Learning to Swim(41)

16


Steffie Rogers's advice on how not to get over the loss of a love:

Immediately after breaking up, go out for some “fresh air” and end up at the convenience store, where you purchase a six-pack of Jolt cola, a Snickers bar, and a quart of strawberry ice cream.



Go home and eat the ice cream right out of the container and then realize too late that you've just consumed the entire quart by yourself.



Wash the ice cream down with that six-pack of Jolt cola.



Pound your pillow.



Watch a gross TV show about plastic surgery that is sure to give you nightmares (if only you could sleep), and then eat the Snickers bar.



Repeatedly check your machine for messages even though you've been sitting beside it the whole time (except for the ten minutes it took you to go to the convenience store).



Pick up the phone to call your ex. Dial his/her number. Hang up before anybody answers. Repeat.



Go to bed, where you toss and turn and wonder if anyone has ever died from consuming too much caffeine and sugar.



Go over every single line of dialogue you and your never-had-achance-to-be-boyfriend/girlfriend had, just so you can remember exactly how dumb you sounded.



Remember all the fun times you and he/she had (as well as the fun times you might have had, if you had only possessed enough common sense to keep your mouth shut).





The next morning I showed up at Tippecanoe not only miserable but also tired, bloated, and a little bit shaky. But I didn't care. I was anxious to be with Alice. I knew I'd feel better as soon as I told her what had happened.

I had just punched in my time card when the staff room door flew open. My heart lifted a little when I thought it might be Alice, but it sank once I realized it was Doris. And the second I looked at her puffy tear-stained face, I knew she was about to tell me the worst news I'd ever heard in my life.

“Steffie!” Doris cried. “Alice is in the hospital.”

I had just read in the morning edition of the Jones Island paper about how when tragedy struck, people always said, “The day began like any other day…” But today hadn't begun just like any other day—at least, not for me. Therefore, according to the laws of the universe, nothing really horrible should have happened to me.

But it had. I dashed to Warthog's office and told him the news, and surprisingly the jerk let me take a personal day. Doris and I hopped into her car and she began updating me on the situation. I was so upset that I heard only every other sentence. Thelma had taken Alice to the hospital when she complained of being short of breath… Alice was scheduled for heart surgery tomorrow… She hadn't been feeling well for a long time.

Doris veered her car from one side of the road to the other. (Like Alice, Doris was a notoriously bad driver.) “I told her she needed to go to a doctor, but dammit, she was too stubborn. Even after the other night when we were all out to dinner and she got so sick, she refused to go. What did she do instead? She went to Thelma's house! What did she think Thelma would do if her heart stopped beating?”

Everything seemed so surreal, like I was having a really bad dream. Like I would wake up and find that I was sitting in Alice's backyard, with my feet in the baby pool. Alice and I would laugh, and she would pick up her notebook and we would entertain ourselves by making a list about what our wills would look like if we were worth millions of dollars.

“Why didn't she tell me?” I asked, trying to hold back my tears.

Doris sighed. “She didn't want to worry you, honey. She thought you had enough on your plate.”

And suddenly I felt guilty. Maybe if I hadn't been so caught up in my own ridiculous life I would've noticed that Alice was really sick. Maybe I would've had enough sense to cancel my date with Keith and stay with Alice. Maybe I could've prevented this whole thing.

Doris and I parked the car in the St. Agnes Hospital parking lot and bolted inside. We received our visitor passes, got into the elevator, and went up to the fifth floor. When the doors opened, I took a few steps forward and stopped dead in my tracks. Keith was standing in front of me. I was too out of sorts to really freak out about running into him after our Chernobyl of a date. There were much more important things to be worried about. Still, my fingers went numb at the sight of him and the memory of how amazing his lips had felt against mine.

“Hey,” I mumbled.

“Hi,” he replied.

I noticed his eyes were bloodshot, like he had been crying.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Visiting Alice,” he said as he slipped his sun-glasses on.

“Is she okay?”

Keith gulped a few times, as if he was trying to restrain himself from breaking down. The only thing he did was shrug, and then he stepped inside the elevator, waving meekly as the doors slid shut.

I was on my way to becoming a basket case.

But before I could completely lose it, Doris grabbed my arm and I followed her down the hall, trying really hard to ignore the nauseating frog-in-formaldehyde stench that seemed to permeate all hospitals. I walked into Alice's room and stopped in my tracks. This was not the cheerful, light-filled space depicted on General Hospital. Medical equipment was everywhere, and the room, with its gray tiled floor and dingy white walls, looked as dismal as a scene from one of Alice's old black-and-white movies.