The Brink of Destruction

I could bore you with the details, but this is all you really need to know.

A half-hour visit to Student Health confirmed what I already knew, and I walked away with a folder full of pamphlets and choices, none of which would fit, jigsaw style, into the future I'd worked so hard to carve out. Still trying desperately to hang on to the rapidly disappearing possibility that I might actually finish school someday, I went ahead with the meeting I'd scheduled with the Financial Aid office, and was surprised to find that they had grant money left for the new major I had decided on. Registration was confirmed, classes began for the spring, and three times a week I showed up for my job at the front desk in the library.

Wynn and I spent a few afternoons reconnecting after the whirlwind of the last semester, and several times I almost told her. But every time the words reached my lips, I bit them back, knowing what it would mean to break the silence. So we studied together, had the occasional lunch, talked in the dark just before falling asleep, and the guilt of keeping such an important secret from her grew bigger and heavier every day.

Worst of all, I knew it wouldn't be a secret for long.

I started visiting the kids twice a week, and asked about part-time jobs as a therapy assistant. There would be a need for some extra money, more than I could scrape together from the library, but it would only be for a few weeks. Then I could get back to normal, whatever that was.

The children looked different to me now. Every little thing about them fascinated me--the dimples on the backs of the chubby fingers, the delicate, pale skin on their foreheads, the way a sudden smile would break across their faces the way the sun breaks through a bank of storm clouds. I couldn't drink in enough of their sweetness, and spent long moments just cradling them in my lap, smoothing their wrinkled hospital gowns and stroking the thin wisps of hair that clung to their scalps. It was forgiveness that I was seeking in them, with wordless gestures of love and affection, but absolution came with a higher price, one that I couldn't afford.

Billie called, again and again. Wynn discreetly made my excuses, even when I was sitting across the room, pleading with my eyes for just one more favor. When the first week of classes had come and gone, she clearly had questions that she wanted to ask, and her chance came that weekend.

She had asked Mike to bring by a couple of spaghettis from Bat's, and then had lovingly shooed him away so that we were alone with the elephant in the room. I picked at the pasta, my stomach unaccepting of the oregano, or the garlic, or some other alchemy that turned the savory sauce into something off-tasting and unpleasant. Finally, she broke the silence, in her usual gentle way.

"Gen, we've been best friends for a while now, and you know there isn't anything in the world I wouldn't do for you. Look, I know it may be none of my business, but something's wrong, and I'm really worried about you, and so is Mike. Billie's almost frantic wanting to know why you won't see him, and I don't know what to tell him anymore. Sweetie, I'm here for you, but can you help me out a little? I need to know what's going on so I can do something more than just field your phone calls."

I set my fork down carefully, and took a sip of the iced tea, cold beads of water sliding down my wrist from the outside of the cup. My mouth had gone dry as cotton, and I couldn't meet her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Wynn, I know I've been asking a lot of you, and it's not fair. But I hope you can believe me when I tell you that everything's going to be okay soon. I just--I can't talk about it, and I hope you understand. It's hard to say that to you, but that's all I can tell you right now." I looked hesitantly up at her, hoping to see that compassionate face I loved so much. But the expression she wore was hurt, pure and simple.

"I understand. You don't want to tell me. I guess it's okay, but Gen, I can't believe you think there's anything you have to deal with by yourself, when so many people care about you so much. Why can't you let us help?"

I felt it bursting up, like lava erupting from my soul, and every fiber of me wanted to blurt it out, to shout it, to tell someone--anyone--so I wouldn't feel so incredibly, achingly alone. There was a sting as my teeth broke through the tender skin of my lower lip, and the copper taste of blood.

"I can't, Wynn. I'm so sorry, but I just can't."

It didn't surprise me that she came toward me to give me a hug. The surprise was that I recoiled, pulling into myself like a turtle.

She straightened, tears welling in her eyes, and nodded.

"Okay, then," she said softly. "Just know I'm here when you're ready."

*********************
Two weeks later I had my first paycheck from the cancer center, and it seemed pathetically small when I thought of the exhaustion those extra hours had cost me. My classes were easier, so homework was less taxing, but two jobs were difficult to juggle at best, and it seemed my energy was leaking like air from a tire.

Billie still called, though less often, and Wynn said he had come by two or three times while I was away. She was careful when she told me how confused and broken he seemed to be, but I got the picture anyway. He left notes on my bed, scrawled in his messy handwriting, and I carefully tucked them inside my dresser drawer without reading them. I had taken off his ring, and strung it on the chain with the guitar pick. Eventually, I knew I would have to return them to him.

But not today.

Today I had a mission.

The bus wheezed to a halt at the East Campus stop, and the usual crush of students poured out, hurrying to their art or English or music classes. My feet numbly took me toward Ninth Street, past the shops, the ice cream parlor where we had all sat so many eons ago, laughing and talking. A quick right at the end, and then a left on Broad Street, the broken sidewalk heaving over the roots of massive oaks that shaded the street.

The office was unpresumptuous, situated in what used to be a modest brick home. Now a brass railing led up the steps to a door, bearing the doctor's name and hours of business. A puff of warm air fanned over me as I opened the door into a softly lit waiting room, but still there were goosebumps on my arms.

Woodenly, I gave the receptionist my name, my age, the vital information that seemed to belong to someone else, someone real, not the dazed robot that stood helplessly clutching the now dog-eared folder from Student Health.

Did I want to speak with a counselor?

No, thank you.

Did I want information about other options?

Again, thanks, but no.

Would I sign the waiver, indicating that I had been offered both?

Yes, sure. Whatever.

The waiting room was otherwise empty, and soothing James Taylor music wafted from the hidden speakers. My hands picked up a magazine and opened it, put it in front of my face almost against my will, but my eyes refused to cooperate. Instead, they remained glued to the white door that led down the hallway to the patient rooms.

I needed to walk, to pace. I stood in front of the window, looking out at the bed of pansies surrounding a teak bench in the back yard, and realized one hand had crept protectively across my belly, covering it like a blanket.

The squeak of the hinges startled me even though I had expected it, and an auburn-haired woman, thirty-ish and sweet-faced, wandered out into the room. Her blue eyes caught mine for a moment, and flashed a thousand emotions all at once. I knew mine mirrored every one of them to her.

"Genesis Hayden?" the plump nurse said softly, smiling toward me. I nodded, but didn't move. "You can come back, now. The doctor is ready for you."

Still my body remained rooted to the spot, while my mind spun deliriously. I felt my fingers leap to my throat, to clutch the guitar pick that had so often been my lucky charm, my talisman, but they found nothing there. The emptiness struck through my heart, echoing into my bones, and slowly the reality of where I was sank through me as my feet began to move. I knew that once I started down that hall, there was no turning back...

There is no really clear memory of the walk home. On autopilot, I drifted past one place after another where ghosts reached out for me, with green eyes and the scent of green apples clinging to them. That's what he had to be now, a ghost, a phantom, a memory. There was no other way for it to be, and so I swallowed the hurt, pushed back the guilt, and stiffened my spine.

The stone steps in Canterbury are worn in the center, concave from years of use by thousands of feet. I know that because I never looked up from my feet the whole way up, until I reached the landing. Even before I lifted my eyes, somehow I knew he was there. I could feel him, like the pull of the moon on the tides. Forcing the door closed on the hundred emotions that were racing through my mind, I faced him calmly, resigned to what was coming.

I expected anger, his signature fury, the hell that he stood ready to unleash whenever he was wronged. It would have been easier, I think, to handle. But he stood, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking more like a little boy than a man. His chin trembled, and I could see fresh tears streaking through the tracks where they had already fallen.

"Why, Genny?" he whispered, his voice breaking. "What did I do?" His eyes were pleading, begging for answers I couldn't give him, no matter how much my heart was aching to.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Billie. It isn't you. There's a lot going on with me right now, but it isn't anything you've done, or not done." If I just kept numb, kept my voice flat and level, I'd be able to get through this, I told myself. Just don't think about it. And don't look at his eyes.

"You've never lied to me before, Gen. Why would you start now, after all we've been through?"

"It's not a lie, Billie, it's--"

"It's a lie because you're not telling me why you've turned your back on me! We're supposed to share everything, no secrets--remember? What happened to that?"

He moved toward me, put his hands on my shoulders, and I shivered under his touch. I had missed it, missed him, so profoundly that it felt as if all the life had gone out of my life, that my very soul had died.

"Please, Genny, talk to me. I don't understand what's happening, and it's driving me crazy. We were so happy--weren't we? I mean, was I the only one? I can't believe you don't still love me, Gen. If you don't, then you're gonna have to say it to my face, because otherwise I'll never believe it. Go on--say it!"

And of course, I couldn't. Instead, I laid my hand on his chest, pushing when I wanted to pull him tight to me, backing away when everything I was wanted to fall into his arms and tell him that it was all a mistake, a horrible, monstrous mistake, and that nothing could ever keep us apart.

His eyes fell to my naked finger, and fresh pain contorted his face. "You--you can't mean this!" he cried. "Tell me why you're taking everything that ever meant anything to me away! What in God's name have I done??" His hands were out, pleading, desperate, and I had to get away before I dissolved into nothing. I turned and fled down the hall, clutching the ragged folder to my chest.

He followed me to my room, but before he could come inside, I stopped and held the door half-closed. "I need some time, Billie. Please. I have a lot to figure out, and I'm so, so sorry, but I have to do it by myself."

Where were the tears? I should have been drowning in them. His face was a mask of anguish, and it stabbed my heart that I had caused him pain, when all I had ever wanted was to make him happy. But I was frozen, drained, and it didn't seem that I would ever be able to feel again.

Leaning forward, I kissed his cheek gently, and then slowly closed the door, turning the lock. The thud of the bolt felt like a bullet through me, and as soon as he heard it, I could feel the pounding of his palm against the wood.

"No Genny!" he wailed, "you can't just shut me out like this! Don't you understand that I can't breathe without you?"

"Don't," I muttered against the door, leaning against it for support. "Oh, God, Billie, please don't. I can't take it if you do this, I can't..."

"Then let me in! Gen, I don't care what it is, we can get through it. I'll do whatever it takes, I'll walk through hell, but just please let me in, let me talk to you!"

My back slid down the smooth wooden surface until I was crumpled on the floor. Still I could feel his fists pounding his hurt and frustration into the solid oak, and every blow was like a spike through me, until I couldn't stand to hear it anymore. I crawled to the bed, flung myself across the comforter, and buried my head under the pillow.

It didn't make any difference. I could still hear him, choking the words over and over. "Say it, Genny. Say it. Say you don't love me."

And now all I could see behind my closed eyelids was Jackie's beautiful, haunting eyes.