Letting Go of Gravity Page 4

  I bit my lip. If Charlie wasn’t in the bedroom next to mine, I couldn’t give him our secret knock. He wouldn’t know I was right there on the other side.

  “But we get to stay here with you! And on weekends, your mom arranged for you to stay with Em. Matty might sleep over too. Won’t that be fun? It’s going to be fine,” Grandma Rose continued, her voice bright, but it was too bright, like she was trying to pretend it was sunny outside when it was really raining, and I knew it wasn’t going to be fine.

  “Not without Charlie,” I said, and I started crying a little, and then more and more, until I was crying so hard, my breath flew away from me. It was terrifying, how I could feel my mouth gulping hard to find air, how my heart was on the outside, like the helium people.

  Grandma Rose reached over and pulled me into her arms, holding me hard, shushing in my ear, rubbing my back steadily, until eventually my sobs slowed.

  “It’s okay to be sad with me and your grandpa,” she whispered. “But right now your parents have a lot on their plate. I need you to be really brave for them, to be as good as you can. Can you do that for me? Can you be brave, Parker?”

  I sniffed, nodding hard, my limbs suddenly heavy and tired.

  “That’s my girl,” she said.

  The next night, when Mom came home for dinner and asked me how my day was, I didn’t tell her that I cried at lunch when Caroline Bates asked me if Charlie was going to die. Instead, I said that Caroline was praying for Charlie to get better. I watched Mom’s smile come back from the faraway-Charlie-place, how when it rested on me, her shoulders relaxed just a little bit.

  And later that week, when Dad gave Mustard a chin rub, telling me he was happy our cat had finally started using the litter box again, I didn’t tell him about the messes I’d been cleaning up every day, the way I’d use a plastic bag to pick them up, hiding them in the bottom of the garbage can in the garage. Instead, I came over to pet Mustard too, letting his throaty purrs vibrate through my hand, calling him a good boy.

  I worked hard on making the sadness small, making the fear invisible.

  And it wasn’t just with my parents. I made sure to thank Em’s mom for having me spend the night. I did Charlie’s chores without being asked. I gave Em all my winning Skee-Ball tickets when we went to Chuck E. Cheese’s. After I saw Grandma Rose secretly crying in the kitchen one day when I told her I wished I could share my dessert with Charlie, I started lying to her and Grandpa, too, pretending to be the bravest girl in the world, making sure to hide under my covers when I cried at night.

  And then, five months after Charlie’s bloody nose, Dad came home from the hospital and taught me the word “remission.” I was scared when his eyes got watery, but he told me it was because he was so happy. Charlie still had to get some more medicine to make sure the dandelions didn’t grow back, but he was going to be okay.

  I look over at Charlie now, nine years later—still skinny but much taller—and he’s staring at the hospital entrance too.

  I want to ask him what he’s thinking.

  I want to tell him looking at the hospital now makes my heart hurt.

  But Charlie and I haven’t talked like that for years, maybe not ever.

  I fiddle with the door handle instead. “Well, have fun at the comic book thing.”

  “Yeah, good luck at orientation.”

  “Thanks,” I say, but I still don’t move, watching the automatic doors, the flow of families going in, a child in a wheelchair being wheeled out.

  “Um, Parker?” Charlie asks, inclining his head toward the entrance.

  I sigh, then grab my bag from the back and step outside.

  As soon as I shut the door, Charlie’s out of there.

  Seven

  OKAY, HERE IT GOES, the first day of the rest of my life, I think as the hospital doors slide open.

  Stepping into the main lobby with its bright oranges and greens and yellows and blues is like going back in a time machine.

  Focus, Parker. Focus.

  I walk toward the front desk, and a friendly woman with short permed white hair and a name tag that says BETTY, VOLUNTEER cheerily says hello.

  “I’m here for the internship program?”

  “Another one of our interns! Welcome!” She hands me a temporary badge. “You’ll get a photo ID later today,” she says, motioning me to the elevator. “Second floor, head to the right. Room 221. Have a good day!”

  My hands take the badge, and I smile automatically at Betty Volunteer.

  The first elevator is too crowded. Even though a man in scrubs offers to make room for me, I shake my head, stepping back to wait for the next elevator.

  As I’m standing there, my bottom right eyelid starts to twitch. I hope no one can see it.

  Another elevator comes. There’s plenty of room, but my legs won’t move, and I shake my head politely when someone holds the door for me.

  My teeth want to chatter, and I clench my jaw shut, feeling the energy building in the back of my throat.

  A third elevator arrives, and even though the lobby is super air-conditioned, I’m sweaty all over and my head feels light.

  I don’t even look at the people in that elevator.

  I remember standing in a waiting room, looking at my shiny red gym shoes, a nurse holding my hand as Dad walked down the hall, through doors at the end of the hallway, to find Mom and Charlie, and how right then, I knew with absolute certainty that it would be my fault if Charlie died.

  I blink, trying to force the memory to leave, and everything around me gets extra loud and muffled at the same time. The volume in my ears is turned up to super sensitive, but I can’t tell what anyone is saying, their words going in and out like trucks honking on the highway for no good reason.

  The fourth elevator comes and goes.

  I look at my watch. I have three minutes until the orientation starts. I know I should get in an elevator if I want to be on time, and I have to be on time. I can’t be late for the first day of the rest of my life. It shouldn’t be this hard; it’s just getting in an elevator. But adrenaline is shooting through me, and I wipe my clammy palms on my pants.

  When I look over my shoulder, Betty Volunteer is watching me, puzzled, and I think, Parker McCullough, you are the valedictorian you are going to Harvard get your act together what is wrong with you there is nothing wrong with you you are healthy get in the elevator to strive to seek to find and not to yield. NOT to yield.

  I push the thudding heart coming out of my mouth back down in my chest where it belongs and squeeze into the crowded elevator.

  “Can you press two, please?” I ask, my voice shaking.

  • • •

  When I enter the room, it’s full, and everyone looks expectantly at me.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say to the stern-looking gray-haired man at the front of the room. He glances at his watch and then points at the sign-in sheet. I sign the only blank space left while he speaks.

  “As I started to say, I’m Dr. Gambier, the head of this internship program at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital Medical Center. I’d like to take this opportunity to personally welcome each of you to our summer internship program. You’ve been accepted amid an elite group of students.”

  As he continues, I find the only empty seat, banging my thigh into the corner of the table when the girl next to me won’t scoot in.

  “Today is orientation. You’re going to learn some of the basic procedures of working at Children’s Hospital, in particular what you need to know about cleanliness. If you’re in this room, you’re already up-to-date on your vaccinations, which is great, but it’s paramount that if you’re sick, you call in. We want to minimize as much germ exposure as we can with our patients.”

  I look at the other people sitting around the table. Several of them are taking notes as Dr. Gambier speaks, so I grab a pen and pull the informational folder in front of me closer.

  My mind wanders to the first time Charlie went through chemotherapy, how he got
terrible sores in his mouth.

  “Huh. So I guess we’re partners,” the girl next to me says, startling me out of my thoughts. Everyone around us is introducing themselves to one another.

  I feel the same familiar terror I always feel when I have to talk to new people.

  The girl is tall and thin, wearing diamond earrings that look like they cost more than our house. She smells like the entire perfume department at Macy’s.

  My nose tickles.

  “I’m Laurel,” she says, flicking back her long white-blond hair and not really looking at me. “I’m going to Harvard next year, focusing on pediatric endocrinology.”

  “Me too. I’m going to Harvard too, that is,” I say, and Laurel gives me a closer look.

  “Huh. Are you rushing anything?”

  “No? I’m planning on finishing in four years?” I say, wondering if I should be finishing earlier. Would it improve my chances of getting into a good med school program if I completed undergrad in three years?

  “I meant a sorority,” she says.

  “Oh, no, sorry. I’m not.”

  She looks disappointed. “Huh. Well, they’re really great for connections and recommendations. You should think about it.”

  “Um, okay.”

  Laurel fiddles with a ballpoint pen, and I feel a desperate need to make this interaction work.

  “So, why do you want to be a doctor?” I ask.

  Laurel lights up so much, it’s like she’s a whole new person. “I love how bodies work. I’ve always thought it’s kind of like we’re a symphony, every part of us working together, contributing and playing its part, and when something’s out of tune, it’s a matter of finding that part, getting it back in tune, so the symphony’s whole again. As soon as I was old enough to figure it out, I knew that’s what I wanted to be. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.”

  “Wow,” I say.

  “How about you?”

  Around me, the other interns talk to one another. I try not to think about the day I found out Charlie’s cancer had come back. Instead, I focus on getting my Harvard letter, Dad’s joy, Mom’s quiet pride.

  “When we were in fourth grade, my twin got cancer, and I wanted to help other kids.”

  Across the table, two guys are intensely comparing notes on Johns Hopkins’s research program, talking about advances in gene research. I hear the guy to my right say that his dream is to join Doctors Without Borders and the girl he’s chatting with say she wants to get into AIDS research.

  I swallow hard. “I want to be a doctor so that kids like Charlie won’t get sick again. . . .”

  It’s not enough.

  The words fly into my mind, and even though I’m sitting, I feel like I’m going to fall over, my stomach turning and my body breaking into a cold sweat.

  “Excuse me,” I say, standing suddenly and pushing around Laurel, out of the room.

  It takes me a second to find my bearings in the hallway, but when I do, I run to the restroom and into the first stall, kneel on the floor, and promptly throw up all the HealthWheat cereal I made myself eat this morning.

  I wipe my mouth and stand up to leave, then lean over, vomiting again.

  I try to tell myself I’m just nervous, that it’s first-day jitters. Of course I can help kids with cancer. I’ve always wanted to be a doctor.

  I owe Charlie this.

  It’s not enough.

  I dry heave, then slide back down on the floor.

  I hear clicks on the tile getting closer, two designer patent-leather flats ending up primly outside my stall.

  For one desperate second I hope it’s Betty Volunteer. I bet she’d find me a quiet dark room to sit in, would get me a soft drink and pat my forehead, would tell me it’s all going to be okay.

  “Dr. Gambier wants to know if you’re okay,” Laurel says.

  I wish she were Em.

  “I don’t think so,” I say.

  “Huh,” she says, and she and her designer flats click back out of the restroom.

  I hug my knees against my chest and rest my head on them, not sure what to do next.

  Eight

  “I’M SO SORRY. I couldn’t get ahold of my dad and my mom’s teaching and Charlie’s at some comic book thing in Kentucky,” I say as I climb into Em’s front seat.

  “It’s totally fine. I can’t leave you sad and alone and barfing in the hospital lobby.”

  “But I know you’re busy and your mom needed the car. Maybe I should have just waited until Charlie could pick me up.” I can feel myself teeter dangerously near crying, but Em reaches out a hand and squeezes my shoulder.

  “Park, it’s okay. I promise. Mom was happy to hand over the keys so I could rescue you. Plus, this means I get to see you today after all.”

  I sigh, settling back into the seat as the beat-up old gray Fiesta pulls out of the hospital lot and toward the highway. Even though Em’s driving tends to make me a little carsick and she’s playing her favorite terrible soft-rock station, I can feel the tension leaving my body by the second.

  While Dr. Gambier couldn’t have been more anxious to get my potentially contagious self out of there, Betty Volunteer was exactly as I imagined her to be—bringing me a ginger ale and periodically checking in to make sure I felt okay while I waited for Em.

  “So, what happened in there?” Em asks.

  I open my mouth to answer, but I feel dizzy again. I fix my gaze in front of me and grasp the door handle, white-knuckled. I need to get it together. Em’s leaving. In two days.

  “I think I ate some bad cereal,” I finally say.

  “Cereal can give you food poisoning?”

  “I guess so.”

  She chews her lip, thinking carefully about what she wants to say next, while in the background some guy is singing about a horse with no name.

  “Park, you’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” I shake my head hard.

  “You’re lying.”

  I sniff tears back and think of the truest thing I know right now. “I’m just going to miss you so much. I’m sorry—that’s selfish. I’m also totally excited for you.”

  She holds up a hand. “Listen, I know I’m great. You don’t have to apologize for missing me.”

  I half cry, half laugh.

  “But are you sure you don’t want to come? We could still make it work—most of the places Matty and I are staying at are hostels, so it’d be easy for you to join us once you got to Europe.”

  I let myself imagine it for a minute—my entire life in a backpack, going to museums and pubs, wandering through beautiful cities and small towns.

  Leaving Charlie behind.

  “No. I have to do this internship, Em.”

  Em looks nervous and leans over to turn down the radio. “So, I don’t want you to get mad. But there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while.”

  “You don’t want me to get mad? That sounds ominous,” I say, letting out an unconvincing laugh.

  “Do you really want to do this internship? Do you still want to be a doctor? Because ever since you got your Harvard acceptance, you’ve been kind of weird. I’m sure it’d be scary to change your mind now, but it’s totally okay. You could . . .”

  I zone out, thinking of the day I decided I wanted to be a doctor, how as soon as I said the words, Dad looked at me with so much love and Mom told me she was proud of me.

  “Of course I do,” I say, cutting off what she was still in the middle of saying.

  “I mean, at the very least, maybe you could take the summer off to think about it. Because you’re going to be spending the next God knows how many years studying your ass off.”

  A loud, weird laugh comes out of me. “I have wanted this since, like, fourth grade.”

  “I know.”

  “I mean, ever since Charlie got sick, I’ve known this is what I’m going to do.”

  “Park, I know, but . . .”

  “This internship is s
o competitive and such an honor. Of course I want it! And anyway, can you imagine me telling my parents I don’t want to do it? Ha! As if.” I shake my head.

  “Parker, you know they love you no matter what you do, right? I just think you might feel better if you talk with them. Or maybe you and Charlie could talk?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Em shakes her head.

  “In what world would that ever happen?”

  “He’s going through things too, Park. And with all the Erin stuff and Matty being gone this summer . . .”

  “What Erin stuff?”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  I shake my head.

  “They broke up last night.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know any of the details—Matty just told me they’re over. But what I do know is that maybe he’ll need a friend this summer. And I know this is totally corny, but maybe you need him too? It’s just something to consider, okay?”

  I don’t reply.

  She shoots me an anxious look. “Oh crap, are you mad?”

  “No, I’m fine,” I say, but it comes out sharper than I intended.

  We’re both quiet then, the noise of the highway competing with both the car’s muffler and the cheesy, heartfelt ballad coming from the speakers.

  Em’s coming from a good place, but she doesn’t know what she’s talking about with any of this: the internship, being a doctor, Charlie. Sure, she knows me better than pretty much anyone, but I want to be a doctor.

  Then I remember Laurel’s face when she talked about the human body being a symphony.

  No.

  I shake my head, clear my throat, make my voice light and breezy as Em pulls off the highway and onto Route 42. “So, do you have time for me to treat you to a root-beer float and a hot dog at the Float, as a thank-you for picking me up?”

  Em looks doubtful. “Your stomach doesn’t hurt anymore?”

  “Weirdly enough, I’m actually kind of hungry,” I say.

  Em glances over, studying me, and whatever she sees must reassure her. She nods. “If we can get takeout, I’m in.”