JACKSON
April sleeps while I'm on the phone with my mom. She's so tired from the long day full of bad news that she falls asleep sitting up, so I get her settled under the covers with barely a stir from her.
"You want to take a break from school?" Mom repeats, flabbergasted. "No, absolutely not."
"Mom," I say, quiet but stern. I don't want to leave April alone in her room, so I can't raise my voice to a normal speaking level. "You have to hear me out."
"You won't tell me what I have to do, son," she says, and I clench my teeth together. "This is only your second quarter of your freshman year. What makes you think you have enough experience to take a break?"
"I need to be with April," I cut in, and glance over at her sleeping figure. She's got the hat on, like always when she sleeps, and her face is open and worry-free. I wish I could keep her this way.
Mom sounds confused and even more annoyed. "Be with April?" she scoffs. "All that time at school isn't enough?"
I let out a short breath from my nose. "She's sick, mom," I say. "Really sick. She has cancer, and it spread to her brain. She's going home tomorrow for more intensive treatment, and I need to be in that car when she leaves." I pause for a second. "I can't let her go without me."
Mom is silent for a long time. "She has cancer," she states. "What kind?"
"Leukemia," I say. "AML."
"Jesus Christ," she says.
"She has two leukemic cell blood clots in her brain," I say, talking medical with my mom. "She's already gone through chemo, but now they're gonna try radiation. Her mom wants her at home."
The look on Karen's face when she asked April to come back home scared me. It looked somber and resigned. I'm worried that if she gives up on the chances of her daughter recovering, that April will too. And that can't happen. She will recover.
"I just need time with her," I say. "I need to be with her right now. I've been with her through everything so far… I can't stay here obsessing over what's going on while she's in Ohio. I'll go crazy. I know I will."
Mom sighs, and I can hear the sadness in it. "The chemo didn't work?"
"It did," I say. "Her white blood cell count is lower. But things just… moved around, I guess."
"Lord almighty," she says. "How is she faring?"
I look at my sleeping girlfriend again, then turn away towards the window. Sometimes, seeing her at peace instead of in pain just makes me feel sadder because of how rare it is. Sometimes, looking at her hurts.
"Sometimes good, sometimes bad," I say. "Right now, she's not doing well. She just got the diagnosis today. She's scared and her body is really worn down." I shake my head as my eyes burn. "It's really hard seeing her like this."
"Is she hopeful?"
"She tries to be," I say. "I try to be as encouraging as I can. I was reading online that being more optimistic can sometimes mean a better outcome than if you're down in the dumps all the time. So I try to cheer her up a lot."
I hear my mom smile. "It sounds like you're good for her."
"I try to be," I say. "But I'm scared, too."
She makes a sympathetic sound. "If she's as strong as you make her out to be, then she'll come out of this just fine. I know it's been hard, and it'll continue to be hard, but…" She sighs. "Take some time off. I'll arrange it with the school. Go home with her. Be with her, help her get better." She clears her throat. "I raised you to be a good man, and that's what you're trying to do. I won't stop you."
My body floods with relief. "Thank you, mom," I say.
It doesn't take much persuading for Karen to agree to let me come with them. After the majority of the long car ride is over and we're driving through their neighborhood, April is antsy and fidgety beside me.
"You okay?" I ask.
She looks to me quickly, then back out the window. "Nervous," she says.
Karen looks back in the rearview mirror. "What for?" she asks.
April wraps her arms around herself and somehow becomes smaller than before. "For what everyone's gonna say," she says. "And what they'll think. That's even worse."
"They're your family," I say. "It'll be fine."
She doesn't respond. She stays quiet as we pull into their driveway, and I see her sisters come out from the front door. Unlike at Thanksgiving, when they all wore smiles, this time everyone's faces are expectant and somber. They don't know what state April will step out of the car in. I suddenly realize why she's so nervous - she's presenting a whole new version of herself to people who have known her as healthy their entire lives.
She looks out the window at them, then takes in a deep breath as she opens the door. I stay close behind her as she walks up the path to the porch, and Liam is making happy, squealy noises when he sees her.
"Auntie April!" he says, having a hard time pronouncing her name. She smiles when she sees him, then gives him a kiss on the cheek. "Hot," he says. "No hat." And with that, he grabs the pompom in his little hand and yanks the DePaul hat off of her, leaving her head very bare and exposed.
"Oh, Liam, no!" Libby says, taking the hat from him. "We don't take, we don't…" She looks up with the hat in one hand, and her eyes center on April's head. "We…"
Alice gasps. Kimmie lets out a surprised cry.
"I'm sorry, Duckie," Libby says, gingerly handing the hat back. "He didn't… we…"
"He didn't know, it's fine," April says, but quickly replaces the hat. "I want to go inside, excuse me."
I make eye contact with Libby, whose gaze is still trained on her sister as she goes through the door. She looks stunned; I guess none of them had known just how sick April is.
When we all go inside, I see that April is wrapped up in her dad's arms in the entryway and he's muttering things softly as they hug. Alice takes my wrist, and I look to my left to see her standing there with a terrified expression on her face.
"Is it really bad?" she asks, voice trembling.
I open my mouth to tell her the truth, but remember how old she is. She's 12 - she's just a kid. And it's not my place to drop this news, anyway.
"She's getting better," I lie.
Kimmie suddenly appears on my other side. "Why would you come home with her if she's getting better?" she asks.
My heart sinks. "It's just important to me to be with her," I say, then try to throw a joke in. "Maybe someday you'll find a guy as awesome as me, but that's probably impossible."
She doesn't laugh. No one does - I don't even crack a smile. They know how bad this is without me having to tell them. April loved her life at school, she wouldn't come home for just anything.
It'll all start tomorrow. Tomorrow is April's first radiation treatment - Dr. Janssen told the oncologist in Columbus, Dr. Byers, that it's urgent - so they got her in right away.
After dinner, we're all sitting in the living room talking about anything but cancer. April is sitting on the floor in front of the couch and Alice is behind her, and I'm in the armchair across from them. The rest of the family is scattered around the room, talking and laughing as a way to make themselves feel better on the surface. I can imagine it must be a comfort to have April at home where they can see her, and for right now they're trying to forget the big, underlying reason why she's here.
"You should've heard Duckie play at her winter recital," Karen says to Joe. "I got some video on my phone, but it's just not the same." Her eyes shine towards her daughter. "She was just magic."
"I bet she was," Joe says.
"I wanna see the videos," Libby says, walking in after putting Liam to bed.
"I'll show you guys soon," Karen says. "I don't want to get my phone out right now. We're having a nice time talking."
I smile at her words, then Joe calls attention to me. "It's nice to see you again, Jackson," he says. "I like having another man around this house. I tend to be outnumbered."
I chuckle. "I'm happy to be here, too, sir," I say.
"No need for the 'sir' stuff," he says. "You're one of the family now. You can let loose."
I smile again and feel my cheeks heat up. "Thanks," I say.
Libby sits down hard on the armchair next to mine and looks at April. "Duck," she says. "I'm really sorry about earlier. With Liam taking the hat, in front of everyone right away, I can't imagine it felt very good. I'm sorry."
April shrugs. She's been especially quiet - having not said much of anything since we all sat down after dinner. "It's fine," she says. "He's just a baby."
"I know," Libby says. "But… I still feel bad."
Alice sits up a little bit and curiously touches the back of April's hood, which is up instead of wearing the hat indoors. "Are you really totally bald?" she asks. "I'm not trying to be mean. But can I see?"
She goes to pull the hood down, and April swivels around quickly. "No!" she snaps, hands on her head. "No, you can't see it. And you shouldn't ask people those kinds of things." If looks could kill, Alice would be long gone by now. "You would never go up to a stranger and ask to see their bald chemo head. I don't want you touching it, not today and not ever."
"April…" Karen says, but doesn't follow up with anything.
"Sorry," Alice murmurs.
April's still tense. "You should be. You should never ask that, ever. If I wanted you to touch my head, I'd tell you. I don't want your hands on me. You're not a baby, Alice, you're not two. You know better. So never do that again."
"I said I was sorry," Alice says, shrinking back further into the couch cushions.
April stands up and doesn't make eye contact with anyone when she leaves the room, she just storms out and we all hear her bedroom door slam upstairs. After the harsh sound, Alice starts to cry as she leans forward with her face in her hands.
Karen gets up and comforts her youngest, and Joe looks over at me. "I need to thank you, son," he says. "For being there for her when we couldn't."
I nod unsurely. "Of course," I say.
"I mean that," he says. "Not everyone would have stuck around. I… she… she seems to have found the…" He presses his lips together, frustrated with himself for not being able to find the right words. "She got lucky with you. She's very blessed to have you."
"No offense, sir," I say, falling back into the old name accidentally. "But between the two of us, I'm the lucky one."
In the morning, April is already lying awake when the alarm goes off. I open my eyes slowly and see her staring up at the ceiling, jaw set tight. Her head is bare because the room is warm, so I pull myself close and kiss the side of it.
"Is that okay?" I ask, lips moving against her skin.
"It's you," she says. "Of course it's okay."
I smile and tuck my face into her neck, kissing any open skin I can reach. "How long have you been up?" I ask, skimming my hand over her ribcage.
"To answer that question would have to mean that I slept," she says.
"You didn't?" I ask, propping myself up on one elbow.
She lifts her eyes to my face and runs one hand over my head. "Your hair is getting too long," she tells me, pulling strands away until they bounce back.
"You're just jealous," I say, kissing her on the lips. "Maybe I should get a trim and we can glue it onto your cue ball head."
"Don't give me any ideas," she says, giggling at herself. She holds me by the back of my neck and pulls me closer, sighing softly as I push my tongue into her mouth.
"You nervous for today?" I ask, pressing deliberate kisses to her chin and jaw.
"I just wanna stay right here," she says. "In bed with my super hot boyfriend who's a super good kisser."
I smirk and cover her mouth with my own again. "He sounds sexy," I say. "Maybe you should introduce us."
I hear her smile as I bend to kiss her neck. "Nah," she says. "You might end up liking him better than you like me."
"Impossible," I say.
"Oh?"
"Mm-hmm," I say, wrapping an arm around her middle. "I don't like anything better than I like you."
She holds me tighter, which erases every inch of space between our bodies. "You're-"
Suddenly, we're interrupted by the sound of her door coming open and Kimmie's voice. "Mom wanted me to tell you that it's- oh. Sorry." She shuts the door quickly, but April and I move away from each other anyway.
"What, Kimmie," April calls out.
The door comes back open and Kimmie's face is beet red. Her eyes lift from the carpet and center heavily on April's bare head, and that doesn't go unnoticed by any of us. April scrambles for the DePaul hat, but can't find it until I pick it up from the floor and hand it to her. It creates an awkward pocket of silence before Kimmie starts speaking again.
"I, um, I…" She clears her throat. "Mom wanted me to tell you that, uh, you guys have to leave soon. So you need to, uh, get up and get ready."
"Okay," April says, winding one arm around my very bare waist. Kimmie stays standing there, staring. April widens her eyes and makes a shooing gesture with the hand that's on the small of my back. "You can go now."
When the door shuts, she sits up and takes the hat off again, running her hands over her scalp. She lets out a long breath then lands her eyes on me, saying, "I'm scared."
I look at her from where I'm lying with my head on the pillow. "I know," I say.
"I don't know what to expect," she says.
"I know," I say again. "But your mom will be there, and so will I. Every step of the way. You're not gonna have to do it alone."
She nods slowly. My words don't offer much.
As April is in the treatment room getting her radiation therapy, I find my stomach in knots as I sit next to Karen in the waiting room. We don't speak - we don't need to. We both know how the other is feeling. This is just how it was at the hospital in Chicago, too. The vibe between us is a mutual understanding. We are both terrified for her.
It seems to take forever before she gets wheeled out. When that pompom hat appears in the doorway, I hurry from my seat to meet her and see that her eyes are lackluster and tired.
"The first treatment went well," Dr. Byers tells Karen, and continues to talk without me hearing. I'm more concentrated on April and the dull look in her eyes.
"Honey," I say, kneeling down in front of her. "Are you okay? How did it go?"
"Tired," she says, and it seems to take a lot of effort for her eyes to lift from the floor to meet mine. "I wanna go home."
So that's what we do. When we get home, Joe meets us at the door, but Karen ushers him away and asks me if I can help April up the stairs to take a nap. I easily lift her into my arms and feel the stares of her sisters as we pass through the front room, but I know she doesn't notice. Her eyes are already most of the way closed.
I lay her down in her bed and stand there for a second, wondering what I should do now. I decide that the best option is to lie down next to her, so I change into more comfortable clothes and spend a long while just watching her sleeping face.
I don't exactly know what radiation does or how it works - it's not as clear to me as chemo. But we're not allowed in the room when it happens, and I don't like that. Since she's been sick, one of April's biggest anxiety-inducers is being by herself. So the fact that she has to be alone with a technician she doesn't know throughout the whole therapy session makes me feel sick.
When she finally wakes up, it's past dinnertime but I haven't made a move to leave. I feel her stir, then her eyes blink open and they're foggy as they try and focus on me.
"Hey, baby," I say, caressing her cheek. "You know where you are?"
She softly shakes her head no.
"You're in your bed in Moline," I say. "We're at your house. You had your first radiation treatment earlier today, it's about 8pm and you've been asleep since about 2." I rub my thumb over her cheekbone. "How're you feeling?"
She lets out a long sigh and stares up at the ceiling as her thoughts reconnect. It takes her a few minutes, but when she looks at me again, she's more recognizable. When her eyes meet mine and they're clear, a small sliver of hope lights up inside my chest.
"The doctor, my doctor said…" she begins, and her voice is crackly. She clears her throat. "That the radiation is gonna make my skin super…" She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. "Sensitive. Like really bad sunburn."
I nod. I'm not sure why she's telling me this, but I want her to know that I'm listening.
"No one will be able to touch me," she says. "Not even you."
The feeling that grows inside me is insistent and heavy as it sits in my gut. The way she's looking at me tells me that this breaks her heart just as much as it's breaking mine.
"At least for a while," she continues, reaching up to hold the side of my neck. "Until it's over. So… can we have sex?" Her eyes are earnest and genuine. It seems like she was thinking about this when she went to sleep, but didn't have enough energy to bring it up then.
"Right now?" I ask.
She nods. "I just want to be close to you," she whispers.
Of course, I oblige her. There's no reason that I wouldn't. As I get up to grab the condoms in my suitcase and take off my shirt, I lock the door and come back to bed to find her sitting up shirtless, too. She lays back down and beckons me closer, wrapping her small arms around my shoulders and burying her face in the crook of my neck as my body overlaps hers.
She feels so frail beneath me, I have to ask. "Are you comfortable?" I say. "Is this good?"
She nods surely. "Stay," she says, skimming her fingertips down my back. "I want you here."
I kiss her slowly, one hand on the side of her face and the other trailing down to her waist, and she matches my tempo. I press my lips deftly to the middle of her throat, flicking my tongue against her pulse point, and move lower to suck on the skin over her collarbones. I press my cheek to her heartbeat and she weaves her fingers through my hair, breathing deeply, taking this in.
I'm gentle with her. I have no desire to be anything else. I cherish her; I nearly worship her. I want, through all of these negative feelings, for her to experience something good.
I shower her breasts with kisses, both closed and open-mouthed. They've shrunk a bit, but I still wouldn't prefer anyone else's over hers. I know them - they're so familiar to me, and how she reacts is even more familiar. When I draw my tongue over her nipple, it hardens from the attention and I smile against her chest. I love getting certain responses out of her. I love knowing her better than anyone else does.
I kiss my way down her torso and pull her pants and underwear down at the same time. Her thighs have grown smaller, though they weren't big to begin with, so they part easily. I spend time at her hipbones, making trails of soft kisses leading in between her legs, and when I nuzzle my nose against her inner thigh, I hear a shaky breath escape her.
I don't make her wait. I cover her with my mouth, parting her folds and moving my head slowly to push my tongue inside her. I go slow; I take my time and I make her feel everything that I can. When she unwinds beneath me, it's because she worked her way up to it. There was no rushing, there was no hurrying, there was no urgent whispers. It was just us, together, our bodies moving as one.
No one else knows her like I do. And no one knows me like she does. As I press gentle kisses to her belly, she's breathing hard and deep, and I feel a warm sense of pride in my chest. I want to be the one to make her feel like this for the rest of our life together.
Together. It's a strong word, but I wouldn't use any other. I want the two of us to be a pair, a partnership, for the entire time that we're on this earth. I want to know her in every stage of her life - I want to grow old with her. I want to see what amazing things she'll accomplish. I want to make her happy, see her succeed, I want to be her husband.
I say none of this out loud. All I do is look up at her from between her legs and smile calmly. "I love you," she murmurs. "I love you like crazy."
I chuckle as I kiss my way up her pale body. "You always say that after I make you come," I say. "I'm sensing a pattern. Are you only keeping me around because I'm a sex god?"
"Jackson," she says, hands planted on my chest near my neck. "Can you take me serious for one second?"
"Okay, I'm serious," I say, the smile dying away from my lips.
"Do you know how loved you make me feel?" she says. "How important I feel when I'm around you, how valued and cared for?" She shakes her head a little. "I've never felt those things in my life. Not until you." She presses her fingertips softly against my cheeks, and I lean into her. "I'm so thankful that I knew you," she says. "I couldn't have asked for anything more in my life."
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. She's speaking in past tense. I want to scold her, tell her to snap out of it, but I don't. She means what she says, and I don't want to invalidate it. I want her to know that everything she says, every thought she's ever had, is valid.
I reach for a condom, but she touches my arm gently to stop me. "There's really not a need for that, is there?" she says.
I stare at her and she stares back as we exchange thoughts without words. I shrink back and leave the condoms where they are.
When I'm inside her, I have to press my lips together tightly so I don't make any sound - it's not late enough for her family to be asleep. It's so good for her that I have to rest my hand over her mouth as she comes, and when she's trembling beneath me, I replace my hand with my mouth and steal the sound from her that way.
She buries her face in my damp hair once it's over, tracing nonsense shapes over my biceps. "I love you," I whisper, close to her ear.
"So much," she whispers back.
Once April falls asleep, I spoon her from behind and press my face against the back of her neck. I start to cry - silently, so I won't wake her - and hold her with all I've got.
She is my whole world, and she's resigning. But I won't let her go.
At the end of that week, when April wakes up from her post-treatment nap, she sits up too quickly with a sharp intake of breath. "Where are we?" she asks.
I'm sitting at her desk, typing up something for an online class that was a compromise with my mom. I stand up slowly and make my way over to her, winding an arm around her shoulders once I sit.
"We're in your room, at home in Moline," I say.
She looks at me with wide, alarmed eyes. "What time is it?" she asks.
"Around 6," I say. "You're up a little early from your nap today."
She stares at the carpet, eyebrows furrowed. "My head," she says, bringing her right hand up to touch her temple. "It hurts."
"Here," I say, and hand her the bottle of pain meds. "These usually help when you wake up."
She takes the bottle from me and I hear the pills shaking as she grips it and tries to twist the lid. She makes a frustrated sound and throws the container down onto the bed, where it rolls to the edge.
"What's wrong?" I ask, caught off-guard.
"I can't open the bottle," she says, teeth gritted together. "My hands feel numb. They feel weak. I can't, Jackson, I can't-"
"Shh, April, it's okay," I say soothingly, coming back over to open the lid. I shake two pills into her trembling hands and she takes them with a small glass of water, then stares ahead with burning determination in her eyes.
"I need to practice," she says, pushing herself up from the bed with great difficulty. She's wearing soft, purple pajama pants that are tapered at the ankle and a ratty old hoodie from her high school.
I follow her with my eyes. "Practice what?" I ask.
Her hand is on the doorknob when she tosses the answer over her shoulder. "Piano," she says, walking out into the hallway. I get up to go with her. "My hands… this can't be happening to my hands."
With the location of the blood clots, Dr. Byers said it would be possible for her to lose dexterity in her hands. It's been lessening as the days go by, but this was the first time that she couldn't open her pill bottle.
We go downstairs and she sits at the piano bench while I make my way to the armchair I like to sit in. The house is quiet - I'm not sure where her parents are, but her sisters are gone at a school sports game. They had invited me since April was sleeping, but I had chosen to stay with her.
"What are you doing?" she asks, looking at me with irritated confusion on her face.
"What do you mean?" I say.
"Come sit next to me," she says, scooting over a bit. "You always sit next to me."
I let a short puff of air from my nose as I get up. "I didn't know if you'd want me there," I say. "I was giving you your space."
"I always want you next to me," she says, but her voice is still frustrated. "I don't know why you'd think I wouldn't."
I sit down and she lays her fingers over the keys. I notice that she doesn't have her music out, so she must plan on playing from memory. I let my shoulders relax as I watch her take a deep breath, in and out, and start to play.
I don't recognize the music that's coming from her fingertips. It doesn't sound like it normally does, but I don't make any outward signs that I think that. I just continue to watch her, nodding my head, as she presses the keys.
But soon enough, she hits them with the heels of her hands forcefully and makes a frustrated, loud sound, like a growl. "I can't!" she exclaims.
I wait a second before asking. "Can't what?" I say.
She looks at me with glistening eyes. "Remember," she says. "I'm trying to play Nocturne. I can't remember how it goes." She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth and chews on it. "I used to mess it up. You know that part? You know the part with the eighth notes?" She hums it, but it doesn't sound like anything I remember from Nocturne. "I can't remember the notes."
She's angry with herself, I can see that much. It's showing in her face, which is now turning a violent shade of red.
"Well, that's no big deal-" I say, but she interrupts me.
"It is a big deal, Jackson," she says. "My short term memory. It's-"
"No," I say, standing up. "I'm going to go get you your music. And when I bring it back, you'll be able to play it. You played Nocturne all the way back in the fall, so what if you can't remember it now?" I give her a kiss by the pompom of her hat. "You can't be perfect all the time."
She watches me leave, and when I come back with her sheet music, she's staring down at the piano and pressing the keys so softly that they don't make any sound.
"Here you go," I say, opening the book to the right page. "There it is."
I watch her eyes graze over the music as she takes it in.
"You good?" I ask, tipping my head.
She nods slowly, repositioning her hands as she begins the piece over again.
I remember Nocturne. It had been my favorite of her fall pieces, and I got to know the melody very well. And the way she begins the piece now is not how it sounded then, or how I think it's supposed to sound. I don't say anything, though. I'm not a professional, and she is. She knows what she's doing.
But I watch her face. It doesn't look like it used to when she'd play - serene and lost in the music she was creating. Now, her eyebrows are knitted together, her lips are pinched, and her eyes are narrowed with concentration. Her hand movements are jerky and her foot on the pedal is jerky instead of smooth.
I hear her let out a loud breath from her mouth and I know she notices the changes, too. She's chewing madly on a small section of her lower lip as she focuses heavily on the page, and I will her brain to right itself. She's getting more and more upset as the moments pass because the song sounds nothing like it should.
After a few minutes of her stopping and starting and trying her hardest to play, she lifts her hands from the keys, pauses for a moment, then swipes the book onto the floor where it lies spine-up.
"It's not right!" she shouts, baring her teeth. Tears are streaming down her face as her chest heaves, air coming out in powerful gusts from her nose. "I lost it. The clots, they took it. I can't play anymore." She plunks her elbows down on the keys and buries her face in her hands, and I can see her shoulders trembling.
"Hey…" I say, wrapping an arm around her. She melts against me, sobbing into my chest as I hold her tight. "It's not for forever, you know? It's just until we get those fuckers out of your head. Then you'll be able to play like normal again."
She breathes shallowly and swallows, I can hear the gulp in her throat. I pull back and take her chin so she'll look at me, and say, "Right?"
She nods, but it's not very convincing.
"You'll get it back," I say. "Don't worry."
Her lower lip trembles and I give her a soft kiss in attempt to make it still. "What am I without it?" she asks, minutely shaking her head.
Now it's my turn to furrow my eyebrows together. "April," I say. "You're everything without it."
She looks away. I know she doesn't believe me, but I desperately want her to. I don't know a way that I can force her, though.
"How about I play?" I ask, nodding encouragingly. "Would you like that, if I played something?"
She looks up at me, her eyelashes sticking together with tears. She nods slightly, pulling completely away from the keys. She gets up and lets me in her spot, and I take her wrist before she can go far.
"I want you on the bench next to me," I say, copying her words from mere moments ago. She sits down quietly, wiping her eyes with the heels of her palms. "What do you wanna hear? I know 'Itsy Bitsy Spider,' 'Happy Birthday,' 'Twinkle, Twinkle,' and 'Mary Had a Little Lamb.'"
She sniffles and laughs, still sounding teary. "Everything," she says. "Everything you know."
I roll up my sweatshirt sleeves and wiggle my fingers for the dramatics of it all. "Looks like you're in for a concert, piano girl," I say. "I'll let you in for free, just this once."
"Your teacher should always get in free," she says, folding her hands on her lap.
"The teacher," I say, fanning my fingers out on the keys. "Has become the student."
"Shush," she says under her breath. "Play."
I smirk at her and start with the first song I ever learned from her 'Mary Had a Little Lamb.' I can still remember the day she taught it to me - I had walked in on her in a practice room as she went over her pieces for the fall concert. I had a crush on her then but refused to admit it to myself, which was stupid. Now, I wish I would've just outed my feelings sooner. It would've made things between us so much simpler.
I remember her not wanting to teach it to me, and I can see why she wouldn't. I had acted annoying towards her on purpose, for reasons I still don't know. Sometimes I do stupid things with no agenda because I tend to act before I can think about what I'm doing. She had been pretty stubborn, but not as stubborn as I was. I had been so cocky towards her, and thinking about it makes me laugh because it had been such a show. Now, she's got me wrapped around her little finger, and she knows it.
I still remember the way her fingers felt over mine for the first time. It had been such an intimate experience, I don't really know how to explain the way it felt to just be in that calm, quiet moment, learning from her. It felt like we were the only two people in the world, and I wanted to keep it that way.
I took a long time to learn all these songs on purpose.
I can still hear her little voice as she sang the lyrics while playing the song through my fingers. Soft and sweet, right in my ear, carrying the tune as easily as she does anything.
She hasn't sung in a while. It took her such a long time to sing for me, and I miss hearing her more than anything. I feel guilty asking, though. She's going through so much, and I can't ask for things like that when her body is literally falling apart outside of her control.
I finish all of the songs in my repertoire, going as slowly as I can so her eyes don't have to leave me anytime soon. I glance over at her a few times while I play the notes I have memorized, and we both smile when I do. During my second to last choice, 'Twinkle, Twinkle,' her hand finds its way to the small of my back and she draws herself closer to me as I play the children's song that I've grown to know so well.
When I'm all finished, I hold the last note for an extra long time and sit up straight and proud. "There you have it," I say. "The masterful musical stylings of Jackson Avery, future M.D., a multi-talented genius who's also pretty freakin' easy on the eyes, if he does say so himself." I laugh to myself, then screw up my eyebrows as I realize she's not even giving me shit for going on and on. "Oh, do you really find me that insufferable?" I ask, then turn to look at her.
Just as I turn, her eyes roll back into her head. Before I can react, she topples sideways off of the piano bench and onto the floor, where she lies trembling and shaking - only the whites of her eyes showing. Her jaw is clenched shut and her hands are balled into fists, and I shove the bench back to get down on the floor with her.
She must be having a seizure. Her doctor said it would be possible, but that it was unlikely. She said we probably wouldn't have to worry about something like this happening, that it would only be in an extreme case.
Everything happens within a split second, a blink of an eye. I have tears streaming down my cheeks as my hands are on her shoulders, and I need help but I know I can't leave her here on her own. With wide eyes, I look around the corner to the kitchen to see if anyone's in there, but I find it empty. The house had been quiet. I don't know where anyone is, so I just start shouting as loudly as I can. "Joe!" I scream. "Karen! Help! I need help!"
I don't know how long I scream for, but I don't think much time passes before Joe comes sprinting into the living room. When he sees what's going on, April has stopped shaking but is still lying on the floor, unresponsive.
I'm beside myself when I try and speak. "Seizure," I stammer through my tears. "She had a seizure, I don't know if she's still having one, I-I-I… we were just playing, she fell off, I don't know what happened." I start to sob. "Please help."
He calls 911 and I sit next to April, unmoving, until the ambulance comes - sirens blaring - to rush her to the hospital.