A Step Toward Falling (22 page)

“Yes,” I hear Lucas say. He's not thinking, obviously, but I don't stop him or say anything either. “Anthony definitely has a part. We couldn't do it without him.”

One of Anthony's fists goes in the air. “Yes!” he screams. “I got a part!”

T
HAT AFTERNOON,
M
S.
S
ADIQ
stops by the nurse's office to see how I'm doing.

“Great!” I say. “I'm going to play Elizabeth in
Pride and Prejudice.
”

Her eyebrows go up like she's surprised to hear this. “You are?”

“Yes! With my friends Lucas and Emily! They said yes, I definitely got the part!”

“I'm not sure about this Belinda. I'm going to have to look into it. You'd need your grandmother's permission to do anything like this,” Ms. Sadiq says. She's looking at me like she knows Nan probably won't say yes. “You remember that, right?”

I say, “Yes, I remember that, but could I ask my mom instead?”

“You could, but I'd want to make sure everyone agrees it's a good idea.”

“Oh, it's a good idea. It's a very good idea.”

“Right, you might think so, Belinda, but will your grandmother and mom say that, too?”

I don't say anything because I don't know what they'll say. They used to love it when I was in Children's Story Theater shows. Nan and I always made a special trip to Jo-Ann fabric so I could pick out the prettiest colors and she could make me the best costume of all. I think if I tell
Nan, “Let's make me a pretty dress to play Lizzie,” she'll say, “Okay, yes, Belinda. That sounds exciting.”

In my mind, I picture her saying this. I imagine looking at materials and her saying, “No, that one is too hard to work with.” Or, “That won't make a skirt that falls nicely.” Nan can just look at material and know what kind of dress it will make. I can't do that and neither can Mom. I think most people are like me and reach for material that is the sparkliest.

I've pictured it all so much, I forget to go slow when I ask them that night at dinner. We are eating our pork chops and rice and green beans and I say it all too quickly. “Guess-what-we're-doing-a-play-at-school-it's-
Pride-and-Prejudice
-and-I-got-cast-I'm-Elizabeth!”

They blink at me. I remember that I never told them about auditioning because Nan said she never wanted me to audition for anything again if that director was never going to put me in a play. “You're too good for him!” she said. “We have our pride! We don't beg for things around here if people don't want us.”

Now she looks at me with squinty eyes and I know she's probably thinking I didn't have pride. I begged for a part and they finally gave me one. I start over and go slowly so I can explain. “It's not with the drama teacher. It's a student show. That means students are doing the whole thing. We're directing it and getting props and all of it.”

Mom smiles but her forehead looks a little funny. “That sounds wonderful. Imagine them picking your favorite story—”

“Which students?” Nan says. Her mouth looks like a
line with no lips. She's also sweating even though it's not hot.

“My friend Anthony and a boy named Lucas and a girl named Emily.”

Nan looks at Mom. “Absolutely not. You know who those two are, right?”

“Yes, Mother, of course. But it sounds like they're trying to do something nice for her.”

Nan's sweating more now and shaking her head. “It's a little late for that, don't you think? They weren't very nice to her at the football game, were they?”

I'm surprised she's saying this because it breaks her rule that we don't talk about the football game. “Right, but maybe—” Mom puts down her fork. “Mother, are you okay?”

“Yes—” Nan says, pushing herself away from the table like she's going to stand up but she doesn't stand up. For a long time, we wait for her to say something but she doesn't say anything. Instead she bends over and, just like that, she throws up on the floor.

Mom stands up so fast her chair tips over which scares me and I scream. Nan is still bent over so I can only see the top of her head where her hair is thin and the pink skin shows through it.

“NAN?” Mom says, really loud now. “CAN YOU ANSWER ME?”

Nan is breathing a lot but not answering. A little string of throw-up is hanging from her mouth which is gross and not like Nan.

“GET THE PHONE, BELINDA!” Mom screams. “RIGHT NOW!”

I get the phone but I don't understand why she's making a phone call when Nan looks so sick. Then I hear her say, “Hello, yes. We have an emergency. My mother is having a heart attack.”

When the ambulance drivers come in, they don't say much except for questions that are hard for Mom to answer. What medications is she on? What chronic conditions does she have? Mom is so upset she keeps shaking her head. She answers some of the questions but not all of them. I go and get Nan's pill bottles because I clean and organize her bathroom once a week and I know where they are. I put her pills on a little tray. I bring the tray down while they're putting Nan on a stretcher. I've been careful not to knock any of them over but the ambulance driver opens a bag and pushes them all in. He is not careful which is rude and makes me mad.

When I tell Mom this, she says it's not their fault, they have to get Nan to the hospital as quickly as possible. When I ask why, she looks at me like she doesn't understand the question. “Because she might die,” she says. “People
die
from heart attacks.”

I didn't know this.

I thought she was having an episode like Mrs. Bennett's in
Pride and Prejudice
, only with throw-up. I didn't know she might die.

We drive to the hospital as fast as we can. Right before we leave the house, Mom says, “Don't start crying now,
Belinda. Please. I mean it.” We don't say anything in the car because I don't know what to say and I'm trying to concentrate on not crying.

The whole drive I keep swallowing because I feel like maybe I'm having a heart attack and I need to throw up. My chest really hurts and I can't breathe. When we get inside I tell Mom, “I think maybe I'm dying, too.”

“Oh, stop, Belinda,” she says. “Not now.”

If I die, she'll feel bad, but I don't tell her that.

Sitting in the hospital waiting room is scary. There are a lot of people here, but no one looks at each other. Everyone has their own person they're worried about. Some people are talking on the phone loudly like they don't realize we can all hear what they're saying.

Some people are saying personal, private things that we should not be hearing, like, “He drank too much. I told him this would happen if he did it again.”

There is a sign saying No Cell Phones in the Hospital. Please Have Your Conversation Outside which apparently I can read but other people can't.

Mom looks very worried. I don't know if she's worried about Nan or worried that maybe she went to high school with some of these people. I am worried about Nan and I am also worried that if Nan had a heart attack I really won't be able to do the play. I'll have to call Emily on the phone and tell her except I don't have her phone number and I can't look it up because the print in the phone book is too small for me to read. I will have to tell her on Monday that
my nan almost died, that's how much she doesn't want me to be in the play.

I think maybe Nan doesn't want me to do the play because she's still mad at Emily and Lucas about the football game.

I am still not sure what I think about that. Sometimes it makes me very mad to remember and sometimes I think, people make mistakes, including me. I'm not sure why we haven't ever talked about it. I thought maybe they'd say something at the audition, but then Anthony was there and I was glad they didn't. Now when I see them, Anthony is always there, so we keep not saying anything. But when I tell them I can't do the play, I'll probably say something like, “Plays are nice but people shouldn't have to scream for custodians to get help when they need it. That was not OK.”

Just thinking about this makes me want to cry about not doing the play when I should be crying about Nan. I shouldn't be thinking about the play at all but I can't help it, I do and my throat gets tight and my eyes start to cry.

Mom has found a pocket pack of Kleenexes in her purse, which is lucky for me, but after a while they run out and I have to reuse the balled-up ones sitting in my lap. We've been here for a while now. We've talked to one doctor. He says she's stabilized for now but they're going to run more tests before they admit her. Even though we know she's going to be okay now, I still can't stop crying.

It makes Mom start crying, too. “She's going to be okay, Bee. I think we should try to get ahold of ourselves here.”

“I'm not crying about Nan,” I say. I blow my nose.

“You're not?” She looks surprised.

“No. I'm crying because I can't be in the play if it gives Nan a heart attack.”

Mom makes a funny sound. Like a laugh cry. “I thought you were upset because if Nan's going to be in the hospital for a while, I'll be the only one home to take care of you. I thought you didn't want to be home alone with me.”

“No.” I laugh because that sounds silly. Mom and I have fun. We do different things than I do with Nan but it's still fun. Mom and I used to play Guess Who a lot, and Payday, and Who Will Be My Date? Mom likes board games and so do I. Usually I win which means I collect the highest salary on Payday and have the handsomest boy as my date. Mom always says, “Oh well,” and laughs when she loses which is called being a good sport. I'm almost never a good sport. I usually cry when I lose games or get mad at the person who wins because it doesn't seem fair to have to lose. Mom tells me that everyone has to lose sometimes. That's how it is.

“We can play games and I'll let you win sometimes,” I say because Mom is still crying and I want her to stop. It's not nice being around a crying person especially if you love them.

“That would make me happy. I'm sorry I'm crying. I know how close you are to Nan and sometimes it makes me jealous and I know I shouldn't feel that way. We all love each other equally but you're my baby, not hers. I wish I could tell her that. I wish I could tell her that I'd like to
make some decisions—it shouldn't always be the two of you deciding everything.”

I think about this. It makes sense, except for the part about me being a baby because I'm definitely not a baby. “What do you want to decide?” I ask. If Nan is going to be in the hospital for a while, Mom could decide what to eat for dinner. Usually Nan does all the dinner cooking so mostly we eat what Nan likes—pork chops maybe, or chicken and green beans. Even though noodles are my favorite food, she never makes them for dinner. She says pasta is Italian and she can't cook foreign food.

“You could be in charge of dinner,” I say. “That would probably be good.”

“Yeah, that would be good, wouldn't it?” Mom laughs which is better than crying. “Maybe we could take a pork chop break.”

“You could make spaghetti or something like that.”

She laughs again. “How did I know you would suggest that?”

I shrug. “It's your decision.”

“Maybe it can be
our
decision. If I decide on dinner, you can decide some other things. How about that?”

“Like lunch?” For lunch, Nan usually heats up a can of soup with toast or sometimes crackers.

“Like being in your play.”

“I can't be in the play,” I remind her. “Being in the play gave Nan a heart attack.”

“No, it didn't,” Mom says. Now she looks serious. “Nan has always had a heart condition and she doesn't
always do what the doctor tells her to. That's what gave her a heart attack.”

“Does that mean I can be in the play?”

“I think it should be
your
decision. I think you need to talk to those kids about what happened. I never agreed with Nan that no one should talk about it around you. I don't think that helps.”

My throat goes hot and tight like I might start crying again. I don't know if I want to talk about what happened but I know I want to be in the play.

“
S
O
I
HAVE A
few ideas,” Lucas says. “One is probably terrible, one might not be so bad.”

It's finally Wednesday, we're finally on our coffee date, and I know it's not ideas for
us
that Lucas is talking about. It's Belinda and Anthony. It's this play they're so ecstatic to be part of that Ms. Sadiq scolded Lucas for talking to Belinda about it and then, in the same breath, thanked him for finding something that made her so happy.

We've been messaging every night this week, unsure what to do. In that heady moment after we told them they'd both been cast, their euphoria was so overwhelming neither one of us could bear to clarify what we were saying:
Yes, you're both in the show, but unfortunately it will never take place.
In the days since then, we've been swapping ideas, most of them not very good. His idea: we wait until
Guys and Dolls
is over, then rehearse for a week and a half with whoever will do it. My idea: the four of us—meaning Belinda and Anthony, Lucas and me—perform it on the street in our costumes, like a flash mob without the mob.

“Ah, no,” Lucas said to that. “I'm sorry but no.”

We've gone through a bunch of stabs like this. Some funny, some not. I was worried this might be the only thing we talk about. Since the one phone conversation where we set up this date, we haven't talked about us, or Debbie, or alluded, even passingly, to the hand-holding episode. We haven't even flirted much. We've just talked about this play and whether we made a terrible mistake getting Belinda and Anthony's hopes up for something that will never happen.