Quarantine, page 12
Suddenly the room is full of people in hazmat suits, including Joey, and everyone is shouting, and I watch in horror as my mom and Kelsey are escorted out of my room.
My mom screams, “You don’t know the first thing about my son!”
“Yes I do. He’s my boyfriend!” Kelsey whips her head around to make sure Flora hears her. I don’t hear what my mom says, or if Kelsey says anything else, because they’re gone.
For a minute, we sit in silence. Then Flora gets out of bed slowly, walks over to the bathroom door, and kicks the door again and again, until her mom and Joey pull her away.
My eyes close. I’m falling, falling, falling, and no one is going to catch me. The darkness never ends, and no one cares.
I listen to Joey and Flora’s mom talking to Flora, and I feel completely and utterly helpless. Joey is giving Flora medicine, and I know it’s to calm her down, but I want to run over there and stop him, to tell him she’s upset, to let her be upset. Why do we always have to bury all our emotions?
But as much as I dislike Joey, I know he’s also a doctor, or sort of a doctor, and he doesn’t want Flora to get sicker.
Joey and Peg talk in hushed tones, and I realize I don’t hear Flora talking, that she must be asleep. Then Joey and Peg leave, and Flora and I are finally, finally alone. But when she and I were looking at each other before, and all I wanted was to be alone with her, this wasn’t what I had in mind.
A few minutes later, Dr. Demarko stops by. She’s sympathetic but firm. Kelsey and my mom are not to visit at the same time. My mom will get two visits a day since she’s my legal guardian, and she is allowing Kelsey one visit a day. But if my mom feels the visits are too much for me, she’ll revoke the visitations, and Kelsey will have to go back to New York. If there are any further altercations between either one of them or anyone else, my own visiting rights will be taken away. While she’s talking, my phone lights up with texts from my mom.
“I know this is hard on everyone. I know for a fact it’s hard on your mom, and maybe she’s not showing it in the best way possible.” As if on cue, my mom tries calling.
Dr. Demarko watches me. “Do you need to get that?”
“No, it’s fine.” I turn the phone over so it’s facedown on my bed.
“I hope you’re not upset with your mom. Sometimes parents don’t always act like parents. Seeing our kids uncomfortable in any way is never easy. You should have seen how I was when my Rachel had to get her tonsils out. And I’m a doctor.”
“Me too.” I realize that doesn’t make any sense, so I nod.
Dr. Demarko continues, “But I know this is especially hard on you. And now with Flora being sick—”
“Yep!” I say, trying to be cheerful.
“Well, if you need anything else, need anyone to talk to, just buzz.”
I nod again, hating how transparent my anxiety is.
She waits for me to say something else, but when I don’t, she leaves.
I flip my phone back over, look through the novel of texts from my mom. I skim them, and she seems to be saying that she’s sorry, but. But. Does it really count as an apology if “but” follows? But she’s worried about me, but this is hard on her, but she’s a single parent, but Kelsey was rude to her, but Kelsey was a little rude to me too.
I start replying with “It’s okay,” when she calls again.
“Mom, it’s okay,” I say right away, and then she basically talks through the novel of texts and I interject “Mmm-hmm” and “I know” when it seems appropriate.
“I don’t like that Kelsey girl. I’m not sure what you see in her.”
I sigh. “She’s nice, Mom. She came all the way from New York to take care of me.”
My mom is quiet for the first time, so I keep talking. “We’ve had classes together for years. She’s always been fun. She makes me laugh. I thought her visit would help cheer me up. You want me to rest and not get sick, don’t you?”
But it all feels half-hearted. Maybe Kelsey should just go back to New York. But then I think about ice-skating a few months ago in Prospect Park, the way the snowflakes stuck to her blue knit hat. How fast she was on her skates, the sound her blades made as she zipped past me. The way she stopped when she saw me clutching the rink wall, skated backward in front of me, trying to show me how to do it. I was nervous on my skates to begin with and her attention made me even more nervous, but the last thing I wanted was for her to skate away.
A snowflake stuck in her eyelashes as I pulled myself away from the rink wall and clumsily put one skate in front of the other. “That’s it!” she squealed. I felt like a deer learning to walk on new legs, but she skated with me a little longer, until she was satisfied with her work. “Good job!” she said, and she was off.
Later, I fell, of course. She was across the rink, and when I looked up she saw me and laughed. But I took it as a joking laugh, a laugh we were both in on, like she thought it was funny her skating lessons hadn’t worked.
But I don’t tell my mom any of this, and she’s already talking again anyway. “Please tell me you’re still feeling okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom. Flora is the one with the fever.” I look at the curtain dividing our room. It seems so quiet in here.
“Yes, but you two kissed. We’re talking about you kissing people! Weren’t you just in diapers?” And she launches into some story I hear at least once a week: The first time I climbed out of my crib, I set up all my stuffed animals like we were going to have a tea party, and my mom found me asleep on the floor with a stuffed Elmo doll in one hand and a little plastic tea saucer in the other.
Finally, I interrupt my mom again, tell her I’m feeling tired after all the excitement, that I should really get some sleep. We say good night and I hang up.
I notice again how quiet it is in the room. I listen to Flora’s deep breaths, wonder what she’s dreaming about. I feel like I miss her even though she’s right here.
My phone vibrates around 10:30 p.m., and it’s a text from Kelsey: I don’t care who you kissed. Past is past. I’m here now to make you feel better. Tell ur mom sorry. C u tomorrow.
I have no idea how to respond. I don’t know if she’s seen what people have said about Flora. She hasn’t said anything, to me or online, so maybe she hasn’t? Or maybe she’s waiting for me to say something? I hate that I can’t ask Flora what to say. I hate that I can’t ask her anything right now. I hate that she got so upset. I hate that she has a fever. I hate that everything feels so hard and confusing.
I write a few different drafts of messages to Kelsey and finally settle on: It’s okay. She forgives you. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow afternoon!
I think almost all of that is a lie.
When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I notice is that my throat feels funny. Not sore, exactly, not scratchy, just funny. Sort of like I swallowed something and it’s stuck in the wrong tube. My nose is runny too. Maybe it wasn’t the feathers in the pillows at my dad’s place that were bugging me. Maybe I didn’t tamper with the thermometer after all …
I’m so groggy. I don’t even remember any vitals checks.
I stretch in bed and notice that my foot hurts. Then everything comes rushing back to me. The shouting between Oliver’s mom and Kelsey. My sudden fever. Kelsey knowing that Oliver and I kissed. The way Oliver looked at me when I kissed him. I really am diseased and disgusting. Everything my mom told me about Goldy. It was Goldy’s idea for me to visit them, not my own dad’s. The way I finally got to kick the door. The way Joey and my mom pulled me back to my bed. And then Joey giving me pills, telling me they were to help me sleep.
I shudder. I hate taking medicine. I barely ever even take Advil.
I get out of bed, hobble to the bathroom, and jump when I look in the mirror. I have huge circles under my eyes, and something about my face looks sunken. Sick. I splash some water on my face, brush my teeth, then put my hair up in different ways, but nothing I do takes away the purple under my eyes. I suppose if I wore makeup I could try covering up the circles, but I’ve never been able to figure the stuff out. Maybe I should try finding a manual on how to be a girl. Which reminds me of the girl handbook. Of how I’m supposed to be helping Oliver. I need to ask him if he’s okay, if Kelsey is mad at him. I hope he’s not mad at me. I’ve made a mess out of everything again. But I can fix it. I always do. I just need to think. I wish my foot didn’t hurt. I wish I didn’t feel so spaced out.
I take a deep breath. I’ll go over to his side of the room, make sure he’s okay, that Kelsey isn’t mad at him. If she is, I’ll tell him how to fix it. I’m good at fixing things—at solving problems. I’ve spent my entire life doing it. Randy’s entire life doing it.
I open the door, look at the closed curtain. It’s so quiet on his side of the room. Maybe he’s still sleeping? I hope it’s not because he’s feeling sick.
“Oliver?” I say hesitantly.
No answer.
I walk closer to the curtain. “Oliver?”
Still no answer. I find an opening in the curtain, peer through, and he’s … gone.
It’s really hard to open my eyes. It must still be the middle of the night. But I feel light hitting my eyelids, so I force them open. Something about my room looks different, but I can’t figure out what it is. I sit up, realize how quiet it is. I don’t hear Flora moving around. I don’t hear Flora breathing.
Suddenly wide awake, I shoot out of bed and yell, “Flora!”
No answer. I look around my side of the room. The window looks out onto the hallway, not the outside world. I feel like I’m trapped in some parallel universe.
“Flora!” I yell again.
I open the curtain. Flora’s bed is empty and she isn’t there. It must be a dream. I rub my eyes really hard, slap my cheek a little. Wake up, Oliver!
Then the door opens and I see someone in a hazmat suit, but they’re in a shadow. Then I hear, “So, what do you think of your new digs, Romeo?”
“Joey?” I say carefully. It could still be a bad dream. I still can’t see his face.
Joey slowly steps out of the shadow. Or, at least, it looks like Joey. He stares at me quietly for a second, then yells, “Boo!”
I shriek, and he laughs hysterically, clutching his belly.
“What’s going on?” I say over his laughter. “Where is Flora? Is she okay? Why does my room look different?”
“Wow, you really are a lightweight, Romeo. We gave you sleeping medicine during one of your vitals checks in the middle of the night and moved you. Dr. Demarko knew if we told you the plans when you were awake, you wouldn’t agree to it.”
“Wait, what plans? You still haven’t told me if Flora is okay!”
“Take a look for yourself. She’s just across the hall,” he says, bored.
I run to the window and look into the room across the hallway—the room Flora and I were sharing. Flora is sitting on her bed. She turns her head toward me, waves weakly, and smiles.
“What happened?” I ask, slightly relieved I’m not trapped in a parallel universe.
“Her fever spiked overnight,” Joey tells me. “We knew it’d be less risky to move you rather than Flora. Less chance of spreading any germs.”
“So you guys just drugged me and moved me … while I was asleep?” I say sarcastically.
“Yep.”
“Um, how is that legal?”
“Um, because you’re a minor, and your mom agreed to it,” Joey says sweetly. He checks my temperature, blood pressure, pulse, and writes down the results.
“Joey!” I call as he’s leaving. He turns around, still looking bored. “Tell her I said hi?”
Joey smirks but doesn’t say anything, and leaves.
Oliver and I look at each other across the hallway. He gives me a thumbs-up, which is kind of weird, but endearing. It’s so nice to see him, yet strange to be so far away. I suddenly realize how accustomed I’ve become to having Oliver near me.
I scroll through my text messages and find the picture of Oliver I used for the very first #quaranteen post. I look at his picture, his cool-breeze eyes. I remember how soft his hair was when I brushed it away from his face.
It feels like a lifetime ago.
I text him: I’m sorry. I hope things are okay with Kelsey.
Oliver jumps when he gets my text. He looks at the message, then looks at me, confused. He writes back: Yeah, it’s fine. Are you okay?
Never been better, I write back. I start a message about how I want to help him with the girl handbook stuff, this is all just a minor setback, when my phone buzzes with notifications. I close out of my texts, then see that I’ve been tagged in a video, and so has Oliver.
A video? I certainly haven’t been anywhere for anyone to take a video of me. And it’s not like my mom or Oliver’s mom has been taking videos of me while I’m asleep. I click on the video, and it starts playing. There isn’t much to see, though, because it was taken inside Kelsey’s purse during her visit yesterday.
I watch the video, confused at first. I hear a conversation that sounds familiar, then realize it’s familiar because it’s a conversation that happened yesterday. I stop the video, feeling a little sick, and it’s not because I’m in a hospital room.
I close out of the video, look up at Flora, but her head is down, looking at her phone. I watch all the comments roll in.
The #quaranteens kissed!
We know the #quaranteen names! Flora and Oliver.
Maybe Oliver’s mom should be in #quaranteen to get her temper under control.
Poor Kelsey! #quaranteen
Kelsey should break up with Oliver. His mom is psycho and he clearly likes Flora. #quaranteen
Is Oliver going to kiss Kelsey and get her sick? #quaranteen
Oliver can give me a kissing disease #quaranteen
One of the #quaranteens is sick!
Flora deserves to be sick for trying to mess up Kelsey and Oliver. #quaranteen
#TeamKelser #quaranteen
#TeamFloriver #quaranteen
Flora finally looks up, disbelief on her face. She’s still shaking her head when her mom walks into her room, her arms full of cough drops, tissues, and tea. A few minutes later, Kelsey waltzes down the hallway and into my room.
Kelsey grins, and the knowing look on her face takes me right back to the skating rink in Prospect Park. “Hello, Oliver,” she says calmly, formally. She holds out her arms, and I slowly get out of bed and give her a hug, but something about the way she’s hugging me seems familiar, reminds me of the way someone else has hugged me before.
I pull back quickly. She’s got a sympathetic look on her face, and I think of her hug—the way people hugged me at my dad’s funeral. It’s … comforting. She squeezes my shoulder, and I remember my great-aunt Bertha doing the same thing.
“It must be so hard on you that Flora is sick,” she says in the same calm voice.
“It is,” I say. I shake my head, trying to snap out of the trance she’s put me in. “But why did you do it? How could you do it? All these strangers are saying things about me, about you, about Flora, about our lives. I just … ugh! My mom is going to be so mad!” I realize I sound like a whiny six-year-old, but I don’t care.
She looks surprised. “Do what?”
“Put that video online!” I practically bellow. I didn’t know I knew how to bellow.
“Oh, that?” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “What’s the big deal? I wanted to get a video of me meeting my boyfriend’s mom for the first time.”
“What’s the big deal?” I snap. “It makes my mom look crazy! It makes it sound like she’s attacking you. It tells people, strangers, that Flora is sick. It tells people things about me that—”
“Well, maybe it sounds like she’s attacking me because that’s what happened,” Kelsey interrupts.
I keep waiting for the punch line. She’s making me feel … crazy. “And Team Kelser? Team Floriver? Really?”
“Oh, that? It’s so funny, but people think there’s some kind of love triangle between the three of us. But that’s so silly, because we’re the ones dating! It doesn’t bother me because the drama is just for show. Everyone knows we belong together,” she says nonchalantly.
She doesn’t wait for me to respond. I’m still too in shock that people are bored enough to mash up my name with anyone else’s. Too in shock that people think I could be involved in any kind of love triangle.
Am I Team Floriver or Team Kelser?
“Don’t you think the world deserves to know how hard it is for us?” she says.
“For us?” I’m trying to focus on what she’s saying.
“All the things we have working against us. You’re in quarantine. Your mom disapproves of our relationship. Your roommate is a threat to your health. It’s the perfect story line, isn’t it?”
“Huh?” I say, confused.
“I bet Romeo and Juliet wish they could have told people how unfair their parents were. They couldn’t,” she says with a knowing grin, “but we can.”
Her saying Romeo makes me think of Joey, which makes me think of Flora. I look across the hallway, but she’s talking to her mom.
“Past is past, Oliver,” Kelsey says. She squeezes my shoulder again. “But I can see it’s really bothering you. I’ll take the video down.” She fiddles with her phone, then says, “All gone!”
“Really? That’s it? But what about all the people who saw it already?”
“I can’t imagine it was that many people.”
“I don’t know. It seems like a lot of people commented on it.”
“Really?” Kelsey’s eyes light up. She pauses and says, “I mean, I’m just excited that you’ll have so many people to support you. If you change your mind and want me to put it up again, just let me know. Now, what else can I do to make things better?”
“Um, I’m not sure. I wish Flora wasn’t sick.”
Kelsey flinches a bit when I say Flora’s name. “That reminds me, you should probably post an update about her soon. People are worried. Something to think about. Is there anything else you need in the meantime? Anything I can get you?”
