Two Girls Staring at the Ceiling (13 page)

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Authors: Lucy Frank

BOOK: Two Girls Staring at the Ceiling
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“S
o, besides the famous Anthony
Morabito, you never fell in love
at first sight?”
“Only with my daughter.”
“What about her father?”
A noise like air whooshing
out of a balloon.
“So you wanna see her picture?”
Holding her belly, wincing
with each step,
She hobbles to my side.
On her phone, I see
Joya sprawled on an afghan,
in felt antlers;
In a Valentine’s Day onesie.
grinning in a baby bouncer;
Running through a sprinkler,
mischief in her eyes;
In the plump arms
of a smiling red-haired lady.
“Oh wow. She looks
like you.
She’s beautiful.
“Your other grandmother
looks nice, too.”
I sound
so lame.
“H
ere’s me.
I told you I was hot, right?”
Shannon, prom queen shiny
in a silver, slitted strapless gown
stiletto sandals;
Shannon, mugging for the camera,
giant sunglasses,
ginormous hoop earrings;
Shannon, in a black puffer,
animal-print leggings,
on the steps of a white ranch house
with green shutters.
“Yeah, I don’t live in a trailer anymore,
case you were wondering.
We’ve lived here since we left my dad.
“Who won’t be drunk or
back here, I’m guessing
till next weekend,
when you’re long gone.
Case you were worried.”
There’s so much
I want to ask, say, but
I don’t want to stop
her talking, so
I thumb to the next picture:
Shannon leaning into
a buff, buzz-haired, smiling guy
in an army uniform,
Red-and-blue striped tee
stretched tight
over her belly,
No hint of sick
or dragon
in her eyes.
“Y
eah. I didn’t need
to think about being sick then.
Look at me: I had it so in control.
“And he was all patting my belly
and shit about being a father.
Till I stopped taking my meds.
Which I already knew was a bad idea
“Cuz I was already kinda flaring
even on the meds, but
I didn’t want anything
messing up my baby.
“So my mom’d fill the prescriptions
and I’d flush ’em. Lie.
And for a while,
even when it got bad again,
“I didn’t miss one day of school,
showed up for my job
at the vet clinic every Saturday,
telling myself
“It wasn’t the Crohn’s,
just being pregnant. Cuz I read
Crohn’s takes a time-out sometimes
when you’re pregnant.
“Except the only time-out I got
was in the damn hospital.
On the damn tubes
and evil juice again.
“Which, as you can see
from the pictures,
didn’t mess up Joya,
thank God, but …
“TMI, right?
“Only reason I’m telling
you is so if you ever think
about stopping your meds,
no matter how much you hate
taking them, you’ll think of me
and know
it’s the dumbest
stupidest,
most asinine
thing you could do.”
“C
hess? You still awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Whatcha doing?”
“Lying here.
Staring at the ceiling.”
“Before?
When I said
I didn’t care
about Joya’s father?”
“Yeah.
I know.”
“C
hess? What time is it?”
“Twenty past three.”
“I could use a bowl of that
ice cream around now.”
“Me too.”
SEVENTH DAY
“L
ook at you,
all dressed and ready to go
before they’ve even come
to draw your blood. That’s one thing
you won’t miss, I know!”
Celandine, the night aide, smiles
as she takes my very last vitals.
“You better tell your mom to feed you up.
That or buy you smaller pants.
“And how you doing, Miss Shannon?
Looks like you’re getting some of
the old sparkle in your eye.”
“Still here. Still me.
Don’t ask
About the gas.”
“I don’t wanna hear the G-word,”
she warns the surgeons.
“And don’t tell me it’s Job One,”
she tells the duck brigade.
“I got my daughter to get back,
my GED, get my ass to college
so I can be a doctor
like you guys, only better.”
“It’s fuckin’ gas.
It’s passed before,
it’ll pass again.”
“H
ey. I hear someone’s leaving us,”
says Dr. Nguyen on his way out.
“Bet you can’t wait
To kiss this place good-bye.”
Shannon turns her TV on.
Even through the curtain
I can feel her eyes.
“Is it weird to hug your
doctor?” I ask the Orange Croc Doc
when she officially declares me
good to go.
With a “Hmmph!”
worthy of Mrs. Murch
as she trudges to the bathroom,
Shannon tells her IV pole,
“Next she’s gonna be talking
about hugging me.”
“Don’t bring my lunch.
I’m outta here,” I tell the lady
who comes to take away
my breakfast tray.
“The only reason I’m still here is
my mom has to stop by her office
before she can drive up
to get me.”
Shannon turns her TV louder.
“I won’t be needing that,”
I tell Green Jacket Man
when he parks a wheelchair
beside my bed.
“Thank you for taking such good care
of my trash,” I tell the cleaning man.
“I’m leaving today.
I’m going—”
“YO! NEWSFLASH, CUPCAKE!
WE KNOW THAT! EVERYONE
IN THIS HOSPITAL
KNOWS THAT!
“WANT ME TO RENT THE
GOODYEAR BLIMP
SO THE WHOLE WORLD
WILL KNOW?”
A
few laps
around the nurses’ station.
Check my phone.
Think about texting
Bri or Lexie.
Decide it might feel easier
when I get home.
Inspect myself
in the bathroom mirror.
How many times
can one person pee?
Check my phone.
Try on my other sweats,
the other tops,
twist my hair up,
braid tiny braids,
try to tie my hair back
with my hospital bracelet,
which I probably should not
have bit, sawed, nipped
with my nail clippers,
because now some alarm
might go off
when I try to leave.
“Shannon. Why does my hair look so bad?
It looked so good yesterday.
“These pants are so baggy!
Like I’ve got on, like, Pampers …”
Her TV’s blasting now.
I yank open the curtain.
I grab her clicker.
Kill the sound.
“HEY!
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
“Shannon. I don’t mean
to be annoying you.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re like the dogs
in our kennel, pacing in their cages,
ears up, tongues dangling, butts wiggling.
I’m surprised you don’t bark
anytime anyone goes past!
It’s setting off my evil juice!”
“I’m setting off my
evil juice. Sorry.”
“And what’d I tell you
about apologizing!”
“How ’bout
‘We don’t take stress,
we give stress’?”
“Yeah, well,
don’t give your stress to me!
“Yeah. Hey. It’s Shannon,”
she calls into the intercom.
“Could somebody please
come in here and unhook me?”
“Where you going?”
“For a walk.
“I’m supposed to be walking.
So I’m taking a walk.”
“What if Mom comes
and you’re not here?
No. Never mind.
No worries. Go ahead.
We’ll find you.”
“For what?”
“So you and I can …
you know …”
“Are you not hearing me?
For what? A month from now
we could pass each other
on the street and never know.
“And don’t gimme some shit about
how sorry you are to be leaving.
Cuz if it was me?
And I was leaving you here?
I’d be like, ‘Bye!’ ”
“Yes. And I’d get it.
Because we’re friends, you and me.
And you’re not just my friend, okay?
What Joyce, the nurse, said yesterday?
About don’t be a hero?
I don’t mean this to sound cheesy,
but you really are my—”
“YO! NURSE! KELLIANNE!
ARE WE WALKING, OR WHAT?”
I
can’t remember
feeling this glad
to see my mom
since the first week
of preschool.
“E
xcuse me.”
We’re just gathering up my bags
when Kellianne walks through the door.
“Shannon said don’t wait.
She said something might be … you know …”
Comes closer,
drops to a half whisper:
“About to happen. Gas-wise.
“She thought it might not be that cool
for you if she stuck around.
“Oh, wait! That’s her,
buzzing me now!”
“D
o not hug me.
I don’t do huggy.”
“Too bad.” I hold on
till Shannon’s arms
tighten around me.
When she lets go,
in purple pen I scribble
my contact info on her hand,
Dragon-eye her right back
as I pass the pen to her.
“Now I need yours.”
A
s Mom rolls
my unnecessary mandatory wheelchair
toward the elevator,
I hear:
“Do I need that brave little ‘you’re my hero’ shit?
A, I may be short, but I am not little.
B, no brave about it. You do what you do
and you get through.
Which I will do.
“Now Job One’s done,
it’s time to get myself cute again,
get my driver’s license,
get my daughter home with me …
“And how’s she expect me to call her
when she can’t even write the numbers
so you can read ’em?
“Hey, Kellianne,
Is that a four or a nine?”
AFTER
I
n starry dark a girl
sings while a boy
strums his guitar.
Her new running shoes flash
as they jog through
coppery October light.
In a booth
close to the bathroom
in an old Chinese restaurant
Two girls share
pistachio ice cream
with a little girl here for the holidays.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book has been a long journey. I have many people to thank:

Theresa Nelson, Susan Patron, and Virginia Walters, for believing in The Girls from the beginning, for patiently reading and rereading, cheering me on, and putting up with what must have seemed like endless whining.

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