The comeback, p.10
The Comeback, page 10
“Sure,” she smiles, batting her eyelashes at me.
I take her to the side, a little away from the rest of her squad, but I know no matter how far away from them we are, they’ll still try to overhear our conversation. There’s no privacy here anywhere.
“What is it?” she asks all innocent, and it takes all my conscious effort not to get pissed even more.
“You know very well what it is,” I tell her, trying to keep calm, but it’s a thin line I’m walking right now, with everything that’s happened.
“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “We kissed. Your girlfriend saw it? Is that it?”
I blink heavily several times, still trying to keep my cool.
“Yes,” I say. “I mean, no, she’s not my girlfriend. But you sure seem to think you are.”
“Ah,” she says, still smiling, as if she has no idea that if she wants us to be together, she’s going about it exactly the wrong way. Not that it would ever be a possibility anyway, but still. “If she’s really not your girlfriend, then I’m not ruining anything by saying I am, right?”
“That’s not the point,” I reply.
“The point is that I want you and I know you want me,” she says matter-of-factly, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. “When I see that someone doesn’t go after what they want, I help them, just like I’m helping you now.”
That actually does make sense. And I wish I had a friend like that who would push me in the right direction, when he or she would see that I’m stuck. But none of these people are my friends. Not really. I realize now that they only see me as their friend because I’m popular and a good player. And actually, that first thing is a direct consequence of the second, which means that there is only one single thing that is making me their friend. If I didn’t have that, they wouldn’t even give me a second glance. Madison wouldn’t either, I’m guessing. But this way, I’m a catch and I’m interesting to catch because I keep refusing her. What a messed-up world I got lost in.
“I don’t need your help with anything,” I tell her, suddenly becoming unaffected by all this.
She shouldn’t have any power over me, and she doesn’t. She can say whatever the heck she wants, but that still doesn’t make it true. This is what I needed to get into my thick head. The only problem I have with her is my own. I put myself in this situation when I agreed to that stupid kiss that was supposed to be the end of things, while in fact, it only made everything more complicated. But that’s my own fault. I can’t blame that on Madison. She was doing what she’s been doing all along, I was just too blind to see.
“What I do need from you is to leave me alone,” I finally tell her. “You can put up all the Facebook statuses and shit, but that still won’t make them true.”
“It will for your little girlfriend,” she reminds me, and I can only now see the venom in her eyes. It was one of those if I can’t have you, no one will comments. But I don’t care. And she knows it.
“If she believes you and not me, then she’s not meant for me at all,” I tell her, really believing this.
She doesn’t say anything. Finally, I say the words that just make her widen her eyes in disbelief, and we keep it at that.
“We’re done,” I say, emphasizing every single word of it. “I don’t want to repeat it again.”
She swallows heavily, and her lips part. I wait for her to say something, but there’s nothing. She’s stunned into silence by sheer acceptance of her inability to control things any longer.
“Glad we got that out of the way,” I add, turning around and walking away from her. The sensation is amazing.
I feel liberated from a burden that’s been bugging me for a while. Not really suffocating, but it was annoying enough to keep bothering you on a daily basis. At first, I was flattered. I have to admit that. The guys were all jealous that she was into me that much. But I see now that even this feeling was misplaced. Everything about my life somehow fell out of place, and I can only realize all that now, with Elsie back in my life. With her, everything was so much simpler. I was myself. I wasn’t someone others wanted me to be.
I consider calling her again, but quickly change my mind. I know I shouldn’t be going to her dorm. I know I shouldn’t. Every logical fiber in my being is telling me not to do that. She’ll think I’m a stalker. She’ll think I’m not normal. Even worse, her best friend will think those same things and she’ll advise her to stay away from me. I don’t know what’s worse. But I still keep heading for her dorm, promising myself that this will be the last time I come looking for her.
The very last time.
Soon, I find myself in front of her room.
You can still change your mind. You can still walk away. That little voice keeps telling me, reminding me that there is another option. But for me, that option doesn’t exist. I can’t give up on this, even when everything else is telling me to. I know this is the last place where I should be, but there is an invisible force keeping me here.
I lift my hand, and I knock. The sound brings me back to the present moment. It orders me to stay here and focus, because this is the last time I will be standing here. I wait for what seems to be a whole eternity, with my entire life flashing before my eyes. And all I see is Elsie.
The door opens and Rachel immediately rolls her eyes anticlimactically at me.
“You again?” she frowns.
“She’s not here, is she?” I ask.
I guess even if Elsie is here, I’ll probably still get the same reply. But I try, nonetheless.
“No,” she says. “This time, really.”
I want to ask about the other times, but it doesn’t matter. Something in her voice tells me that this time, she might actually tell me the truth.
“I think she’d want to see you even less now than before,” she adds.
For a moment, I wonder what could have happened, then it hits me. I remember meeting her dad at the hospital, and suddenly, all the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.
“It’s her dad, isn’t it?” I ask.
The look of shock on her face is palpable. “How do you know?”
“I have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I give her an honest reply. At this point, asking her where Elsie is seems unnecessary. I already have the answer to that question.
I take a step back, but her voice stops me.
“This is not the right time to talk to her about your... status,” she warns me.
“I don’t want to talk about anything,” I correct her. “I just want to be there for her.”
“What if she doesn’t want you to be there for her?” she asks again, and that is the question I don’t have an answer to.
“Then...” I start, pausing for a moment, “then, I’ll do as she wants.”
“You’re not giving up, are you?” she sighs, leaning against the door.
“No,” I shake my head. “I won’t be an idiot twice.”
This makes her chuckle, something I never thought would happen.
“So, you finally got your head out of your ass?” she wonders, still amused. I nod. “Took you long enough.”
“Better late than never, right?” I ask, hoping that I’m right.
“Depends,” she corrects me. “Sometimes, it’s too late to change anything.”
I know that’s true. She doesn’t even need to explain it.
“I know that,” I tell her. “I also know how she feels. My grandad died of cancer.”
“Oh,” she says, obviously not expecting me to open up like that. But I need her to know why I think I might be the right person to be by her side right now. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”
“It’s OK,” I shrug. “I was a little kid. But you never forget something like that. I know that it’s different when it’s a parent, but my grandad was like a father to me. His death left a big hole in my life...” I rake my fingers through my hair, realizing that I’ve gone way too deep. She doesn’t need to know any of this. Heck, I doubt she even cares. But she’s polite enough not to interrupt me. She’s actually listening.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I understand what she’s going through,” I add. “I just want her to know that she’s not alone.”
“Even if she sends you to hell?” she wonders.
“If that’s where she wants me to go, that’s where I’ll go,” I nod.
I take another step back, expecting her to say something else, in an effort to stop me from going where I feel I need to go. But she doesn’t say anything. She just stays there in the doorway, staring at me, a smile lingering in the corner of her lips. I still have no idea which side she is on. Elsie’s, of course. But perhaps she’s somewhere in the middle, now that she’s seen all I want is to help Elsie.
I lift my hand to wave at her, but I stop somewhere mid-way. I turn around and rush outside. There is only one place I have to be now, and I’m wasting every second that I’m not there.
Chapter Seventeen
Elsie
I’m pacing up and down the hallway, like a caged animal. That is exactly how I feel. Caged by my own fears, the situation, the realization that there is absolutely nothing I can do about this that could make any significant change. Nothing. And it’s killing me.
I pass by the door where my mom walked in first, telling me to wait outside. I wanted to push my way in next to her, but I know why she told me to be patient. It’s the most difficult thing she can ask of me now. Yet, I do my best to oblige. This isn’t any situation that I know. I feel like everything I do or don’t do might have catastrophic consequences.
But mostly, I’m scared. Scared and angry. I feel like a little girl, and I just want to cower in some mouse hole and stay there until everything is alright again. Only, the most frightening thing is that there is a possibility that nothing will ever be the same again. I dare not even think about it, but no matter how hard I try to banish that realization, it keeps walking by my side, reminding me of its ugly presence in every waking moment of my life, since mom told me about dad’s illness.
I know she will come out any moment, beckoning me to join her inside. I will have to face dad. I never thought that I’d ever say such a phrase. Face dad. I always thought if such a phrase did pop up, that would mean that I did something wrong. But that’s not the case. No one did anything wrong, which is what makes this so difficult. There is nothing to apologize for, and yet, I feel like I want to point the finger of blame somewhere, in any direction, as if that will make me feel a little better.
At that moment, mom opens the door, peering outside. I can see the red circles around her eyes. She’s been crying. I’ve only ever seen my mom cry three times, with this being the third time. She cried when grandma died. She cried when she finished watching the movie Life Is Beautiful. And she has been crying now.
She tries to smile at me, but it’s a weak effort. Still, I appreciate it.
“Would you like to come in, darling?” she asks, as if she’s inviting me somewhere where I truly want to go, while I would gladly run away in the opposite direction and just keep going until I forgot what I was running from.
My lower lip is trembling, and I can barely reply, but there is an audible yes that came from me, followed by a nod. She disappears back into the room. I swallow heavily, looking at the doorway, as if it would take me to a whole new world. In a way, it will. A world I never thought I would be a part of. A world I always thought would never clash with mine.
I muster all of my strength as I step into the room. Immediately, the beeping of machines and the blinding lights of the white walls attack my eyes mercilessly. I blink heavily, as my retinas adjust, and a moment later, what was initially just a shadow in the form of a lying man has now transformed into my father.
It takes all my conscious effort to stifle my gasp. It seems like he’s lost weight in the two weeks that I haven’t seen him. Looking at him like that, it feels like years had passed. He makes a better effort at a smile than my mom.
“Hey, champ,” he calls out to me, adjusting himself in the bed, so he’s not lying anymore, but rather sitting upright, propped by a pillow against his back. Everything is so painfully white, even him. It’s hard to look at him, at the room. “Come, sit next to me.” He pats the space by his side. Even his hand looks a bit dry, his fingers longer than usual.
I do as he tells me. I sit by his side, feeling like a little girl once again, powerless before the world, before life, before reality. Everything came crashing down around me, falling apart in a blink of an eye. I don’t feel ready to have this conversation. I don’t feel even nearly ready. But I’m here, and there is nowhere I can run away to. Even if I could run away, this would mean turning my back to my family. I can’t do that, no matter how painful it is to stay where I am.
“You do understand why I didn’t want you here?” Of all the things he could have started with, he starts with this one. His voice is steady, confident. There is not a hint of doubt in it. If I close my eyes, just listening to him, I might make myself believe that we’re not where we are. But my eyes are wide open
I nod, unable to find my voice. I glance at mom. She’s standing in the corner, looking at us tenderly. Even from this distance, I can see that her eyes are filled with tears. She will look away at some point, wiping them with her sleeves, thinking she’s good at hiding it.
“All this,” he gestures around him, as if he were the king showing me his kingdom, “is nothing scary. They just want to make sure that the cancer is treatable, which I’ve been told it is.”
I nod again. I wasn’t expecting this conversation to be this difficult. I expected it to be hard, but not like this. I thought I would keep it together. I thought I would be in control of my emotions, but it’s exactly the opposite. I feel like I can’t allow myself to speak, because if I do, it will all start pouring out of me and I won’t be able to stop crying. It’s better to be quiet and listen to him.
He lifts his gaze to meet mom’s. Then, it’s back on me again.
“I know this is very difficult for you,” he says, as if reading my mind. I guess that shouldn’t come as a surprise. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you any of this. You shouldn’t be worried about me. You should be worried about your own life.” He suddenly pauses, then slaps himself on the forehead, laughing. “Wrong word. I didn’t mean worry about your own life. I mean, focus on your own life. Because I know there is nothing worrisome about you. You have always been a wonderful daughter, so confident and conscious of her own choices.”
Right now, that is the worst thing he can tell me. I can’t handle it anymore, as my eyelids press together heavily, and an onslaught of tears starts streaming down my face.
“Hey, hey,” he leans over to me, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “No crying, come on.”
He cups my chin with his fingers and makes me face him. “I’ll be fine,” he tells me, and I want to believe him with every fiber of my being. The alternative is unimaginable. “This is just a minor hiccup. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”
I nod again, managing to smile. I feel guilty. I should be the one making him feel better, and not have it the other way around. My dad will always be my dad, and I know that no matter what happens, he will always want to be the protector, the one to provide shelter and comfort to me and mom. He has just proven me right on this one.
But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want him to know that both me and mom can be strong, when he needs us to be. I need to show him this, just like he’s shown me how brave and strong he is. The thought almost creates another onslaught of tears, but I manage to fight them off. I’ll cry in front of mom, when he can’t see.
As always, mom jumps to the rescue.
“Sweetie, why don’t you go and get us two coffees from the machine?” she suggests softly. “There’s one just down the hallway. Or you could go to the cafeteria and get us two cappuccinos. They’re not amazing, but it’s better than the coffee sweat the machine makes.”
Dad chuckles at the coffee sweat joke, and for a moment, it almost feels like we’re not in a hospital and dad isn’t sick. But it just lasts a single moment. One stolen moment in time, which then gets trampled by reality.
“Sure,” I get up, realizing that it’s not about the coffees at all. It’s about giving me a moment to gather my thoughts and have a moment to myself.
This is overwhelming for everyone. Mostly for dad. I feel like I’m making it somehow about me, and that’s exactly the wrong reaction. I want him to see that I’m not a weak little girl anymore. He can rely on me. He can count on me, even in times of need.
“I’ll go to the cafeteria,” I tell mom. I don’t ask dad, because mom already mentioned that they’re waiting for him to be called for more tests, and he was only allowed a light breakfast and water. Nothing else.
“We’ll be here,” dad reminds me, winking as he speaks, and I have to admire his courage.
Even at a time like this, he wants to show us that he is not giving up, that he is still the man we always thought him to be, as if afraid that this might change if we see him broken down by illness. The thought grips at me violently, and I want to wrap my arms around him, like mom does, and then not let go for at least five minutes. But I know that right now, it might have the opposite effect. He might think I’m feeling sorry for him. So, I resist the temptation.
It's strange. This illness is making me question my every action, wondering what kind of an effect it might have on my dad, while in fact, I should just act as I think fit, and hug him if I feel like it. But I can’t do that.
I get up from the bed, walking over to the door. I pause, feeling the need to say something, anything. But there is a ball of yarn inside my throat, suffocating every sound that I want to make, leaving me gasping for air. This whiteness is asphyxiating. My eyes hurt again, a tidal wave of pain washes over me again, and I push the door open, stumbling outside into the hallway, closing the door behind me.
Breathing heavily, as if every breath were my last one, I head down the hallway towards the coffee machine, but I don’t stop there. Tears are clouding my sight. I wipe them quickly, hastening my step, when suddenly, someone calls out my name.
