Installment Ten

Mom sighed as we merged into traffic, heading in the direction of the mall.  I had just been to the mall the other day, and I didn’t really want to go there, but I wasn’t going to be difficult.  If the mall was easiest for her then it was good enough for me.

“It’s good to get out,” she said quietly, keeping her eyes on the road.

“I imagine so,” I said, smiling a little.  “You haven’t left the house since Tay came home.”

“I’m just afraid I’ll go somewhere and something will happen…” She shook her head slightly.  “I guess I’m just being silly.”

“You’re not being silly, Mom. You’re his mother; you’re supposed to be worried.”

She nodded once.  “I see you two have worked things out?” She glanced at me momentarily and looked back at the road.

“For the most part,” I said, nodding once as well.  “I can’t say the circumstances didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“I know,” she said quietly.  “But it’s better than you two fighting all the time; if it took this to get you all to come together again…” she trailed.  “I wish this wasn’t what it took.”

“I wish it wasn’t, too.” I said, looking out my window at a yellow Volkswagen whirring by.  “How did his blood test results come back?”

“I don’t know,” she said.  “He didn’t tell your father or me anything.  I assumed he knows, though.”

“Does that mean it’s bad?”

“I don’t know what it means, if anything at all.  I think he’s still coming to grips with this; he isn’t really comfortable discussing it, not that I would be if I were in his place.”

“And his hair’s falling out,” I said quietly, suddenly.  We both knew that already, and I wasn’t sure why I said it.  It was just a thought that came to mind, and I blurted it out before I had time to think of what I was saying.  She grew quiet for a few minutes, and I knew it probably wasn’t the best thing to say.  Nothing like sticking my foot in my mouth.  “Mom, I’m sorry – “

“No, it’s ok,” she said softly.  “It just… it makes it seem so much more real.  Does that make any sense?”

Those had been my thoughts exactly.  “You have no idea how much.”

“Well,” she sighed again, “what do we have planned for today?”

“Whatever you wanna do,” I replied.  “We can shop around and then go to lunch if that’s what you want.”

She smiled.  “Want to get your nails done?” She asked, glancing over at me.  I smiled at her, knowing she was in a rare good mood as of late.  It wasn’t that she had been in bad moods, it was just she had been so down, so not-mom.

“If you get yours done, too.”

“It’s a deal.”

“I’ll buy lunch,” I informed her.  And refused to listen when she tried to protest.  “You deserve it, Mom.” She reached over and placed a hand on my knee.

“You’re sweet, baby,” she said.  “Thank you – it means a lot.” It was official: we just had a moment.  I smiled back at her, and settled back in my seat until we got to the mall.

The house was relatively quiet when we got home, a few bags each in tow, and both of us with freshly manicured nails.  They must have just finished eating lunch because I could smell the distinct smell of macaroni and cheese.  Mom and I made our way into the kitchen.  Dad was cleaning up; a few bowls still left on the table, all empty accept for one that was a quarter of the way eaten.

“Who wasted this time?” Mom asked, her “mom-voice” returning.

Dad sighed.  “Taylor.”

“That’s all he ate?” I asked, finding it hard to believe what little was gone from the bowl could sustain anyone.  He sighed again and shrugged his shoulders, taking the bowl, turning on the garbage disposal and dumping what was left of the orange noodles.

“I hope he’s all right,” mom said, concerned.

“Maybe it’s a side affect.” I said.  I don’t really know where it came from, or how I knew it, it was just… there.  The thought just “popped” into my head.

“Huh?  Side affect?” Dad repeated.

“Of the chemo,” I said.  “I mean, when he was on it he could hardly stand the sight of food; maybe it’s a prolonged side affect.”

“Dr. Avery Hanson everyone,” mom said, smiling at me.  I was pleased that she wasn’t mocking me like some of my siblings might have.

“I never thought of that,” dad said.  “You think?” He asked, looking at mom.

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“Where is Taylor anyway?” I asked, looking around.  When we came in Mac and Zoë were glued to the TV set and Jessie was on the phone; I assumed Zac was either in one of his classes or upstairs with Rachel.

“Upstairs,” dad answered with another quiet sigh.

“Is he all right?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know…”

“Walk, what happened?  Is he ok?” She was getting nervous and it was obvious.

“I think so; it’s not what you’re thinking.”

“Don’t scare me like that,” she said, leaning on a chair.  I watched passively as they talked.  “Well, what is then?”

“Dr. Peterson called him.”

“Oh; what did she say?” Mom wanted to know, but she was doing well trying to keep her interest less obvious.

“I don’t know,” he replied.  “Taylor didn’t say anything; but he was pretty upset when he got off the phone with her.  He went upstairs to his room, and he hasn’t come down.  I think he’s been up there crying…”

“Oh no,” she said softly.

“Di, I wanted to go up to see him or talk to him or something but… I didn’t know what to do,” he said quietly, and I swore he was about to cry.  “I just didn’t know what to do…”

“Oh Walk…” she said sympathetically.  “Honey…”

“I don’t think any of us do,” I said quietly.

“I’ll go up and try to talk to him,” she said softly, kissing dad gently on the lips.

“I’m sorry; I just didn’t know what to do.” He had a point; I know what it’s like to see a grown man cry, and it isn’t often a twenty-three year old man cries alone in his room.  I don’t think I would have known what to do either.

“Can I come?” I asked my mother as she started toward the stairs.  She hesitated for a moment, and I could tell she was about to protest, but for whatever reason decided not to.

“Okay,” she said softly.  I started after her and followed behind her up to Taylor’s room.  I was worried about what he was going to say; the only thing I could think of if he had been up here crying was that she had given him less than good news.

Mom knocked quietly and we could hear Taylor’s strained voice from the other side – tear-ravaged, it was obvious; he really had been crying all that time…

“What?”

“Honey, it’s Mom…” she said quietly.

“Just… I need some time alone right now.” He said.

“I don’t think you do,” she replied softly.  “I think you need somebody right now.”

“Just go away.”

She opened the door slowly, and we could see Taylor’s face, wet from tears, and his eyes pink and swollen.

“Mom I told you to go away,” he said, trying to sound angry but not quite getting there.  He sighed and waved his hand dismissively.  “It doesn’t even matter; come in.”

“What’s wrong, baby?” She asked quietly.  He laughed bitterly.

“Everything.” He shook his head and looked at us.  “I’m sorry; I don’t mean to be so…” he shook his head again.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” she replied.  I sat down on the end of his bed and she sat up at the top, next to him.  Something about his demeanor said plainly that he was more upset than he had been when he first told us; there was just something that I could feel…  “Dad told me that Dr. Peterson called.”

“Yeah,” he replied quietly, looking out the window.  It was a tactic everyone used: you don’t look someone in the eyes when you have to give them bad or upsetting news, or when you’re lying and that wasn’t the case this time.

“What did she say?”

“Enough” he answered.  “Nothing I wanted to hear.”

“Is it bad?” I asked.  He looked at me, wiping his eyes somewhat angrily.  He hated to cry in front of people, and that only happened as he got older; when the whole changing process happened he sort of hardened to everyone – it was like nothing touched him or moved him, like he didn’t have emotions, and it was strange but welcome to see him acting like he used to when he was fourteen.

“She called about my blood test,” he said quietly.  He looked down at the plain comforter on his bed, picking at an invisible piece of fuzz, avoiding eye contact with either me or mom.

“Oh?” Mom got a little hopeful.  “Well, honey, what did she say?  Did the chemo do anything yet?”

“Not really” he said quietly. He looked up at us.  “God I wish you didn’t look so hopeful… you’re killing me here.”

“What do you mean?” I asked quietly.

“I guess,” he paused, taking a breath, “whatever rare form of leukemia this is, it’s… it’s not good.  The chemo barely did anything, but that’s expected I guess – the first time, I guess, doesn’t ever do much.  But I guess…” he shook his head.  “Things don’t look that good.”

“Jordan,” she said softly, “honey… what are you saying?”

“It’s bad, Mom,” he said as I watched his eyes filling with tears again.  “It’s growing fast; it…”

“But the chemo will stop it, right?” I interjected.  He looked at me, pain, sorrow, fear all in his eyes, across his features.

“She gave me a prognosis,” he said quietly, lowering his head.  “She said that, um, this form of leukemia has a high mortality rate, and, um, they’re going to do everything they can…”

“Baby, that’s what the treatment is for.”

“I don’t know if it’s even worth it, Mom,” he said quietly.

“Of course it’s worth it; Taylor, it’s more than worth it if it’s going to save your life – “

“Mom…” he looked at her sadly.  “This form of leukemia… the prognosis is six to twelve months…”

“What?” Her voice was almost inaudible; my mouth went dry, and I felt sick.  It felt like everything had just caved in on us.  Did he just tell us he was only going to live for another six to twelve months?

“But the chemo – “

“They aren’t sure it’s going to do anything,” he interrupted me.  “The chances of surviving this…” he shook his head slightly.  “Six to twelve months includes treatment.”

“No,” I said quietly, feeling the tears roll down my cheeks.  “You’ll get better, Taylor.”

“I have to go into the hospital next week,” he said, letting mom hold his hand.  “She wants me on intensive chemotherapy, and wants to be able to keep an eye on me because it’s going to make me so sick.” He looked at me.  “Avie…”

“You’re not going to die, Taylor,” I said defiantly.

“I’m sorry, Ave,” he said softly.  “I never asked for this.”

He was crying again, and mom moved closer to envelope him in her arms.  “My baby…” she said softly.  He put his head on her should, wrapping his arms fully around her, and she rocked him gently.

“I’m so scared,” he cried.  “I don’t wanna die, Mom…”

“Shh,” she whispered, crying as well, gently stroking his hair like she would if she were comforting Zoë.

“You won’t die,” I said weakly.  I left them alone after that; I think they needed to be alone together.  Taylor wouldn’t die; he couldn’t die, because he was a part of the Hanson family and things like that don’t happen to us.  They happen to other people – they don’t happen to us.

<

Comment

>