STICK IN THE VINE

Chapter 5

I thought I was going die again this evening, Shawty ranging between ninety five to hundred miles an hour. I've lost track of where we are. Shawty negotiates into a lone path off the road we've been trailing. An old bungalow comes to view, weeds knee high around its edges. Shawty grinds on stones before finally stopping at the frontage. She steps out, holding the envelope that contains the films. A man, bald at the centre of his head, in lab coat comes out of the house.He scratches his stubble, one hand on his waist,adjusting his glasses. Shawty walks towards him, up the wooden steps.

" Miss Rawlings?"The man says in surprise.

"Professor" Shawty says, shaking hands with him.

" Let's go in miss" He says, opening the door for Shawty and looking back at the yard as if to see if we were being followed. The inside of this house isn't as bad as the outside. Although it looks more of a laboratory than a house, Shelves go round the white walls, all occupied by test tubes with green, blue, pink and amber coloured potions or chemicals, whichever one it is, all labelled in codes and symbols.

The professor leads us to a room with laths propped against the wall, round the room .Two chairs with rollers on their four legs sit in front of a microscope. Four computers,three displaying graphs and the last showing the yard outside, that's where he'd seen us from. He offers Shawty one of the chairs and he sits on the other, facing her. Shawty brings out the film from the envelope after professor has showered her with appreciation for sponsoring his research.

"I have something to show you professor". She passes the film to him. The professor stands and walks over to a yellow light at the corner of the room. He bends the film to the light looks at it for a moment.

"It's a tumor" The professor says

"Liver Angiosarcoma. Operated it once, I'm having a relapse" Shawty says, the professor looks at her, I look at her. This is it, it's all happening again, I walk up to Shawty, touch the side of her face, don't worry, we'll pull through this together this time, I promise. The professor traces gently towards his seat, looking at Shawty.

He lands and says

"Is that why you've been sponsoring this?" Waving in the general direction of the building. Shawty nods, tears riming in her eyes.She dabs it off. Never ask anything from a position of weakness, always ask from a position of power. I learnt that from her. I guess we sometimes get tangled in emotions , getting the better of us that logic doesn't seem to fit.

" Had a feeling it was going to come back, had to so something about it."Shawty says, cleaning off her the tear trickling down her check. The professor draws closer and pats Shawty on the shoulder, telling her it's okay.

"The first doze of Catrofil A- beta we admistered to twenty people, we had only one survivor.That ofcourse caused.My bankruptcy .And meltdown." The professor looks blankly at the computer screen, puffs his cheeks.

"But of course you came to my aid and I improved on the Catrophil. A-beta. Those I admistered it to , after a rough start in the first few weeks-increased activity in some, nausea in some - they're showing steady progress and recovery. The tumor shrinking at a very fast pace. But the problem is, I've not had enough time to declare it hundred percent potent, being that the highest among these patients have used it for eight months. This isn't enough time to assert effectiveness. And it hasn't been tested on relapse cases..."

"Then let me be the first."Shawty says.

" I will give it a try. I'm not ready to eviscerate my body again with Chemo. I will give it a shot ." Shawty says ,looking at the professor who is looking doubtful about Shawty's request.

"Miss Rawlings."He pauses, looking at Shawty.

"I have it here, but you have to check back, in two weeks for observations, I mean, whether it's compatible with you and check for anomalies. "He says , sauntering toward a machine that fumes out when he opens it, like fumes from a refrigerator, maybe it's a refrigerator anyway with alot of security pads attached to it.

"Yes, I will do that" Shawty says, fondling with her fingers. The professor returns with a bottle of Catrophil -A Beta, an orange bottle with silver cap , still fuming ,and hands it over to Shawty with instructions for use.

*****

It was a peaceful drive back home, relatively peaceful or we hope for peace after thrity-two missed calls from Nora. Why did I use we? I'm the one hoping, not Shawty or both of us anyway.The sun is white, a big ball that has been drenched off its usual yellow or orange at sunset, camouflaging with the wisp of clouds that pass over it. The security guard allowed Shawty in but waves to stop her.

"Evening ma'am" He says,crouching alittle to meet Shawty's eyes.

" Evening Ben"

" Yes, Miss Nora came this afternoon panicky, asking if you were in or not.I told her you weren't in and she turned back immediately. She looked disturbed, I don't know if there's anything I should be aware of? He says, his green eyes waiting patiently for an answer.

"No, it's alright. A little mix up, that's all. Thanks for asking" Shawty says.

"Alright ma'am" he says, raising his cap either in salute or just wanted the his head have a feel of the evening breeze.

Shawty's mum sits comfortably on the recliner, looking at the small fountain fall at the centre of the garden. Her attention shifts only when Shawty drives towards garage.

She kisses her mum and asks about her state of health. Shawty heads for the stairs but stops as she hears Flora growling , carved behind one of the sofas.

" Thanks Flora, I know you got me" Shawty says, and immediately Flora squeaks away. Shawty is on the first step, holding the Bannister

"Danielle ?" Oh my God, she just said my name again, still on the recliner, looking at the garden. Shawty stops.

"Mum ,Da.."

" Are you Okay?" Her mum says, rising gently to look at Shawty. Their eyes pretzel together, some unseen bond of holding the gaze relaxed and steady. Shawty lowers her eyes.

"Mum I'm fine" She says and mopes up the stairs, out of her mum's view. Shawty picks the remote and presses it at the ceiling. It rolls over . The stars are just coming in, scattered here and there. My favourite ,Orion ,isn't visible yet. Shawty showers, and takes the Catrophil A-Beta pill given to her by the professor. Her phone buzzes, it's Nora.

"Sorry I scared you.I'm fine.See you tomorrow."

"Na, I will be at the office tomorrow, I'm okay Nora" Shawty says and the phone clicks off.

It is selfish to think we're the only ones hurt by our pains. People see, they feel, they know what it is like seeing us laugh. Now tormenting seeing us in pains;for they also feel the pains.

Nora lives in an apartment building.She stays on the second floor. The building's is quite tasty, so's her flat. The walls are coloured white,not as lavish as Shawty's ;but very comfortable. Her sofas, stuffed with teddies and multi coloured pillows, arch to face the television thats is on E! And behind the sofas is the dinning room.There is a touch of Africa here and there, from the hand woven baskets, stripy red and dark green mats leaning against the wall, to the porcelain cups and dishes on her dinning table.

Nora sits on the on the dark fluffy rug between the sofa and the TV . She's on red pants reaching the knee, ash singlet showing her black bra as she takes a swig of her red wine. She's working on the laptop, totally oblivious of the day's episode of keeping up with the Kardarshians.

She's on Shawty's page, handling some fan mails and chats. She stops scrolling, types in Liver Angiosarcoma on Google.She takes another swig as it loads. Options appear on the screen, she looks intently, like why are there so many options of explaining something not nice.She finally clicks on the link that leads her to www.ncbi.nlm.nlh.gov/pmc/article. I sit beside her and we read together.

"Liver angiosarcoma is a rare disease, however it still ranks as the third of most common primary liver maligancies. The prognosis of liver angiosarcoma is very poor with almost all patients with this kind of disease die within 2 years after diagnosis. " Our jaws drop at the same time at the sight of this Nora scrolls on.

No specific symptoms and signs are closely associated with this disease.

Background

Hepatic angiosarcoma is a very rare disease, accounting for only 2% of primary liver malignancy [1- 3]; however, it still ranks as the third place in the list of most common primary liver malignancies [ 2,3]. Hepatic angiosarcoma originates from endothelial cells and usually presents as an abdominal mass with unspecific symptoms and signs [4], making it difficult to diagnose in the early stage. The survival of hepatic angiosarcoma is very poor, which is attributable to its rapid progress, high recurrence rate, and resistant to traditional chemotherapy and radiotherapy [5-7]. Even liver transplantation could not benefit patients with liver angiosarcoma [8]. To date, the therapeutic guideline for liver angiosarcoma has not been set up; partial liver resection to remove tumor radically still remains to be the cornerstone of treatment options."

The rest is too medical and seem to be written in another language entirely. Nora feels the same, the room becomes cold, needing the warmth of whatever is available. Nora grabs the pink pillow beside her and hugs, I fold my legs to my chest and hug myself tightly, both of us,glaring at the laptop screen.

Nora's phone buzzes beside her. She looks at the phone and Racheal comes up on the screen. She places it on loud speaker, famished by the slow minutes of silence and thinking.

" Hi Racheal" Nora intones, clearing her throat.

" I called Alex Cornwell and he said he didn't see you guys at his office today."

" You did?"

"No I didn't, you guys lie like a f*****g four year old . Tell Nora, what's happening to Shawty?"

Nora sniffs.

" Shawty has..."

"Shawty has what?"

"Not on phone.Let's talk tomorrow, come really early and I'll tell you."

"Tomorrow? Why? Fine, tomorrow. "

"Yeah" Nora, says, mumbling a goodnight and the line clicks off.

Nora keeps her stare at the computer. I need to get back to Shawty. I rise to leave when she dials a number on a her phone.

" is this Jane Wilson on the line?"

"Yes , who's on the line?"

"Nora Kimberly, Shawty Rawlings's P.A. I need you to set up a meeting with Micheal Pons, tell him I have something of mutual benefit to us. Tell him I'd prefer it comes up before Wednesday next, before next proceeding. "

" Uh, em,Okay, I will do that and get back to you."

"And , em, no calls. Just texts." The line goes blank for a moment.

"Okay."

What? Micheal Pons? What's going be of mutual benefit to both of them? Is, is Nora going to snitch on Shawty? Why ? Why now?

She drops the phone, takes in a deep breath, balloons are mouth, releasing the breath slowly through the small opening of her mouth. She gets up, gets whiskey from the fridge and sips in , looking blandly at me, through me , at her laptop from a distance.

******

Shawty needs protection. Which is more frustrating? When you can see things but can do nothing about them? Or you could have been able to do something about it, but you didn't see, and when you finally found out, it's just too late .

At what point does a person slide into depression? They call it slide right? When a person starts showing signs of drinking, eating too much or eating much less, blaming the world, trying harder, blocking out everyone. I asked for the starting point right? The point where it all begins. Does it start the first day you came home more knocked out than the last or the day you took a spoonful more than you'll normally take. When does it start? Is it the day you worked a minute harder than the last?

I swear ,if could posses a mortal body right now and ask Shawty why she's working this hard at 3:30 AM? She's either going to tell me it's the Catrophil A that she collected from the professor or she just feels like working. I know it's neither.

You view things differently when you're dead.Not because, like as I'm dead , I can see everything. No.It's more like I see more re -occurring patterns, like when a girl embarrasses a guy for asking her out, then she turns by the alley and starts peeping, wishing he'd come back and try again. You give a kid a biscuit, he rejects it outrightly and burst into a tantrum. You turn your back to get something done, he quickly minces a little, throws it in his mouth and keeps pouring out the tears. When I first saw things like these , I got confused, why turn down something you really want?

Re-occurring, events like these made me conclude that what people show or express isn't always what they really mean or what's really what's wrong with them. I don't do that, I won't that. It's like God opening the gates of heaven for me to come in, then I decide I'd prefer to chill off in hell.

Shawty is getting depressed. I'm not the only pristine being seeing this as I sit on her bed,there are two eyes peering through the slightly open door. The wrinkled aged hands on the doorknob. Shawty's mum. I don't know how long she's been there, I met her there since I came back from Nora's.

I hope what's coursing through her memory is what that fortuneteller from Africa told her; that she has a fate tied to one of us, that Shawty's going to fall in love, and it's going to last forever . I can only hope because, what the present situations seem like,make us forget what we've heard the future will ever look like.

Surrounding Shawty are, thin elastic cables sprawling from the floor to the table where she's working. Bags torn apart on the table on, showing the innards.Heels of different sizes on a movable rack at arm's reach beside her,removing them apart one after the other. Lining them with tubes, testing the charges through a meter in front of her, a soldering iron on one hand, working under two bright lamps in front of her on her table.

I step gingerly towards her, stepping on different clothing fabric.

"Shawty, go to bed" I say , not for her;but for the woman at the door, watching her only true child work her self to exasperation. Working to forget the legal battle with Compatz, working to forget that her body has decided to attack itself . Working to forget unconsciously those that may be planning to snitch on her.

I look back at those eyes by the door.She took me as a child, before we lost each other. No, before I lost her.She hasn't lost me, she still calls Shawty by my name. One may call it part of her illness, but I feel it, the connection.

Shawty's nodding slowly, curving her fingers to her eyes like a binoculars, rubbing gently against them to chase off the sleep. Shawty it's 5:30 go to bed. She opens her fingers and mats her palms on her face, sliding them down slowly . She takes her time to get up, switching off the lamps, leading her way to bed.

The eyes by the door withdraw into the dark, closing the door gently behind her.

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