BEYOND THE ROSES

Two-2

He appears to want to say something else but changes his mind at the last minute. The air shifts.

A second later, he walks off before I can question my temporary insanity further.

A small giggle has me turning over my shoulder, raising a brow. “What?” I’m surprised I can speak.

Zoe shrugs mischievously. “Nothing,” she replies, dragging out the G.

“Spit it out.” I’m curious to know what’s going on.

“Oh nothing, other than the fact you’ve just been infected with the Dr. Roman Archibald love bug.”

“The what?” I scrunch up my nose.

She bursts into fits of laughter. “You’ve got a lot to learn.” She wraps her arm around me playfully. “What do you want to see first?”

“I want to see it all.” And for the first time in a long time, I mean it.

Zoe shows me the gardens first as the sun is too beautiful to waste. The earth feels liberating beneath my toes; so much so, Zoe also kicks off her sandals halfway through the tour.

The luscious greens extend as far as the eye can see. Numerous water activities take place on the lake as the still waters run along the edge of the entire property. Many rowboats are tied to the docks.

Zoe details the multiple activities that take place on different days. Water polo, canoeing, volleyball, golf, and horseback riding are just the start of what’s on hand. A handful of kids are sitting under the trees and reading while most are splashing water in the lake.

Zoe is chatting about how Strawberry Fields caters for thirty kids when I stop, needing to catch my breath. She doesn’t realize until she turns and sees me leaning against a tree for support. “Oh, my god! Am I walking too fast? I’m so sorry.” She runs over, concerned.

“It’s okay. I just…my leg. It hurts sometimes.” My limp has returned since I stopped taking the drugs. Not as bad as before, but when I overdo it, it reminds me that it’s winning at life.

Seeing as Zoe and I will most likely be working together over the next three months, and I don’t have anything to hide, I see no point in being evasive. “So the answer to your question as to why I’m here…I have a brain tumor. Inoperable. I’ve tried many different drugs. Nothing worked except a trial drug, but that too ended up being bullshit.” I can’t help but be bitter. “The doctors said I could go at any time, but no one knows their fate.”

When Zoe blinks once, I quickly backtrack. “Sorry. That wasn’t incredibly depressing or anything. I just wanted to be honest.”

She wets her lips, shaking her head. “No, it’s not depressing. It’s uplifting and inspirational that you want to come here and share your experience with kids who could really use your strength. What you’re doing…you’re making a difference, and these kids will appreciate it, even if they don’t show it half the time.”

A baseball flies past our heads while she grins.

I’ve never been ashamed of my illness, which is why I decided to come here. Getting through to children who don’t understand why they’ve been dealt such a bad hand can be tough, and I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. But being able to relate to them by telling my story—I can only hope I’ll be there for them like Georgia was for me.

Zoe is clearly interested in what I just said, and I’m happy to tell her whatever she wants to know. “So you don’t take any pills? No chemo drugs?”

“No. I don’t see the point. They give me false hope. I’m on medication to control my seizures and migraines. They wanted me to take a mood stabilizer, but I’m not interested in living the rest of my short life as a zombie. But as far as drugs to help my condition, there aren’t any. I’ve tried them all. The limp comes and goes because the tumor is pressing against my frontal lobe, affecting my movement. And just for fun, my temporal lobe is also affected, and that’s why I s-stutter occasionally.” It kicks in right on cue.

Zoe is quiet, which is a first for her.

“I need a drink,” I say out loud, needing to lighten the mood. I didn’t come here for me. I came here to help others like me.

Zoe sniffs, before letting out a strangled laugh. “Me too.” The mood settles as we walk to the house.

“Zoe, I’ve been looking for you,” says a sweet voice. Up ahead, I see a slender girl in a wheelchair veer her way over to us.

“Cassandra.” Zoe smiles and throws her arms around her neck. “I want you to meet my new friend, Lola Van Allen.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Cassandra.” I bend forward and shake her limp hand, which is curled by her side. Cassandra is almost completely paralyzed from the chest down. She controls her motorized wheelchair by a joystick with her left hand.

I don’t let that stop me from reaching out and touching her because she’s not a leper. None of us are.

Cassandra smiles, and the sight is truly beautiful.

“Who’s hungry? It’s almost time for lunch,” Zoe says.

My stomach growls at the mere mention of food. They turn to look at me and burst into fits of laughter. It’s nice to laugh. Zoe leads the way.

We enter the dining room, which looks like something out of a movie. A crystal chandelier hangs from the high ceiling. The sunlight drifting in from the copious windows sends mini rainbows across the room as it strikes each dangling gemstone. A vase of roses sits in the center of each table, filling the room with a sweet fragrance.

We follow Cassandra, who zips over to a table in a small alcove. Looking around, I acquaint myself with my fellow volunteers and the children I’ll be spending my time with. They’re a mixed bunch. Some look unwell while others appear healthy, but the common factor is they’re all under fifteen, and they’re dying.

“I was homeschooled,” I hear the teenage girl at the next table say to her peer. “Yup, I’m that freak.”

I cluck my tongue.

This is what I came here for. To put an end to this stigma associated with being sick.

Trying this volunteer thing on for size, I approach the table, not wanting to press on my first day. “Hi, I’m Lola.” Both girls look at me. “I overheard what you said, and I just want you to know that no, you’re not a freak. We’re just…different.”

The girl looks at me, turning up her lip bitterly. I know what she sees. On the outside, I look like the perfect beacon of health.

Crouching down and dropping to her level, I smile. This is why I’m here. To make a difference. “I have a brain tumor, so if you’re a freak, then so am I.” Her eyes widen, and I can see it. We’re both in the same club no one wants to join, but we’re banded by shitty circumstances nonetheless.

“Are you a volunteer here?”

I nod, hoping it’s a good thing.

It is.

She beams brightly and reaches for her cell. “I’m going to text Francis and Ryan. You have to be our buddy. I’m Tash, by the way.”

When I read over the welcoming pack, it stated a group of kids are assigned a buddy. A buddy is someone who does activities with their group and is the leader of the pack. It warms me beyond words that Tash wants me as hers.

The smell of ripe tomatoes and golden mozzarella wafts through the air. Volunteers in the green and navy uniform emerge from three entrances off to the sides, carrying silver trays of food.

An older lady walks over to Cassandra and smiles. “Hello, Cassandra. I hope you’re hungry. We have lasagna on the menu.” Cassandra sighs, and I don’t understand why until the volunteer sits beside her and produces an adult bib. She ties it around her neck as Cassandra can’t do it herself.

“Welcome to my hell,” she quips when she notices Tash looking at her.

Tash quickly averts her gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s okay. Alpers-Huttenlocher syndrome hasn’t been kind to me for over ten years. I’m used to people staring.”

I’ve read about Cassandra’s condition, as it’s a disease that attacks the brain. Cassandra, just like me, would have been healthy and not known better. She walked, talked, and ate on her own, but our stories take the same turn. She would have experienced inexplicable changes, and then as time progressed, she would have watched herself deteriorate before her eyes, helpless to stop it.

Tears sting, but I wipe them away. None of us wants sympathy.

A beautiful woman in a lilac jacket and white pleated pants enters the room. Her white heels add height to her petite frame. Her long dark hair is twisted into a high bun, emphasizing her large green eyes and plump coral-painted lips.

She searches the room, appearing to seek someone out. When her gaze lands on me, I’m surprised to see that someone is me. She waves, and I turn over my shoulder to ensure it is me she’s addressing. I see it is.

“Hello, Lola.” I meet her warm eyes. “I’m Tamara Meriwether, the art teacher.” I nod with a smile. “Sorry to interrupt lunch, but I wanted to give you this.” She passes me a clear folder as I stand.

“Thank you.” I accept and open it up to see a timetable and a long list of activities.

“You’re helping out in my art class. I thought you may want it now as we’re starting some fun activities after lunch.”

“That sounds great. I can’t wait.”

“Wonderful.” She claps her hands together, her Tiffany bracelets twinkling under the bright lights. “All the information is in the folder. The official welcoming happens tonight. But June doesn’t like to make a fuss, and instead, we just carry on like normal. That’s why we head straight into activities on the first day.” I like June even more.

Before coming here, I did an online introduction on what to expect. It was about three hours’ worth of study, and even though June may seem casual in her approach, she runs this place with the utmost precision.

“Great. Thank you for this.” I hold up the folder.

She nods and opens her mouth, ready to say something, but then abruptly stops and gazes off into the distance over my shoulder. I wait for her to return eye contact, but she doesn’t. In fact, her pupils dilate, and she appears flustered.

Curious, I turn to look at what has captured her attention. I need not look far. Standing a few feet away, Dr. Archibald talks to a young girl. He listens, nodding every so often. He’s a pillar of support and care.

When he looks our way, a breathy sigh leaves Tamara’s parted lips. My first instinct is to look away, but for some unknown reason, I don’t. I admire the way Dr. Archibald holds himself with complete confidence and control. He has rolled up the sleeves of his crisp shirt, revealing taut, muscular forearms. He doesn’t look like your typical doctor because he’s young, around thirty, and he also looks like he belongs on the cover of Vogue.

I wonder what brought him here.

When he matches my stare and appears to be as transfixed by me as I am by him, the air sizzles around me. I shyly push my glasses up my nose, feeling an unfamiliar warmth pool within. I’m embarrassed, as I’m certain he can read my strange response to him.

“I’ll see you this afternoon.” Tamara’s voice severs my trance-like state. Zoe was right; I am infected by the Dr. Roman Archibald love bug.

“Yes.” I clear my hoarse voice. “Yes, I’ll see you then.”

She scampers past me, headed Dr. Archibald’s way. His eyes stay focused on me. However, the look is so intense I feel light-headed. When he finally breaks our eye lock, I can breathe again.

I’m looking forward to Tamara’s class.

The timetable seems well mapped out with enough activities to keep everyone busy. When I enter the pastel green room, I admire the inspirational pictures that litter the walls and relish in the soft sprinkle of lavender in the air.

About ten children are seated at desks with bright paints and large sheets of paper spread out in front of them. They all seem excited to get started.

“Hi, I’m Lola.” I give a small wave while the kids turn in their seats to give me their undivided attention. “I’ll be helping today. So if you have any questions, let me know.”

I can’t kick my sense of happiness. These children look as excited as I am to be here, confirming that I’m doing the right thing.

Tamara enters, her stylish jacket over her forearm. She appears at ease and comfortable in her natural habitat. “Hello, everyone. Once we’re all settled, we will start.” She floats over to the docking station and connects her pink iPod.

She then kicks off her heels and places them in the corner of the room. “Today, we’re going to do an exercise which requires nothing but a pen and paper.” She reaches into her large tote bag. After a moment of riffling around, she produces a stack of journals. “These are yours to keep, and I encourage you to write or draw in them whenever you feel the need.” She walks around the room, handing out the books. Her movements are so graceful and agile; a sense of calm surrounds her. She smiles gently when offering me my book.

When everyone has their supplies, she continues. “These journals are for when you don’t know what to say.” She gazes around the room, connecting with each of us. “There is no judgment here. No rules. No wrong or right. I want you to express everything you feel, no matter what it is. Take your time, and remember, this is a safe place. Begin when you’re ready.”

There is no doubt Tamara loves what she does.

Just as I’m about to offer my assistance, Tamara gently reaches for my arm. “How about you take a moment to write down why you’re here? I do this with all the volunteers. It helps.” There is no need for her to explain. Being here takes a toll on everyone.

But I’ve never been one to write down my feelings even though my doctors encouraged it. I just didn’t see the point. Writing down how shitty my life is wouldn’t change my circumstances.

I don’t see my opinion changing anytime soon, but I open the book, pressing down on the spine in thought. I’ve always been a reader, as the thought of being a writer is beyond frightening. All those words detailing your feelings, I couldn’t think of anything worse. I rub over my chest, my heart squeezing as I know why I’m so afraid. I know who I would write about. She was the only person who listened, really listened, not because she was waiting for her turn to speak, but because she cared about what I had to say.

With that thought in mind, I take the pen and I…let go.

I miss you, G…so much. Every day, I think it’s going to get easier, but it doesn’t. It gets harder. The thought of doing this alone is scarier than living. I wish I’d gone with you because I have nothing left to live for.

Each night, I wonder if this is the night I won’t wake up, if it is finally my time. I hate that a small part of me is disappointed when I bear witness to a new sunrise. I know you’d give anything to have just one more day, and here I am, wishing it was my last. I feel ungrateful. I am.

If I could give you my life to save yours, I would…in a heartbeat.

You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that more often. I love you, Georgia. Pleasse…com bak.

The last three words appear fuzzy, and my head begins to spin. Something isn’t right.

“Lola?” Tamara’s sluggish voice sounds as though she’s a million miles away.

A splitting pain stabs at my temple, leaving me winded as I clutch my stomach.

No, not again.

Shooting upright, I quickly excuse myself to find the nearest bathroom. Prior to my losing grip on reality, every color of the rainbow flashes before my eyes, and then…everything is replaced with black.