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  OC Me

  A Novel

  By Kristin Albright

  Text Copyright © 2014 Kristin Albright

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Printing, August 2014

  www.KristinAlbright.com

  Disclaimer:

  Amy’s art class was inspired by an advanced painting class I took in high school; but while life certainly inspires fiction, this book is just that - fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events or actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  To Sarah Elizabeth - with love

  &

  With gratitude to Mrs. Berry for encouraging me to be free with words and Mrs. Spehert for teaching me to be bold with paint.

  Chapter One

  All Human wisdom is contained in these two words, - wait and hope.

  ~ Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

  My heart raced in my throat when the third ring of the phone echoed through the otherwise silent house. It was 11:35 PM, well after the cut-off for polite phone calls. I glanced at my cell to see if I missed a call from Kat; I hadn’t. I hoped that she hadn’t screwed up and called the landline; it wouldn’t be the first time. Not wanting to wait for a fourth ring, I scrambled out from under my covers, threw open my door and nearly collided with my dad in the hallway. He picked up the phone in the kitchen, his tired eyes narrow and focused on me.

  I held my breath. While we don’t have a lot of household rules, the ten o-clock phone cut-off was a big one. Dad would ground me from the phone for a week if it was Kat – he drove a truck and got up very early in the morning. She wouldn’t call though; she hadn’t made that mistake since we were freshmen. I studied my dad’s face carefully as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. His jaw twitched as he nodded to the phone.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said hoarsely. “What room is she in?”

  What room is she in? Who’s she? What was he talking about? My dad was not angered by this late night call, and I began to feel nauseous knowing that something big was wrong. I found myself wishing that it were Kat after all; perhaps calling about a room assignment for something at school, anything that wouldn’t make his jaw twitch.

  He set the phone back in the cradle and looked at me. Unease filled me as we stared at one another. “Meet me out front in three minutes,” he said abruptly. The vague instructions added to the angst welling up in my chest.

  I ran to my room trying to ignore the growing pit in my stomach; I took deep breaths while I tugged my sneakers on over my slipper socks. I slipped a hoodie on over my camisole and bunched my thick tangled hair into a quick ponytail. Not bothering to put it on, I grabbed my ski jacket and headed out the front door.

  The truck ran in the driveway while Dad salted down the front sidewalk, “Careful Amy, it’s slippery.” I heeded his warning and stepped gingerly down the walk. The cold of the handrail bit through my thin knit gloves, and the corrugated steel steps that led up to the cab firmly gripped the soles of my sneakers despite the shaking of my knees. When I was little, I adored riding in the truck – I could see everything from that high up. The smell of coffee and cologne permanently lingered in the air of the cab, and tonight as my breath hung in a cloud before my face, I could smell the cold in the air.

  I relaxed my head against the back of the seat as I stared toward the road ahead; it was icy. Wisconsin gets storms like this about once a year and I’ve always loved how ice-glazed trees shimmer in the morning sunlight. But now, illuminated only by the orange glow of the street lights, they look ominous.

  My senses on high alert, I could hear the crunch of Dad’s boots on the gravel driveway and the dull thump of him tapping them against the step of the cab. In one continuous motion he settled into his seat, buckled, and shifted the truck out of park.

  “Dad?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Where are we going? What’s wrong?” My voice sounded small and far away.

  “It’s Aunt Lisa; there’s been an accident.”

  “Is she okay?” I asked, wishing he would elaborate.

  “She’s in intensive care Amy. That’s all I know right now.” He switched on the radio which signaled that I should stop asking questions. The sounds of late-night talk radio filled the cab, and the blasting heat lulled me into a rather surreal state. The half-hour drive into the city passed quickly; I was absorbed in memories of Aunt Lisa. I pictured her at the New Year’s Day dinner she hosted each year. I remembered her ease with a chainsaw as she and my dad cut down the old Blue Spruce that had begun a hostile take-over of our back patio. I could almost see the twinkle in her eye when she showed up unannounced at the junior prom to take pictures of me and my date during the grand march. The random after school phone calls and goofy stickers in the mail when I was in elementary school were subtle reminders that she was always there for me - more so than my own mom. But mostly I just saw her face – her smile – her big green eyes so similar to mine.

  The tight cluster of lights on the horizon spread apart as we entered downtown, their initially fuzzy glow changing into sharp outlines of shops, billboards and street lamps. The emergency room entrance was well marked; glaring red signs proclaimed Emergency Room and Emergency Parking Only. Emergency, emergency, emergency, the words spun around in my head. We circled around the block, finally finding a space in the back lot of the hospital. We silently shuffled our feet across the black ice and carefully made our way to the emergency entrance.

  Entering through the automatic doors was like stepping through a portal, a whole different world stood in front of me. Squinting through the bright fluorescent lights, I watched night shift doctors, nurses, and aides wide awake and busily going about their work. Dad flagged down a receptionist at the front desk while motioning for me to take a seat in the lobby. There were bright blue and green chairs lined up in rows and a basket of over-sized primary colored blocks sitting under a table.

  I spun my class ring around and around my finger. The deep shine of the emerald reminded me yet again of Lisa’s eyes. I’d been so fixated on school the last time I saw her, so excited about my graduation on the horizon. I remember talking about college applications, talking about the art show coming up, talking about a certain guy in my art class that I hoped would ask me to winter formal. Guilt swept over me as I remembered my failure to ask her how she was doing, ask how her job was, ask if her new co-worker ever asked her out, ask anything. I didn’t know what was new in her life. Selfish, selfish, selfish. As the minutes ticked by, the snow on my tennis shoes melted into gray swirling puddles on the tile floor that swallowed up everything but my hope that Aunt Lisa would be okay.

  “Amy,” my dad called and beckoned me to follow. I snapped to attention and jogged to catch up with him. I decided to ignore the signs that said “Intensive care.” We reached room 306 and paused outside the room; Dad turned to me. His jaw was not twitching like it was at the house, but I could see that his eyes were glazed over. My stomach plummeted - Dad never cries.

  “Amy, Lisa’s car skidded out of control on the ice. When it slid off the road it rolled several times, stopping when it struck a tree. She has serious neck and back injuries, and they don’t know the extent of the internal injuries right now. There’s also considerable swelling in her brain. She’s in a coma and there’s no way to know…” he choked on his words, paused for a moment, cleared his throat and went on. “There’s no way to know if she will wake up again Amy.”

  I swallowed hard. My nostrils burned, a precu
rsor to tears; I pushed them back. “I need to see her,” I croaked.

  An entire orchestra of machines beeped and hummed while the grayish fluorescent lights made everything grim. The combination of antiseptic and dinner leftovers created a nauseating aroma. It permeated every inch of air in my lungs. Breathe, I silently commanded to myself as we pushed through the heavy door.

  My eyes immediately fell upon her face. Expecting the worst, I was relieved to see that she still looked like Aunt Lisa. An I.V. dripped slowly, and electrodes on her chest dictated her heart-beat on the monitor. A few bandages were wrapped around the side of her head, but she didn’t look like she was dying; she looked like she was sleeping. We sat down next to her in chairs similar to those in the waiting room. A nurse stopped in and clicked through the screens on the computer in the corner of Lisa’s room.

  “You can talk to her honey,” she said, “sometimes it really seems to help.”

  I looked at my dad; he was reading the news on his phone. I reached over the bed rail and gently lifted her hand. I managed to avoid tangling the wires with the I.V. and then cleared my throat, “Hi Auntie Lisa. We’re here with you – Amy and Richard. The nurses…they’re working real hard to take care of you.” I stroked the back of her hand with my thumb, hoping that I wasn’t tugging the needle off to the side at all.

  I studied her face; she was so pretty with her soft dramatic eyelashes, full lips, and rosy cheeks. I thought about her and Brian, how I had hoped they would get married someday. They dated for years, and right after it seemed that he was a permanent fixture at family functions, he disappeared. When I asked her what happened, she told me that Brian wasn’t ready for marriage – that he never saw himself permanently attached to anyone.

  Anger boiled in my chest when I thought of him; there should have been someone else here – someone beyond me and my dad. But with Grandma and Grandpa living all the way across the country, we were the only ones – we were Lisa’s emergency contact.

  I tucked her hand back beside her and curled up in my chair keeping my eyes focused on the monitors. I drifted in and out of sleep, waking occasionally to peel myself off the vinyl and re-adjust my position. The foam pillow I’d found in the closet smelled of bleach, and the pillowcase was scratchy against my skin. Dad was also resting. The machines were soothing to me – so steady. They were directly translating through their series of hums and beeps that Aunt Lisa was still alive.

  Chapter Two

  When it hurts to look back, and you’re afraid to look ahead, you can look beside you and your best friend will be there.

  ~ Unknown

  Dad woke me early; we headed back to the house, showered, and changed. He told me that the doctor said Lisa’s vitals were strong, but they still couldn’t get an accurate read on her brain activity. They were keeping her in intensive care and would call us if anything changed. He dropped me off at school at seven-thirty, and I reluctantly headed inside.

  Winter finals were last week, and I was now at the official start of my last semester of high school. There was only one change in my schedule; my painting class was going to be second hour instead of seventh, and my world studies class was going to be at the end of the day. I dreaded the changes, as it was nice to have art last. I often stayed late into the afternoon working on my paintings; Mrs. Ropert was always there anyway, grading projects and working on her custom jewelry creations. We took turns picking the radio station and occasionally bringing in snacks. Now I was doomed to lecture room B for the last hour of each day; I’d be lucky if I could even stay awake.

  Kat was waiting at my locker when I arrived.

  “Why weren’t you on the bus this morning Ames?” she asked. Kat was the only person in the world other than Aunt Lisa that called me that. I forced a tired smile.

  “We were at the hospital all night; Aunt Lisa was in an accident.”

  “Oh no! Is it serious? Is she going to be okay?” Kat’s eyes were instantly filled with worry, her usual sparkle faded quickly. Kat was one of only a handful of people that could understand my attachment to Aunt Lisa, how she had stood in for my mom so many times over the years.

  “We really don’t know much of anything yet,” I stammered. “It seems that her vitals are good, but the doctors don’t know about her brain – there’s a lot of swelling.” My voice raised in pitch as I fought the tears from coming. My words felt empty and meaningless. After all, if her body made it, but her brain didn’t…hot tears pricked the back of my eyes, and I opened them extra wide to keep them from spilling over. “It’s okay though; I mean she’s stable. How did your exams turn out?” I asked needing to change the subject.

  Kat looked at me carefully and switched topics, not pushing for anymore information. “I haven’t checked yet. Have you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, let’s go.” Kat grabbed my backpack, thrust it into my arms, and dragged me toward the front office. There, by student I.D. numbers, our grades and class rank were posted for all to see. Kat was an average student while I’d been fighting for a spot in the top ten for years. Each semester we rotated around; sometimes I was eight, sometimes I was twelve. To qualify for the merit scholarship at State, I needed to be in the top ten.

  Kat found my rank before me. “Number nine! Ames you’re number nine!” She screamed and grabbed my forearms. “You’re number nine, you’re number nine!”

  “Kat shut-up!” I looked around, scanning crowds of our peers. “Kat – they don’t care what number I am. Besides that means that someone else got bumped,” I hissed at her, hoping that no one had paid much attention to her.

  “I’m just excited for you. You should love me for that.” She squinted her eyes and stuck out her lip at me. I giggled softly. “Kat I do love you, I just don’t need you to point it out to the world.”

  “Whatever,” she whispered and grinned, “You’re number nine.”

  “I know,” I said softly. My money worries were now possibly solved. I hadn’t secured the scholarship by any means, but I qualified for it. I scanned my grades: straight A’s and an A+ in painting. I breathed a sigh of relief. Calculus had been right on the borderline – I’d needed above a 93% on the final to get an A in that class. All the studying definitely paid off.

  I startled when the ten-minute bell warned us to get on our way. Parting ways with Kat, I headed upstairs to the science wing. I wove through the throngs of popular girls in the hallway by the library. Their laughter and body spray hung heavy in the air, and despite the years that passed since, the “flight” instinct that I first succumbed to in middle school was undeniably still there.

  Back then it had been nothing more than the wrong clothes and my absent mom. Later my avoidance of them was caused by my own insecurities. Over the past couple of years, I have finally found my niche in the art room. It’s not a big niche, but with Kat for a best friend I don’t need an army of twenty girls for anything.

  The day passed excruciatingly slow. I was unfocused at best, and that was pretty much okay considering the teachers were just explaining their grading policies and handing out their course outlines. My mind kept returning back to the hospital; I was waiting for the clock to strike three so I could head back to Aunt Lisa.

  When it finally did, I practically ran out of the school. Healthy amounts of salt covered the slick sidewalks, and the chill went straight through to my bones. My dad’s truck was parked where it always was, behind the last school bus. I rapped on the door and dad swung it open. I climbed in and tossed my bag between us.

  “Any news?” I asked.

  “News?”

  “Dad. About Aunt Lisa?” I asked with a mixture of dread and exasperation.

  “Eh…I called around lunch, and there was no change since last night.” His gray eyes were sad, and the unshaved scruff on his face made him look as tired as I felt.

  “Oh – so are we going over there right now?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager.

  Dad cleared his throat, “I thought we’d
grab a bite to eat first…I’m not a fan of that cafeteria food.”

  “Sure. Sounds good,” I agreed. Ever since the divorce, dad has been a man of few words. He went from being a bit loud and sometimes crass to being plain quiet. It’s strange in some ways how much he’s changed since she left. I thought as the years passed that the louder, funnier version of my dad would return, but he never did.

  “Did you tell mom?” I asked softly. Mom and Aunt Lisa had practically been best friends until my parents split. But despite their differences, I knew mom would want to know - she and Lisa shared a lot over the years.

  “Didn’t get a chance to call her yet,” he answered shortly. He never called her unless something was absolutely necessary. To me, this was a necessity. As he rounded the corner into the sub shop parking lot he said, “Why don’t you give her a ring and fill ‘er in while I grab the grub?”

  “Sure. I guess I can,” I nodded. He climbed down out of the truck but left it running to keep it warm for me. Before shutting the door, he yelled over the engine; “Turkey, avocado, hummus, tomatoes, spinach and…sprouts?” He raised his eyebrow just enough to let me know he still thought my favorite sandwich was disgusting.

  “That’s it!” I answered with a grin. It was amazing to me how little we talked, but how much he remembered.

  I slipped out my cell and dialed my mom’s number; she sounded worried. She’s a nurse and didn’t like the sound of the vagueness of Lisa’s brain activity. I tried to convince her that Lisa looked okay, but she refuted that appearances could be deceiving. My stomach grew cold as she listed the variety of possible outcomes and potential complications. I tuned her out as I drew on the fogged windows with my finger. Anger welled up inside of me as my mom droned on and on, using all of her clinical jargon: never pausing to say that she was sorry Lisa was hurt, never acknowledging that Lisa was in fact a bigger presence in my life than herself. I squeezed my eyes shut when the repulsive thought hit me that I wished it were my mom instead of Lisa. When I saw dad returning across the parking lot, I told her I needed to go and we would keep her updated.