The Plan (54 page)

By Kelly Bennett Seiler

Available from Infinite Words

S
ometimes, when the sun begins to peek over the horizon, the seagulls circle the water in search of their first meal of the day, and the tide rushes up and then slows down so as to tickle my toes, I can hear your voice. As I close my eyes and feel the salt breeze across my face, as gentle as one of your kisses, and bury my fingers deep in the sand, just the way I used to do into your thick, black curls, I feel you next to me.

“What are you doing?” you ask me.

“Missing you,” I reply.

“But I'm right here,” you say.

“You're not here for me to touch. You're not here for me to hold.”

“I'm here in all the ways that matter. In your mind. In your heart. In your soul.”

“I want you in my arms,” I say, the saline from my tears becoming indistinguishable from the salt of the water, both burning my windblown face.

“You had me in your arms,” you tell me, gently. “Remember?”

I do remember. I remember every touch. Every kiss. Every secret glance we shared. The ones I'd forced myself to remember, knowing that someday, the memories of them would be all I had left.

‘It's not enough.” I cry softly. “We were supposed to have a life together.”

“We did have a life together,” you whisper. “Mine.”

“It was too short.”

“It was all I had to give you,” you remind me gently.

“I wanted more,” I say, the words barely passing my lips.

“So, did I, my love. So did I.”

I lie back, my head resting on the soft, damp sand. I hear a foghorn in the distance and momentarily wonder if the captain of that boat has ever felt such pain. Did he plan a future with someone, only to realize his future would be spent alone? Did he wonder, as I do now, how things could go so wrong when, for a brief moment, they seemed so perfect?

“There's so much I want to talk to you about. So much I want to ask,” I tell you.

“You can ask me one question. That's all. I can't answer any more,” you say.

“Just one? What if that question leads to more?” I ask.

“Only one, so make it a good one,” you say and then chuckle. “I know this is hard for you. You never were good at making decisions.”

“I chose you,” I tease. “I made a good one there.”

“Touché,” you say.

I hear you lie down next to me, feel the heat of your body on my side.

“One question,” you remind me. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I tell you. “I know what it is.”

And, I do know. It's the one question I've held on the edge of my tongue for what seemed like forever. It wasn't if I'd been loved. I knew I had been. Completely and utterly. It wasn't “Why?” Some questions would never produce a satisfying answer, so there was no point in asking.

Delicately and carefully, I form the words. The ones I've wanted to say aloud, but never had the courage. The question I have craved an answer for and never thought I'd get.

I make my request, very softly, my question lingering in the air. I hear your deep sigh. Was it one of regret? Was it sadness?

This time, I say it more clearly. More certain than ever this is the one question I need answered.

“What if?” I ask again. “What if?”

February, 1998

“When a guy says, ‘I'm pretty much single,' he really means, A. I'm completely single…”

Daniel moaned and rested his head back on his pillow. “You know I hate these quizzes.”

“I know,” Meade replied, holding the copy of
Cosmopolitan
in front of her face so he couldn't see her smile. “B. I'm not really interested in dating you.”

“Then why do you keep giving them to me?” Daniel asked.

“They're fun.” Meade giggled. “Or C. I have a girlfriend, but I think you're hot.”

“C. I have a girlfriend, but I think you're hot,” he instantly replied, picking up the TV remote and flicking on the set.

“C?” Meade asked, marking in his answer with a pencil. “Really? That's what a guy means?”

“Yep,” Daniel answered, changing the channel. “Want to watch
Judge Judy?”

“No, she scares me.” Meade picked up her feet and rested them on the bed next to Daniel's knees, slumping deeper into her chair. “Why doesn't he just say that then? Isn't honesty the best policy?”

“Not if he wants to get in your pants,” Daniel said matter-of-factly.

“Daniel!”

“What?” He asked, grinning, eyes still focused on the TV. “It's true.”

Meade threw the magazine at his head as he dodged to miss it. It landed, with a loud thud, on the cold linoleum floor next to the bed.

“Ow!”

“Oh, come on,” Meade said defensively. “It barely touched you!”

“No, not that. The way I moved. It hurt a little.” Daniel grimaced as he shifted to get more comfortable in the bed.

Meade jumped up, suddenly concerned. “Where? How much? Should I get the nurse?”

“No, silly girl,” he said, reaching for her arm and gently pulling her down next to him. “It's fine. It hurt for a second. I'm okay now.”

He tugged on her sleeve. “Kiss me,” he said softly.

“Again?” she moaned playfully. “Didn't I just kiss you about an hour ago?”

She giggled and leaned closer, gently touching her lips to his. They tasted slightly medicinal. She would, of course, never tell him that. She did her best to make sure, while she was with him, everything seemed normal—the way it had always been. It was why she had brought
Cosmo
and
Glamour
and
Teen
magazine with her to the hospital and grilled him with the questions he despised. It's what she'd always done—since they had first fallen in love. She'd sit at their lunch table, peppering him with the silly questions as he ate his lunch, and often much of hers, complaining as he answered.

“Is there room for me in the bed?” Meade breathed into his ear.

“I think I can find some in here,” he whispered, seductively, scooting over. “If you promise not to take advantage of the many slits in my hospital gown.”

“I ain't promisin' nothin'.” Meade giggled. “Easy access is easy access.”

She lay down in the crook of his arm, resting her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. She could feel the beat of his heart through the thin fabric of the gown. It felt so steady. So strong.
Keep beating,
she wanted to whisper.
Please keep beating.

“Why are you in this gown, anyway?” she asked him. “I thought your mom brought you some of your regular pj's to wear instead.”

“Yeah, she did,” Daniel replied, touching his lips to her hair. “But I'm supposed to have some tests done this afternoon and I have to have a gown on for that.”

“Well, I find it sexy.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. “If I'd known that, I would have started wearing them years ago.”

Meade laughed, even though she didn't think it was funny. She couldn't bear the thought of him in these gowns years ago. She could barely stomach the thought of him in them now.

She hadn't said anything to Daniel about his attire when she'd entered his hospital room that day after school. She'd never want him to feel self-conscious. But she'd been taken aback by the sight of him in it. Usually, when she showed up, he was in sweats and an old T-shirt, like he always was when she'd go to his house to hang out on the weekends. Somehow, seeing him dressed in regular clothes made it easier to pretend everything was okay. She could tune out the medical equipment and the hospital bed and the buzz of the nurses as they made their way up and down the hallway and into his room every twenty or so minutes. She could ignore the wires he often had on him and the tubes that were taped to various parts of his body. If she set her mind to it, she could even pretend they were just hanging out, after school, catching up on their homework, as she filled him in on the latest gossip she'd heard from all her girlfriends.

But the hospital gown—that had thrown her for a loop. She'd paused at the door before entering. Fortunately, he'd been deep in discussion with one of his nurses so he hadn't seen her arrive, and never saw the expression of shock she was sure must have been on her face.

He looked so frail. So thin. So…she hated to say the word…
sick.

There was that word again.
Sick.
It was never far from her mind and it made her stomach do somersaults. As a child, she'd kind of
liked the word. When she was eight, it meant staying home from school and watching TV in her mom's bed and drinking ginger ale while munching on saltines. But now, the word had a whole new connotation. It was scary and full of uncertainty and sadness. It meant watching Daniel be pricked and prodded while he did his best to keep a smile on his face for her sake. It meant no longer being able to make plans to go to a movie together because they never knew if Daniel would feel well enough to sit in the theater without running to the bathroom to throw up. It meant watching Daniel's olive skin turn a pale color she couldn't name because it had never been in any of her crayon boxes as a child.

“What are you thinking about?” Daniel asked her, running his fingers through her long, brown hair.

“What?” Meade said quickly, embarrassed to be caught daydreaming. She shouldn't let that happen. She needed to stay present when she was with Daniel. There was plenty of time to worry about the future when she lay in bed, alone, at night. She needed to focus on only him when they were together. Their time was precious. Not because she thought they wouldn't have much more of it. No, she wouldn't let herself go there. She
couldn't
let herself go there. Daniel spent his whole day waiting for her to get out of school and show up at his hospital room door. He deserved her undivided attention for the few hours she could give him each day.