Eve's Rib, page 13
“I just wanted to tell you there’s a bad storm coming. I saw it in my email.” Eve had set up weather alerts to her mother’s iPad from Environment Canada. By clicking on the link provided, she could keep track of every potential weather disaster in her vicinity. The tornado warnings that never produced tornadoes, the travel advisories that predicted black ice. It was a favourite pastime of her mother’s, to contact Eve with the latest threatening meteorological prediction to make sure she was aware of it.
The girl on the other team with the ball moved to go around Abbey. Abbey stepped in front of her, and the girl stumbled and lost control. The ball bounced out of bounds. Eve bit on one ragged fingernail, waiting to see if her daughter would get called for interference. But the referee must have decided it was an honest mistake. He retrieved the ball and handed it to Abbey. She walked to the sidelines. The referee blew his whistle. Abbey madly looked for a teammate to receive the ball. She usually passed to Selena, but she was still on the bench. The Gladiator mascot sat beside her. Eve could see his eyes through the wire mesh in his centurion smile.
“It could be bad for driving. You better make sure you get home before it gets dark.” It was one o’clock in the afternoon and they were ten minutes from their house.
“Listen, Mom, can I call you back?” Abbey was running to the opposite end of the court now, her team having kept possession of the ball. The coach tapped Selena on the shoulder, and she stood up at the ready. Taking one last swig from her bottle of kombucha, she ran out onto the court to relieve Abbey, who’d just been passed the ball from a teammate. It didn’t seem fair, but the score was so close. They needed a basket, and Selena was taller and more refined with her jump shot.
But Selena didn’t make it to relieve Abbey. She stopped and took to one knee on the mid-court line, like one of those football players protesting the American national anthem. Her fingers clawed and groped at her throat as if to pull off invisible hands that sought to strangle her. The guard up against Abbey saw her and got distracted. Abbey popped around her and made a perfect shot off the back of the net. The woman with the laminated card screamed as blood spurted from Selena’s mouth in choking waves. It spilled out onto the varnished gym floor, making a glossy puddle.
“Eve, are you still there?” her mother called from someplace far away. Eve had dropped the phone to her side without hanging up. Her mother’s faint voice reached up like a desperate cry from another dimension.
The coach rushed onto the court followed by the gladiator. He tripped trying to reach Selena in his cumbersome bodysuit, falling on his sword. Tiny sparkles twinkled in the shiny pool of red expanding on the floor in front of Selena. People might have thought it was a trick of the bright white fluorescent lights overhead. But Eve knew what it was.
Shards of vicious broken glass.
Seventeen
Selena is in the hospital.
I was having the game of my life when all of a sudden everyone started screaming. I turned around and there she was in the middle of the court, spitting up blood! She’d swallowed glass from a drink I’d given her. I can tell Mom’s all upset because she thinks it could have been me that got hurt, but I would have noticed if there was glass in my drink. I’m observant that way. I don’t know how Selena missed it. Dad had bought the kombucha on the way to the game and I’d made sure he got one for Selena. Her mother never buys her healthy stuff like that. Sharon says kombucha’s just a fad. Like Tamagotchis or something. Anyway, Selena’d been drinking it just before the coach tagged her to replace me. Which was really stupid because I was totally killing it with a triple threat. If they had replaced me, I wouldn’t have made that basket to break the tie. I wonder if they’ll count it. I mean, I understand they had to call the game and all, but that doesn’t mean everybody’s hard work has to be for nothing. They should at least let the score stand. We actually have a chance of making the provincials this year.
Anyway, they took everyone’s drinks away after that, including our water bottles. They even fished the plastic throwaway ones that are murdering the environment out of the trash. The cops all had latex gloves on. It was like an episode of CSI. That was after the ambulance took Selena away. I didn’t get to see much of her before that, when she started coughing up the blood. The coach and half the gym were on her in like two seconds. Ashley Stravinsky’s dad is a doctor and they let him through the crowd to try and help. Although I don’t know how much he could have done. I looked up online what you’re supposed to do if you swallow a sharp object, and you can’t really do anything. Except try not to lose your shit until they get you to the hospital. I wanted to get through the people, to get to Selena. I am her best friend. But my mom held me back, grabbing onto my arm, pulling me into her. As if I couldn’t handle it. I’m going to be a doctor myself, for Christ’s sake. If she thinks I’m going to freak out over a little blood, she’s nuts. I know I was crying and stuff, but that was completely understandable.
Of course, Mom hadn’t even been watching the game. She was on the fucking phone. Couldn’t even disconnect for a one-hour basketball game. But that’s typical of her. She never pays attention to me. It’s like I don’t exist, except when she’s pissed at me for something. I mean, I was dying yesterday when I found out about the Thompson scholarship, and where was she? Over at Grandma’s house cleaning. Grandma got a ton of money after Grandpa died. She can afford a goddamn cleaning lady. But my mom wants to look like a good daughter, doing it herself. I think she just wants an excuse not to have to talk to Grandma when she’s visiting. Mom’s always getting upset at her over nothing. Their relationship is so messed up.
I hadn’t even opened the envelope from McGill when that dumbass Mr. Patel had to go blabbing to Dad about it at the front door. Selena’s dad must have known I was up for the award too. He was just pretending he’d come about their stupid cat so he could brag about his brilliant daughter beating me out. Dad didn’t even get it. He congratulated him and came into the kitchen like nothing had happened. As if my life hadn’t just been completely destroyed. Dad doesn’t usually make me angry. Not like Mom. But the way he stood there, so clueless, looking a total blank — it drove me crazy. I wanted to reach out and mash his face into the kitchen counter until it actually held an expression. Instead, I hit him with what I knew about Julia. That got a reaction. That whole situation is completely crazy. I can’t even picture the two of them doing it together. It’s disgusting. Partly because he’s my dad and partly because he’s so goddamn old.
Anyway, I haven’t told either of my parents about the scholarship. They wouldn’t understand. They’re too busy with their own meltdown of a marriage to give a shit about what’s happening with me or give a damn about my happiness. Parents talk about wanting their kids to be happy, but they don’t want us to be. Not really. Unless it’s their brand of happiness, full of the outdated baggage they carry around packed with all the things they wanted but didn’t get. As if their kids are somehow responsible for living out a better version of their screwed-up lives instead of our own. Parents don’t realize that all their kids really need to be happy is for them to let us do whatever the hell we want, instead of what they want for us.
Dad’s at the hospital right now with Selena. I wonder if she’s in the same one as they brought Dylan Penske to when he shot himself. He could be in the morgue right now while she’s in emergency. Although he’s probably at the funeral home by now. They don’t let dead bodies sit around for long. Mom and Dad sent me to this summer camp at the university for girls in the sciences when I was in junior high. They let us work with the arms of real cadavers to see how the nerves worked. The lady who brought the arms said they move the bodies along pretty quickly at the hospital. They’ve got bed shortages as it is.
Dad had to go with Selena to the hospital because her parents weren’t there and she needed a guardian. The coach would have gone, but he had to stay and talk to the cops. I had to talk to the cops too, along with the rest of the team. Although I had to stay the longest because it was my kombucha. Mom kept hovering over my shoulder while the detective asked me questions, interrupting every few seconds as if I was some kind of moron who couldn’t speak for myself. She’s here with me at the house right now, trying to be supportive and shit. Like when she knocked on my door last night after it happened, all worried and empathetic looking. I hate that look. I mean, I know Selena’s going to be okay. Mom doesn’t have to be so upset. Like I said, I read about it all on WebMD. They just have to expand Selena’s esophagus with a balloon and pull out the glass. She’ll be fine. I did read that damage to the soft tissue can be tricky though. It all depends on where the shards got lodged. If some made it all the way to her stomach, it could be a while before Selena comes back to school. She’s got to maintain a certain average for the rest of the year, or they won’t let her keep the scholarship. That would be impossible to do from a hospital bed. Which would be really shitty, but if she’s not well she probably shouldn’t be going all the way to Montreal for school anyway. There are decent universities here. A couple of them aren’t even that bad. I wouldn’t go to any of them, but Selena has always been a bit of a homebody. It would probably be better for her. She’d be happier. And unlike parents, as her best friend, I actually want her to be happy.
Anyway, I hope she’s okay. When they took her away in the ambulance, she looked so small, bundled up in a blanket and tied down on the stretcher. They must have given her something to sedate her because she wasn’t twitching anymore. Mom says I can’t go to the hospital until tomorrow at the earliest. But that’s okay, because when Dad comes home he can tell me how Selena’s doing and when she’ll be coming home. Because if it’s going to be a long time, she’ll have to forfeit the scholarship. That may sound harsh, but it’s just the truth. You’ve got to live in the real world. But at least Selena will know that the scholarship will be going to me. I was the runner-up. So it won’t be so bad. If you are going to lose something, it’s better if it’s to a friend. And I’m Selena’s best friend.
I know she would want me to be happy.
Eighteen
“Health card number please.” One of the nurses who helped to wheel Selena through the emergency room doors badgered Richard with questions he couldn’t answer. She had a fine spray of Selena’s blood on the sleeve of her blue scrubs.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know her health card number.” A violent hammering started up on the glass behind Richard’s chair. Shaken already, he turned to see a woman wearing a black stovepipe hat that sprouted flowers. They were purple and red and shaped like daisies. She shouted from the waiting area, brandishing a bicycle pump in her hand. The glass muffled her demands.
“Date of birth?” asked the nurse, not looking up from her computer.
Richard tore himself away from the wildly shaking flowers of the stovepipe hat. He thought hard to recall Selena’s last birthday. It had been cold out and Abbey couldn’t drive yet. She and Selena had asked him to take them to the movie theatre. They were going to see that superhero movie all the kids were crazy about, the one where the hero was a bit of a fuck-up. Anti-heroes were in, he supposed. The girls had worn jackets. Was it early winter or late spring?
“I’m sorry,” Richard apologized again. “She’s not my daughter.”
He was ashamed by the degree of comfort he drew from those words. It could have been Abbey on that stretcher, rushed down the corridor with attendants hollering vital signs. It could have been Abbey’s blood on the nurse’s blue scrubs. It was just an accident of fate that Selena drank from the bottle full of glass and not his own daughter. This parallel possibility floored him. Having lost one child already to random circumstance, he couldn’t fathom a world cruel enough to see him faced with losing another.
Richard’s first reaction when Selena had fallen to her knees on the court was to selfishly search the gym for his own child. Scanning the court, he’d located Abbey underneath the opposing team’s basket, holding the ball she’d just sent whistling through it. Everyone had been rushing onto the floor, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Abbey. She tilted her head from side to side as if she were working out a kink in her neck, then dribbled the ball twice, sharply, on the floorboards. It looked like impatience, but Richard knew she’d just been in shock. He’d gone to race down the bleachers, but people were up by then and blocking his way. Eve had gotten to their daughter first. She held Abbey in her arms while she cried, the basketball discarded and rolling around at the sidelines. When Richard finally reached them, he’d wanted to hold them both. But he stood back instead, too fearful of rejection.
To think that his own daughter might have drunk from that bottle. That she might have been taken from him before he had a chance to rewrite the story she had in her head of what kind of man he was. Before he could prove to her that Julia was gone from their lives forever and that he would never lie to her or her mother again. At least, not about the things that were important.
The woman with the stovepipe hat thudded on the Plexiglas window with her bicycle pump in a slow rhythmic beat. Richard clutched his hands in his lap, nervously wringing them.
“If she’s not your daughter, what relationship do you have with the patient?” the nurse asked, one eyebrow raised. Richard didn’t like the implication of that arch. Or maybe he was just sensitive, having recently and repeatedly bedded a woman who was only a few years older than Selena. They were important years, he’d convinced himself. Like dog years, he had weighed them differently. But under the nurse’s accusing gaze, he found it hard to hide from the brutal honesty of the math.
“She’s a friend of my daughter’s.” Richard puffed himself up in the chair. “I was attending their basketball game with my wife.” He emphasized the “wife” part. He wanted to confirm to the nurse his ability to have a relationship with a fully grown adult. The nurse still eyed him suspiciously.
Richard wished the nurse would ask him about what had happened, not about these other trivial bureaucratic details. It surprised him, this desire to spill his guts to a stranger. But he needed to unload the image of Selena, catatonic and leaking blood out of her pale red mouth in the ambulance. To re-gift the experience to someone else, like a hideous, unwanted Christmas present. Those colourless lips, as if they had just kissed dry ice, reminded him of Michael’s when they’d taken Richard to see his son for the very last time.
“Then what’s your daughter’s birthday?” the nurse asked with a sigh, fingers poised above the keyboard. One of them had a tatty Band-Aid on the tip. The glass behind Richard continued to reverberate with the stovepipe hat woman’s steady beat.
Richard had to think hard again. He eventually came up with a month and a number that was, give or take a few days, the date of Abbey’s birth. The nurse dutifully entered the information into Selena’s file.
“Is she going to be okay?” Richard asked, after he’d answered the rest of her questions as best he could. He’d found Selena’s address and phone number by pulling up Sanjay Patel’s details from the contacts in his phone. Luckily, Richard didn’t need to call him. The coach had done that. Richard remembered when the hospital had tried to reach him about Michael. His phone had been set to silent in a meeting. It was only when a teary-eyed receptionist broke into the room that he’d looked down to see the fifteen missed calls.
“The doctors are taking care of her,” the nurse said. Richard wanted to ask her more questions, so she could give him more reassuring answers. But she’d gotten up from her desk to stare down the woman in the stovepipe hat through the glass. The woman stopped her banging and stared back with the angry flowers jiggling back and forth. As they glared at each other, a thick binder of hospital procedures fell from a bookshelf behind the nurse’s desk. It landed with a crash to the floor. Neither woman looked away from their standoff through the glass. The stovepipe hat woman finally admitted defeat, turning abruptly away as the bendy flowers bobbed and weaved above her head. She sat down on a plastic chair opposite, crossing her legs. Rainbow-striped leggings popped out of a tattered pair of knee-length short pants Richard’s mother would have called culottes. On her feet she wore a pair of well-scuffed army boots that looked like she did a lot of kicking with them.
The nurse returned to her desk, smoothed her hair down at the crown where a couple of witchy grey hairs had popped up.
“I’ll take you to the inner waiting area now.” She popped a sheet of paper from the printer onto a clipboard, then tucked it under her arm. “Follow me.” The nurse stepped around the heavy hospital binder, leaving it on the floor where it had fallen. Then she opened the door next to the window and they entered the chaos of the outer waiting room. Richard fell in behind her. An old woman with salt-and-pepper hair smiled sweetly from a plastic chair. The lady with the stovepipe hat waved her bicycle pump at him like a thunder stick. He gave both of them a wide berth.
The big double doors through which Selena had so recently travelled opened when another nurse buzzed them through. They swished behind them and closed, sealing him in like he was in a vacuum jar or a coffin.
The nurse dropped the clipboard in an overflowing in-basket. Richard heard an old man moaning from behind a curtain. A young woman softly sobbed in Spanish as she rocked back and forth in a chair.
“Take a seat. It’s quieter here,” the nurse told Richard before she left to go back through the double doors.
Richard sat down in a chair not far from the Spanish girl. A large television set with closed captions was bolted in the corner of the waiting area with the volume turned off. It was set to a news station where a constant ticker tape of headlines ran under the video feed of silent announcers. The closed captions overwrote the ticker tape words, so that all the letters became unintelligible.
