I woke up early to the sound of snoring across the room. The first thing I noticed upon standing was a sharp and severe pain running up my left leg. I rubbed it without thinking and sat back down on the bed. I flipped on my lamp and ignored the grumbles coming from across the room.
I rolled up the leg of my pants and gasped. The bruise was hideous. Purple, yellow, and a deep dark red. It had gotten so much worse over night. Yesterday I could walk alright, now I could barely move. I stretched it, pointed my toes, and slowly put weight on it. I couldn't be injured. It was time to be strong.
I looked up to see his leg and arm were hanging off his cot and half his head was covered by a blanket. The snores were coming through a thick mass of wool.
The kitchen was hard to maneuver in the dark, but I finally managed to put the kettle on and start the coffee. I used the stool to reach the top shelf tea, and got her favorite mug.
She was asleep peacefully on the couch, snoring softly. Only when I came closer did I hear the labored breathing and see the pained expression on her face. I shook her arm gently, "Good Morning, Gran-gran."
"Oh," she whimpered, trying to sit up a little. "Good morning, dear." she smiled weakly at me.
"How do you feel?" I handed her the customary cup of morning tea.
"Old," she smiled, sipping gingerly.
I sat next to her on the couch and pulled on a blanket. "I called the doctor's office last night."
"What did they tell you?" she blew her nose into a tissue.
"They told me to bring you in at eight."
"Thank goodness," she finished the drink.
I took the mug and started to walk to the sink. I crossed my fingers that my limp wasn't as obvious as it seemed.
"What happened to your leg?" she asked instantly.
I sighed deep, "There was a big fight at school yesterday and a desk fell on me."
"Let me see." I reluctantly pulled up my pants leg. She clicked her tongue at me. "It looks like you should be the one with a doctor's appointment."
"Do you know how I can help it?"
"Ice. As much as you can stand of it."
An hour later, Sokka shuffled into the kitchen and sat down next to me at the bar. My leg was propped up on a chair with three bags of ice.
"Morning," I said between sips of coffee.
"How is she?" was his disgruntled reply.
"Bad."
"I already knew that," he sighed while searching for cereal.
"Can you drive us to her appointment?"
"I have practice today," he whined.
"You also have a grandma that could be dying."
"Point taken," he mumbled. "But she's made it through everything, this isn't gonna stop her. She's almost a century old."
"That's what makes it scary, Sokka."
He rolled his eyes and took a giant bite of marshmallow cereal. "What happened to your thigh, by the way?"
I sighed deep. "You heard about the fight yesterday, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, some new kid choked Jet. No one would shut up about it."
"I was there and my desk got flipped and I was trapped under it."
His eyebrows raised momentarily. "That sucks. How was the fight though?"
I rolled my eyes and avoided the question. "We should probably leave in half an hour."
"Hurry up then," he started clapping. "Chop chop!"
I smirked and grabbed a towel for the shower. My hair had gone greasy and desperately needed a wash. The heat of the water just aggravated my leg. I barely stayed in long enough to clean my hair. Just suck it up. You're not as sick as Gran-gran, I told myself.
I came downstairs with my hair in a towel and they were already in the car. The horn sounded from the driveway. I grumbled under my breath and grabbed my purse.
Gran-gran was in the backseat, so I say next to her. She looked woozy from standing. Her eyes had gotten almost glossy.
"Sokka, slow down, and don't cross the double yellow," I said as we passed a slow moving truck.
"Sorry I don't drive like a grandma, Katara!" he exaggerated an eye roll.
"Excuse you," Gran-gran teased.
There was a parking space close to the door of the hospital, but she needed a wheelchair anyway. Sokka went to look for one and came back out with a pretty nurse that looked very concerned. She helped us get her in and pointed us to the main desk.
Sokka was all too thankful, to the point that he creeped out the nurse. She pointed us to the right floor and left quickly.
"Can I have your number?"
"Sokka, she doesn't like you, and you're not even legal yet," I punched his arm. "And your Grandma is sick!"
"Sorry, then," he huffed sarcastically.
The office was filled with other elderly patients, some better off than others. There were the ones that could walk across the room but couldn't remember their names, and the ones with perfect minds and failing bodies. I couldn't decide which was worse.
We waited in the room for an entire hour before being called back. People came and went slowly through the doors. Sokka and I were standing half the time to make room.
A nurse took her vitals and smiled at her in a disgustingly sympathetic way. I could barely look Gran-gran in the eye
"Hello, how's everyone?" Dr. Feng walked through the door and started scribbling something down on his clipboard.
"Fine," we said, almost in unison.
"What are the symptoms?" he finally looked up at us.
"She's been coughing for a few days, she has a fever, and she's starting to get really out of it."
He marked the symptoms on his sheet and frowned slightly. "All right," he said, pulling out his stethoscope. "Breathe in."
"What?" Gran-gran looked at me.
"Breathe in hard," I told her.
She obeyed. I could hear her lungs crackling from where I stood.
He didn't look pleased. "I'll order a chest scan for today, so you two don't miss any more school."
"Thank you."
"I'll go see when we can do it," he left with a frown on his face.
We sat there, not looking at each other. Gran-gran wheezed and crackled with every breath. Neither of us missed the look on the doctor's face. When he finally came in he still didn't look pleased. "We can't scan you for another hour, so I guess just sit tight, and in thirty minutes or so we'll get you down there," he popped his head in to say.
"Thank you."
A nurse brought us a wheelchair after 20 minutes of uncomfortable silence. We all took off our metal before entering the room. Sokka wasn't happy about parting with his necklace for a few minutes.
We stood next to the machine, each holding one of her hands. The scan took almost half an hour to complete. Soon enough, she fell asleep.
A whir of the machine woke her up again and pulled her out of the big donut shaped scanner.
We were wheeled back to the room and it all just felt repetitive and mundane and horrible. We were all just so worried about her diagnosis and unwilling to even think about the possibilities of it.
The doctor walked in the door with a packet of pictures and pulled up his stool. "It appears you have pneumonia," he said simply.
My heart dropped in my chest.
"Thankfully, it's not a terrible case, and we've caught it early. Until I'm sure you're doing better, I'm admitting you," he looked at Gran-gran.
"What?" Sokka almost yelled.
My head was on a spin.
"Calm down, it's mainly precautionary. We're just waiting to find if it's viral or bacterial. In the meantime, you both need to wash anything she's been touching, all of her bedsheets and pillows included."
"You think we caught it?" Sokka put a hand on his chest. "I can't be out midseason."
"You're both young with strong immune systems, don't worry too hard."
"How long are you going to keep her?" I calmed myself long enough to ask.
"That depends on how well she recovers. Two to three weeks would be the most."
"THREE WEEKS?" Sokka shrieked.
"Please stay calm. It probably won't be that long. One of you needs to sign some things for me as well."
"Go, Sokka," I said without looking at him.
They both left the room and I was left there with Gran-gran and a nurse.
"Come with me," the nurse beckoned.
They stuck me in another waiting room with another grainy television and more snotty children and outdated magazines.
I passed the time picking at the stitches of my sweater and counting the faces in magazines.
"You can see her now," a nurse tapped on the doorframe.
"Thanks," I said, standing immediately.
"Follow me," he nodded.
I breathed in deep before entering the room. Her skin was even paler. I couldn't look at her directly. "Hi, Gran-gran."
"Hi, darling," she grabbed my hand.
"How do you feel?"
"Not as bad. They've got me on the good stuff," she winked.
"Better than herbal tea?" I chuckled.
"So much better," she smiled weakly. "I want you to make me a promise."
"What is it?" I felt a bit of fear rising in my chest.
"Promise me you won't miss more school because of me."
"What if I want to see you?" I bit my lip.
"I can wait," she squeezed my hand.
"I'll be here tomorrow, right after school. I promise," I wiped a tear away with the back of my hand.
"Now let me get some rest, sweetheart," she turned from me slightly.
I let go of her hand and stood up on shaky feet. Heat rushed to my face and before I could stop, tears were streaming down my face.
Sokka found me in the waiting room downstairs and hugged me immediately.
"Stop crying," he talked into my hair.
"Shut up," I mumbled back.
I pulled away from him and wiped my face on my sleeve.
"You know she's okay, right?"
"Yeah, I know, it just sucks to see her that way."
We walked out of the hospital after spending six hours holding out breath there. I probably smelled like it.
"Do you want to call in sick?" he offered, once we were sitting in the car.
"No."
"Let's go then," he started the car and pulled on his seatbelt.
At least the hospital isn't far, I told myself. I could probably even walk. Basington was the worst city I'd ever seen, but it was also the easiest to get around. Everything was in reach.
Sokka handed me my bag and waved while I walked in. "8:00?"
"Yeah," I yelled back.
When Dad joined the Navy, we started a routine where I worked during football and wrestling season, and Sokka worked the other half of the year. We made enough that way, though there wasn't a lot left over. Sokka wanted a scholarship to Basington University, so we sacrificed to get him to every practice.
The diner was a little run down joint a couple miles from home. The kitchen equipment was old and breaking down constantly. It was cozy though, with bright lighting and giant booths. I always liked eating there with Mom and Dad when I was little, which is probably why I chose to work there.
It was the regular routine of "wait the tables no one wants". I was youngest, so I never got a say in the matter. Tables of creepy guys and catty girls went to me immediately.
After an obnoxious group of kids left maple syrup spills on the cushion, I was starting to feel the heat rush to my face.
Don't cry, I told myself. Composure.
Relief came in the door chime ringing and the best old man in the city walked in. I ignored the glares from the wait staff and headed over to his booth.
Iroh Lee was everyone's favorite customer. He came constantly with his friends and always tipped double. I snagged the table before another waitress could tell me no.
"Hello, Mr. Lee, how have you been?"
"Very good, how about yourself?"
"Good enough." I already brought a small tea kettle with me to fill his glass.
"How's your grandmother?" he asked cordially.
Heat to the face came again. "Not great actually. She's got pneumonia."
"Oh no. How terrible. Is it bad?"
"It's not a bad case of it, it's still just scary, y'know? She's in the hospital right now."
"Which one? Oh Zuko, come meet Katara!" he turned his gaze past me and waved someone over.
I turned around and almost gasped. It's him. The boy with the scary eye that threw a desk on me.
"Hi," he swallowed, not making more than a second of eye contact.
"This is my nephew, Zuko," he said to me. "Katara and her family are our neighbors. They're in the cottage across the street."
"Great," Zuko said sarcastically as he sat down.
Iroh turned to me and mimed crying.
"Stop it, Uncle."
I ignored the awkward chill and pressed on. "Well, do you know what you'll order?"
"I would like the chicken and waffles, please," Iroh handed me his menu.
"And you?" I asked, not making eye contact either.
"The same," he scooted his menu towards me. I stared at his hand and pictured it once again wrapping around Jet's neck.
"It'll be out in a minute."
I handed the order to the chef and went to take a break. I need to breathe, I told myself.
It's alright. He probably doesn't even remember me being there, I told myself.
The chicken and waffles were ready before I knew it and I was bringing them their food and coming closer and he looked so horrific, dear god and I was almost hyperventilating.
"Anything else? Refills?"
"Yes, please," Iroh smiled.
I awkwardly reached over the nephew's plate to take his glass. Once filled, I set both mugs back down on their table and walked away quickly.
I waited, looking at them to gauge when they'd finish. I timed an exact fifteen minutes and decided it was time.
They looked to be in a heated discussion when I brought the check. It stopped the second I came near. "Thank you guys," I said as I cleared their dishes.
"Thank you, should I visit your grandmother with some ginseng tea tomorrow?"
"She would love that."
"Tell her I'll be there."
I nodded and retreated into the kitchen.
"Hey, Katara, can you dump the old grease on the top shelf?" our head cook asked me as he cut up a cabbage.
"Yeah," I sighed, grabbing a stepstool.
I reached up and barely grabbed the bucket. I inched it towards me with my little fingers. Right as the bucket hit its tipping point, the kitchen door opened.
"Which hospital is your grandma at?"
I shrieked.
The bucket poured out on my head, drenching me head to toe in old french fry oil.
I spat the oil out of my mouth and looked up at Iroh's nephew.
"You never told my uncle," he shifted feet.
I looked at him and back at my dripping shirt. Humiliating was truly an inadequate adjective for what I was feeling.
"It's room 308. Basington General."
He nodded awkwardly. "Thanks," he said slowly. "I hope you get... clean." He left the room quickly.
I could honestly feel a part of my soul shrinking from pure humiliation.
"I said get rid of the oil, not bathe in it!" the cook laughed.
Soon enough the entire staff was standing there, slipping on the oily floor and making terrible puns about me being deep fried.
"Go get a new change of clothes, Katara," my manager, Kya, finally said. "And then go home. You need it."
The storage closet had new uniforms and enough left over to wrap my hair in and get a little oil out of. I sat outside on the curb and waited for Sokka. I held an unlit cigarette, the same one I'd kept in my pocket for a year. When I pretended to smoke, no one talked to me.
Sokka rolled up at 8:45 cracking jokes about my hair. "Did something die in there?" he laughed from the rolled down window.
I shot him a look and climbed in the passenger seat. "I got grease spilled on me," I mumbled.
"So that's why you smell like extra large waffle fries."
I punched his arm slightly. "How was practice?"
"I got yelled at for skipping school, and I couldn't focus on anything but Gran-gran. But other than that, there were recruiters there."
I gasped. "No way! Did you talk to one?"
"No, they left early, but coach kept pointing at me. So I guess that's good enough."
"That's fantastic. I brought home an omelet for you."
After I'd cleaned most of the oil off of my clothes and hair, we ate on the couch and watched TV together until 10. It was our routine, just sitting there, listening to the TV hum, and telling each other about our days.
"So that little kid was at practice again," Sokka started.
"The one from therapy? Is he joining the team?" I asked between bites.
"I don't know yet. He should, though, he's quick enough. I bet the coaches don't want to bring someone in mid-season. Did I tell you he's an orphan?"
"No, who told you that?"
"I asked him what part of the city he was from and he said he lives with his foster family a little further in the outer ring."
"I always feel bad for him. I know he's hyper, but he just seems constantly anxious."
Sokka took the remote and changed the channel from the news.
"Iroh was at the diner today."
"Across the street, Iroh?"
"How many other Iroh's do you know?"
"Well, excuuuuuse me," he rolled his eyes.
"So the guy who got in the fight and ruined my leg yesterday is Iroh's nephew," I said, looking over to gauge his reaction.
He didn't seem to care at all. "What's his name?"
"Zuko, I think."
"If I had a name like that I'd fight, too."
I fell asleep on the couch around midnight. When I woke up at two to use the restroom, the snoring across the room told me that Sokka nodded off too.
It was comforting to know we made it through the day. It'll only get easier, I told myself. And Gran-gran will only get better.
AN
This took longer than I would have liked, but the next chapter is almost done and will be out soon. Again, apologies for making this so sad. Shoot me a review, please:)
