On Pointe (13 page)

“What?” I turn back.

“Don't stop dancing.”

“But Madame kicked me out of class.”

“It doesn't matter. You're a dancer.”

I stare at him.

“Take the adult class,” he says.

“It's not bad, sometimes I—”

“Why would I ever?”

“Because you love to dance.”

I hurry out the door.

Elton

gets me all jumbled up.

But I can't keep from smiling.

That's really nice

that he'd still talk to me

even though I didn't make the company.

He was always different

from everyone else in class.

The clock on the bank says 2:15.

I can stop at the park

for a while.

I walk down the block

and refuse to look over at the conservatory.

I bet it's the little preschool class working now.

Learning their positions.

Stopping in front of the portraits of Madame.

Dreaming about wearing tutus.

Daydreaming—

yikes! Like me.

I start walking again.

And leave the conservatory

behind.

The magazine says

Deirdre studied dance in Miami, Florida,

in the 1970s.

Before she went to New York and danced with ABT

and Baryshnikov.

I bet the Miami school is like our

conservatory.

Wow. Willow could really make it

like Deirdre did.

She could be the one

to catch her dream.

If her mom doesn't get in the way.

You go, girl.

I stretch out my legs in the grass.

The maple moves shade on and off my magazine.

This edition is so old,

I bet most of these people aren't dancing on stage

anymore.

Even when you do make it to the top,

ballet is a short career.

Kids are swarming the playground area.

“Got you!

You're it!”

“Mommy, look at me!”

calls a little girl from the top of the monkey bars.

Her mom stands below.

“My, aren't we good climbers?”

No,

she
is.

The little girl who did the climbing

is the good climber.

Not you, lady.

It's definitely a disease of motherhood.

I get up and go over to the woman.

“She's

a good climber,” I say, and walk away.

The coffee shop is nearly empty.

3:30 already?

I shut my book.

My tea is cold.

Grandpa's never late.

Maybe he said we'd meet at the house first.

I stand and bump the table.

My tea splashes onto the saucer.

I grab my stuff

and hurry out the door.

Something's wrong.

He's sitting on the porch swing.

“Oh.” I catch my breath. “There you are, Grandpa.

Shew. Sorry I'm late.

I thought we were meeting at the coffee shop.”

I sit down next to him.

“Should I go heat up some water?

Grandpa?”

Drool spills out his mouth,

and he slumps forward.

I catch him. “Grandpa!”

What is wrong?

I jump up

and lay him on his side

on the teetery swing.

“Grandpa! Grandpa!”

I run into the house,

trip over Mija,

and grab the phone.

9-1-1.

“Something's wrong with my grandfather!”

“Please remain on the line.”

“I hear the sirens!”

“Do you see the ambulance?”

“Yes, they're here, they're here!”

I slam down the phone.

Two paramedics

rush up the walkway.

“Here! Here's my grandpa.

He won't answer me or anything!”

“Oxygen. And IV.”

They are going so fast.

I reach over the swing and hold his hand.

“Please step away,” one man tells me.

I jerk my hand back.

“His name?”

“Lawrence Leary,” I answer.

“Lawrence, can you hear me?”

Grandpa doesn't wake up.

“Was he speaking when you found him?”

“No, no. He was sitting there.

And then he drooled.”

Wires.

Tubes.

Gurney.

Didn't this all just happen to me?

“And your name?”

“Clare. Clare Moller.”

“Clare, you've done a good job. Are you here alone?”

“Yes. But I can call my parents.

Grandpa is my mom's dad.”

They do more stuff to him.

I pick up Mija and squeeze her tight.

“We will be taking your grandfather

to Valley Hospital.”

They wheel Grandpa out to the ambulance.

“Wait!” I set the cat down and run after them.

The gurney slides into the ambulance.

They shut the back doors.

“I, I need to go with him.”

“Call your parents

and meet him at the hospital.

We need to leave immediately.”

The paramedic

gets into the vehicle.

EeeEeeeEeeee.

“Mom! Something's wrong with Grandpa!”

“What do you mean, Clare?

What?”

“The ambulance took him—”

“Where? Where did they take Dad?”

“Valley Hospital. Mom, come get me first.

Mom, come get me!”

“Hold on, Clare. We're on our way.”

Dad's car pulls up.

I dive into the backseat.

“Go!” my mom and I yell.

We speed past neighbors

gathered on the sidewalk.

I didn't even notice them earlier.

“Grandpa was sitting there,

not speaking,

and, and he slumped over,

and I caught him.”

Dad races through a yellow light.

“And I couldn't call you right away

because the 9-1-1 lady said

I couldn't hang up the phone.”

“You did a good job, Clare,” says Dad.

“Now take a breath.

It sounds like everything possible

is being done.”

Mom reaches back and grips my hand.

I gasp in a breath

and wipe my tears

on my shoulders.

Alone in the waiting room.

Mom and Dad are storming around

looking for Grandpa,

a nurse, or a doctor

to tell them what's going on.

I'm out of the way here.

Next to the kiddie corner

filled with toys.

God
,

I've never prayed

really.

But Grandpa has.

Since he can't talk,

I'm trying.

God,

help Grandpa.

I don't even know what's wrong with him.

He slumped over and

then all that other stuff happened.

And now we're here

and don't even know where he's at.

God, please, please

make Grandpa okay.

Amen.

I walk over to the water fountain.

There's the part of the ER

where I was the other day.

All the curtained-off sections.

What happened

to those poor people

who were here the same time as me?

That little boy with his poked eye,

that man with his back pain?

A boy with his arm in a cast

is wheeled out of the spot I was in.

I take a long drink from the fountain.

I bet the others are all gone.

Back to their lives

that are different now

because they lost control.

Dad's right.

We don't have much control

over anything at all.

Sometimes we just get hurt,

or grow too tall,

or slump over on a porch swing.

The water sloshes around in my stomach.

The fish nip at each other

in the round bubble tank.

The cartoon characters on TV

chase each other.

I clench my hands.

This waiting room is worse

than the ER.

Here you don't know

anything.

It's weird not to call Rosella.

Normally, when something crazy

like this happens,

I'd find a phone

and call her cell.

She's known Grandpa for ages.

I'm sure she cares about him.

It's me she wouldn't want to talk to.

Man, stuff is different now.

And it hurts.

Dad and Mom sit down next to me.

She takes my hand.

“Clare, Grandpa has had a stroke.”

“Stroke?”

“A blood vessel burst and the clot

moved to his brain.”

“Brain?”

She squeezes my hand.

Dad leans closer. “It looks like

some damage has been done.

But we don't know how much yet.”

“His brain?”

Mom sniffles. “We'll get through this.”

“Together,” says Dad.

“Yes,” the doctor says as he turns to Dad,

“there has been some damage.

Preliminary tests are not specific.

But there has been brain damage.”

Dad looks down at his shoes.

Mom covers her face.

“So we'll be keeping him in ICU

for observation.

He is stable at this point.”

I get up and grab Dad's hand.

“Can we see him?”

“Our policy is only family.

Two visitors at a time.”

“Fine,” says Dad. “Clare,

wait here,

and we'll be back in a moment.”

Mom and Dad follow the doctor

down the hallway.

Hey, I'm family too!

I'm the one that's been living with him!

Me!

I hate the clock.

I hate the TV.

I hate the stupid fish.

It's my grandpa down there.

I

should get to see him.

Ten minutes later

I walk down the hallway

with my head up.

I pass one nurses' station.

No one says anything.

The sign points to the ICU.

I push through another set of doors.

“Can I help you?” a woman asks.

“No.”

I walk with purpose

by the hanging curtains

separating beds.

Another nurse steps in front of me.

“I'm sorry. You need to tell me

who you are looking for.”

“My grandfather, Lawrence Leary.”

She checks her clipboard.

“He's around the corner.”

“Thank you.” I go to where she pointed.

Mom and Dad are down at the next station.

I peek around the curtain.

“Grandpa!”

I hurry to the bed.

There're machines

everywhere,

and each has a bunch of wires

hooked to him with sticky circles.

Beep. Beep. Beep
fills the space.

A little oxygen thing

is stuck in his nose.

“Grandpa?”

He doesn't move or open his eyes.

He is small in the big white bed

and looks weird without his glasses.

I slip my hand around a few wires

and rub his shoulder.

I bend over and kiss his cheek.

Besides the rubbing alcohol

and other mediciney stuff,

I smell his lilac aftershave.

He's still my grandpa.

“Clare!” says Mom.

I jump.

She, Dad, and a nurse

push into the space.

“It was taking too long.

I was waiting and waiting.”

“That's okay.” Dad puts his arm

around me.

“One of you will need to leave,” the nurse says.

She turns away and checks a machine.

“Right,” says Dad.

“How about Clare and I go home

and you stay here, Martha.”

“Yes. That sounds good.”

“But I want to stay,” I whine.

“No, we can take care of a few things

while all the testing is being done.

Your mother will call us if there's a change.”

“Sure.” Mom moves out of the nurse's way

and gives me a hug.

I've never heard her so quiet.

“I, I'll make a dinner for us,” I say.

“That would be great, Clare.”

She hugs me again

and gives Dad a kiss.

“Bye, Grandpa,” I whisper

and follow Dad out.

It's dark.

Dad drives the speed limit.

“I don't know anything about strokes, Dad.”

“I think we'll be learning more

than we ever wanted to.”

“What's the best it could be

and what's the worst?”

“Don't think about the worst, Clare.”

“Come on, Dad.”

He rubs the back of his neck.

“Well, the doctor said the best would be

he'd slowly return to normal.”

“Yeah, and—”

“The worst would be speech impairment,

inability to walk.”

Why did I ask?

I pull out Dad's microwave dinner.

His spaghetti looks a little dry and skinny.

I put a slice of American cheese on top.

That's better.

I load my macaroni and cheese.

It twirls in circles and bubbles.

I bet a taste of this

would cheer Grandpa up.

It's his favorite too.

Nothing new from Mom.

“Go ahead to bed,” says Dad.

I get out of Grandpa's chair.

Mija leaps onto it

and curls up.

Does she know?

I hug Dad

and drag my feet to my room.

The book and magazine I bought earlier

are on my nightstand.

Dad must have put them there.