My Stupid Girl (12 page)

I had turned the phone off and had flown
into the bathroom to vomit.

I know I am a complete nerd and am
perfectly willing to admit that I am unable to have a normal conversation with
any kind of girl that matters to me but this was ridiculous. I was sick; I had
come down with the flu or something, because I was sweating and feeling like I
would never feel well again. This was not nerves; this was my body rebelling
against waffles. Or early morning fries.

Whatever it was, it was hitting me
violently. What made it worse was the fact that Lucy was coming over. I tried
to reach for my phone to call her but when I moved I started retching. If I
thought about moving, I would dry heave. I took off my shirt and lay my body
down on the cold tile of my bathroom, wishing I could call for my grandma to
stand guard at the door. Under no circumstances would the tiny old lady permit
any girls into my room.

“This is what I get for being brave,” I
thought to myself. I made a mental note to always avoid doing anything that
might bring a shred of happiness because it always blows up in my face.

Melodrama.

I closed my eyes and lay my cheek down on
the floor, trying to breathe slowly and concentrate on not puking on myself. It
made me think about the time that I had come down with pneumonia when I was
seven. I still lived with my father and had complained about pain when I
breathed. At first, he just told me I had a cough and that I should just go to
bed, so I did. That night I guess he heard me wheezing in my sleep, so he came
in and felt my head. After he touched me he scooped me out of bed and took me
to the hospital.

I remember being nervous about where he was
taking me while in the car, but then I saw a hospital. He had taken me into the
ER and made a big fuss about me being the next person who went in. When my
father yelled he usually got his way, because he was a big man. It turns out
that if I hadn't gotten antibiotics right then, I probably would have died.

I was awake when the doctor told my father
that. They’d thought I was asleep. I will never forget the look on my father’s
face when they told him. He looked down and put his face in his hands. I
remember realizing that a tear was slipping out from under his hands. An actual
tear. That was one of the only moments in my entire life that I believed my
father cared about me.

It was less than a year later when I got
taken away by social services.

I must have dozed off because the next
thing I remember was a little tap on my door. I prayed it was Grandma.

"Hello?" I heard Lucy’s sweet
voice. Awesome. Best hang out ever.

"David, what’s wrong?!" She bent
down over me. Her sweet smelling perfume that always smelled amazing in class,
or in a hospital, or on top of a lighthouse, made my entire stomach rise in
protest. It was horrible. I lunged over to the toilet and threw up, right in
front of her.

Have you ever just wanted to die? I have,
many times, but this time, I really wanted to just not exist. Forget the time
it takes to die. Blinking out of existence would have been so awesome just
then.

"What’s wrong?" I heard my
grandma’s voice come around the corner. This was so excellent. Puke party in
David’s bathroom! All nice women in my life are invited! Where’s my third grade
teacher?

"Oh no!" Grandma’s voice was
filled with concern. I felt someone’s hand on my bare back and realized it was
Lucy’s. The hand was full and soft. It moved up and down my back. It felt
amazing.

I mean, completely awful in an
I-can’t-believe-she-is-watching-me-throw-up kind of a way, but amazing at the
same time. In sort of a
seriously-if-you-ever-stop-doing-that-I-will-cry-real-tears-please-continue-sorry-if-I-puke-all-over-you.
But she stopped.

Lucy said something to my grandma and then
left the room. I was glad she left, but was bummed that her soft hand wasn’t
there anymore. The soft hand was replaced by a bony one.

"I'm going to go get you some water,
Hunny." Grandma patted my back softly as she got up to reach over to the
sink. I put my body back down on the tile, closing my eyes, maybe falling
asleep. Next thing I noticed was my grandma next to me with some water, patting
my back again. I wanted to go and lay in my bed, but didn't think she’d be able
to help me. The siren call of bed was too strong to ignore, though, so I
started crawling.

When I’d landed, grandma put a wet wash
cloth on my forehand and tried to put my hair behind my ear. I rolled over onto
my eye so she couldn't. I zoned out again and woke up to my grandma sitting on
my bed, putting a new cold washcloth on my face. It felt incredible.

"How’s he doing?" Lucy’s voice
carried across my room. I started to lift my head without thinking. I’d moved
too fast and it made me nauseous. I laid my head back down with a groan. Lucy
padded over and softly placed a big bottle of yellow Gatorade on my bedside
table. She walked away for a moment and returned back with a plate full of
saltine crackers and some Nyquil.

She made eye contact with me and then
lifted up a cheap bathroom wastebasket, that looked brand new, raising her
eyebrows to ask if I understood it was for puking. I almost nodded my head but
thought better of it and gave her thumbs up. Grandma got up and crept away and
Lucy took over the spot on the bed, turning the washcloth over to the cold
side.

"Did you by chance eat at Spyglass
before you drove home last night?" Her normally loud voice was a whisper,
which I was so thankful for.

"Yeah, with the guys." I heard
her laugh quietly.

"It was on the news this morning that
about thirty-eight people who ate there got food poisoning last night. I guess
its thirty-nine." I felt her hand shaking on my cheek a little; she was
chuckling.

Although I instantly regretted the
late-night fries, it was a relief to know that it wasn't the extreme dork in me
that had ruined my digestive system because I had invited a girl to my house.

Lucy brushed my hair behind my ears, on the
side that she knew I didn't mind her touching. She left the other side alone.
She looked beautiful. It was the first time I had looked at her since she had
come to my house. Jeans hugged her legs, paired with a long-sleeved black
shirt. She had a bright, multi-colored scarf on her lap. Her long hair was
curly; she even had a little make up on. The light blue eye shadow on her eye
lids made her blue eyes stand out even more than usual. I noticed she used
brown mascara and eye liner, it made her rosy cheeks seem less dramatic. And
no, it’s not weird that I noticed. I put mascara on every day.

I think this was the first time I’d ever
seen her with make-up on. I couldn’t even remember seeing her wear makeup when
I used to catch glimpses of her in school. Her too-big square teeth grinned
through her full, sparkly lips. She was an absolutely breathtaking person.

Here I was, lying in my bed with no shirt
on. I was willing to bet I had puke on my face somewhere, or in my hair. She
noticed my growing panic, grabbed my hand, and held it in hers. She tilted her
head to the right and stared at me, holding my gaze. Her mother had done this
to me in the hospital. What was it about them that made you feel so
uncomfortable yet so understood? Lucy finally released me from the laser-lock
stare and stood up to tuck the blanket in around me. I saw my grandma at the
door, watching all this.  

Lucy spoke softly, "David, I'm going
to let you sleep. There is stuff here for you. I also got you some popsicles if
you want some, just call for us and we will help you, okay?" She put her
hand on my cheek again and I couldn't help but bury my face into it. It felt
amazing and so cool against my hot skin. She moved her thumb across the corner
of my lip then left the room, Grandma closed the door softly behind her.

This was not what I imagined when I was
sitting on this bed trying to work up the nerve to call the beautiful girl.
Vomiting in front of her had not been part of the almost-script. I was glad she
was here, though. It was obvious that she knew how to take care of someone when
they were sick. I figured she had nurturing parents and it showed by how she
was treating me.

I closed my eyes and listened to the two sets
of footsteps fade down the stairs. Within minutes, I was asleep. Next time, I’d
try texting. Less vomiting involved. 

7. IN THE STILL OF THE NIGHT

Night from hell. That’s the only way to describe
what happened next. I threw up for the next five hours, straight. Every thirty
minutes, without fail, my stomach would cramp up and I would lose my cookies
all over my bathroom. I tried to keep it quiet, but those two women had radar
hearing for puke noises. My grandma and Lucy would come running into the room
to see if I needed anything. After the fourth hour, when there was nothing left
in my body to dispel, Lucy made me drink the Gatorade. Just an FYI, when you
are sick, Gatorade is pretty much the worst drink in the history of the world.

I fought it at first but soon realized how
truly stubborn Lucy was. Plus, I was weak. I had no nutrients left to feed my
(normally awesome) powers of resistance. I gave in, drank the yellow punch, and
felt better having something to throw up rather than just stomach acid.
Finally, by 3:30am on Sunday morning, I had gone a whole hour without getting
sick or dry heaving. I was even a little hungry. I was sitting up in bed and
started really looking at all the things on my nightstand that Lucy had gotten
for me. Gatorade, crackers, ginger ale, washcloths, Tums, and that trashcan. I
hadn't used the trashcan to throw up in; there was no way I was going to do
that. My last five plus hours had been spent in and out of the bathroom, with
my head in a toilet.

I decided a shower was the best move. I
moved slowly but got myself quietly to the bathroom, hoping my grandma wasn't
waiting outside my bedroom door with her super awesome sick-detection hearing.
To my surprise, rather than a stinkhole of nast, I walked into a fresh
smelling, clean bathroom. It was even cleaner than it had been before I had
gotten sick. Lucy and Grandma must have cleaned it. And now that I thought
about it, it had smelled clean every time I used it. I knew they were around me
the whole time I was sick but I had been too miserable to stop and see what
they were doing. They must have swooped in with deep cleaning gear every time I
went back to my bed after an episode of getting sick. I sighed deeply as I
turned on the shower. Is this what it was like to have someone take care of
you? It seemed extreme, even for someone like me, whose experience was limited
at best. But I didn’t hate it.

The hot shower felt amazing. I had spent so
much time over the last evening trying to get colder, with cold wash clothes or
lying on the cold tile, that the warm water and steam felt different and
insanely comforting. I shivered, turning the nozzle to the hottest possible
setting. It felt nice having my hair out of my face while I washed it. It
wasn’t often my eye wasn’t covered by thick black hair. I took a long shower,
which is not like me. I didn't want to get out and face the world and realize
the one time I got up the nerve to call Lucy I had thrown up at least twenty
times in her presence. Stupid girl, being so helpful and amazing. I felt the
corners of my mouth go up.

After thirty minutes I turned the water off
and wrapped a towel around myself. My hair was still smoothed off of my face. I
opened the door from the bathroom and saw that the bedroom was completely put
together. I backed into the bathroom and closed the door with a snap. My
grandma was like a freaky little worker elf that you never caught working. I
hadn’t seen anyone jump up in surprise when I opened the door, though. I
flattened my eyes against the door and opened it a crack, just enough to fit
half my pupil through. I didn't see anyone. I ran to my bedroom door and locked
it. I looked around my room. All the trash had been thrown away, my bed was
made, and, by the looks of how it lay, the bed also had new sheets on it. The
air smelled like a Clorox wipe had made contact with every hard surface. There
was no doubt about it, in the last 24 hours my grandma and I had bonded in a
new way. I had puked my guts out multiple times and she had followed behind me,
erasing the evidence of my sickness. I smiled and got a little choked up
realizing the time of day (night?) and realizing that she was still awake,
still trying to take care of me.

That’s when I heard it...a laugh. A loud,
obnoxious laugh. I couldn't believe it. Lucy was still here; it was after 4am.

Ever have a panic attack? I have. They are
horrible. You start to sweat, every image that makes you uncomfortable goes
through your mind, and you feel out of control. I was standing in my room with
nothing but a towel on and a face as clean as the morning. Panic attack. I
rushed to my closet and grabbed a shirt Lucy had complimented me on once at
school, a year ago. It had been a passing comment as she walked by me in the
halls. Didn't make sense to me at the time, some girl saying "nice
shirt" to a complete stranger, but now that I knew her a little, it was so
Lucy. It was a tighter white shirt with a crow on it. I filled it out more now
than the last time I wore it. Which was last year, the time she had
complimented me. I couldn't wear it after that, it doesn’t make sense, but
there you have it.

I put on some black skinny jeans that I was
particularly fond of and took a look in the mirror which triggered another
panic attack.

But then I was fed up. Lucy always caught
me off-guard, but not this time. I knew it was 4am, but I was going to make
sure I looked exactly the way I wanted to look. I went into the bathroom again
and, for good measure, I locked that door. I began with shaving my face, which
wasn't that much work because I only grew hair above my lip and on my chin.
Even that hair would take a few months of growth to look like I had anything
there. Then I smoothed on foundation that was three shades too light for my
olive skin. The light shade evened everything out. I covered my flawed face,
trying not to look too much in the mirror.