far away to visit often and when they did come they spent the entire time crying and fighting and sitting without anything to say as if she were dead already.
Like me, she was dying and knew it—and she was only twelve.
And then she died. Dropped right there in the hall while we were cruising around the nursing station. She was a DNR—do not resuscitate—so the nurses and doctors came and went quickly then put her in her bed and left her alone, waiting for her folks. I snuck in and stayed with her, held her hand until it got too cold, felt gross and clammy.
Mom made a big deal of it—insisting on another psych consult for me and bereavement counseling and threatening to sue the hospital for traumatizing me. Like seeing a slice of reality was more traumatic than being cut open or having a needle drilled into my hip or tubes shoved up and down every orifice.
But really, it was no big deal. Instead, it was as if a curtain had been opened, revealing bright sunlight.
Finally, I understood.
When we’re little kids, before we understand Death, we dutifully obey every rule, listen to safety lectures, look both ways.
When we’re old enough to understand, we act out. We can’t stand the thought of wasting one precious second of life on anything that isn’t Important. Real. Vital. We want to create a legacy. Here. Now. Before Death can outrace us.
Somehow I always understood Death, even when I was a child, knew it was coming for me. I accepted it. But after watching Lacey die, I learned something about myself that I hadn’t known before.
I want to live. Not just survive. Really Live.
And I’m gonna die trying.
20
Mom stands. I’m still sitting there, waiting for her decision. She grabs her coat and takes her purse from the drawer in her desk where she keeps it locked. Something inside me sinks.
“We’re going home,” she announces.
I don’t get up right away. If my life as a normal girl is already over, I want to treasure every second between here and prison.
“Come along, Scarlet. I want to get you home so I can monitor you properly.”
That doesn’t even make sense. She has everything she needs right here. I start to tell her that but she silences me with one of her Looks. I slide off the table, grab Phil, and follow her out. She locks the door behind us.
“Is there anything you need from your locker?” she asks.
Hope sparks. A tiny, dim glimmer. “You mean I don’t have to empty it? Like I’ll be back?”
She glances at me in surprise. “Of course. Your dad and I promised you a week, didn’t we? I said I’d compromise. You agreed to my terms. If you’re feeling okay by tomorrow, you can come back.”
I can’t help myself. Phil clatters to the floor as I throw my arms around her and hug her. “I feel better already.”
She shrugs me away but she’s smiling. “Well, let’s not push things. Let me just let the office know what’s going on.” She hands me her car keys. “You go on out and wait in the car.”
I’m practically dancing as I twirl Phil down the empty hall to grab my jacket from my locker and head out to the car. I’ll be back tomorrow, I promised the swimsuit model. See you soon, Mr. Metal Detector. And Jordan and Nessa and Celina…I don’t even mind the fact that Mitch will be able to torment and bully me some more. Putting up with him is worth it if I get to stay in school.
I get to the car and Mom’s just a few minutes behind me. As she steers us out of the parking lot, she asks, “So, was it worth it? Which class did you like best?”
It’s strange sitting here with Mom, telling her about my classes so far. I went to elementary school for a few years, but I can’t remember most of it—all I remember are the doctors’ visits and hospital stays. Until finally Mom figured the best way to keep me from getting sick all the time was for them to homeschool me.
Which translated to days and days and days of boredom and isolation. It never took me long to do my
Like me, she was dying and knew it—and she was only twelve.
And then she died. Dropped right there in the hall while we were cruising around the nursing station. She was a DNR—do not resuscitate—so the nurses and doctors came and went quickly then put her in her bed and left her alone, waiting for her folks. I snuck in and stayed with her, held her hand until it got too cold, felt gross and clammy.
Mom made a big deal of it—insisting on another psych consult for me and bereavement counseling and threatening to sue the hospital for traumatizing me. Like seeing a slice of reality was more traumatic than being cut open or having a needle drilled into my hip or tubes shoved up and down every orifice.
But really, it was no big deal. Instead, it was as if a curtain had been opened, revealing bright sunlight.
Finally, I understood.
When we’re little kids, before we understand Death, we dutifully obey every rule, listen to safety lectures, look both ways.
When we’re old enough to understand, we act out. We can’t stand the thought of wasting one precious second of life on anything that isn’t Important. Real. Vital. We want to create a legacy. Here. Now. Before Death can outrace us.
Somehow I always understood Death, even when I was a child, knew it was coming for me. I accepted it. But after watching Lacey die, I learned something about myself that I hadn’t known before.
I want to live. Not just survive. Really Live.
And I’m gonna die trying.
20
Mom stands. I’m still sitting there, waiting for her decision. She grabs her coat and takes her purse from the drawer in her desk where she keeps it locked. Something inside me sinks.
“We’re going home,” she announces.
I don’t get up right away. If my life as a normal girl is already over, I want to treasure every second between here and prison.
“Come along, Scarlet. I want to get you home so I can monitor you properly.”
That doesn’t even make sense. She has everything she needs right here. I start to tell her that but she silences me with one of her Looks. I slide off the table, grab Phil, and follow her out. She locks the door behind us.
“Is there anything you need from your locker?” she asks.
Hope sparks. A tiny, dim glimmer. “You mean I don’t have to empty it? Like I’ll be back?”
She glances at me in surprise. “Of course. Your dad and I promised you a week, didn’t we? I said I’d compromise. You agreed to my terms. If you’re feeling okay by tomorrow, you can come back.”
I can’t help myself. Phil clatters to the floor as I throw my arms around her and hug her. “I feel better already.”
She shrugs me away but she’s smiling. “Well, let’s not push things. Let me just let the office know what’s going on.” She hands me her car keys. “You go on out and wait in the car.”
I’m practically dancing as I twirl Phil down the empty hall to grab my jacket from my locker and head out to the car. I’ll be back tomorrow, I promised the swimsuit model. See you soon, Mr. Metal Detector. And Jordan and Nessa and Celina…I don’t even mind the fact that Mitch will be able to torment and bully me some more. Putting up with him is worth it if I get to stay in school.
I get to the car and Mom’s just a few minutes behind me. As she steers us out of the parking lot, she asks, “So, was it worth it? Which class did you like best?”
It’s strange sitting here with Mom, telling her about my classes so far. I went to elementary school for a few years, but I can’t remember most of it—all I remember are the doctors’ visits and hospital stays. Until finally Mom figured the best way to keep me from getting sick all the time was for them to homeschool me.
Which translated to days and days and days of boredom and isolation. It never took me long to do my
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