Two Girls Staring at the Ceiling Read online

  years old, Barb. You ask me,

  it’s high time she had a boyfriend.

  Right, Chessie?”

  On our island, David asks:

  “So do you have a boyfriend?”

  When I say, “No. Not really,”

  he answers, “Awesome!”

  And by moonlight

  and the flashlight app

  on my cell phone,

  scribbles on my hand.

  “How’m I FEELING, Doc?

  ’Bout time someone

  in this shithole asked me that.

  “How the HELL YOU THINK

  I’M FEELING?”

  “She’s got some mouth on her,

  that little girl. How old

  do you think—”

  “Nineteen, not that it’s your business,

  and I got ears, too, lady! And a name.

  Shannon Elizabeth Williams. So

  if you got something to say to me …”

  “Okaaay! Here’s

  one you haven’t heard.”

  Poppy’s back in hearty mode.

  “So what did Buddha

  say to the hot dog vender?”

  “OWWWW!”

  “I haven’t touched you yet!”

  “Make me one with everything!”

  “And you better not … OWWWW!”

  “Why do you always have to give me

  such a hard time?

  Why can’t you be more like

  this nice little girl next to you?”

  “You mean all meek and shit?”

  “No, just pleasant.

  She’s not feeling any better

  than you are, but she always

  manages a thank-you and a smile.”

  “Cuz her evil juice

  hasn’t worked its magic yet.

  Just wait. You’ll see.”

  “What is she talking about,

  evil juice?”

  “What do you think’s wrong

  with that little girl? I understand

  she’s upset, but rude like that?

  There’s no excuse—”

  “Frankly, I’m more worried

  about Chessie. How’re you doing, there,

  Cupcake? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

  Poppy leans in for a kiss.

  “Anything we can get you before we go?”

  Or bring next time?”

  “I’m fine,” I tell them,

  telling myself the lump

  clogging my throat

  is just the tube.

  “I promise. I’ll be fine.”

  “Knock, knock!

  We were here to see Jared’s

  dermatologist, so

  we thought we’d pop in

  and say hi.”

  “Ma, I think she’s sleeping,”

  Jared whispers.

  Jared from the sandbox,

  from the school bus,

  Jared destined to be valedictorian,

  whose dad is our dentist,

  who Mom, I know, wishes

  was my boyfriend,

  who before—No! Don’t

  let yourself even

  think of David—

  my friends swore

  I was doomed

  to marry, saying,

  the good news is,

  you’ll get free dental care.

  “Ma, come on,” says Jared.

  “Let’s just go.”

  And even through closed eyes

  I can see how I must look to him.

  “I just want to say one thing.

  Chessie, honey,” says Mrs. Kaye.

  “A girl at work has what your mom said

  you might have, and as long as she avoids

  stress and gets plenty of rest,

  she’s fine.”

  I squeeze my eyes tighter.

  Wait for them to go away.

  “So, the immune system

  as I’m sure you know,

  protects the body

  from viruses, bacteria and other …”

  She’s so cool, this doctor

  in the orange Crocs,

  with the glasses I’d get

  if I needed glasses,

  corkscrew hair

  miraculously pinned up

  with a pencil,

  “… foreign organisms.

  Sometimes, however,

  the cells supposed to fight enemies

  can turn on your own body.

  We call this …”

  Talking to me like

  I’m just as cool,

  as smart. I wonder

  if my hair’s curly enough

  to curl like that. I love

  her engagement ring,

  so not flashy, yet

  so sparkly. I wonder

  “… autoimmunity.

  Researchers think certain bacteria,

  viruses, toxins, and drugs

  trigger an autoimmune response

  in people genetically susceptible …”

  If she’s noticed my

  new diamond studs.

  “Most autoimmune disorders,

  unfortunately, are chronic.

  But many, I’m glad to say,

  can be very successfully

  controlled with treatment.

  In your case, most likely

  inflammatory bowel disease,

  also known as Crohn’s disease,

  your immune system appears

  to be attacking healthy cells

  in your terminal ileum.

  “Francesca. Chess.

  Am I throwing too much at you?

  Do you have any questions

  you’d like to ask?”

  “No. Not really.

  I was just wondering …

  would you mind telling me …

  what product

  you use on your hair

  to get it to curl like that?”

  Forget

  a little light reading

  to take my mind off things.

  Lotions, cute cartoons,

  pretty notebook for my thoughts,

  flowers to brighten up the place.

  Give those to this Shannon girl,

  the sick girl, with nothing

  on her table but a sippy straw.

  Bring me my running shoes,

  a black bikini, a bottle of sriracha,

  a kite, a Bernese mountain dog,

  chandelier earrings that throw sparks

  in the light, a ticket

  to Machu Picchu.

  When the nurse comes,

  pleasant as I can,

  I tell him no more visitors.

  None. I don’t want to see or

  talk to anyone.

  One good thing:

  Looks like I lost

  my phone.

  Blared from sleep, I almost rip

  the IV needle from my vein,

  grabbing the red-flashing

  bedside phone before

  my clanging heart

  can stop me.

  “Chess!”

  It’s Lexie:

  “I’m so upset you’re sick!

  Are you okay?

  Are you any better?

  Your mom just said—”

  “We waited and waited

  for you.”

  Bri’s on, too:

  “We met no one, needless to say,

  and when you didn’t text or call,

  we figured you were still

  with Berry Boy,

  and when my dad came

  to get us …”

  “This is not, like, our fault,

  is it?”

  “No. It was fine.”

  Monitor Me hates

  the quiver in my voice

  as I picture wide-eyed,

  stork-legged Lexie,

  Bri, elf-small with

  rowdy black hair.

  “And I am so

  much better.

  Seriously
.

  No worries.

  I’ll be fine.”

  “You know, I knew

  something was up with you!

  I mean, cramps are supposed

  to be once a month, right?

  And that mono that wasn’t mono

  last winter? And quitting choir.

  Which you love? Telling Mr. Jensen

  you wouldn’t try out for Ophelia,

  which you could have gotten,

  especially with that whole ethereal

  thing you’ve got going lately—”

  “And we finally get an invite

  to Ruby’s pool party and

  you refuse to go?

  If it wasn’t for that crush

  on Mr. Sugar Snap,

  we wouldn’t have gotten you out

  of the house all summer.”

  “But something good

  happened, right?

  Something as in Something.

  Or you’d have come back to the party.

  I know this isn’t the ideal time

  to talk about it, but

  I mean, did you guys,

  you know …”

  “Chess? It’s kinda silent on your end.

  Is your mom there?”

  “Umm. Yes.”

  Lying to them,

  for the first time ever,

  to drive the night beetles away.

  Between the curtains

  I watch two ladies sit

  with Shannon as she sleeps.

  Hear click of knitting needles,

  rustle of starched legs

  crossing and uncrossing.

  “See all them earrings?” the older one

  tells an aide hanging

  a new bag of medicine.

  “She’s got one for every surgery.”

  “Seriously?” The aide looks impressed.

  Or shocked. “That’s a lot of surgeries

  for a young girl.”

  “Oh yeah. And that little cross

  in the other ear? That’s to keep

  her from any more.”

  The older one counts stitches

  on something pink, crinkles open

  a starlight mint, sighs,

  Hands another to the heavy,

  younger one, whose name necklace

  might say Yvonne.

  When I wake up,

  a baby hat is almost done.

  The older lady stabs her needles

  through the ball of yarn.

  “Seems like they gave her

  a double dose of sedative this time.”

  She hauls herself to standing,

  Untangles tubes on the IV pole,

  smoothes the comforter,

  the pillow, the girl’s jagged hair.

  “Not sure how soon

  we can get back, kiddo.”

  Yvonne leaves the mint

  on Shannon’s pillow,

  bends to kiss her forehead,

  So close to me that if she knew

  I was watching through the curtain,

  she could pull it aside and kiss me, too.

  In a dream David sets my lips tingling

  with his eyes, even in the dark.

  “I really want to kiss you.

  Is it okay if …”

  “MWAAH!”

  Stubble scrapes my cheek.

  “Heyyy! How’re you doing,

  Chessie Chestnut?”

  Strawberry-slick lips brush

  my forehead.

  “Hello, sweetie.

  You weren’t sleeping,

  were you?”

  “Huh?

  Oh, hi, Aunt Dawn.

  Hey, Uncle Charlie.

  I’m doing fine.”

  “Because, sweetie,

  I just want to tell you

  the woman down the street

  has what they’re saying

  you might have,

  and as long as she stays away

  from certain foods …”

  In neon running shoes I race

  through sand, sprint

  through the rainbow

  droplets of a sprinkler,

  run straight up a waterfall,

  Shoot out a purple cloud

  of squid ink so no one

  can see me jetting

  through the ocean

  on You’ll never catch me! bubbles.

  “Genetic. I looked it up online.

  Cousin Joanie had it… .

  Wouldn’t surprise me a bit

  if Uncle Bobby …”

  Now if I can just stay

  inside the dream.

  “Dawn. Why make her upset?

  Nobody’s said for sure—”

  Blur their voices.

  “They know something’s

  very wrong. I’m no doctor

  and I could tell she wasn’t well

  for months …”

  But Bri’s and Lexie’s words

  creep in like beetles:

  “That time you ate

  the entire bottle

  of my dad’s Tums …”

  “My dad’s single malt

  to kill the pain …”

  “Julia’s sleepover

  where you spent

  the whole night

  in the bathroom …”

  “Why does everyone

  in this family think

  if you don’t talk

  about things,

  if you just smile

  and don’t look,

  or look polite

  they’ll, like,

  miraculously …”

  “Dawn’s right, Chessie.

  You had to have known

  you were—”

  “And I get

  that you must have been hoping

  it would go away—”

  “Or trying to protect your mom—”

  “Right. God forbid

  there should be something amiss

  in my sister’s perfectly

  constructed perfect world!”

  “But protecting?

  By going for a swim

  in the middle

  of a freezing-cold night

  in the pouring rain

  with some boy who

  she won’t even tell

  anyone his name?”

  “That’s not the issue now.

  What’s important is

  finding out what’s—”

  “Not important?

  Getting home at three

  in the morning?

  Crying too hard to talk?”

  “What happened, Chess?

  I know you were sick,

  but something

  must have happened!”

  “Did that boy push

  you to do something

  you weren’t ready for?

  Did he …”

  “If there was a, like, asteroid

  headed for the Earth?”

  pipes up Natasha Oldenburg

  from fifth grade,

  “And the only guy you could find

  was, like, Mr. Flood, the septic tank man?

  Would you do it with him?”

  “What about Donald Trump?

  SpongeBob SquarePants?

  If you knew it was your

  one and only chance to ever know …”

  “WHY DO YOU THINK

  SOMETHING

  ‘HAPPENED’?

  “NOTHING HAPPENED!

  AND IT WAS NOT RAINING!

  AND IT DOESN’T

  MATTER

  ANYMORE

  WHO

  HE

  WAS!”

  My words boom

  in my ears,

  turn the air

  Nile-bile-algae-vile

  While David’s words

  on that endless drive home

  echo in my head:

  “You should have said something.

  If you’d just said something …”

 
; And the night beetles swarm.

  The nurse sets down a basin

  of warm water, soap, and paper towels

  to clean up for the night.

  I ask her to help me scrub

  these damn wings

  off my hand.

  Somewhere in the clockless night,

  the sobbing starts, so quiet

  I have to strain to hear, so terrible

  I could believe it’s me,

  while on my other side

  Mrs. Klein demands a cab,

  her pocketbook, her shoes:

  “Sam, my pearls were right here

  and now they’re gone. Sammy,

  I told you that new cleaning girl

  would rob us blind… .”

  Then, from Shannon’s side again, I hear,

  “Do I really need another

  crazy person?

  Would somebody

  shut her up

  before I go

  friggin’

  ripshit here?”

  Trapped between voices,

  buzzing like a fluorescent

  tube about to die, I buzz

  for help, wait, buzz again,

  wait, until, not sure which side

  of the curtain creeps me out more,

  I unplug my wires from the wall,

  inch my pole around

  to the old lady’s side, and

  looking past her face,

  uncurl her hand.

  Her nails bite my palm;

  I want to flee. But from some

  forgotten corner of me

  in a voice that barely quavers,

  come the words I’ve wanted:

  “It’s gonna be all right.

  We’re here with you.

  You’re not alone.”

  Lizard eyes click open.

  “Who are you?

  Where’s Sammy?

  You stole my clothes!”

  “Me? No! No. Look at me.

  I don’t have clothes either.

  We’re in the hospital.

  No one here has clothes.”

  “Gimme that phone!”

  Scraggle-haired, red-eyed,

  Shannon stands beside me,

  turns thumb and pinky

  into a phone.

  “Hello, Sam?

  It’s me, Shannon.

  “How’re you doing tonight?

  So you know which shoes

  she wants, right?

  And you’ll be here

  in how long?

  “No, half an hour’s perfect, Sam.

  Don’t worry about a thing.

  Mrs. Klein’s doin’ fine.