Chapter 3
Emme J. Watson
…Two weeks after Chapter 1
Emme Jessica Watson was adolescent suburban Californian perfection personified.
She was sixteen years old with long flowing natural blonde hair and pacific blue eyes.
She had slight freckling from her inner eyes to the nasal area. Emme could have
been the clichéd teen model for a young soft drink advertising campaign, but all she
was, was a straight A student at St. Patrick's parochial. Her room looked like the
cover of a Laura Ashley catalog with the pink and red floral bedding ensemble and
Shabby Chic inspired dressers and cabinets in pinks and whites.
Her desk was white wicker that her mother purchased for at an estate sale. It was a
get-well present.
The golden locks were gone now and the girl who thought she could
wink her way into getting boys to follow her around like bees to the honey tree had
nothing but a faint blonde peach fuzz thanks to the months of chemotherapy after
developing ovarian cancer and having a hysterectomy that caused her mother to try
and secretly hit the bottle ala Jackie Kennedy Onassis.
"But she's so young. She won't be able to have any children."
Not that the world saw this. She made sure no one would ever see her like this. Her
Grandmother left her many wonderful Hermes silk scarves, still in their pristine
signature orange boxes. She picked out a dark sapphire blue one with a gold rope
design border. The silk didn't like to stay put, but there was no way she could go in
public any other way. Besides she had nice white gold hair pins (also from her
Grandmother).
Emme was angry in her quiet way that her mother was making her go to the San
Diego Teen Cancer Support Group. She didn't need to go to a support group and sit
around in a "feel-good" circle telling strangers her life story on that she couldn't bear
any children. What was the point in that?
Mother said it would look on her college applications since she had to quit the
cheerleading squad at school and her ballet and modern jazz dance classes.
Emme had an older brother Craig who was more of a free spirit than anyone else in
their whole family and he was out of the house and doing his own thing at San Diego
State University.
There was a soft knock at the door,
"Are you ready, honey?"
"Mother, do I have to go to this?"
"Yes. I think it'll be good for you. I see you need help with your scarf. How do you want
to wear it?"
"With the twist front so it looks like braiding. Do I really have to go to this? We can
have lunch at La Bastide Bistro."
"Emme Jessica, don't be difficult. The goal is not to talk to me, but to other
kids. You might make some new friends."
She looked at herself in the mirror with disgust and remorse.
"I really doubt that's going to happen."
She really despised how the survivor's on the cover of the self-help pamphlets looked
so goddamn proud showing off their bald heads, scars, and other topical
imperfections.
As far as Emme J. Watson was concerned cancer was about as glamorous as big
hairy brown tarantula with a pink bow on it and she certainly didn't need anyone in her
life but herself.
Drake opened up his eyes when he felt something on his shoulder.
No.
He was too tired to get up and he let himself fall backwards on his bed. Here he was
on Saturday night in bed at eleven o'clock at night while Josh was out on a date with
Mindy. There was something seriously wrong with that picture. Josh was supposed to
be the homebody working on his school projects a month before they are due or even
playing the Gamesphere.
But Drake had to get up to use the bathroom. Those questions were worse to him
than intravenous chemotherapy.
You weren't allowed to have an inch of privacy with all of the doctors, nurses, surgical
techs, and other medical staff poking and prodding and asking you
personal questions about your body and its functions (or lack thereof).
Drake suppressed the urge to go the bathroom as he saw his black Ace comb
shining in the glow of the nightlight; he slowly picked it up and started to comb his
hair. When the clump of hair stuck into the comb he dropped it into the sink.
"Fuck," He knew this could happen, but he didn't think it would happen to him.
NO.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
Drake sat on the floor with his back against the door, put his hands over his face, and
cried.
That's how Megan found him five minutes later when she had to use the bathroom.
The Boob just couldn't die. She wanted to comfort him, she really did. Underneath it
all she loved both of her brothers.
They really haven't said more than ten words to each other since all of this started. He
said her hug was enough, but she wished she could do more.
She ran down the stairs when Josh came home from his date with Mindy. He took off
his jean jacket and placed it on the living room sofa when Megan came down the
stairs.
Josh couldn't help thinking of the worst-case scenario.
"Josh," This was the first time the practical joke playing scheming sister ever said
this, "Relax. I'm glad you are home…We need to talk in the kitchen."
Next morning
Drake,
--We think you're beautiful too.
We hope you still believe that you are.
Love,
Josh, Megan, Mom, and Dad
Was what was written in Josh's neat cursive writing on the small white card that was
attached to the small box.
It was with a shaky hand that Drake opened up the gift.
It was a light tan knit cap.
Part of him loved it. He loved that his family cared about him and were all very
supportive.
(Although, he wished that Megan would play one prank on him) and a part of him
hated it because his hair was falling out and he had to hide that fact. Granted, the
hats were quite the look now amongst the young, cool people, but Drake never liked
to follow the trends he liked to lead them. And he did have a hat like this in a sandy
beach oatmeal color that one of his three-day girlfriend's swiped off his head and
never gave back.
He put on his cap and watched more hair fall on his powder blue colored t-shirt.
It was then that Josh walked in. It was going to be another long day of medicine,
vitamins, iron pills, eating every cancer center approved menu item that his mother
made for him, and working on his schoolwork. At least today wasn't a chemo day.
Maybe, he'd pick up his guitar. Something he hadn't done since the night before his
biopsy.
"Good morning, Drake."
"Morning, Josh," Drake did his best to smile, "Thanks for the cap."
Josh was a good brother.
He loved that guy.