Evan
I wake up and feel like I've been flattened. Earlier, I mentally likened the state of my body to being run over by a train. Now I feel like someone picked up the train and is hitting me repeatedly with it. It's like Anna Karenina-style road rage over here, which really sucks since I totally hated that book.
It takes me a moment to remember where I am, and like a flood it all comes rushing back to me. I have cancer. Crap. I had a big old tumor growing in me and it exploded into my body, which is… just sooo gross. I seriously can't think about that part very long because it gives me the willies and makes me feel utterly disgusting. I mean, I'm not sure what's worse – the fact that I had a tumor or the fact that it popped and leaked stuff everywhere.
I keep imagining something that occurred a few summers ago. I bought a half of a watermelon and put it in the refrigerator, with the intention of eating it over the Fourth of July weekend. I wound up going out of town instead, and then kind of forgot it was in there. Every time I opened the fridge I thought, "Hmm, I need to eat that soon," but I never got around to actually doing it. One day, I heard this weird thump, but I didn't think much of it at the time. Later that evening, I opened the fridge to get something, and I saw that the watermelon had rotted and subsequently exploded all over the fridge, and gross rotten watermelon juice was dripping on all my food.
So that's the image I have of what happened with my tumor. Iiiick.
"Evan?" a soft voice wafts over to me. I look over and see Divya, once again by my side. "Hey," she says gently, allowing her fingers to caress my hair. I give her a grin.
"You're spoiling me."
"What?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"It's just really nice having you be the first thing I see when I wake up. You're a lot prettier than Hank." I sound enormously cheesy, and I'm sure she will just chalk up my statement as a direct result of the drugs (and she'd only be half right – I truly do enjoy waking up to her presence, but it's only thanks to the drugs that I can come right out and say so and not have her get offended). But she still blushes furiously. I realize she's the only person with me, and I bite my lip. "I guess… you know, don't you. About the… thing."
She looks at me with those big brown eyes so full of sympathy and sadness and unshed tears, and nods unhappily. "Evan, I'm… I'm so sorry…" she says haltingly, and her voice is thick with emotion. Damn it, I can't believe I've made Divya cry twice in the same day.
"Divya, please don't be upset, ok?" I say quietly. "I know it totally sucks, but everyone says I'll be fine. And I will. It's like… barely even cancer at all, you know?" I try to smile as bravely as I can. "The last thing in the world I want is for you to be sad over something so minor." She looks at me and there's something weird in her expression, but I can't pinpoint exactly what it is, perhaps because I'm still sort of out of it. Then before I can completely process what's happening, she gets up from her seat and sits down on the edge of my bed, and with a sort of very careful abandon (if that even makes sense) she leans over and tucks her slender arms around me, mindful of the IVs and wires, and hugs me as close as she can manage. Since I'm lying back, weak as a dishrag, this means she's kind of nestling into me. And even as I wind my own aching arms around her to return the embrace, I'm torn.
I love the feel of this beautiful bundle of awesomeness against me, how I can feel her trembling, and hear her heartbeat reverberate within my own body. This is the closest Divya has ever been to me, not counting that fake kiss she gave me that time. But this is way better because it's sincere and it's the best moment of my life. But a very small part of me wishes she hadn't done this, because I'm getting choked up now. This display of tenderness, like Hank's hug earlier, strips a little bit more of my façade away. It's not easy to pretend to be strong and brave when the real strong people are so visibly worried. Seeing how wrecked my always-together older brother was over me, and now seeing how hard the news of my tumor has hit this spirited, tough woman – a woman that I usually only seem to irk without even trying – just makes my heart hurt. It just reinforces the cold ugly truth: I'm sick.
And Divya wouldn't be touching me this way if I wasn't sick. Tumor notwithstanding, I don't have the right to hold her like this. She isn't mine to embrace, even if it is just a pity hug. But, crap, I don't want to let go. I need all the hugs I can get at this point.
God, why is this happening to me? I'm not cut out for this kind of pressure. I am trying my best to be calm and rational about my fate; I mean, that Dr. Bowers lady did say I would be ok. She wouldn't tell me that if she wasn't reasonably sure, right? But I'm not brave enough to go through this. I'm still scared to death – I don't want this in my body. I don't even want the memory of this in my body. I don't understand how this can be happening… I don't understand what I did to cause this.
To tell the truth, if Hank hadn't been on the verge of a panic attack at the news of my tumor thing, I probably would have had one myself. No one would guess it from looking at him, but Hank has an irrational fear of death. I know, kind of weird for a doctor, right? Well, maybe I should clarify: Hank has an irrational fear of my death. Mom's loss really did a number on him. I mean, we were both crushed when she passed, but I feel like it was harder for Hank, because all the responsibility of holding the remains of our family together fell to him. With that came the responsibility to deal with me, the little kid in the mix. We were all we had, and I think that between Dad's abandonment and Mom's death, Hank became terrified that something would happen to me, and he would be left entirely alone. I sometimes wonder if he became a doctor as a different, less intrusive way to protect me, to preserve what was left of his family, just in case anything were to, you know, happen.
Hank's always been really overprotective of me, more so when we were younger. I would hear him checking on me at night, when he thought I was asleep, and before I started going to the high school with him, he would call the middle school to check on me in between his classes. This was all in the immediate aftermath of Mom's loss. He calmed down a lot once I grew up and began living on my own. He still looks out for me as any big brother would, but actually, the last time I saw him really worried about me was in Cuba after I hit my head – I saw how freaked out he was, though he was trying to stay professional and calm for my sake. I did likewise, and I think once he realized I was actually ok (despite all the blood coming out of my head, I was still conscious and coherent and stuff) he allowed himself to relax a little... though he did forbid me from drinking and he woke me up every hour or so that night to shine a flashlight into my eyes.
But this is different. Cancer is both too extreme and too familiar to shrug off. Even though I'm supposed to be ok, there's a chance that I won't be. As much as they assure me they got it all out and with the radiation it isn't likely the cancer will come back, I know there is still a chance. We both know there's a chance. A small chance, sure, even a miniscule chance, a one in ten million chance, but the possibility does exist. I don't really feel like dying any time soon – I know that it's something we all have to do eventually, like paying taxes, but I'd just rather put it off for another 50 or 60 years or so. That's my personal opinion of the matter. But I'm more concerned with what would happen to my brother if I didn't survive this. It wouldn't be pretty. That's why I have to survive. I don't know if this will wind up killing me or not. But even if the cancer does come back at some point, even if I eventually have to deal with chemo or more surgeries or whatever, I have to survive as long as possible, until I could be sure that Hank would be ok without me.
I'm brought out of my thoughts as Divya sniffs and pulls away from me, brushing her hair out of her face and swiping at her eyes, though I don't think she was actually crying yet. "I'm sorry, I forgot myself. Did I hurt you?" she asks me.
"No, never." I smile, swallowing back my own emotion. "Anytime you want to forget yourself, feel free."
She blushes a little again, but straightens up and makes a valiant effort to be 'business-as-usual' Divya. I'm so grateful she does that - now that we've acknowledged the giant cancer elephant in the room, we can move forward. It shows she can still be normal around me; things don't have to be weird just because I had a tumor in my body up until yesterday. "Well… then… are you hungry at all? I've got an obscene amount of Jello here for you, if you'd care to make a dent in it."
"Oh, God, it's not lime, is it?" I grimace.
Divya raises an eyebrow. "No, actually it's orange. Lots and lots of orange – three bags full, in fact. But strangely enough there is one package of lime mixed in. Perhaps it was meant as a joke. I take it you have an aversion to that particular flavor?"
"It… just shouldn't be in existence. Like that 'peanut butter and jelly in the same jar' business. It's a terrible idea."
"So… orange, then?"
"Yeah, ok," I grudgingly acquiesce. I'm frankly not a big fan of Jello, period. Not even Jello in shot form. But if it's all I can have, I'd rather have a flavor I actually like. Orange is the least of the evils, as it were. I watch as Divya goes over to the other chair in the room and for the first time I notice that there are several of those environmentally conscious canvas shopping bags squeezed on it. They all look full to the brim, with Jello apparently. "I sure hope I'm not expected to eat all of that." I grumble as Divya opens a box of plastic spoons and comes toward me with an open Orange Container of Horror.
"Ok, open wide for the airplane!" Divya chirps playfully. Sitting beside me, she aims a spoonful of Jello at me. I roll my eyes.
"Really, Divya? The airplane spoon? What am I, five years oooomm-" I'm cut off as she manages to slide the spoon into my mouth mid-rant. As she removes it, smirking at my discomfiture, I swallow quickly to get the Jello away from my tastebuds, and moan, "Oh, God, it's all squishy. Blech!" It's so gross, I can't even take pleasure in the fact that a beautiful girl is feeding me, which, let's face, is fairly awesome any other time.
"I'm amazed that something as benign as Jello would offend the sensibilities of your super palate," Divya says cheekily.
"It's not the taste so much as the texture," I explain, before she feeds me another spoonful. Swallowing hastily again, I continue, "It's just so… jiggly! I can't see how anyone would find such a quality appealing in a food. I mean, seriously, don't create a snack that's the same consistency as hair gel. It's a bad idea. And don't even get me started on the flavoring. You know how when you're little-" I stop as I'm forced to take another bite, then continue where I left off. "- the dentist has those special flavors of tooth polish or whatever, like bubblegum or chocolate? To keep the kids entertained, right? But they don't taste anything like what they claim to be! Which is the point about the Jello flavors – same problem. Orange is the least screwed up flavor they have. The puddings are fine, since there's a consistency to them; they're not see-through and wiggling all over the place-"
"Evan!" Divya interrupts with amused frustration. "Shush! Spoon!" She deposits the next bite, which she has been holding for some time waiting for me to break my rant to take a breath. I guess she got tired of waiting.
"God, how am I still eating this stuff? Aren't there only like four bites per cup?" I whine.
"I'm giving you small bites. I don't want to overwhelm your stomach. If you hate Jello this much going down, I guarantee you'd hate even more if it came back up." She looks at me sternly. And she's probably right about the small bites. It appears that I have a lot of the stuff to go through, and it will just prolong the annoyingness if I yarf it all back up at the beginning.
"Divs, where exactly did this abundance of gelatin come from?"
"Oh, erm…" she pauses to glance over to the Jello harvest, and I swear I can see the wheels turning in her head as she carefully chooses her words. "Your father brought it… Hank's out talking with him right now. You know… explaining things."
Oh great, I'm sure THAT'S going swimmingly. "Really?" I say as nonchalantly as I can. "H-how did Dad look? I mean, do you know how he's taking it?"
"I, uh… I don't really know, Evan. I imagine he's upset, of course; we all are. But once Hank explains the reality of your situation, he'll feel a little more confident, I'm sure." Except she doesn't sound sure at all. Wow, Divya seriously cannot lie to save her life! Maybe it's the accent, or something, but it's really impressive. I'm fairly certain that what Hank is actually doing is trying to tie Eddie down so he doesn't run away. Or else Eddie's already running and Hank is giving chase with an elephant gun. I know it has to be something like that, otherwise Divya would have come right out and told me where Hank and Dad were without the hesitation. Damn… it was all going so well. They were talking, finally! And now I have to ruin everything by having cancer. Crap.
Why did I think this would be any different? He did well enough with my emergency yesterday, but did I honestly think Dad wouldn't completely freak out when he got wind of my diagnosis? He couldn't handle it when it happened to Mom – did I really believe he'd do better with me? I feel enormously foolish, because I had honestly believed he had changed. But oddly, instead of being devastated, I feel… kind of pissed. "So has my father fled the country?" I ask Divya. I almost wince as I hear myself, because I meant to sound flippant, but I can't keep my voice steady and what comes out is bitterness.
"Evan, no, don't be silly!"
"I'm not being silly, Divya. I'm being realistic," I say flatly. I feel my stomach begin to churn. "You know he ran out on us shortly after we found out Mom had cancer, right? Who's to say he's not going to do the exact same thing now?"
"Hey!" Divya interjects. "Evan, you don't know-"
"I have a good idea! Look me in the eye and tell me you are 100% confident that my father isn't going to bail on me." She flinches, and I know that she knows something is up. "Oh, this is great. And I'm sure Hank is going to have a conniption over this. That is, if he hasn't killed Eddie and buried him underneath Boris's tennis court by now. Oh, God…" I grunt a bit, as my insides twist uncomfortably. Whatever my expression must be, it sends Divya into action. She jumps up from her spot on my bed – I don't know what she does with the Jello cup – and manages to slide a little plastic basin in front of my face just in time as I hurriedly lean to the side and vomit.
She was right – it is worse coming back up. So, so, so much worse. And dear God, it hurts.
"What's going on here?"
My brother's voice suddenly hits my ears, but I can't acknowledge his return because I'm still retching, with Divya attempting to aim the basin at the right angle and brace me as best she can to keep me from falling out of bed. I suddenly feel another pair of hands, stronger ones, holding onto me as my body rejects the tiny amount of food I've ingested (if you can call it food). I distantly hear Hank murmuring, "Ok, bro… that's right, get it all out… almost done…"
"Hank, I'm so sorry," I hear Divya say distraughtly as I gasp for air in between spasms. "I shouldn't have given him anything to eat yet. And he got upset about…" When she pauses, I can almost feel her giving him a pointed, significant look.
"'M not upset!" I manage to choke out. I seem to be done with the expulsion of the Jello (oh, the wonderful memory of this utterly disgusting moment that will add to my hatred of the stuff for years to come!), and with Hank and Divya's help, I straighten myself out and lie back onto my pillows, my eyes squeezed shut against the nausea. I'm sweating bullets and shaking, and the throwing up did nothing at all to help my overall pain.
"Ev?"
I open my eyes and Hank is leaning over me, the 'worried big brother' look plastered firmly on his face. He takes a cool cloth and sets it against my forehead, and asks, "Are you ok? Does it hurt?" The coolness sort of revives me a bit, and I'm able to answer.
"I'm ok… evil Jello…" but I smile so that he can know for sure that I'm fine. "Don't worry, Hank, it doesn't hurt. I mean, I hurt the way I did before, the way I have all day, but the throwing up didn't hurt me. It was just gross. Nothing's wrong inside," I add, wondering if he was scared that something 'cancery' was going on within my body.
"I found a nurse," another voice chimes in from the doorway. We all look over, and I see Eddie standing like he's ready to pounce, allowing one of the ICU nurses to enter the room past him to attend to me. Eddie is here? My dad is here? He knows about… the thing… and he's still here?
The nurse checks me over to make sure I didn't dislodge anything or pop my stitches while I was barfing, and checks my vitals with Hank's help. I submit to her prodding, but my eyes keep flicking to where Eddie stands in the corner, looking pale and worried. Finally, the nurse pronounces me to be fine, and with a cautionary admonition not to agitate me further, she escorts the basin containing my ex-Jello out of the room. Divya follows her to get me some more ice chips – it's clear my stomach is in no mood for anything more substantial, though I suppose they'll try again later with the Jello, or something else of the same consistency which I'm sure will be oh so tasty. Seeing my forlorn eyes, she assures me she'll be right back.
Once it's just us Lawsons again, I fix my eyes on Eddie. "You're here," I state.
He seems a little startled at my tone, but he nods and replies, "Yeah… yes. I'm here."
"I have cancer, Dad," I say quietly. Not overly emotional, but a mere statement of fact.
He winces a bit, clearly not used to the idea, but comes closer to me. "I… I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry this is happening to you, kiddo." He hesitantly puts his hand on my arm, but I don't know if his hesitation is from uncertainty at my sounding so aloof or if it's because he's creeped out by my disease.
"Dad, if you're going to leave, I won't stop you," I say, without really thinking. He looks startled, and so does Hank.
"Huh?" Dad stammers.
"If you don't want to stick around for this, then go ahead and leave. No hard feelings."
Hank looks like he wants to interject, but I stop him. "No, Henry. It's fine. I understand that this might be more than you're willing to handle," I say, addressing my father once more, who looks a little blind-sided. "But I'm completely serious, Dad. I don't want you to hover at my bedside because Hank is forcing you to be here. That's not enough for me, not anymore. I'm giving you a legitimate out, here. If you can't handle me being sick, go ahead and go right now. Just be upfront about it. I need to focus on getting well again, and I… frankly, I don't need any extra drama right now. I've given you everything I've got; as of this moment I'm bone-dry. I don't want you to make me any grand promises and then wind up bailing on me later. But if you go…" I swallow, because for a moment I feel like I've stepped into Hank's shoes. "I don't want you to come back. And I don't want you to call me again."
"Hey, now wait a minute…" Eddie looks stricken. But I don't let him finish.
"It would be up to Hank to decide if he wants to maintain contact with you. He didn't try to stop me from seeing you, so I won't try to stop him. That's between the two of you. I would bear you no ill will if you can't take this, but I do not want to talk to you again if you walk out of here. If you legitimately want to stay and support me as I go through this, and be there for Hank too, then you are welcome to do so. But I can't deal with any wishy-washiness. You're either in or you're out." As authoritative as I feel, I also think I might've sounded a little too Heidi Klum on that last statement. But I think my point has been made, and I wait expectantly to see if he will get up and walk out of my room, never to be seen again.
Imagine my shock when Eddie R sits down on my bed, takes both of my hands in his, and with actual direct eye contact, says, "I'm in."
Now it's my turn to say "Huh?"
"I'm all in, Evan. I know you don't expect much of me, given my history. I've got a lot to make up for. I know I wasn't there when your Mom was sick, but… can you let me try to be there for you now? I'm scared to death that I might wind up screwing things up even worse by sticking around… I can't promise that I'll automatically know the right thing to do, but I… I don't want to run anymore. I've already made that mistake more times than anyone should in a lifetime, and it's always cost me dearly. But I also didn't know you were so hesitant to have me around. If you honestly don't want me, Evan, you don't have to see me. But I won't be going anywhere anytime soon." Eddie looks right at me as he says this, and for the first time… I can't explain it, but for the first time I feel like someone who is being addressed by his father.
God help me, maybe I'm the world's biggest fool, but I believe him. Looking into his eyes, seeing him admit that he doesn't know what the hell he's doing but that he wants to try, I believe he really wants to stay. I didn't want to hope for this. So much has happened, and I'm really sick, like sick sick, and I just didn't want the disappointment of losing him to add to the fear I already feel. But he wants to stay… I see pain in his eyes. It begins to dawn on me that he's aching over my suffering. Of course, he wouldn't wish this on me, I never thought that. I never believed he would be indifferent to my diagnosis. But I never expected to see my father feeling so much… hurting so much… for me.
My eyes go blurry with tears. I tighten my hold on his hand, in case this is all a dream – if I'm about to wake up, I don't want this dream dad to vanish. "I want… I…" I stutter. Finally, I look at him, and manage to say, "You really won't leave me? You won't leave?" I sound like a child… a child that slept in front of the door for months after his father left his family, who cried himself to sleep every night while hoping that the door would open and he'd be there.
Dad looks at me carefully, and to my astonishment he leans in and puts his warm hands on either side of my face. He whispers, "I won't leave you again, son. I'm in." My tears roll out of my eyes (sheesh, I haven't cried this much in one day since I hit puberty) and I reach blindly for him. And he's there to pull me into an embrace. Though my body indignantly protests yet again, it will have to shut the hell up – after all, it did turn on me, so it doesn't get a say in what I do now.
I hear my father whispering over and over, "You're gonna be ok, Evan. You're so strong, you're gonna be just fine." I lift my eyes just far enough to see my teary-eyed, smiling brother off to the side, and I detach one arm from Eddie's neck and throw it out, beckoning him. He responds, and joins the hug, standing over both Dad and I, putting an arm around him and leaning his head upon mine, and we fold him in. We form a strange knot, each making sure to sustain contact with some part of the other two.
It's like the front door has opened, and my dad has finally come home.
To Be Continued...