The Memory Book(37)

I probably could have done it, but I didn’t want to take any chances on drawing a blank, especially with my mind swinging back and forth from Stuart to school to Stuart again.

After the reading, we had found a spot on the Dartmouth campus to kiss and talk and kiss some more. He tried to run his fingers through my hair and couldn’t, because my curls are so thick and tangled. We laughed and he kissed my neck, which sent horses through my stomach again—not just horses, Shadowfax, the Lord of all horses—and I put my hand under his shirt and, actually, never mind, it’s too weird to be typing about this in the nurse’s office.

Almost over.

Every time Mrs. Dooley, the nurse, looks at me I try to look forlorn and take a little sip of water.

And who walks in but Cooper himself, employing his own method. I wave at him but he’s putting a finger to his lips, pointing at the nurse, and sitting down beside me with a big, fake-sick sigh.

I’m pretending to type something important on this Word document.


How’s it going, Coop?

“fainted” in my comp sci final This system is nuts. My heart is beating so fast.

it’s working though am i right I can’t believe it’s working.

welcome to the last four years of my life LOL

you’re sitting right beside me, you don’t have to type LOL, you can just laugh I’m afraid if I laugh they’ll think I’m not sick.

whatever you do, don’t laugh right now GODDAMMIT now I’m laughing

hahahahha :)





BIKINI BOTTOM


Watching SpongeBob with the family on Saturday night, because it’s Davy’s turn to pick what movie we watch. I pretended to complain with Harrison and Bette, but as you know, I secretly think this show is hilarious. And to be honest, Squidward reminds me a lot of myself.

I texted Maddie, by the way. I told her I was sorry again and asked if she wanted to meet up. She just texted back, “It’s cool,” and ignored the second part. She’s probably really busy. Every time I see her at school, she is leaving with a group of screaming, happy people on their way somewhere. I wonder if she heard about me and Stuart being, like, a real thing. Then again, I don’t know if Stuart is telling anyone about us, or, if he is, what he’s saying.

This makes me wonder.


Me: You working?

Stuart: Yeeessss what’s up?

Me: Am I your girlfriend?

Stuart: The title of your memoir will be “Sammie McCoy: Cutting to the Chase”

Me: Seriously, though, am I?

Stuart: Let’s talk about it in person. Later tonight when I get off?



I look over at Mom and Dad, Davy sprawled on their laps, Bette between Mom’s knees as she brushes her hair. I remember how sad Mom’s eyes were when she asked me to spend more time with them. I remember my NPC Task Force, and how I am trying to be less selfish.


Me: I can’t, I’m with my family tonight.

Stuart: Ah, ok. Tomorrow?

Me: Okay. But if you were to give a short answer now, what would it be?



I watch the screen. Stuart is typing. Shit. Maybe I pushed him too far. Why can’t I just be casual and cool and whatever? Because I’m not casual and cool and whatever, that’s why. And I have been waiting on him for two years. I don’t want to waste another minute. I put my phone under a throw pillow and decide to never check it again.

Squidward gets a bucket of water dumped on his head at the Krusty Krab.

SpongeBob tries to get the bucket off, and ends up pulling so hard he lodges it on Patrick’s head.

I check my phone.


Stuart: Short answer? Yes.





THE CLOCK HANGS IN THE JUNGLE


My tongue was heavy yesterday, Future Sam. Numb, like I had just gotten a dose of Novocain from the dentist. I noticed it when I was brushing my teeth. It was like having a huge piece of meat in my mouth that I couldn’t chew or spit out. A shot of fear ran through me, and I started to cry.

I was just going to stay in bed and let it pass, grateful it was a Sunday and I didn’t have to talk, but the goddamn NPC Task Force of Feminist Icons practically winked over on the wall above my desk. I recalled that I had promised myself that, in the spirit of Elizabeth Warren, I would find out everything I could about the disease, and approach it with nothing but straight talk. Even if straight talk was impossible because I had a steak for a tongue.

So I took the day off from school today, and Mom was going to go in late for her shift at the medical center so that she could bring me to Dr. Clarkington’s office.

“Did you talk to her on the phone?” I asked Mom.

“Yes.”

“There’s medicine for this, right?” My heart hadn’t stopped beating hard since it happened, thinking about having to cancel my speech. Or worse, pushing through it, leaving my classmates with the impression that I had guzzled a slushie before graduation and couldn’t get rid of my brain-freeze.

“Yes, there’s medicine for it.”

“Do I sound like a dog who suddenly started talking?”

Mom laughed. “No, you don’t sound like a dog who suddenly started talking.”

“That’s how I feel.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Mom said. “You sound much better this morning. And hey, I’m glad you told me. You can always tell me when you’re feeling bad.”