29 McKenna
McKenna
The morning sky is still dark as I peer outside the door of the recreation center. The last thing I want is to bump into any
of my former teammates and have them realize I’m using the school’s fitness facility for my regular showers. The staff hasn’t
questioned my odd hours. It’s been easy enough to pull off since they all recognize my face from before, but I don’t want
people knowing this building has been my only option for decent hygiene.
The October air has just recently turned cooler, and it’s uncomfortable against my wet hair as I hurry to the car. I drop
my toiletry bag into the passenger seat and sink behind the wheel of the Camry. There are still three hours before my first
class, and I have a pharmacology test I haven’t finished studying for. I decide to move the car to a lot on the south side
of campus. I’ll have to take a shuttle from there to the library, but I can’t knock the free parking.
After Lark excommunicated me over the summer, the rest of the team decided to follow her lead.
I couldn’t believe they’d just write me off like that.
All of them, like a bunch of sheep. When I confronted Rae, she told me it was a direct order from Coach: “No contact, no drama, no exceptions.” He warned them that the NCAA might investigate and that the best way to protect themselves and their swim careers was to stay far away from me.
It doesn’t seem to matter that no one ever found any actual evidence of me being involved in the vandalism. Even so, I’ve
been entirely cut off. Couch surfing between my friends’ dorms and apartments obviously became beyond the realm of possibility.
Things might have turned out fine if the landlord with the one affordable apartment I found would have been willing to accept
a lessee with no credit history. He did offer to waive the credit requirements if I could provide a cosigner. For a split
second, I thought about asking Coach, but then my brain landed back on planet earth.
Luckily, Glory’s Camry has a pretty comfortable backseat, and no one seems to bother me if I find an out-of-the-way parking
spot for the night. I haven’t figured out yet what I’ll do when the winter weather arrives. Probably no one would notice if
I slept at a library carrel high up in the stacks with my head down on a desk. Students pull all-nighters studying all the
time during college, don’t they? I could probably also spend a night here or there in student lounges. It won’t be like this
forever, and once I graduate with my nursing degree, everything will be better. I’ll be able to get a job, earn money, and
have enough financial security that I won’t need anyone. Maybe then I’ll stop getting attached to more people who are only
going to abandon me.
I make my way up the steps of the library and find a seat at a table on the main floor, where more people tend to congregate.
It’s not the best spot for serious studying—lots of people coming and going, creating distractions as they walk by.
But lately I’ve been finding that the quietness of deserted places feels oppressive.
Opening my notes, I turn my attention to the pages on endocrine drugs. I’m still taking my schoolwork seriously. There’s no
point living the way I have been if I’m just going to screw up my studies.
The topics we cover in the nursing program are of genuine interest to me, and two hours pass in no time. I promised my mom
I was going to be one of the best nurses out there, and I meant it. Being able to lose myself in the subject matter feels
like a gift, the only time I get a break from thinking about everything I’ve lost. I’m just finishing up the section on corticosteroids
and Cushing’s syndrome when I hear familiar voices behind me.
Twisting around, I see that Rae, Amber, and Chloe have just entered the lobby. They’re with two other girls who must be first-years
on the team. They’re all carrying backpacks and chatting loudly, laughing and talking over each other. I catch snippets as
they approach the study area, and it sounds like they’re debating who ate the biggest breakfast at the Sizz. When Chloe lets
out a particularly loud cackle, the librarian at the desk behind me shushes them pointedly. They all glance over, and Rae’s
eyes lock on mine. I lift a hand in greeting, but she’s already looked away.
They choose a table at the opposite end of the study area. I watch for a moment, trying not to picture myself sitting in the
empty seat across from Amber. Instead, I turn my eyes back to the screen in front of me, where I find myself rereading the
same information over and over without absorbing any of it.
When Rae gets up a short while later and starts walking toward the restroom, I pop out of my chair and follow her.
By the time I get there, she’s already in a stall, so I wait.
There’s no one else in the bathroom, and I take the opportunity to glance at myself in the mirror.
I’ve given up on makeup, but my clothes are relatively clean thanks to the Coin Laundry & Suds a couple of miles away on Nesconset Highway.
I’m skinnier than I used to be, but I don’t look homeless.
Maybe just a little beaten down, which I am, so that tracks.
The toilet flushes, and Rae walks out from the center stall. When she sees me, she lets out a frustrated huff.
“McKenna, come on,” she says. “You’ve got to move on.” Her expression is so flat as she looks back at me. It’s the first time
I’ve ever been unable to see the dimple in her cheek.
“How can you all just write me off like this?” I ask. “It’s been months already. The NCAA isn’t doing anything, and they’re
not going to because I didn’t do any of the crap I was accused of. If I had, wouldn’t there be some proof by now? But there’s
literally nothing.”
“We haven’t written you off. We’re just keeping some distance.” She moves around me toward the sink and starts washing her
hands.
“Distance?” My voice is rising. “You guys don’t even talk to me anymore.”
She doesn’t answer as she rinses the suds from her palms. After she turns off the water and grabs a paper towel from the dispenser,
she turns back toward me.
“I don’t know how many times I have to say this, but you got yourself involved in some really sketchy stuff.
The entire team was humiliated by what you were accused of.
We have needs and goals too. Influxer accounts, other endorsements .
. . The way people see us matters. I hope you know I do wish you well, really, but the fact is, this isn’t just about you.
” She tosses the paper towel into the trash and walks out of the bathroom, leaving me alone again.
After my last class of the day, I drive over to Juniper Groves.
“McKenna!” Rhonda the receptionist says with delight. “If only all granddaughters were as devoted as you, I think we’d have
a much happier geriatric community.”
“Thanks, Rhonda.” I smile back at her, this woman who is the closest thing I have to a friend, and then head up the familiar
grand staircase. I don’t see much point in telling Rhonda I’m only here so often because my life is a complete disaster. I
should be spending my free time looking for a job. I know that. But between the effort of studying, keeping myself clean,
getting in my clinic hours, and finding places to sleep each night, I just don’t think it’s humanly possible.
When I get to Glory’s room, I’m surprised to find her awake. She’s been sleeping so much lately. But she’s sitting in the
big recliner chair with a tray of food on a snack table beside her. When she sees me, her eyes grow wide and she smiles. I
allow myself the moment to enjoy it before she says what I know will come next.
“Heather, I didn’t know you were coming today!” I don’t correct her. “Let’s get you some food.” She starts looking around,
most likely to ask one of the nurses to bring another tray.
“No, Glory, I’m fine,” I say, arranging the smaller chair opposite her.
Mauricia walks back in then, a pitcher of water in her hand.
“Mauri,” she says. “Come meet my daughter.”
Mauricia looks down at me with a gentle smile and says, “Of course, we’ve already met. It’s always so nice to see you.”
Glory and I talk for a few minutes, a chat consisting mainly of questions from her about events that may or may not have been
a part of her earlier life. I do my best to answer blandly, and then I read to her from the copy of Marjorie Morningstar I found in the nursing home’s library a few weeks earlier. On the rare occasions she’s awake for my visits, we make our way
through different books, a few chapters at a time. I can’t say if she remembers the plots from one session to the next, but
she seems to like listening to me read. After about twenty minutes, her eyes start closing, so I press the call button and
Mauricia helps me get her back in bed. Then I pull the small chair closer to her bed, where I’ll start on my homework, like
usual.
Mauricia moves across the room to pick up Glory’s tray, but I tell her to leave it.
“No reason to waste perfectly good meatloaf,” I say. “I’ll finish it.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve asked to finish the leftover food. Mauricia’s eyes rove over my face for a moment, and then
she rolls the snack table across the floor, positioning the tray in front of me.
I wake with a start. It’s no surprise I dozed off in the quiet of Glory’s room, especially with the bliss of a full belly.
The bedside clock says it’s 9:15 p.m., more than an hour after the end of visiting hours.
A prickle of hope rises in me that Mauricia is gone for the night, and maybe I can stay until morning in this warm room where I won’t have to worry about strange characters emerging during the night.
A blanket on the back of the large recliner chair beckons to me.
Moving quietly so I don’t wake Glory, I make my way toward the fabric-covered chair. But the door to the room pushes open,
and Mauricia pokes her head inside.
“Oh, good,” she says. “I didn’t want to wake you. I know what a busy schedule you college kids keep, but we’re long past visiting
hours. You go on home, and we’ll see you tomorrow.” She opens the door wider as if for emphasis.
Trying not to let the disappointment show on my face, I grab my bag and make my way back toward the wide staircase, down to
the lobby, and out into the darkness of the cold, lonely night. Before driving back toward the public lot near school, I sit
in the car, turning the heat to full blast and scrolling through my texts.
I’ve received an automated notification from the US Postal Service—the PO Box I rented is up for renewal. I had assumed that
the three-month term I selected would be long enough, that surely I’d have things figured out by now. Yet I’m no closer to
solving my housing problem than I was at the start of the term.
How could I have made such a mess of everything?
My eyes fill, and I don’t bother wiping the tear that spills over.
I’ve been crying so much recently, it’s hardly even noteworthy.
I just feel so utterly and completely alone.
I was supposed to be an overachiever, one of the best swimmers of my generation, making my way through college with perfect grades and equally impressive friends.
And somehow now I have nobody left and not so much as a roof over my head.
It has taken every last ounce of my effort to keep my grades in a place I’m comfortable with, which is nowhere near the top-tier GPA I was pulling off before.
I can’t stop thinking about everything I’ve lost, and it hurts so much, I feel as though I would hardly even notice if my limbs fell off.
I try to pull myself back from the abyss that has been dragging me deeper with each passing day, to bring my attention back to something in the present, something concrete.
I look back at the messages on my phone, taking a deep breath, reminding myself that I’ve already made it through three months.
I just need to keep taking it one day at a time.
I start to feel just a little calmer, as if the phone is tethering me to something, even though all I’m looking at are promotional
messages from ALO, SwimOutlet, and the poke bowl place I used to love, back before it became one more commercial establishment
that didn’t fit into my budget.
But beneath those, I find one more unread message. When I see who it’s from, my breath catches.