Two Girls Staring at the Ceiling Read online

  but I assumed

  I mean

  we ran together

  almost

  every day not that I

  lost a single …”

  I fight to keep her words

  from gibbering,

  My mind

  from jumbling.

  “I know

  like best friends

  nothing

  she doesn’t tell me …”

  “Mom?

  What are you doing?”

  “Just making a few phone calls.

  I already sent out an email

  letting everyone know.”

  “Know what?

  Mom. You’re not …”

  Each word

  the tube rasps

  my throat.

  “Brianna’s mom said Bri and Lexie

  have been so worried

  they can’t reach you,

  wondering what happened.”

  The weight

  of the unspoken

  presses me deeper

  in the bed.

  “Mom, you’re not saying

  anything to anyone, not telling

  them to come here, right?

  Please! Just tell them

  I’ll be fine!”

  And I can’t tell if this buzzy jigging

  as I stare at the cellulite-dimpled squares

  on the ceiling is drip-dripping steroids

  rip-roaring to the rescue

  this kind of steroids makes people weird

  that young nice nurse said

  almost everyone gets fat

  “Oh look how cute

  with those round cheeks

  Chubby Chessie Chess the Chunk

  Don’t listen to them, sweetie. You—

  Right, Mom. I have a beautiful face.

  You do. You just happen

  to have gotten my genes.

  Yeah. Size 14!

  What? Chessie, I was never a 14!

  And you were never bigger

  than a 10!”

  Please, God,

  don’t let me get fat again

  just when I thought

  I knew

  this body

  I’ve trained

  toned

  scrutinized

  compared

  So sure

  I could caffeinate

  sleep Advilize

  sweet-talk muscle

  mind over matter

  this body I thought

  I mostly

  almost liked

  or at least

  didn’t totally

  loathe.

  And for those hours

  minutes

  last night

  oh …

  “Shhh. Try to relax, sweetie.

  Let the medicine do its job.”

  Was it just

  last night

  David said,

  “Would you be sad

  if our owl turned out

  to be a seagull?”

  as we slid the boat

  into the lake and rowed

  to an island that turned out

  to be a rock barely

  big enough for two?

  Said: “Uh … how’re

  we gonna get back

  from here?” as we watched

  the boat drift off

  into the water lilies?

  Said: “Do we care?

  Maybe, but not now, right?”

  Said he wished

  he had his guitar

  so he had something

  to do with his hands?

  Then we both talked

  too much, too fast,

  to talk away

  the awkwardness,

  Pointed out

  bogus constellations,

  agreed we’re so not

  party people,

  only came, in fact,

  because his dad lives

  just down the road,

  and my friends

  decided we needed

  to get out more,

  And I told him

  I wished I could

  drive a tractor

  and sell raspberries

  all summer,

  not plug numbers

  into a spreadsheet

  at Mom’s ex-boyfriend’s

  accounting firm,

  And my mind leaped

  with summer things

  we’d do together,

  and though the breeze

  smelled like rain,

  the rock was rough and pointy,

  and the bugs were biting,

  I couldn’t imagine ever

  being sad again.

  And by the time the thumping bass beats

  from the party faded and lights winked out

  around the lake, pain nibbled

  at my belly, but his hands

  let me forget,

  we warmed each other

  against the night,

  and if the owl flew by,

  my eyes were too melted

  with his kisses

  to see.

  And when he said:

  “I can’t think of anything to say

  that isn’t totally corny,”

  I’d have answered

  “Say it anyway,”

  Except a boa constrictor

  was squeezing my breath away

  a shark was ripping

  my insides,

  And I tried so hard

  to hold on

  not let him see

  not let him know

  not stop

  not spoil

  hold on.

  “Should have taken her to the doctor

  weeks ago

  kept her home last night,

  said, you worked all day. And

  your stomach’s killing you.

  Said, whose party

  is this, anyway? Who

  do you even know

  in Hillsdale?

  Made her

  tell me what happened.

  I mean,

  no phone no wallet

  no underpants?”

  Under the covers

  I hold my hand

  as if it’s his.

  How bad

  could I have been

  if I remembered

  we needed to go back

  and get his guitar?

  Skin white as the fat

  on a leg of lamb,

  white scarf over no hair,

  eyelids waxy as a corpse …

  Here in the night,

  the only lights the flickering

  fluorescence of her machines,

  my call button’s LED.

  Her sheeted chest

  flutters …

  flutters …

  doesn’t.

  “The lady in the bed by the window?”

  I tell the intercom. “She was like twitching

  and moaning before, but I think

  she may have stopped breathing.

  “No, no. I’m not out of bed.

  But I can’t seem to sleep,

  so I’ve been watching

  through the curtain.

  “No. Wait! She just twitched again.

  And cleared her throat.

  Yeah. Yeah.

  It’s okay. She’s okay!”

  I let the curtain drop,

  sink into the safety of my bed.

  “Sorry to bother you. She’s fine.

  She’s on the phone.”

  “Sam? Do you know where my shoes

  and stockings are?”

  Voice a scrape, a creak, a raven’s croak:

  “Sam, my cab’s waiting!

  No! They’re not under the bed!

  I looked!”

  “Hello, Halberstam, it’s me, Mrs. Klein.

  I need you to come with the affidavit.

  Tell Sam to bring the blue valise.

  And the passport.

  “Sam, it’s me again.


  I’m not supposed to be here, Sam.

  Sammy, there’s been some mistake.

  Without the passport

  they won’t let me leave.”

  When I was little, keeping watch

  in the night, counting cars

  could sometimes keep away

  the night beetles.

  I watch the darkness,

  listen to silence, until

  a nurse’s light glimmers

  through the curtain:

  “You sure you weren’t dreaming, hon?

  I never heard Mrs. Klein say a word.”

  When I was little,

  waiting for the night to end,

  my dad’s flashlight was enough

  to scare away the night beetles.

  There are no lights here.

  No sound but the bubbling hum

  of her oxygen machine.

  Nothing to count

  but the glub

  of the drain,

  and the drugs

  silently marching

  down the tube

  into my arm.

  SECOND DAY

  Morning is the time to sleep,

  dreaming my old dreams:

  Hot backseat love

  with someone who turns out

  To be Mr. Mooney, the custodian.

  Why are the SATs in Chinese?

  My cell’s dropped in the toilet,

  and it’s ringing and I’ve lost my keys.

  Welcoming those Not that again! dreams

  like an old familiar Seinfeld,

  While carts rattle, mops slap,

  conversations filter in

  Like sun striping

  through the blinds.

  Do I dream four frowning docs

  in shower caps,

  Young blue-scrubbed docs filing

  in like a line of ducklings to gather

  round my bed?

  Could the “patient” person

  they’re talking about be me?

  “You know, everyone’s saying

  what a great patient you are,”

  Mom says as she unpacks

  my pillow, socks, the afghan

  Nana crocheted for me,

  Plugs in my electric toothbrush,

  stacks the as-yet-unopened books

  from the AP English summer reading list

  on the tray table beside my bed.

  “I told them I’d expect nothing less.

  Even when you were little,

  when you got your shots,

  it was me who cried,

  even if I never let you see.”

  Sweet coffee kiss,

  soft hiss of drawers

  opening and closing,

  rustle of papers.

  My eyes haze.

  I let her words blur

  till

  “… told Bri you weren’t

  quite ready for her to go

  get you raspberries but—”

  “What? No! Mom! Don’t

  let her go there. And I can’t

  see anyone! Mom! No!

  Tell her no!”

  “Okay, sweetie.

  Go back to sleep.

  It’s gonna take me an hour

  to get to work.

  I’d better go.”

  “Mommy, no!

  Don’t leave me!”

  “You’ll be fine.

  And it will all be fine.

  My strong, precious girl.”

  “Oy, so young!”

  “With all those tubes

  and not a word of complaint”

  “I wonder what”

  “Peeked at her chart. It doesn’t”

  “Such a pretty name, Francesca.”

  “Such a sweet face”

  “But so skinny. Vey iz mir.”

  No faces for the voices

  till a green jacket man pushes my bed

  toward the door and I see four stout ladies

  in beauty-parlor-perfect wigs

  and dresses too hot for July

  spraddle-legged on the window seat

  behind Mrs. Klein,

  next to nectarines, cottage cheese,

  hard-boiled eggs, pocketbooks.

  The tsk chorus follows

  as he wheels me past a boy

  in an Ichabod Crane black

  coat and hat, sleeping openmouthed

  by the door.

  “Where are they taking her?”

  “Tests. Always more tests.”

  “Heshy! Move your chair so they can

  get through!”

  “No need to raise your voice.

  I understand, my love.

  You’re a little upset.

  But now you’re in your nice new

  room, so let’s just get you into bed,

  okay, cookie?”

  “You understand shit! I am not your love.

  And I’m no damn Chips Ahoy!, either!

  NO ONE puts their hands on me,

  you GOT that, cookie?”

  “I’m just trying to be nice.”

  “Do I look like I need nice?

  What I NEED is for you to stop shuffling

  me around like some kinda luggage.

  Then I need you to leave

  me the HELL alone.

  Which goes for you, too,

  whoever the hell you are.

  You think I don’t see you

  peeping at me through the curtain?

  WHAT? No one around here’s

  ever seen a bitch on steroids?”

  I shrink into my covers,

  let the clanging buzzing roaring

  in my head drown her roars,

  until the curtains part, and

  IV pole tangled with tubes,

  eyes almost swallowed

  in her man-in-the-moon face,

  the lollipop-head, dragon-eyed,

  puff-bellied emergency room girl

  flops down in my chair

  and tucks up paper-slippered

  feet too big

  for her tiny body.

  Says, “Hope you’re not planning

  on sleeping anytime soon. No way

  I can sleep with all this shit

  they got me on.

  You’re not a moaner, are you?

  First room they had me in, the lady

  whined and carried on all night.”

  Hair patchy, dry,

  like doll hair cut

  with kindergarten scissors.

  “I used to be hot, if you can believe that.

  Till they gave me the evil juice.

  Saves your life and makes you wish

  you were dead.

  Know what I’m saying?”

  Eyes too old for a girl

  jump from the tube in my arm

  to the bags on my IV pole.

  She snorts a laugh.

  “I guess you do.

  Welcome to the club.

  Not that I give a shit about being hot.

  Hot’s a pain in the ass. Not that you’d

  know. Just joking. You’re still looking

  pretty good. How long you been in?

  Hey! You’re not closing your eyes?

  Want some of my Jell-O, or an icey?

  I scared that nurse so bad

  she gave me three.

  Oh, right. No food for you

  with that NG tube.

  They didn’t dare stick one

  down my nose this time.

  How much evil juice

  they pumping into you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  My voice floats in

  from a distant galaxy.

  “You didn’t ask?”

  A line of earrings studs one ear.

  A cross dangles from the other.

  “Act like a wimp, they tell you nada.

  You know, you look like shit.

  We should get the nurse.”

  “It’s okay. I’m okay. Really.

/>   I don’t want to bother them.”

  I need her to understand this is not me,

  this person lying here with patient hair

  (back squashed flat,

  top like rooster feathers)

  two patient gowns

  (one frontwards,

  one backwards,

  to keep the world

  from my bare butt)

  Even as the steroids rampaging

  through my veins make my blood roar

  as she glares her dragon glare.

  “Hello! Nurse! There’s a girl in here

  could use some help!

  Are we gonna get some help,

  or do I need to come out there

  and mess you up?”

  “So an octopus

  walks into a bar

  and asks for a beer.”

  Poppy, too loud,

  is laughing in advance

  as the girl’s voice booms

  through the curtain.

  “Yo. News flash, Doc!

  You don’t have to talk so slow.

  I’m not five. Or stupid.

  Just sick. Remember?

  “Bet you remember the career advice

  I gave you last time, too. How you

  should be one of those coroner guys,

  like on CSI and shit.

  “I mean, if you’re this bad

  with people, do us all a favor.

  Switch to corpses.”

  Nana bustles, fusses, reaches

  for the clicker.

  “Would you like to watch

  a little TV, Cupcake?”

  “Barb, I’m in the middle

  of the joke! Unless

  you’ve heard it, Chessie.”

  “Steve, it’s not the dirty one?”

  “No, Nana. It’s fine.”

  I summon up a smile.

  “I always like this one.”

  Nana, smelling of Chanel

  smoothes back my hair.

  “The earrings look just lovely!

  I’m so glad we didn’t

  wait for your

  birthday to— Oh, my goodness!

  Is that a—

  I don’t know what you

  call them these days.

  In our day we called them hickeys.”

  “She’s about to be seventeen