This Ordinary Life (11 page)

“Are you tired now?” I ask. “Why don't you rest? You can show me your pictures when you wake up.” I lower his bed and tuck the thin blanket around him. I pick up the book from the floor and lay it beside him. “You can keep looking at this or watching TV, but let's turn off the light. Mom and I will step into the hall, okay? We'll be right there so just call out if you need us.”

He flips onto his side and glances up at the TV playing cartoons on mute. I check the video monitor to make sure it's on and motion to the hallway, slipping into one of the plastic chairs just outside Danny's curtained room.

“So what happened?” I don't mean it in a confrontational way at all, even though when I talk to Mom my voice tends to take on that tone.

“His teacher said he was staring for a long time.”

“Wait, what? You're having them do all this for an absence seizure? So he gets put through all this for nothing?”

But she crosses her arms and stands in front of me. She's not in the mood to back down today either.

“I'm not a total idiot, Jasmine. He was unresponsive, even after being carried to the nurse. And he was still completely limp. The doctor said it sounds like one of his complex partials.” She sinks into the chair beside mine.

“Crap.” I knew a basically benign (for Danny) absence seizure was too good to be true. My mom covers her face with her hands and damnit if I don't actually feel—okay fine, only a little, but still—bad for her.

“Sorry mom,” I say. “I didn't mean it like that. I don't think you're an idiot.” (White lies are okay when people are crying). “I'm just stressed.”

“I know, me too. When does it get better for him, you know?” She sighs.

“Yep.”

“Plus, I have no idea how we're going to pay for yet another hospital visit. With our insurance being as crappy as it is, who knows how much this is going to cost us.”

I literally have to bite my tongue. Yeah, I get it, we have no money. But who thinks of that when their kid is in the hospital? Maybe if she'd sell that stupid expensive collector's stereo dad left behind, instead of hanging onto it like he's coming back, she could pay for some stuff. But that's an argument we've had way too many times to bring up now.

I stand and peek in Danny's room. “Asleep,” I say. “I'm going to run to the vending machine. Be right back. Want anything?”

Mom dismisses me with a shake of her head. The second I walk down the hall I feel better. I know it's awful, but I can't help it. Being near her drives me crazy.

I get a bag of cheese doodles, a bag of peanut M&Ms and a bottle of water. What can I say? I'm a stress eater. I drop onto the couch next to the vending machine and pull out my phone. Almost lunch time already? Wow. Hospital time is some weird time suck vortex. I text Wes.

guess where I am?

Wes is at school, obviously, but he'll get my text eventually.

sunny!

His answer is almost immediate and I can't help but smile.

no idea. um, waiting somewhere for me to passionately make out with you?

um, hello… friends!

right. So… I give up?

st. bonaventure.

shit.

yeah.

danny?

yep. complex partial.

that sucks. been there. he okay?

i think so.

you okay?

i think so.

want me to come hang out with you? i have like, permanent medical excuses. i prefer to use them for the beach and stuff, but i can take one for the team.

har har

seriously though.

we r fine. hopefully we'll go home soon. mom says they aren't admitting him. of course she's also too busy complaining about hospital costs. she makes me crazy.

I immediately regret telling him too much about money complaints. Him with the brand new luxury car and material payoffs from his parents.

you sure? i'm about to go into AP physics. i would love to use you as an excuse to get out of that. i mean, i would love to be there for you.

AP? oooh, you're fancy. no. we're fine.

okay then. talk later?

I don't answer. What does that mean? Text? It can't mean call, right?

My phone dings while I'm trying to figure out what to say.

i mean to let me know how he is.

Phew. Awkwardness avoided.

sure.

tomorrow. plans?

I debate again but then type.

depends on danny. y?

if all is well want to hang out?

doing?

;)

OMG please don't be a perv. i thought you were a nice guy.

aw, you think I'm nice.

anyway.

to banks, remember? there's this cool hiking trail. it's awesome.

sounds good. but I have to work on my interview. it's important.

bring it. can i help?

I smile at the suggestion. Hanging with Wes may be the perfect distraction.

if danny is better, then yes.

sweet. wear good hiking shoes. and give me your address. i'll pick you up.

you sure?

yeah. can i meet your mom?

not unless you want to risk catching rabies.

harsh.

txt you later?

yep.

I tuck my phone into my back pocket and finish my snacks. I look longingly at the pretzel sticks and granola bars, but I've met my calorie and sodium content for the rest of the week with the junk I've already consumed. I stand and trudge back toward Danny's room, hoping he gets to go home to his normal life soon.

W
HEN
W
ES AND
I get to the hiking trail, I can hardly believe how peaceful it is. Everything is so green and lush and… quiet. I'm instantly grateful I didn't back out at the last minute, tempting as it was. Mom, Danny and I got home from the hospital super late last night, but luckily they released him with a pretty decent EEG report and nothing more than yet another minor medication change. Even still, the exhaustion this morning had almost made me miss this.

I follow Wes up a relatively steep trail. It's crazy beautiful with streams and waterfalls and a canopy of thick oaks. It's a hot day, but relatively cooler under the trees. Tree roots crisscross beneath our feet and I brace my sneakers against the thicker ones for leverage. In some places the path is incredibly narrow, walled in by large rocks on either side. I put my palm against them as I pass, loving the feel of the cool stone beneath my hand. The climb is far from treacherous, but it takes effort and my breathing comes quick and uneven on the climb. The higher we get, the freer I feel. The air gets thinner as we climb but I take big gulps of it as if it's the first breath I'm ever taking.

The further we go, the more the stress of my life drops away. All of it—school and home and Danny and internships and Mom and scholarships—has been wound so tightly around me like a rope that kept me from breathing. But as we make our way up that mountain trail, it's like that rope of worries loosens and falls away.

We reach the pinnacle of the small mountain in less than an hour. We aren't all that high, but even still, I've never seen my town like this. Simply amazing. Beautiful.

Wes plops down on a flat rock and drops his bag beside him, rustling around inside it. As I sit down beside him, he pulls out a knife.

“I knew it,” I deadpan. “You're a murderer.”

He takes an apple out of the bag and rolls his eyes. “I see the other part of that thought in your eyes,” he says with a grin as he slices the apple.
“I knew he was too good to be true.”

“Oh God, ego much?” I laugh as I take the slice of apple he offers. “It's so beautiful up here. I can't believe I never knew this existed.”

“Yeah. It's my favorite hike. I don't come all that much, because it's a dicey trek alone.”

“I love it.” I look out over the town, way down below. “I feel so small up here. Or maybe it's all that down there that's small. I don't know, but it's perfect.”

Wes nods, chewing. “That's my favorite part.” He stares off as if deep in thought. I find myself scanning the streets and trees below, wondering about all the busy, individual lives. All the different problems.

“So,” he says. “What's with that interview thing you were talking about?”

I take a deep breath and feel instantly filled with excitement. “It's an on-air interview. We've had a ton of budget cuts at Easton in the last few years. It's honestly a miracle we still have the radio station, but Ms. Hudson fights hard and I bet puts in a bunch of her own money to keep us going. Anyway, student government has been working with the PTA and Board of Ed to figure out which programs stay, which programs go, what we need to do as a school to keep what we want, and all that. So I'm interviewing this girl Farrah, the president of the SGA to talk
about it all. I know it probably sounds boring, but at our school, people are really worried they're going to lose their particular extracurriculars.”

“That sucks. So, you want to practice your questions on me? I do an awesome student government impersonation.” He tosses a piece of apple in the air and catches it in his mouth.

I laugh. “I haven't written them yet. Thanks to last night's later than expected St. Bonaventure adventure, I have nothing to practice. Tomorrow, though. I
have
to get this done.”

Wes nods and squints into the sun overhead.

Not that I want to compare because that is a dangerous game that has the potential to put you on the fast track to crazytown, but Sebastian had never and would never give a crap about my radio work. I try to imagine him offering to help me prep an interview. Would never happen.

I push Sebastian's name and face as far from my mind as possible, mentally throwing the whole relationship over the side of this cliff. It's a weird moment, like I'm being reborn up here, leaving everything behind that I don't want or need, or tossing it off the mountain and letting it fly away. I close my eyes and turn my face to the sun. The peace of the woods and the quiet and the warmth lull me into a sort of forced meditation. When I open my eyes, spots dance in my vision and the light touches everything differently than when I last looked. Wes stares at me with a tiny smile.

I slide my sunglasses back down over my eyes. “What?”

“You looked so peaceful.”

“Completely,” I say.

“That's why I love it up here,” he says. “It's just… free. No expectations.”

“Yep. No problems or responsibilities.”

After a few more minutes of silence and peace, Wes stands up, extending a hand to help me to my feet. His light hair hangs
in his eyes and he sweeps it back with his other hand. When he pulls me up I stand a little too close to him for a beat too long before turning toward the path.

He sighs as we start to make our way down the trail. “I don't suppose you would tell me what you were thinking about up there, huh?”

“Not a chance.” I follow his footfalls down the path. It gets rocky in places and I reach a hand out against the passing tree trunks to keep my balance.

“How about this?” Wes is out of breath, but his voice still carries that childish la-dee-da of mischief. “I'll tell you one of my deep dark secrets and you tell me one of yours.”

I keep walking down the steep path. I don't even know how to respond to that.

“Okay,” he says. “This is horrifically embarrassing and I've never told a soul. Ready?”

“Hmmm.”

“I broke my arm when I was ten years old. I was on the roof pretending to fly a plane and fell off.”

“Oh my God! You're lucky you didn't break your head open.”

He laughs. “My parents freaked out. It was summer so the whole neighborhood was practically outside. It was very dramatic. But I've wanted to fly a plane since I can remember and that valley where our two roofs meet always looked like a cockpit to my ten-year-old eyes. I couldn't help myself. Your turn.”

I consider how to answer as I follow closely behind him.

“No one knows this.” I say this in an ominous way as if I'm spilling the deepest of dark secrets. I pause for dramatic effect. “But black jellybeans are my favorite flavor.”

Wes stops and turns around, his face all mock horror as if I told him I'd once killed someone. “Ew! Who likes black jellybeans?”

“Exactly.” I hang my head in shame. “Hence the secrecy.”

His, much-as-I-hate-to-admit-it, adorable smirk pops up.

“Next confession,” he says, turning back to the path. “My first seizure was when I was five years old. I spent most of that year in the hospital and had to repeat kindergarten.”

My heart dips, imagining him young and vulnerable. Just like Danny. I watch him climb down the path in front of me. He's on the thin side, but agile, vulnerable but confident. I can only hope for the same for my brother.

“When did you get them under control?” I ask softly.

“By seven or so? The medicines can sometimes be a bitch though. But they work. I've had some breakthrough seizures, especially in middle school. But nothing else in years. I go in once in a while now for tests, like when I met you, but that's it.”

“That's awesome.” And I mean it too. The thought that he can live with this, successfully, happily, normal. Ordinary. My heart squeezes with hope for my brother.

“Your turn.”

How do I follow that confession? What can I reveal about myself? His confession definitely deserves something honest.

I take a deep breath. “I caught my boyfriend cheating on me. Like literally walked in on him. Them. Really recently. So we broke up.” I feel stupid when I say it, but well, there the words go, filling up the air just like the sunshine waltzing down through the break in oak leaves overhead.