Page 150 of Leave Me Broken
Great.
Ash only agreed to give me enough time to go to Grandpa’s and tell him whatever excuse I could come up with, but pulling into Grandpa’s, I still have no clue what my excuse could be on why I wouldn’t be home. I guess this is why people have more than one friend. I could use Mika or Monica, but I’ll have to text whoever I choose, and it’ll probably be Mika because Monica’s family attends Grandpa’s church, and the last thing I need is for him to ask Mrs. Maddox how the sleepover went.
I never came up with an excuse and now I don’t need to.
48
Payson
Cancer. My grandpa has cancer. Of all the things I thought the doctor was going to say, that wasn’t one of them. Not only does he have cancer but it’s really aggressive. Truthfully, I stopped listening after he said cancer. It doesn’t make sense. How does someone like my grandpa who probably hasn’t touched a cigarette in sixty years—at least, get lung cancer?
I’ve been trying to make sense of it and maybe that’s the issue. Maybe there is nothing to make sense of because this doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense to have cancer and it doesn’t make sense why all the bad things happen to good people. I know my grandpa would be so disappointed, more than he already is, in me, but I feel like spitting in God’s face right now.
Fred beats my brother, sexually abuses me, and kills my mom yet he is somewhere in the world no doubt making another little girl his victim, and my grandpa, who is the best man I know, lies in a hospital bed with a crazy amount of tubes coming from all parts of his body.
Apparently, he had another stroke and that’s why I found him unconscious, on the floor of the trailer, when I got home. This one is smaller than the one before, but he hasn’t woken up yet. The doctor said he’s meant to, but it’s been hours and random nurses keep coming in to check on him. They say nothing, but I can tell by their scrunched-up foreheads they expected him to be up. They don’t have a good poker face like Grandpa’s doctor who could have been telling me the ice cream truck was waiting outside offering free popsicles for how unemotional he was.
“Payson.” I cringe hearing my aunt. I know what she is going to tell me. Go call Jason, or why don’t you go take a walk? Something to get me out of this room I have been in since last night. I can’t leave him. What if he wakes up and I’m not here? What if he doesn’t wake up and these are my last moments with him? I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m not going to think about that. He can’t die, he just can’t. If my grandpa dies, who do I have left? Jason? I nearly laugh. He’s not been here for me once. When he was home for Mom’s funeral, he couldn’t put the bottle down long enough to even talk to me and when he did, it was a snarky remark about Ash. Amanda did her best to smooth things between us, but the damage is already done. It’s been too long, there’s too much hurt and resentment between us.
Nothing matters because my grandpa is dying. If he doesn’t die today, one day he will, and unfortunately, that day might be sooner than I thought. I’ve noticed things about him over the last couple months—small things, but I never would have guessed cancer was invading his body.
Maybe if I would have been home more. I’ve been distracted lately, high on pain meds that aren’t mine. I should have noticed. My aunt says its not my fault, but it is. It is my fault because I’m too fucking selfish. Too lost in my own head. That’s the reason Janelle left and even though we are fine now, she can’t take back her words, and I wouldn’t want her to because they are right. I am selfish. I only care about the things I deal with in my head and never think about anyone else.
I jump up as my aunt brushes my hair from my face.
Immense guilt is the only thing that pulls me toward the door despite weighing like a million pounds. “I, uh, think I’ll go on that walk now.”
The hallway doesn’t bring me any comfort, so I head for the elevators.
I’m too lost in my head—like usual—I don’t realize someone is in there with me and talking until he snaps a finger in front of my face.
“Hero?”
“The one and only. What are you doing here, Streaks?”
I don’t know why he calls me that. “My, uh, grandpa.”
“Ah. Yeah, cancer’s got my mom. Being a real bitch about it too. Third round.”
My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “Third?”
He dips his narrow chin and squints at something on the wall behind me. After a quick look, I realize he’s just avoiding my eyes. That’s fine, I don’t want to see him cry either. If that’s what he was going to do, I’m not really sure.
I brush the tears from my eyes and lean against the metal wall. “What kind?”
“Breast. You?”
“Lung . . . I think.” That’s what the doctor said, right? “That’s what it started out as anyway.”
He runs a thin hand through his ginger hair. “Sucks.”
I don’t know why but I laugh. Hero doesn’t seem to know why either because his eyebrows pinch together. He stares at me like that for a long time. Basically the whole way to the bottom floor before his smile breaks through. “You’re a little fucked, aren’t you, Streaks?”
“What gave it away?” I think he was coming up but when I step off, he follows after me. Right outside, not caring that it’s storming. Again. It’s December in lower Michigan—it’s meant to be snowing and yet it hasn’t stopped raining.
I love the rain, but Christmas is next month and I’d like snow for that. It’s definitely cold out. My school uniform does nothing to keep me warm either. I should have put my blazer back on, but I forgot, or maybe it’s not even here with me.
“When did you get here?” he asks.