My Oxford Year(67)

So if Jamie’s fine not being with his parents for the holidays, then so am I. In fact, I’m excited. So excited.

We’re starting in Normandy for two days, then heading to Paris for four. Then we’ll head south, into Jamie’s beloved wine country, and end up along the Riviera for New Year’s. Every time I say this (out loud or to myself, doesn’t matter), I giggle. Legitimately giggle. After New Year’s, we’ll decide where we go for the next two weeks. No plans, just wandering. Perhaps Switzerland, or down into Italy, where it’ll be warmer. I’m game for anything.

I look out my window at the passing scenery. Beautiful. Rolling green hills dotted with oak trees and fluffy sheep. There’s a fine winter mist caressing everything. The sky is broken up into pockets of light gray and stormy blue, like a quilt. “I love this,” I murmur. “This country is a novel come to life. It’s timeless. It’s rugged and slightly wild, but elegant, too. Hmm, sounds like someone I know,” I tease. Jamie doesn’t respond. “Hey, you wanna stay in your lane, buddy?” We’re starting to inch over the solid white line of the motorway’s shoulder. A slight curve in the road puts us solidly over it. “Jamie, seriously.” I glance over and find that his face has gone ghost white, his eyes hooded, a sheen of sweat covering his brow. “Jamie?”

His head drops to his chest.

“Jamie!” I shout, lunging for the wheel. He startles awake, but just as quickly drops out again. “Jamie, brake! Brake!” He jerks his head up and pounds his foot onto the floor, missing the brake. Instinctively, I grab the wheel with one hand while lifting his foot onto the brake pedal with the other, the car kicking up gravel on the shoulder. I press down on his leg as hard as I can and we start slowing, but not quickly enough. I yank up the emergency brake. We skid to a stop in a cloud of dust.

Jamie flops forward like a rag doll.

I unbuckle my seat belt and grab him, taking his head in my hands and forcing him to look at me. “Jamie!” He mumbles something that sounds like “sorry.” I keep a hand on his chest to brace him upright and dig into my back pocket for my phone. “Jamie. Jamie! Stay awake! Please!” He attempts to speak, but his head falls to his chest again.

I gently lean him against the driver’s-side window. “It’s okay, it’ll be okay!” Hands shaking, I start to dial 911, but stop myself. Shit! Is 911 the emergency number in this country? How do I not know this?! How can I have a boyfriend with cancer and not know how to call for help?! Idiot!

I start slapping the side of Jamie’s face, staccato little strikes, trying to wake him. “Jamie, Jamie!” His eyes open. Barely, but open. “How do I call an ambulance?” He mumbles something. “An ambulance, Jamie! How do I call?!” I slap him again. Harder this time.

“Nine-nine-nine . . . and stop. Slapping.” And out he goes again, this time with the faintest of smiles.

“Funny,” I croak. “Jerk.” But it gives me a momentary reprieve from my panic as I dial. When I have the phone to my ear, I grab one of his hands and bring it to my mouth, kissing it. “Everything’s gonna be okay, just try to breathe. All right?” My heart has left my chest. It’s flopping around on the floorboards. “Don’t worry. Help is coming. Stay with me, Ja—Yes, hello!”

Just as I connect to the dispatcher, Jamie faintly squeezes my hand. I look up into his eyes, searching. “Don’t call my parents,” he breathes with his last bit of strength.

Then he passes out for good.





Chapter 23


Say not the struggle nought availeth,

The labor and the wounds are vain,

The enemy faints not, nor faileth,

And as things have been, things remain.

Arthur Hugh Clough, “Say Not the Struggle Nought Availeth,” 1862

You can do this. It’s just a car.

A car that probably costs more than my entire education, but, still, a car.

A car with everything reversed. Like a goddamn fun house.

I check the mirrors yet again, automatically and absently reaching to the right for the shifter. Instead, my hand hits the door.

Jesus. Focus.

When the paramedics had asked me if I wanted to follow, I had nodded. Why did I nod? Because I’d needed to feel useful. They said the hospital was only three miles away. I can do anything for three miles.

But now the ambulance’s lights are flashing and the siren comes on and it’s go time. I depress the clutch and, with my left hand, shift into drive. I follow the ambulance back onto the motorway and we slowly pick up speed. The transmission grinds and I cringe.

As if driving a stick for the first time since I learned to drive on my aunt’s old Volkswagen Beetle wasn’t bad enough, driving on the opposite side of the road, sitting on the opposite side of the car, takes every single ounce of attention. The problem is, I don’t have an ounce left. Every part of my mind is consumed with Jamie. What signs did I miss? Is this normal? Is he all right? Is this just a glimpse of things to come?

We have to switch lanes and my eyes instinctively glance up and to the right, seeing nothing but the patchy clouds. Forcibly, I look left, to the rearview mirror.

I’m not cut out for this. I’ve never been around illness before. I’m useless. And for whatever reason, I’m the only one Jamie wants near him.