Tiny Drops, Page 4

  Everything is so haphazardly placed in here. I’m afraid that I’ll accidentally grab the wrong box and it will all come tumbling down, leaving me pinned until someone hears me scream. Lucky for me, the first box I grab isn’t the cursed wrong box, and everything stays in place. It ends up being a pretty quick and easy task once I’ve started.

  I love Christmas. Every year when we get out the decorations, it’s almost like seeing a loved one that’s been away for a long time. All the past Christmas memories come out to play when I hold an iconic piece of our family history in my hands. These boxes are plum full of history and memories.

  I stack the last box standing between me and the treasures I seek out in the hall. Now I just have to take the four big totes out to the living room, and I’ll be ready to reload the closet. What was I thinking? I huff, blowing a stray curl from my face, and stretch my shaky arms. I may have been a little hasty taking on such a big project, although it does feel good having a little independence.

  The first two totes are super light, but I know the one on the bottom holds the village and probably weighs more than me at this point. I laugh quietly, even though I’m well aware it’s not funny. I’m suddenly struck with an emotion so deep it catches my breath, and I feel a tear slide down my cheek. As I reach up to wipe it away, I see the slight tremor in my hand. That’s weird. I shake my fingers loose, trying to quell the tremor.

  Picking up the third box, I’m determined to finish the task at hand. I’m not even going to attempt to move the last one. I’ll just have to unload it from its current position. When I get to the living room and set down the box I’m carrying, I feel a wave of dizziness and sit on the sofa. I’ll be so glad when I don’t feel so weak anymore. I’m tired of feeling like this. Moving a few boxes around shouldn’t have worn me out so fast.

  I take a deep breath before I stand. I still feel a little dizzy, and my heart is a steady gallop, but I’m sure it’s just because it’s been awhile since I was so active. I want to power through this so I can get it done before anyone gets home. I’m excited to surprise them.

  When I get to the closet, I pop the lid on the tote and smile down at the tiny world it holds inside. I’m surprised to feel moisture on my cheeks again. Why am I so emotional? Maybe I’m going to start my period soon. I brush the tears away, reach inside, and pull out the bakery and the school. I can only hold two at a time. The walk back and forth is quick, and before I know it, I’ve moved enough of them to lighten the box. I pick it up, surprised at how badly my arms are shaking. I slowly make my way out to the living room. Placing the box on the floor, I lie down beside it.

  It’s what my body is telling me to do, but my mind’s fighting it. Why do I feel like this? As soon as I question it, I see the answer like a neon sign flashing in front of me. My blood sugar’s low. I sit up, feeling the panic kick in. I need to check it.

  Racing to the kitchen, I pull open the drawer. I try to open the case, but everything feels foreign, like I’ve never done this before. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Pull it together!” I scream, my voice causing another form of panic to set in. My words sound so distant, even though I know they came from me.

  I finally manage to turn the little machine on and put the strip inside. I poke my finger and place the drop of blood on…too soon. I use my shaky hands to pull the strip out and put another in. My blood is so runny, it’s covered the end of my finger, and once the machine is ready, it’s all I can do to soak the little dot with blood. It doesn’t want to go where it’s needed. It just wants to coat the end of my finger and run down my hand. The tears are continuous now, and I feel so helpless. When the agonizing thirty seconds are up, my panic doubles. Forty-two is the number flashing at me.

  Ok, I need to get a grip, panic won’t help. I sit, staring for a moment, trying to remember where my mom said she put the glucose tablets she bought. I. Can’t. Remember. I don’t have time to go searching, I know that. I can feel it in my floaty thoughts—my mind keeps traveling without me, and my body keeps telling me to sit.

  I fight the urge and make my way to the fridge. Where’s the juice? There’s no juice! Why isn’t there any juice? Okay, it’s okay. I remember something about milk having sugar in it. I’ll start with some milk. I go to the cupboard and grab a cup. My hands are shaking so badly now, the cup tips and rolls to the floor when I try to set it on the counter.

  “Come on!” I yell. Why is everything fighting against me? I reach down for it, feeling a wave of dizziness. I can do this. I channel all of my will, and with two hands, set the glass down on the counter. When I pull the gallon of milk out of the fridge, I know I’m in trouble. I can’t lift it above the glass. There’s no way. My hands are shaking so badly now, I don’t even think I have the energy to hoist it onto the counter.

  I slump to the floor, my back pressed firmly against the cabinet drawers, their handles digging into me. I twist the cap off the gallon, and with two trembling hands, pull it up to my lips. The whole jug is shaking so badly, I’m afraid I’ll swish it up my nose and drown myself. As I pour, I feel it run down my chin and all over the front of me. But I guzzle it like it’s life or death, and in a sense, I guess it is. The action of doing something to combat this feeling gives me a resolve to escape this hell.

  Slowly, I stand and make my way to the snack cupboard. I pull out a box of graham crackers. Opening the box, I take out a package, and then stop to grab my glass before I sit back on the floor. Holding the glass between my legs, I use both arms to steady the jug. Most of the milk I pour goes in. I open the cracker package, my hands still trembling, and dip the first one into my glass. I sit like this—mindlessly eating until the last cracker is gone. I push the gallon of milk to the side and lay my whole body down.

  “Brice?! Brice, honey, come on, baby! Wake up!”

  I pat my mom’s hand away, wanting to continue resting in this dream space. “I don’t want to get up yet. Just let me sleep,” I mumble, as I roll over, the cutting pain of my hip digging into the floor grabbing my attention. “What am I doing on the floor?” I ask, suddenly very awake.

  “Come on, baby, get up. We need to check your sugar.”

  “No, I just—” I pause as I remember everything that happened. I feel the dry stiffness of my milk-covered clothes and shudder when I realize that the weird yellow glow is the light from the inside of the refrigerator. I wonder how long I’ve been sleeping? “You’re right, let’s check,” I finish, standing.

  She leads me to the table where the monitor is still sitting. She gently guides me into the chair, quickly pulling out the used strip and setting it aside. Her hands are shaking as she resets the machine and grabs my hand. The little snapping noise the poker makes when you push the button always freaks me out worse when I’m not the one holding it.

  387.

  “Wow, that’s really high. What happened?”

  I turn my face toward her and take in a deep breath. I don’t even know how to begin to explain what just happened. It was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t ever want to feel that way again. I rub my hands across my face, trying to find the words.

  “It got low,” I whisper.

  “How low? Are you here by yourself? Where’s your brother? Is he still not home? Were you moving all the stuff from the closet by yourself?” Her face evens out as she tries to mask how she’s feeling, but I know she’s scared. I am too.

  “I was trying to surprise you. I wanted to make it feel like Christmas in here. I was just busy, and I wasn’t paying attention. I won’t let it happen again,” I say, suddenly feeling guilty for ignoring the symptoms, and worse for not being smart enough to recognize them. Now I’ve just caused her more worry.

  We sit at the table, having a silent staring contest. She’s beautiful. I always think that when she’s holding still right in front of me. She’s generally a flurry of movement—I suppose you can’t have two children, two jobs, and a clean home without constant motion. Her expression turns playfu
l, a mischievous light flicking on in her emerald eyes.

  “You need to dose two units of your R insulin, and then you need to come with me into the bathroom so I can show you something.”

  I’m not sure where she’s going with this, but I’m curious to find out. I walk over to the fridge, pop open the butter compartment, and pull out my insulin…but only the bottle she said to. Normally, I do them both together, but this is the one that works quickly. The other—the NPH—releases more slowly. It makes sense that she would want me to take a couple units of the fast-acting. I grab a needle from the drawer and pull the cap off the bottom. Then I turn until I can see the numbers, pull the plunger back to the 2, pull off the orange cap, and stick the needle into the vial. Pushing the air inside, I turn the vial upside down and draw out two units of the insulin, lift the hem of my shirt, and gently stick it into the skin of my stomach. Sounds brutal, huh? The crazy thing is, this part doesn’t hurt at all; most of the time, I can’t even feel it. I’m grateful for that.

  When I put the insulin back in the fridge, my mom comes up beside me, wrapping her arms around me. “Are you ready, baby girl?”

  I nod. “Let’s do this thing.”

  She slides her hand down to mine, and together we walk to the bathroom. “I’m not sure that you’re ready for this. Are you ready for this?”

  “Mom! I already said I’m ready, geez!”

  “All right, I just had to be sure. This is going to be life changing,” she finishes, a slight smile on her face, trying to hide the sadness that lies right under the surface. She opens the door, flips on the light, and pulls me into the bathroom.

  Glancing in the mirror, I stop cold. I have crusty milk all over my face, my hair is matted straight up on one side, and on the other, it’s plastered to my face, the milk working like glue to hold it there. And there’s a long streak of blood across my nose. I look completely ridiculous. Absolutely wretched. I shudder at the thought of anyone other than the two of us seeing me like this.

  “Oh my God,” I say in disbelief.

  “I know, right? I was surprised, too, but then I realized what this was, and had to share it with you. This is the face of a warrior. You even have the tribal paint to go with it. Today you fought a battle, and you came out the other side. Do you know how strong you are? You astonish me every day. You amaze me. Don’t you ever put the blame of this on yourself. Do you hear me? I’m so sorry this happened to you today. I’m so sorry no one was here for you. I won’t let that happen again. But baby, I’m so proud of you,” she finishes, wrapping her arms around me.

  I let myself relax into her. Nothing in the entire world feels better than a mom hug. I feel so safe, wrapped in a cocoon of love and strength. I fight the urge to let the tears go; I’ve done enough crying for one day.

  “Now, maybe you should take a shower while I clean up the kitchen.” Her laugh is shaky, the fear she’s trying to mask slipping out.

  She kisses me on the cheek, and I watch her walk out the door behind me. As it closes, I lean into the mirror and watch my breath fog it, taking comfort in it. I’m still here.

  7

  Snowflakes and Neighbors

  “What would you like for Christmas?”

  The question surprises me, pulls me from my quiet thoughts. I hadn’t really thought about the gift-giving and receiving part of Christmas. I’ve seen the kind of money Mom’s been spending on all of my supplies. She says it’s only temporary—she’s applied for insurance for me that will cover everything. But right now, I can’t imagine she has anything to spare. I put down the scissors I’m holding and take a moment to think.

  “I could use some new socks, and maybe a journal,” I answer, giving her a soft smile.

  “You want socks? For Christmas?” She shakes her head, barely containing her laughter. “Hey Jesse, come here a sec, would ya?” she shouts toward the living room where Jesse and Harrison are busy hanging all the snowflakes we’re making. When she turns back to me, her eyes are full of glee. “Just wait, this is hilarious. You two are something else.” She shakes her head again, causing a curl to spring free from the confines of her top knot.

  My brother walks in and grabs a handful of M&M’s out of the red dish in the center of the table. My mom made it a point to strategically place candy throughout the house after my first run-in with low blood sugar. She looks up at him, raising her left eyebrow. That must be where I get it from. Jesse casts his eyes down, and, smiling sheepishly, holds his hand back over the bowl, dropping several of the M&M’s back into it. “Sorry, they’re just so good,” he says on a laugh.

  Mom shakes her head. “What did you say you wanted for Christmas?” she asks him, turning her attention back to the folded paper she is cutting small shapes from.

  It’s my brother’s turn to exercise his brow, and once again it’s the left one. Interesting. It must be a family trait, or maybe it’s just because we’re around each other so often, we mimic behavior.

  “I just told you this morning. I need socks.” He gives her a puzzled look before turning to me. “No more wine for Mom. I think she’s had enough.”

  “Oh, shut up! I know what you said; I wanted your sister to hear it.” She laughs, swatting at him.

  Harrison walks in, leaning his arm on Jesse’s shoulder, a full head taller than my brother. He reaches into the center of the table, grabbing a handful of candy. “It’s a winter wonderland in there. I think we can halt the snowflake production,” he says, popping the candy in his mouth.

  I turn my gaze away, hoping I wasn’t staring for too long. When I glance back up, he gives me a kind smile, and I feel my cheeks heat.

  “Are you ready to check it out?”

  “I can’t wait!” Pushing my chair back, I stand up.

  Mom gets up, clapping her hands with glee, pure joy alive and free on her face. I feel the strain on my cheeks and know that it lives on my face, too. I take her hand, and together, we follow the boys into the living room.

  “Whoa.” I reach out, touching a snowflake, the movement making it dance in the twinkling lights. They catch its glitter, casting magical shimmering light across the room. It’s mesmerizing. The work they’ve done has truly transformed the room into a winter wonderland. Snowflakes hang from varying lengths around the room, with lights strung in between. It’s beautiful. I feel a swell of emotion for this gift and the boys who gave it to me.

  “Wow, this is amazing! You two have outdone yourselves. Where did all of the lights come from?” Mom asks, spinning around in the center of the room, her arms out and face turned up. I imagine her tongue popping out, expecting to catch a snowflake from the sky.

  “We each picked up a few boxes. I guess when I said we need to get some lights, Ford thought I meant he needed to get some lights.” Jesse playfully punches Harrison in the shoulder. “We couldn’t let them go to waste,” he says, swooping in, picking Mom off her feet. “Love you, Mama. Glad I could make you smile.”

  Harrison glances at me, rolling his eyes at their shenanigans. “What do you think? Is this Christmas enough for you?”

  “More than enough; it’s truly magical.” I smile, the stress of the last month forgotten, my heart fully in the joy of the moment. “Thank you.” I turn my eyes to the ceiling. When I glance back at him, the eruption of butterflies in my belly is like a little hurricane. He almost looks shy. It almost looks like… My thoughts—interrupted by the doorbell. Who could that be?

  “We invited Bernard over for game night. He doesn’t really have anyone, and he’s a great guy. Just straight across the hall, if you ever need anything,” Jesse says while Mom answers the door.

  Ah ha! I’m being set up with a new babysitter. I glance down at my boots and take a deep breath. I know they’re doing this because they care about me, and they worry, but it still sorts of sucks.

  “He just cares about you. When he heard about the other day, it really freaked him out. Me too,” Harrison whispers my thoughts back to me.

  The me too at the
end makes my toes tingle. I like the thought of him caring about me. Does he think about me the way I think about him? I glance over at him, and he gives me an easy smile, the deep dimple in his cheek making me want to reach over and touch it—measure its depth with my finger.

  Bernard steps into the apartment, and I study him closely. This is the first time I’ve seen him not bundled for the weather. He must be close to seventy, but his smile is youthful, making him appear younger. I’ve always thought that age was something you carried in your eyes. But the relaxed way he holds his face, and the ease of his smile, totally contradict the wisdom in his eyes. His short hair is full of salt and pepper, although I’m sure it was dark before it changed. His skin is the color of light cocoa, and he has a smattering of freckles that dust his cheeks and nose. In his hands, he holds a pie. It. Looks. Delicious… Figures, my first temptation dessert would have to be pie. Pie is my absolute favorite.

  I’m a little mad that he would bring pie. Of course, it’s the neighborly thing to do, but I’m sure they told him about everything. Why couldn’t it have been cake? I wouldn’t have even thought twice about cake.

  “It’s great to see you, Mr. Shelton.” Harrison steps forward. “Let me take that for you,” he says, taking the pie.

  For some reason that’s even worse. Now, both of the things I want, but can’t have, are together. I feel myself start to salivate, but I don’t know if it’s because of the boy or the pie.

  “Thank you, Harry. This is a real treat. Two of my favorite students.” He looks back and forth between Harrison and Jesse, shaking his head slightly. “I sure lucked out with this apartment.” He smiles, his eyes full of merriment. “Glad I finally sold that big house. It was too much for an old man to take care of.” The smile slips for a moment. What’s his story?

  “That apartment’s been empty for ages. It’s nice to have someone in there, finally,” Mom says, giving him a side hug.