet pranced around as he boxed one, two at the air. “Where's Maggie?” he asked, since she usually left for school the same time as me. The middle school was just across the field from the high school. Mom insisted we walk together, more or less. He turned around to pretend-punch me.

“She's got a doctor's appointment.”

Then I told him. Made the mistake of using the word “terminal.”

Davis stopped, his jaw muscles bulging as he ground his teeth together. He kicked at the grass beside the sidewalk and a clump of turf went flying.

“Holy shit. Why's life so messed up?”

“It might not be that bad,” I said, only because I felt rotten now to have dumped this on him. “It was just one guy's opinion.”

“Yeah, well, she's young. That should help.”

When I'd looked up Maggie's type of cancer, I'd found out that being young actually made things worse. In old people tumors grew slowly precisely because old people didn't do anything fast. In the young and otherwise healthy, tumors took off running. I didn't tell him this, and we walked a little ways in silence.

“Mom's going to research alternative cures. Says there's a lot of stuff out there doctors don't know about.”

“Good. That's good. Anything I can do?” He sounded desperate.

I shrugged. We didn't say anything more. But that was all right. I actually felt a bit better. I suddenly remembered one of those dumb Chuck Norris jokes and wondered if he was thinking of it, too.

Chuck Norris's tears cure cancer. Too bad he's never cried.

* * *

On my way to second block, I passed Natalie at her locker. Erin and Chrissy were with her.

“Hey, Nat,” I said.

“Hi, Gray.”

Her friends turned, looked at me, then looked down or away. They seemed to form a wall around her.

“Want to grab a slice today with Davis and me?”

She was wearing a blue V-neck sweater, the purple lace of the bra I'd come to know and love beckoning at the V.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Meet you at the bleachers then?”

“Okay.” The shield of girl still hadn't moved, otherwise I would have slipped a kiss to her neck. I could tell by their shifty glances that they had a secret. My secret? I guess it was okay if Natalie told them. Word would get around soon enough. Still, it seemed too quick, and I was glad Maggie didn't go to this school.

Erin, Davis, Natalie and I had pizza together. Nat, as usual, kept the conversation going. She talked about her hair appointment and what happened on the
Lost
episode which my family had forgotten to watch.

Davis looked pained by the sound of her voice and said nothing, while I did my best to nod and smile despite the fact that she was directing her words more at Erin than me. We didn't mention Maggie. I think she was trying to take my mind off it, make things seem normal.

The next day I ran into Ciel. She was with a fedora-wearing girl named Ginny who played trumpet in the school jazz band.

“Hey,” I said when she glanced up.

“Gray. God, I heard about your sister.” Word
had
spread fast. “I'm really sorry.” Her face looked genuinely pained.

“Yeah, thanks.”

She reached out and stroked my arm, real soft. It felt surreally good to be touched so soft like that.

When I got home, Mom, who was never not busy doing something, was just sitting at the kitchen table staring out the window.

“Hey, Mom. You okay?” I dropped my backpack into a chair.

“Second opinion wasn't any better,” she said, still staring. “And Dad's friends at work. Just as dire.”

“That sucks.”

“Talk to her, Gray.” Mom turned to me, her tone pleading. “See how she's doing. But
don't
use the C-word!”

“The C-word?”

“Here, you can take her up a glass of water and a couple of these turmeric pills.”

“Isn't that what goes in curry?” I remembered Parmjot's mom once making chicken with turmeric and dates. It was delicious, even though I got the runs after.

“Yes, it's an East Indian spice. There's something in it that shrinks tumors.” She forced a smile.

“Really? Are the words tumor and turmer — ”

“It's just something I'm trying. I talked to a friend of a friend whose husband had a stomach tumor the size of a grapefruit and he…” Her voice trailed off. “Well, it's gone now. There's lots of things to try.” She pointed an accusing finger at me. “Lots of things and I'm starting with this.”

“Sounds great. I'll take it to her,” I said and got the hell out of there.

I don't think I'd stepped in Maggie's room for like two years. Against a backdrop of swamp-green walls, it was decorated with all the silkscreen things she'd made with Mom over the years: curtains, matching canopy over her bed, pillows, a decorative kite up in one corner, a shawl over the back of her desk chair, picture frames…

“Hey, Maggot,” I said, but said it nice.

“Hi.”

She was bent over the floor cutting out stuff, chick music playing on her iDog while grotesque close-ups of insects flashed on her screen saver.

Maggie loved bugs, the bug zoo her favorite outing as a little kid. Dad used to take us both. Maggie would hold the tarantula, let the stick bug creep up her arm, the praying mantis, while I stayed tucked behind Dad, my skin crawling.

“Brought you some water.”

“Thanks. The pills I'm taking make me really thirsty.” She reached for the water.

“Oh, and Mom wanted me to give you these.” I held out the capsules filled with mustard-colored powder.

She took one look at them and just took the water. “They're too big to swallow.”

She chugged it, plunked the glass on the floor and went back to cutting out what looked like the letter N. I started to put the pills on her desk.

“Don't step on my poster!”

“I won't. Jeez, you scared me.”

“I'm cutting out the title for my project. Dad thinks I should call it Mind Matters but I like Matter Minds better. Makes you stop and think.”

“Sure, that's good.” I couldn't begin to stop and think. “So, uh, how
are
you feeling?” I put the pills down.

“Okay, I guess, considering I've got cancer everywhere.” She shrugged.

“Oh.”

“I like finally knowing what it is. I had a feeling it might be something weird.” She finished cutting the N, laid it next to the I and scrunched up her nose. “Cancer is defined as an uncontrolled growth of cells that differ structurally and biochemically from the normal cells of the tissue of origin.”

And Mom thought we'd keep her in the dark?

She picked up the N again and began to trim it.

“I wonder why that happens?” She sounded genuinely curious.

“Yeah.” A fat brown spider, its back covered in a thousand baby versions of itself, flashed on the screen saver. I shivered.

“It makes sense that there's a catalyst of some kind. For every action a reaction and all that.”

“I guess so.”