Read Online Two Girls Staring at the Ceiling by Lucy Frank - Free Book Online
Authors: Lucy Frank
Ads: Link
eyebrow
at my pajamas.
“I thought you might want something
a little less … not that it wasn’t really
sweet of Nana, but …”
I give her
a matching eye roll,
lift my eyebrow in return.
“You’ve saved me
from her sushi.”
When we need something safe
to bond around, a Nana joke
is tried and true.
“And look at you!
No tubes.
All clean and shiny.
Practically your old self again.
I thought about bringing jeans,
but then I thought, no, better …”
And I’m about to thank her
for her perfect timing, step
into her arms, tell her
I didn’t mean
to ruin the party,
When she tells me Bri
called last night to say
she and Lexie took a drive
to Sugar Snap Farm
to pick up some raspberries
for my birthday.
And the lava
starts boiling up again.
“What? Mom, I specifically
told you …”
Ears buzz
like electrocuted beetles.
“I’m finally
starting to feel a little better,
finally got myself to stop
thinking about things,
and now here you are
telling me my friends
did exactly
what I told you
and told them
not
to do?”
And I can’t let myself yell
or I’ll wake poor Shannon,
And I hate the hurt
in Mom’s eyes as she says,
“I did tell them.
I told them the other day
you’re not supposed
to eat anything with seeds.”
But still the words howl
out of me:
“AND NOW YOU’RE TELLING ME
I CAN’T EVEN EAT RASPBERRIES? ”
“Chessie.
I talked to the doctor.
She said they’re going to lower
your steroid dose again tomorrow.
That should help with the mood swings
and there are plenty of things
you
can
eat. She said—”
“DO I LOOK LIKE
I WANT TO HEAR
ABOUT MOOD SWINGS?
I HAVE NO CONTROL
OVER ANYTHING
IN MY LIFE.
NOT MY BODY.
NOT MY FRIENDS.
NOT EVEN YOU.”
“W e don’t take stress, we give
stress, isn’t that what you said?”
I tell Shannon through the curtain
when Mom’s gone.
“You said it was time to lose
that sorry shit. So I did.”
Tell her even
though she’s sleeping.
“It’s okay to be pissed, right?
Pissed is good.
“Like being pissed at you
if I thought you knew
“You were having that surgery
And didn’t tell me.”
Then I leave a really pissed message
on Bri’s phone.
A ll day I prowl the halls,
passing every pole-pushing hospital-gowned patient
Trudging up and down like me, nodding
to every thumbs-up smile I pass,
Trying not to look for Bri or Lexie around every corner.
Or think or wonder.
Walk, doze, nose around
the nurses’ station.
Try to ignore Mrs. Murch’s incessant complaining,
Mom’s cell’s insistent buzzing from my drawer.
Peer at Shannon through the curtain
as doctors confer, hover.
Listen to her mom and grandma
ask about fevers after surgery,
Tell her we’re just waiting
for her new meds to kick in.
Watch them sponge her face,
murmur, pray.
Tweeze my eyebrows.
Turn my TV on to drown out her whimpers.
Turn it off again. Shut down Mom’s cell.
Turn off the ringer on the bedside phone.
Talk to an aide
named Ernie.
Take another walk, another nap, fetch nurses
when her IV’s beeping or the groans get louder.
“S o, Shannon, did you know
everyone here has name tags?
The blood man’s Astro.
Orange Croc Doc
is Dr. E. Hochstein.
“And did we know
the shrink guy
is Dr. B. Blank?
Dr. Duck’s name
is C. Nguyen.
“The floor clerk, Ms. P. Johnson,
who’s worked here thirty-seven years,
showed me a nest with three baby
pigeons peeping so loud
you could hear them
through the kitchen window.
“Did you even know
there was a kitchen room?
Where you can help yourself
to powdered soup and tea?
“And a lounge down the hall
with magazines?
They were all like
Golf Digest
and
G a s t r o e n t e r o l o g y Today,
“But I can look
for something better
for you if you want,
when I go out again.”
Study myself in the mirror
eavesdrop, pester anyone
who’ll talk to me
about complications after surgery,
read
Golf
at my pajamas.
“I thought you might want something
a little less … not that it wasn’t really
sweet of Nana, but …”
I give her
a matching eye roll,
lift my eyebrow in return.
“You’ve saved me
from her sushi.”
When we need something safe
to bond around, a Nana joke
is tried and true.
“And look at you!
No tubes.
All clean and shiny.
Practically your old self again.
I thought about bringing jeans,
but then I thought, no, better …”
And I’m about to thank her
for her perfect timing, step
into her arms, tell her
I didn’t mean
to ruin the party,
When she tells me Bri
called last night to say
she and Lexie took a drive
to Sugar Snap Farm
to pick up some raspberries
for my birthday.
And the lava
starts boiling up again.
“What? Mom, I specifically
told you …”
Ears buzz
like electrocuted beetles.
“I’m finally
starting to feel a little better,
finally got myself to stop
thinking about things,
and now here you are
telling me my friends
did exactly
what I told you
and told them
not
to do?”
And I can’t let myself yell
or I’ll wake poor Shannon,
And I hate the hurt
in Mom’s eyes as she says,
“I did tell them.
I told them the other day
you’re not supposed
to eat anything with seeds.”
But still the words howl
out of me:
“AND NOW YOU’RE TELLING ME
I CAN’T EVEN EAT RASPBERRIES? ”
“Chessie.
I talked to the doctor.
She said they’re going to lower
your steroid dose again tomorrow.
That should help with the mood swings
and there are plenty of things
you
can
eat. She said—”
“DO I LOOK LIKE
I WANT TO HEAR
ABOUT MOOD SWINGS?
I HAVE NO CONTROL
OVER ANYTHING
IN MY LIFE.
NOT MY BODY.
NOT MY FRIENDS.
NOT EVEN YOU.”
“W e don’t take stress, we give
stress, isn’t that what you said?”
I tell Shannon through the curtain
when Mom’s gone.
“You said it was time to lose
that sorry shit. So I did.”
Tell her even
though she’s sleeping.
“It’s okay to be pissed, right?
Pissed is good.
“Like being pissed at you
if I thought you knew
“You were having that surgery
And didn’t tell me.”
Then I leave a really pissed message
on Bri’s phone.
A ll day I prowl the halls,
passing every pole-pushing hospital-gowned patient
Trudging up and down like me, nodding
to every thumbs-up smile I pass,
Trying not to look for Bri or Lexie around every corner.
Or think or wonder.
Walk, doze, nose around
the nurses’ station.
Try to ignore Mrs. Murch’s incessant complaining,
Mom’s cell’s insistent buzzing from my drawer.
Peer at Shannon through the curtain
as doctors confer, hover.
Listen to her mom and grandma
ask about fevers after surgery,
Tell her we’re just waiting
for her new meds to kick in.
Watch them sponge her face,
murmur, pray.
Tweeze my eyebrows.
Turn my TV on to drown out her whimpers.
Turn it off again. Shut down Mom’s cell.
Turn off the ringer on the bedside phone.
Talk to an aide
named Ernie.
Take another walk, another nap, fetch nurses
when her IV’s beeping or the groans get louder.
“S o, Shannon, did you know
everyone here has name tags?
The blood man’s Astro.
Orange Croc Doc
is Dr. E. Hochstein.
“And did we know
the shrink guy
is Dr. B. Blank?
Dr. Duck’s name
is C. Nguyen.
“The floor clerk, Ms. P. Johnson,
who’s worked here thirty-seven years,
showed me a nest with three baby
pigeons peeping so loud
you could hear them
through the kitchen window.
“Did you even know
there was a kitchen room?
Where you can help yourself
to powdered soup and tea?
“And a lounge down the hall
with magazines?
They were all like
Golf Digest
and
G a s t r o e n t e r o l o g y Today,
“But I can look
for something better
for you if you want,
when I go out again.”
Study myself in the mirror
eavesdrop, pester anyone
who’ll talk to me
about complications after surgery,
read
Golf
Similar Books
