Stories of the Heart Read online

  “Amanda said she won’t go to the dance but I know that deep down she really wants to.”

  “Of course she does.” I understood that, too. “When I first found out I had cancer, I’d just turned sixteen.” I’d gone in a for a routine eye exam and that was when it all began. Soon afterward, the brain tumor was discovered. I paused to sip my tea. “As crazy as it sounds, one of the first things I did after I was diagnosed—” I hesitated to tell Annie this because it embarrassed me “—I…I cut up my driver’s license.”

  “Why?”

  Even after all these years I couldn’t exactly say. “I don’t know. I guess it was because I felt that every good thing in my life was about to be destroyed, so why not that, too? It doesn’t make any sense, I know. I can’t explain what came over me. I took a pair of scissors and cut my brand-new license into tiny pieces.”

  “Did you… Do you drive now?”

  “Yes.” I smiled. “I realize it was rather melodramatic of me. I wish I could explain it better.”

  Annie grew thoughtful. “I think I understand. Amanda’s rejecting the things that used to matter to her. She’s pushing all her friends away from her, too.”

  “So did I, at first. I tried to close everyone out.” I took another sip of tea. “That didn’t last long, though. I got lonely and bored, and I missed my friends.”

  “Lance needs to know. He’s driving me crazy.”

  My smile was sad as I recalled my relationship difficulties. “It’s up to Amanda to tell him. She’ll do that when she’s ready.”

  “Can you give me any other advice?”

  Annie was so sincere that I reached across the table and gripped her hand. “Amanda needs you more than ever now. Be her friend.”

  “That’s what I want to do, but I’m still not sure I know how.”

  “She’s going through a hard time emotionally. It might sound like a cliché—but just be there for her. In time, she’ll want to discuss uncomfortable subjects. Don’t let that frighten you. Hear her out.”

  “Do you mean she’ll want to discuss…dying?”

  “Probably.” I watched Annie and was pleased that she didn’t flinch. When you’re dealing with cancer, the threat of death is a constant presence. In the beginning I ignored it. Later, the sicker I became, the more at ease I got to be with it. Death became a very real companion and the fear and mystery of it vanished.

  “Okay,” Annie said. “I won’t let talk of death upset me.”

  “Good. She might mention her treatment and how sick she feels. Don’t let that gross you out, okay?”

  “All right.” Annie finished her tea.

  “Don’t wait to hear from her, either. Take responsibility for maintaining the friendship.”

  Annie nodded. “Thank you, Lydia.”

  “You’re welcome. If there’s anything more I can do, please give me a call.”

  We both stood at the same time and then Annie did something unexpected. She hugged me. I hugged her back and wished her friend the very best.

  Amanda watched her mother as she slipped away from the darkened bedroom doorway. In the silent stillness of dawn, Amanda could hear her weeping. She hated this, hated the way her mother reacted to the slightest sigh or moan. It was just as she’d expected. Her mother was suffocating her. Twice before, Amanda had awakened in the middle of the night to find Joan standing inside the bedroom, watching her. She hated feeling smothered, but most of all she hated causing her mother so much grief.

  This morning, Amanda would begin what Dr. Fleishman had termed aggressive chemotherapy, followed by total body radiation. Although she’d only been eight when cancer struck the first time, Amanda remembered the hellish side effects of those treatments. The nausea had been the worst—until she’d suffered brain seizures. Back then, Amanda had been mostly out of it. She remembered how sick she’d felt and asking God to let her die.

  She was older now, more experienced in life, and she knew the horrors she faced. Her parents did, too, and her older brother, as well. Joe hadn’t said much. He was at Washington State University in Pullman and had called her as soon as he heard the news. Like her friend Annie, Amanda’s brother had been at a loss as to what to say. He wanted to help, but didn’t know how. She sensed he was grateful to be away at school and frankly she didn’t blame him. If their situations were reversed, Amanda figured she’d feel the same way. Finally, after several awkward minutes, he managed to croak out that if she needed anything, all she had to do was ask.

  What she needed was a life. A real life. Her biggest fear wasn’t the treatment, which she already knew wasn’t going to be any picnic. No, top on her priority list was graduating with her friends. It wasn’t so much to ask, was it? Graduation was six weeks away. Six weeks wasn’t that long. She’d wear a wig for the ceremony. Apparently there were some really good ones.

  At six her mother came into her bedroom to wake her. “Rise and shine,” Joan said, wearing a bright smile.

  Amanda saw through her facade immediately. This false cheer was hard to swallow. “Mom,” she said, sitting up in bed. She patted the space next to her. “I have something I want to tell you and Dad.”

  “Leon,” her mother shouted over her shoulder. “Amanda wants to talk to us.”

  Her father stepped into the bedroom, dressed and ready to leave for his job at Boeing as a control systems analyst. “What is it, pumpkin?”

  Amanda smiled. She was close to her father; her mother, too, only it was different with her dad. They were more alike, and they had a similar sense of humor.

  She released a pent-up sigh. “I don’t want to sound like a drama queen, but you need to know I’ve reached an important decision.”

  Both her parents stared at her. There wasn’t any reason to keep them in suspense. “I know I might die. Cancer is serious, and I’m going through it for the second time. Dr. Fleishman didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to—I could see it in his eyes.”

  “Now, pumpkin, don’t talk like that. You’re going to lick this.”

  “Dad,” she said, meeting his gaze without flinching. “You were the one who said ‘prepare for the worst and hope for the best.’ That’s all I’m doing.”

  Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “I want you to think about living, not dying.”

  “I am. I will.”

  Her mother sobbed again.

  “Mom,” Amanda shouted, losing patience with her. “Stop crying! I can’t stand seeing you cry all the time. Get a grip. I’ve got enough on my plate without having to worry about you.” She sounded harsher than she meant to, but it had to be said.

  “I’m sorry.” Her mother’s voice quavered.

  Amanda’s father placed a protective arm around his wife’s shoulders. “There’s no need to snap at your mother, pumpkin. She loves you. We both do.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “You w-wanted to say something?” her mother asked, her resolve clear.

  Amanda nodded. “Let’s try this again.” She took a deep breath. “I know I could die and I want you to know I’m fine with that.”

  Her mother crumpled emotionally and couldn’t suppress a protesting sob. “You’re giving up, aren’t you?”

  “No way.” This was the really important part. “The thing is, I’m willing to do everything necessary to get well. I know it isn’t going to be easy. I accept that from this point forward, my life will change. It sucks, but I don’t have many options. I’ll fight the disease with everything in me.”

  “But?” her father pressed. He knew there was one coming.

  Amanda let her love for them show in her eyes. “But I won’t fight death.”

  Tears rolled down her mother’s pale cheeks and she started to shake her head; if Amanda wasn’t going to fight death, she seemed to say, then she’d do it for her. Somehow, some way, regardless of the cost, Joan Jennings would hold back the Grim Reaper.

  “I was thinking about it this morning lying in bed,” Amanda explained, eager to share this new insight with her parents. “It was because of something Annie said.” She had her parents’ attention. “When I told her about the cancer, she didn’t know what to say at first. The next day she phoned back, and the two of us talked for a long time.”

  “Annie’s a good friend,” her mother whispered.

  Amanda agreed. She hadn’t realized how good a friend until now. It felt good to discuss what was happening to her with someone her own age. “Annie said she was afraid for me, afraid I might die.”

  Her mother covered her mouth as if to hide her fear. But it was unmistakable. Her eyes were ablaze with it. Amanda wanted to cry out that she needed her mother to be strong, that she’d have to lean on her, especially during the chemo. It would take everything she had to get through this, and she didn’t have the strength to support anyone else.

  “What was it Annie said that you found so enlightening?” her father asked.

  Amanda loved the way he always got right to the point. “When she talked about how I might die, it occurred to me that eventually everyone dies. I will. So will you, Mom. You, too, Dad. Just like Grandpa did. I remember his funeral. I was really little when he died. What was I, six or seven?”

  “Six,” her mother said.

  All Amanda remembered was that she’d barely started second grade when her wonderful grandfather died of a heart attack. Everyone had been sad and crying and upset. There were lots of people at the service. “When we went to the funeral home and saw Grandpa resting so peacefully, I thought dying mustn’t be so bad, especially if you weren’t afraid. And I’m not.” She meant that. Death wasn’t an alien darkness one struggled against. She no longer considered death the end of everything; it was a new beginning. When you saw it that way, the meaning of death changed. She couldn’t explain that to her parents—it would freak them out.

  For the first time since entering her bedroom, her father smiled. “When did you get to be so smart?” he asked.

  Although Amanda shrugged, she was pleased by her dad’s praise. “I didn’t know I was.”

  “You’re going to make it,” her mother insisted.

  “If that’s what God wills.” Amanda didn’t explain her feelings about God to her parents, either. She wasn’t sure they’d understand. For now, it was enough that they know and accept her feelings about the cancer. Although her illness affected them, too, it was hers and hers alone, and she was the one who’d have to deal with it.

  Her father glanced at his watch. “I have to get to work.”

  “It’s all right, Dad. Go. I’ve said everything I have to say.”

  He leaned forward and kissed Amanda’s cheek before leaving the room. Her mother walked out with him.

  By herself again, Amanda threw aside the comforter and sat on the edge of her bed. It was about to start. This morning her mother would take her to the oncology center, and by noon she’d be heaving her guts out. Annie had promised to stop by after school. Amanda would look forward to that—the one bright spot in what was going to be a hell of a day.

  Chapter Four

  Everyone at school knew. After a month of chemotherapy, Amanda had ceased to care. It was all she could do to function on a day-to-day basis. She’d lost weight, weight she could ill-afford to lose, and much of her hair. A few dark strands stubbornly remained, but they’d disappear soon. Annie’s mother had knit her a really cute hat out of lime-green and orange yarn that she wore almost constantly.

  What had once seemed important, joining her high school class for graduation, no longer concerned her. Amanda didn’t possess the energy to stand for even brief periods of time. The chemo had been worse than she’d expected, and the doctors were now giving her morphine, which helped with the pain. Because of her weakened condition, she’d been hospitalized shortly after prom night.

  Fortunately, she had a private room, even if it was on the pediatric floor. That way she and Annie could visit. Laurie would come by later, too. Her friends always closed the door, and Amanda didn’t have to worry about a roommate.

  Propped up against pillows, Amanda looked over at the clock on the wall and realized school was out for the day. Annie had been her only really faithful friend. She came at least three times a week, and often four and five times. Annie was her link with her other friends, with school activities and the world she’d once known. Laurie didn’t visit as often, but at least she stopped by every week or so, which was more than most of her other friends did.

  Someone tapped lightly at the door. Amanda rolled her head to one side and smiled when she saw Lance. He’d brought a single long-stemmed red rose and a card. It’d been ten days since his last visit.

  “Hi,” she said and wished he’d let her know he was coming. Amanda would’ve put on makeup and her knit hat. She hated that he was seeing her almost completely bald. On his last visit, she’d had a respectable amount of hair left. She self-consciously placed her hand on her bald head.

  “Hi, yourself.” Lance cautiously stepped farther into the room. “How are you?”

  Amanda didn’t understand why anyone would ask a cancer patient that question. She was irritated because it should be fairly obvious that she felt like crap. She looked like crap, too, and everyone pretended not to notice.

  He didn’t meet her eyes but gazed past her to the window. It was a lovely day and the sun was shining. This was the first time Amanda had noticed.

  “I’m okay. How about you?” she said, deciding to fall into a meaningless exchange of pleasantries.

  Lance set the rose and envelope on the nightstand and approached the other side of her bed, facing the hallway. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by lately.”

  “You’re busy. I understand.” Amanda was willing to offer him excuses. It was hard not to stare at him—he just looked so good. She’d had the biggest crush on Lance for two years. It’d taken him almost eighteen of those twenty-four months to even notice her. He played defensive back for the football team. He was tall and dark-haired, with strong features and an endearing smile. He didn’t kiss her or reach for her hand the way he had on his last visit.

  He shuffled his feet and slid the tips of his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

  “How is everyone?” she asked, wanting him to talk because carrying a conversation drained her of the little energy she still had.

  “Okay.”

  This wasn’t working. “Something on your mind?” Amanda asked. She knew what was coming, could feel it, and in fact she’d sensed it the instant she saw him standing in the doorway.

  “You’ve been out of school a whole month now.”

  Like he needed to tell her how long she’d been sick! Yeah, well, he had it wrong. She’d been puking up her guts, literally pulling out her hair, for exactly thirty-two days, fifteen hours and ten minutes.

  “Everyone’s been real worried.”

  That was a joke, too. Her first week in the hospital she’d had visitors every day. Her bedroom had been crowded with friends until her mother had to usher everyone out. The second week, a few had stopped by and five or six had phoned. At the end of the third week, there were only Annie, Laurie and Lance. Her so-called boyfriend had made a couple of token visits; he never stayed long. The funny part was, she didn’t expect him to.

  “Tell everyone I’m thinking of them.”

  “Jake and Kristen came up to see you, right?” He seemed grateful to have a question to ask.

  Amanda knew they hadn’t. “I must’ve been asleep.”

  “Yeah,” he said, animated now. “That’s what it was. They came and you were sleeping. More people would come but everyone’s busy with graduation and all.” He frowned as if he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to say. “You aren’t upset about not attending the ceremony, are you? I mean, you’ll have your diploma and everything, so it doesn’t really matter.”

  In spite of what she’d told herself, it mattered a lot. This was one more thing to add to the list of what cancer had stolen from her.

  “Thank Jake and Kristen for me.” She ignored his question and did her best to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

  Lance stared down at the floor. “I will.”

  Suddenly she was overwhelmingly tired. Her eyes closed and she struggled not to drift off. Amanda always welcomed sleep. It was an escape.

  “Have you listened to the new U2 CD?” Lance asked.

  Amanda shook her head.

  “Ellie and I—” He stopped abruptly in midsentence, faltered a moment and tried again. “I bought it the day it came out,” he finished lamely.

  Apparently Amanda wasn’t supposed to be aware of his slip. At first she’d pretended not to hear. Only she had, and she knew. This small revelation didn’t surprise her. She opened her eyes.