38 - Samantha
After our climacticspring with the school play then prom, the last few weeks of school become a blur. We prepare for finals which is time consuming, and for the first time, I find all the notes and studying to be more tedious and difficult than usual. Normally I’m more organized and focused, but I have so many extra distractions drawing my attention that my mind is in a constant tug of war.
Besides balancing my homework and exam prep, I still have occasional doctor visits and dialysis three times a week. My physician and I made the mistake of trying to cut back to only twice a week, but my body resurrected an ugly complaint to this experiment, so I gained nothing. Here I am, side effects of my illness in full force.
I barely managed to get through finals, and I notice that my mood’s becoming tainted as well. The nurses at the dialysis center try to reassure me that depression is sometimes a normal side effect of treatments. Normal? I ponder this for a moment. I don’t believe in depression let alone allow myself to even say the word depressed. That word is one that I refuse to put in my vocabulary. I will, however, agree that I have experienced highs and lows with my illness. Although here lately, my mood swings are like a rollercoaster.
Phillip clears his throat, bringing me back to reality.
“I’m so sorry.” I hang my head in shame after realizing my last comment was a little spiteful. “I didn’t mean to bite your head off.” As usual when embarrassed, I clench my eyes shut playing the toddler-in-hiding. “Forgive me?”
“It’s ok. I won’t pretend to act like I know what you’re going through. Only you know that for sure,” Phillip says, hiding his annoyance. There are times, like today for instance, when I can’t for the life of me figure out why he stays with me. I guess that’s what made me lash out.
“It’s not ok. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that,” I tell him, apologetically, yet I’m still a little sharp with my tone. “I know it’s no excuse, but I just feel completely horrible today.” I start to cry. I’m so sick of this. Why do I have to be sick all the time? I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, so I wouldn’t be mean and try to trade places with someone if given the option. But I hate it, nonetheless. I just want to scream.
“Ssh, calm down,” Phillip says, softly. “I know you feel bad, and you didn’t mean what you said. You’re just having a bad day.” He begins to hug me rubbing my back in a soothing way.
“The worst.” I’m crying harder now, letting out some of my frustration. My day instantly goes from bad to worse. I quickly jump up out of Phillip’s arms, cup my hand over my mouth and run to the bathroom.
My face is washed out and the throbbing in my head is relentless. I flush the toilet before he knocks on the door. “Baby, are you ok?” I hesitate because I’m not sure. My hesitation must have made him nervous because he opens the door and peeks in.
“I don’t know if I’m done.” I try to wave him away. Even though he’s seen this scene before, he doesn’t need to watch it again. But like in times past, we can’t even carry on a conversation without the onset of the next round making its way up. I abruptly jerk open the lid and have my head poised above the commode before he has the door completely open. My back arches a few times and when I’m done, Phillip already has a cold washcloth ready for me.
Silently, I take the cloth and wipe my face while he stands there monitoring, waiting to see if I need anything else. I take a quick swish of mouthwash and spew it into the sink then sit back along the wall resting my head against it for support. My eyes aren’t really focused, and I find myself drained of what little energy I had earlier. Phillip gives me a moment to collect myself but when I try to stand up, I’m dizzy.
“Whoa, you ok?” Phillip catches me, steadying me as I regain my balance. We take two steps out of the small quarters of the bathroom then he scoops me up into his arms. If he’s around he never lets me walk when I’m dizzy.
“I feel a little better, but tired now. I want to brush my teeth.” I hold my hand over my mouth during this request because I don’t want to breathe on him. I need to freshen up more. I don’t know if the mouthwash was enough.
He carries me upstairs and by the time we reach my bathroom where my toothbrush and paste are, I feel a little less dizzy. Phillip’s concerned about me staying hydrated, so he goes down to the kitchen to crush some ice chips. I like crunching the ice better than drinking water. My sneaking suspicion is that he also wants to call Roxy to let her know how sick I am, but that’s ok. Whatever calms his nerves.
When he comes back upstairs, I’ve found a comfortable place on my bed. I stacked a few pillows so I can prop up on top of my comforter and rest. Phillip hands me the cup of ice chips and automatically reaches for my favorite throw. It’s a homemade blanket, made of fleece and sewn with satin as a finishing edge. My blanket hugs and molds the contour of my body, keeping me cozy while I crunch my ice.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says quietly, probably assessing my mood.
“I need to get you a new girlfriend. The current model has a defect.”
I’m trying to find my sense of humor but Phillip’s disapproving expression has none.
“There’s nothing wrong with my model.” Apparently, he isn’t in the mood to joke around. The flat tenor in his voice commands this fact. I consider telling him he needs his eyes checked, but after gauging the seriousness in them, I decide to drop it.
For a few minutes, the only noise that breaks our silence is the sound of my ice crunching. A shiver dances down my spine, but I don’t complain. With a trembling hand, I pass Phillip my empty cup.
“Do you want more or are you too cold?” he asks, his anguish melting away.
“Too cold. Lay with me?” I purse my lips as pouty as I can make them and rapidly blink my eyes.
“You don’t have to do that, although it does make you look adorable.” He crookedly grins a little bit.
“I understand now.”
“What?”
“You like us pathetic ones.” I smile to signal that I’m joking, but he presses his lips together and becomes tense. “Ok, ok! I was kidding. Bad joke.”
He runs his fingers through his hair a few times, totally frustrated with me. I know I’m getting a lecture for sure, but suddenly I don’t have time for it. I shove my blanket back in a hurry to get my head over the toilet. A few chokes later I feel his familiar hand on my back, reaching to help hold my hair. Without looking, I grab the handle, flush, then place my hand on his and hold still. I’m not sure if I can leave the bathroom yet.
Phillip stands up, as if reading my mind, and pulls the Pepto Bismol from the overhead medicine cabinet. He pours some into a paper bathroom cup and hands it to me.
“I wish there was more I could do. I hate to see you like this.” His eyes are regretfully thoughtful.
“You do so much, and you don’t even realize it.”
“If it was another guy, I’d punch him. But this? I’m fighting the unknown here and that’s out of my hands. I can’t get all alpha male and claim you caveman-style to fix everything. This is medical. What weapon do I have against that?”
“Love. You love me. That’s enough.” I crush the cup in my hand when I’m through and toss it to the waste can. “It’s me who should wonder if I do enough for you.” He opens his mouth to debate, but I hush him, holding my fingers against his lips. When his silence holds, I re-brush my teeth as Phillip stands in the doorway watching, probably making sure I don’t pass out or something. It’s happened before. When I’m done, I turn to face him.
“I love you, Phillip.” I wrap my arms around his rib cage and snuggle in.
“Wanna lie down?”
“Maybe. First, I wanna give you something.” I’m completely worn out, but I have to force myself to find the energy. I want him to have his gift I’ve been working on. I have a few old hat boxes stacked up in my closet. They make great storage boxes and are more pleasing to the eye than boring plastic bins. I lift the lid off the second box and pull out a smaller square box that is tied securely with a black satin ribbon. It’s the same ribbon my prom dress had been tied closed with. I just cut it down to fit. There’s also a light pink ribbon, much shorter than the other that I tied to the middle for an accent.
“What’s this for?” Suddenly, Phillip looks worried like he forgot an anniversary or birthday.
“Nothing special.” I manage to smile, but it’s a little forced because I’m so tired. I place the gift in his hands, then nearly collapse into my place on my bed before covering back up.
With one hand, Phillip holds his unopened gift, and with the other he helps tuck me in. He can see I’m still shivering a bit although I don’t feel fevered. Patting the bed next to me, I whisper, “Sit and open it. Please?”
As requested, he sits down and studies the box. It’s probably 10 x 10 give or take an inch, I didn’t really measure it. The box is the hard-formed gift box kind, not one of those fold-it-yourself boxes that come from a department store when you buy clothes.
Phillip finds the tail of the ribbon and slowly begins to loosen it. I watch closely wondering what he’ll think.
“What’s this?” He picks apart the bow and holds up the pink portion. It’s faded. Aged. “Is this...?”
My eyes water. “You remember?”
“I do remember this ribbon. I remember finding it on the playground when I went back to look for it.”
“It meant a lot that you found it for me. I always wondered something though...”
“What?” Strangely, Phillip looks guilty.
“Oh nothing. It just seemed shorter for some reason.”
He rubs the satin ribbon between his thumb and fingertips, staring down at it as if taken back to that very day. “I knew when I brought it home, I would have to have mom help me wash it because I found it in a thick mud puddle.” He reaches across me to my nightstand where he grabs his wallet. I’m growing impatient. I want him to open his gift. This trip down memory lane is nice, but I want to see if he likes his present. “We washed it several times before giving up on one spot at the end that just would not come out. I cut it off before giving the ribbon back to you.”
“That would explain why it felt shorter,” I say, wondering what’s so important inside his wallet. “I was afraid to wear it after that.”
“I loved it when you wore it,” he says fondly. “You always tied it in your ponytail.
I’m sure the color has returned to my cheeks now. “You remember that better than I thought you would.”
Just then, he pulls a sample from his wallet. “I wouldn’t let myself forget.” He hands me a faded piece of pink satin, vaguely tarnished from a stain placed there several years ago.
My already shaky hand begins to tremble, and my eyes are now misty. “Is this—”
“Yes.”
“Why have you kept that all these years?” My voice cracks, fighting a lump in my throat.
“Because I loved you then like I love you now.” His eyes return to gaze into mine, full of love and thoughtfulness.
Teardrops escape my eyes. I can no longer control them. “I thought I was supposed to be giving you a gift for once.”
“You are my gift,” he says, winking at me.
My heart is touched beyond words. I wanted to give him a gift, but he already has a token of me. “Well, my gift to you is untied. Will you at least look at it?”
Phillip finishes removing the black satin string, slowly pulling it away from the box, and drapes it around my neck. He smiles enough to let one of his dimples show. I’m relieved to see him relax. He was extremely worried about my health today but appears to be doing better. The box balances on his lap while both hands push back the lid revealing his gift. I wait anxiously, watching every direction of his eyes, his eyebrows to see if they rise or furrow and the corners of his mouth. I watch to see if his lips will curl up and smile or will they thin to a straight line and disappoint me? I almost forget to breathe.
Finally, I get my answer. At first, his eyes narrow inspecting the book and as I surmise, he’s trying to guess what could be inside. The outside reads Our Yearbook.
“I’ve been working on it for a while,” I admit once he’s removed the lid. “Take it out.” He’s already on his way to doing that. Carefully, he opens the cover. The first picture is of us slow dancing at homecoming. “I think your sister got a hold of my camera that night. Remind me to thank her later,” I quietly explain as we turn the page. “These are a few I took of you during football games and again, Cyn...” We smile and point to the same one, liking how he stood in his football uniform touching my cheek after a game.
“These are great, but are these the only ones?”
“No, I made duplicates.” Phillip sighs a breath of relief and turns to the next page eager to find what other moments I’ve captured. I went old-school style doing all the photographs in black and white matte finish. I even used those black picture corner things for mounting the photographs in the album. It gives them an antique edge, and in my mind makes them all seem more cherished, reminiscent of memories long ago.
We turn the pages, reliving moments from our senior year. It truly is our yearbook. I end the album with photographs of prom and the magical evening he gave me.
“This is one of my favorites,” I say, pointing to the one where he’s helping me into the carriage. Roxy did really well capturing a side view of both our profiles. I remember that moment. My gloved hand rested on his as I stepped up. He was gazing up at me. That day I really felt beautiful.
Phillip places his hand on his chest just as he did when he first saw me come down the staircase. “You are my beauty.” He touches my cheek with the palm of his hand and my eyes well up again.
“I made this book,” I sob, barely choking out my sentence, “so that on days like today, you could always see me as beautiful.” Whew. I let out a sharp exhale. I don’t know why I’m extra emotional today. Maybe it’s because physically I feel so terrible. Maybe, seeing that Phillip has held a token of me in his wallet since our childhood, is too much for me to take. Or maybe, I simply love him, and I pray for his sake more than my own, that I get better. Whatever the reason, I’m still crying.
Phillip puts his book on my nightstand. His cheeks are wet from his own tears. “Thank you,” he whispers, reaching to wipe away my tears with his thumb. “It’s perfect.”
With my weak hand, I attempt to wipe away his tears. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”
Phillip’s lying next to me now and he smiles. “I’m not.” He pulls me to him, tucking me in close. “Let’s get some rest. If you’re up to it, Monday we have graduation rehearsal.”