I'm not okay...yet

Henry fell asleep again. The poor thing didn’t get a wink of it on the flight here. I write a note on hospital stationary left in the drawer of the nightstand and lower myself into my wheelchair. Before I roll out the door, I tuck the paper under Jared’s hand. It reads:
Jared,
I’m so sorry. I’ll explain later. Soon. Meet me in the cafeteria at eight this morning if you can.
-Alice
Sorry Henry, I think to my self. Then, I make my way up to the roof for the second time tonight. It’s a workout crawling up the stairs that lead there, but I don’t mind. After making it all the way up, I roll over onto my back and stare up at the stars. They’re scattered and dim tonight, but I think I prefer this to their obnoxious bright tone that I saw just days before leaving home back in March. It’s the beginning of June now and I realize something: the doctors told us that Charlotte had two months to live a week after this trip started; it’s been more than two months since then. They were wrong. There’s hope for her, for us. She could make it. The pebble paved floor under my back, arms, calves, feels so good right now. The cool night breeze is a congratulatory sign. I can’t stop smiling. I’ll tell her and the boys tomorrow. They’ll be so happy. I start to sing to myself, stargazing until the sun comes up. “Can you tell that dreams are made for you? My wish is coming true…you’re mine; you’re going to stay and dance with me. Show me the beauty in the waltz, your wedding dance, my serenade of surprise.”
I’m making shapes out of clouds when I remember that I need to go meet Jared. My watch says there’s a half of an hour until eight. I scoot back down the stairs a pull myself into my chair, and then roll over to the elevator. Jared is already sitting by the door, hands folded, arms resting on the table under his sideways head. His faux hawk is slightly drooping and the extra color isn’t a stripe anymore. It’s blue on the top half, above the dark black. His black hair almost matches the shade of mine. I roll over to the food counter and get a bowl of frosted flakes. Then, I take the spot next to him and park. When I start to eat my cereal, he lifts his head. He grins at me, the sides of his eyes crinkling up like he doesn’t mind my previous absence or current tardiness. He folds his hands and rests them in his lap. I just blink at him and continue to eat. He raises his eyebrows. I shrug. After a few minutes I guess he gets bored of staring at me, or impatient with my silence, because he takes a deep breath and starts to speak.
“Where should we start?” He begins, “with who the people were that took you from the lobby yesterday, the ones that were asleep in your room, or why you were there when I came in and not when I woke up?” I can’t tell if his tone is resentful, annoyed or just curious.
“I guess I’ll go in that order.” I tell him. “My boyfriend, niece and her boyfriend whisked me away from the lobby yesterday to get lunch and visit as much as we could before they had to leave. My mother was asleep in my room next to my brother, Henry. I left in the late night/ very early morning after talking to Henry because I didn’t want to see my mom, let alone talk to her. The last conversation I had with her consisted of misplaced blame, threats, a lot of yelling and her telling me that she wished she’d left my father and siblings when she had the chance two years ago, in the middle of her affair. I can’t face her now…I don’t think I’d be able to handle it. Jared nods.
“Yeah, sounds like the falling out I had with my parents a few years back. We made up though, I’m sure you guys will too.” He says, nodding again.
“Sure…if you say so.” He rolls his eyes at me.
“I do say so. You’re young. You’ve got time to sort it through. Now tell me more. I was told we were going to trade scar stories. Now that’s what I expect. Please explain.” He says, like he practiced it, which for all I know, he did. I laugh, which he smiles at.
“You first?” I shrug, hoping that he’ll be willing to go first. He shakes his head, (dang it).
“no, I asked you first.”
I sigh and accept my fate. “I got this scar my freshman year of high school, two years ago. A lesbian friend of mine had a crush on another girl in our class and the girl’s older brother found out. He was the captain of the football team and didn’t want his sister to be associated in any way with homosexuality. He cornered her and I in the parking lot one day and wanted to fight. I opened a door behind us and hurried her into the building and faced him. He pulled out his pocket knife, so I did too. He lunged, I stepped to the side. I slashed his shoulder near his neck and he fell to the ground. As I turned to get her and leave, he got up, spun me around and sliced down the side of my face. It was revenge for the eight stitches on his shoulder and a warning. She never talked to his sister again and I got sixteen stitches: three above my eyebrow, two under my eyebrow and eleven running down the side of my cheek. I think the scar looks pretty badass though. Now it’s your turn, how’d you get yours?”
“I had a girl friend last year that stabbed through my hand when I tried to break up with her. Then, she dragged the knife down the top of my wrist: ten stitches. Yeah…she’s in jail now.” He chuckles, and then adds, “your scar is kinda badass looking. Cooler story behind it than mine, that’s for sure.”
“Maybe, but yours is scarier.”
“Yeah but I like that you got yours defending your friend. What’s her name? are you still friends?” He asks.
“Her name is Jenna and yeah, we’re still friends. She felt really guilty that I fought him for her, but it was even after she punched my exboyfriend, Mark, after he cheated on me last year.” I answer and we continue to talk until Gerard calls me to tell me that they’ll be at the hospital soon.

Notes