The Memory Book(26)

I nodded with him. “Yes, one day at a time, moving toward next year. I agree.”

Mom put her hand on my hand. “Okay,” she said. She smiled at me less with her mouth, and more with her eyes. “Yes.”

And that was that.

But now I’m here, back at the attic window, and things look dark. I am not dumb, Future Sam. I am not blind to the tone with which my parents speak to me, and the bright-eyed choo-choo-train innocence with which I respond. Next year! I’ll get better! I’m fine! I can beat this!

I even speak strategically to you.

Because the truth is that my memory loss was much worse than I had described it here. Before I remembered who Maddie was, I was inches away from drooling and taking her hand on the debate platform like a little kid lost at a playground, asking her to take me home to Mommy and Daddy.

I don’t know how long I was quiet up there, blinking and looking around, before I called “time-out.” It felt like hours.

No matter what plans I make, no matter how much I help my parents, I feel like my body is failing me, and I don’t know how to stop it.





SPEAKING OF PITS OF DESPAIR, DON’T SPEAK


I just went to get a glass of water (thanks for the reminder to hydrate, Zavesca!), and I could hear them talking downstairs.

“There’s no way,” Dad was saying.

“But what’s the point of telling her that?” Mom whispered back. “You know what that would do.”

“I’m on her side! We’re both on her side! I want her to go and live and be happy. But how are we supposed to ignore f*ckin’ science, Gia?”

“Stop cursing.”

“I’m serious!” Dad’s voice was almost raised now.

Mom made a shushing noise. “She’s doing great right now. I don’t think anything will get worse for a long time. She gets to just… be herself. I refuse to treat her any differently.”

“This isn’t cancer, G. The thought of her… forgetting to do things, or forgetting where she is, or forgetting who we are.”

“I know.”

Long silence. A couple of sniffs. I wondered if they could hear me listening. I held my breath.

“She only has a few weeks until school is over,” Mom finally said. “I say we let things take their course.”

“You’re right,” Dad said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. We take all the safety precautions, but we don’t, you know, force her into a cocoon. The specialist said it was better that she doesn’t get depressed.”

“Exactly.”

I hate that word. To hear it was just like it sounded, like two giant hands pressing down on me from above and below. I’m not depressed. I may be pressed, sure. I’ve got a limited timeline and lots to do, and sometimes the pressure is a lot, and sometimes it feels like I’m just pushing myself onward for the sake of pushing myself, but I am not depressed.

Dad continued. “But we’ll just agree together that, no, she is just not in a place to go to New York next year.”

“Agreed,” Mom said.

I let out my breath. Red flashed in the dark, and I realized I had my eyes squeezed shut.

“Thank you,” I could hear Mom say.

“For what?”

“For being on my team.”

Then I could hear them kissing. Ew.

I almost went downstairs to argue, but then I stopped. I remembered a key phrase. Dad said, she IS not in a place to go to New York next year. Is. Of course they would say that right after an episode. They’re only thinking of the present. You and I know, Future Sam, that the present is merely a road to something else. Whatever’s ahead.

The other good thing to come out of this is that they’re not going to try to take me out of school again, at least that’s what it sounds like. So, this is bargaining, Future Sam.

This is where they give you an inch, and inch by inch, you take a mile.

I mean, sure, they’ll say, Sammie can finish out the school year, but can she keep her grades up?

I mean, sure, Sammie can keep her grades up, but can she be valedictorian?

I mean, sure, Sammie can be valedictorian, but can she make it through a semester at NYU?

And so on. So I’ll just show them I can do those things. I can do them all. And then they won’t be able to stop me from going to college, not when I’ve proved to them I can do it.

They’ll see.





TASK FORCE


In order to become less pressed, and to achieve my goals episode-free, I have assembled an NPC task force of my favorite feminist icons, each in charge of inspiring me in a different way. I cut out pictures of them and arranged them on my wall, and wrote quotes in marker in little speech bubbles. Good thing no one ever comes into my room because this is the cheesiest thing since the invention of cheese (5500 B.C., in what is now Kujawy, Poland).

The NPC Task Force includes:





ELIZABETH WARREN


Purpose: researching as much about the disease as possible and making sure health providers are straight-talking to my parents, and not taking advantage of us for insurance money.





BEYONCé


Purpose: reminding me that I’m flawless, and that I’m an independent woman. Or rather, girl. Even if Stuart rejects me, I will love myself. (Still haven’t heard from him about when exactly he wants to get coffee. Whatever. Independent girl.)