Pulse

The rest of that day had been amazing, by Ivy’s standards. They had hung out at the park, and spoken about music, they went to lunch together at this tidy little place that Ivy had never been to even though everyone there seemed to know Daniel, they went to a band practice in some guy’s basement where the guitarist was obviously stoned. They went to dinner together, but instead of another restaurant, Daniel simply bought some McDonalds, took her out to that park from the morning, and they had a picnic underneath some fireworks. They had talked about music a lot that day; they even talked about Ivy’s music a bit. But, no matter how very comfortable she was becoming around him, she couldn’t bring herself to mention the subject that was on her mind.

So that night, she painted her nails red. Red was good. It was the color of courage and bravery, a color that she hoped would make her strong enough to ask Daniel what was on her mind.

She wrote some more that night. She was planning on sharing the songs with Daniel. That scared her a bit. She had never wanted to show anyone her music before. And even though it would probably make what she wanted to ask him sound that much more stupid, she still felt like she needed to.

She would go to school early the next day, and sit in the same spot she had so many weeks ago, with the same guitar, and sing. Strangely, she found herself anticipating the audience instead of dreading it.

Instead, Ivy awoke at about four, feeling nauseous. She ran to the bathroom and threw up in Technicolor bubbles. Less than five minutes later, her mother had banished her to her bed, a thermometer stuck under her tongue.

“One-oh-one point six!” Her mother exclaimed, slapping a hand to her cheek. “Oh my poor baby girl! You are definitely not going to school today.”

Ivy groaned and threw her arm over her face. As soon as she heard the door click, signaling to her that her mother was no longer in the room, Ivy leapt from her bed, ran to her table, grabbed her phone, and dove back into bed, hiding under her pale blue sheets. She dialed the number that Daniel had put into her phone the night before. It was supposed to be his cell phone.

It rang only once before a gruff, unfamiliar voice answered. “Hullo?” it said.

“Um, hi? Um, this is Ivy… and I was wondering if, uh, Daniel was there.” The voice had put her off guard. She had no clue who she was talking to.

“Yeah.” He said, then shouted for someone. “CLAIRE! GET THIS TO DANIEL!”

The next voice to float over the line was that of Daniel’s mother. “One moment please.” She said.

There was a brief, muffled conversation on the other end of the line before he phone was again handed off.

“Hello.” Daniel, finally. “Who is this.” There was no question in his voice, he sounded dead.

“Daniel?” Ivy responded hesitantly, playing with the edge of her sheet.

“Ivy? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I won’t be at school today, I’m –”

“Sick.” Ivy finished for him. “Me, too. I think there was something funny about that place we went for lunch.”

“Julio would never do this to me…” Daniel said, more to himself than to Ivy. He sounded more sick than her, too.

“How bad are you?” Ivy asked suddenly.

“I’ve been throwing up since ten last night, and my temperature’s been around one-oh-three.” He said glumly. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Oh, me too.”

The rest of the day, he and Ivy stayed on the phone, only briefly interrupted by mealtimes and bathroom breaks. The next day, Ivy was better. Daniel was not.

The doorbell rang as Ivy stood awkwardly in the morning fog. She was holding a gently steaming bowl of soup on one hand, and she had Daniel’s daily newspaper in the other. Daniel was the one who answered the door.

“Ivy?” he asked, shocked to see her. “Why aren’t you at school?” he inquired, taking the paper out from under her arm.

“Skipping.” She said, quite simply.

“Oh.”

Ivy went to the kitchen and put the soup on the counter. “I brought you some soup!” she shouted over her shoulder in the direction of the living room.

She walked over to the living room slowly when she got no answer. “Daniel?” she asked. She heard a pitiful moan come from down a hallway. “Daniel!” she then shouted, running down the hallway, stopping at the end, where a closed door hindered her.

“Daniel?” she asked, knocking on it. “Are you alright in there?” Her eyes darted worriedly around the bright, cheery hall.

The answering groan was pathetic.

Ivy swallowed, and grasped the door handle. “Daniel, I’m coming in.” She said bravely, looking at her red nail polish and turning the door.

What she saw there made all of her motherly instincts take over at once. First, and most importantly, Daniel was leaning over the bathroom sink, barely able to support himself. Her eyes took in her surroundings. There was a dog in the corner, sitting in a box with some newborn puppies beside it. It looked at her warily. Her heart melted slightly, but there were more important tasks at hand.

“Daniel, are you alright?” Ivy asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He shook his head.

“Come here.” Ivy looped his arm around her neck and tried to drag him over to the couch in the living room, but he wasn’t moving anywhere. “Trust me.” She whispered in his ear.

Daniel released his grip on the sink, almost bringing himself and Ivy both to the linoleum in the process. He was heavy! Ivy’s pace was severely impaired as she trudged down the hallway and dropped Daniel off on the couch.

“Stay here. I’ll bring you some medicine.” Ivy walked back to the bathroom and was nearly overcome by the cuteness of the puppies and their protective mother. She shook her head and walked over to the medicine cabinet.