Secret for a Song (22 page)

I
jerked awake when Drew’s cell phone let out a shrill ring.

He
kissed the back of my head. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Text message.”

Uncurling
himself from me—we were still in the exact same positions we’d been in the
night before—he reached out to the night table and grabbed his cell phone. After
he read what the screen said, he typed in a text message, cursed when his
fingers wouldn’t cooperate, and then re-typed until he got the message right. Putting
the phone on the bed between us, he looked at me. “It’s Zee. She says we have
to go to the hospital. She’s calling an emergency TIDD meeting.”

We
looked at each other a long moment, and I felt my breathing slow. “Pierce?” My
voice sounded like I was underwater, muted and deep.

“That’s
what I think.” Drew reached out, squeezed my hand, and then turned around to
get out of bed. I followed.

We
were quiet on the car ride there. I kept sneaking glances at him out of the
corner of my eye. If he felt his own mortality because of this, he didn’t show
it. The sunlight was dappled, coming in through the window of the car,
streaking across his hair. It picked out the red and light brown highlights,
made his eyes look blue and gold rather than blue and silver like they’d been
last night. He was humming a song under his breath. It took me until we pulled
into the hospital’s parking lot to realize what it was: Hallelujah.

I
thought about what I had to tell him later. After sleep’s cleansing effect, I
knew I couldn’t stay at his apartment, pretending the lie I’d told wasn’t
really a lie at all. I couldn’t just forget about it. I had to come clean. It
didn’t seem right to tell him before Pierce’s death was official news, and as
we walked into the hospital building, I realized it didn’t seem right to tell
him after, either.

It
was then that it came to me, as we took the elevators down to the basement:
there really was no good time to tell someone you’d been lying to them. That
while your love wasn’t a farce, the whole premise that had led to you falling
in love in the first place was. There was no good time to admit to being a
freak, such a big freak, in fact, that your father and mother wanted nothing to
do with you.

We
walked into the TIDD group meeting. Zee and Carson were sitting in their usual
spots in the circle. There was someone new across from Zee. When I walked in,
she turned around. It was Linda Adams, the hospital volunteer administrator.

I
stopped in the doorway. Drew continued on, and because we were holding hands,
our arms stretched out, a lifeline between the two of us. He turned to look at
me, a question in his eyes.

“You
might as well come in,” Zee said, staring straight at me. “Cat’s out of the
bag.”

Linda
stood when she saw me, her face grim and expression tight, as if she had her
hands on either sides of her face, pulling the skin. “Saylor. Come in, sit.”
She gestured to the chair next to hers.

“What’s
going on?” Drew looked from me to Linda and to Zee. “Is this about Pierce?”

I
walked forward, letting my hand drop from his.

This
wasn’t about Pierce at all. This was a setup to catch me. My heart raced, my
cheeks flushed, and I could feel myself begin to sweat under my jacket. But if
my body was going a hundred miles an hour, my brain was strangely detached, as
if it was watching all this happen to someone else.

I
sat in the chair next to Linda Adams, staring out the half-window at the
parking lot above us, cars driving by every so often without even being aware
that we were down there like moles, watching their movements.

Drew
sat next to me, ignoring his usual spot. “What’s going on?” he asked again. He
was confused and angry; I could tell he thought that this was all a
misunderstanding he could make go away, just as soon as somebody told him what
the fuck was
going on
.

I
turned to him, shook my head a little. Then I took off my jacket, folded it
neatly in my lap and waited. My brain floated in the space in my skull, not
really engaging.

Linda
Adams cleared her throat. “Well. This is...this is going to be difficult.” In
spite of the grim look on her face, her voice was apologetic, as if she was
expecting an onslaught of abuse to be hurled at her. Or maybe she was afraid
the hospital would be sued.

“No,
I think it’s really easy, actually,” Zee said, glaring at me. She was wearing
her red pigtail wig again, her arms crossed against her bony chest. Her
breathing was labored under the weight of her anger. “Saylor made great big
fools out of all of us.”

I
closed my eyes for a brief second, then opened them again. I wanted to take
this all in. To jar my brain into thinking.

“Wait
a minute,” Drew said. “She hasn’t done—”

“You
don’t know what the hell we’re talking about,” Zee said, dismissively.

“Well
then, why doesn’t somebody fucking educate me?” Drew spat back.

Carson
shook his head. “I think something needs to be done about this.”

Linda
held up her hands. “Maybe we should let Saylor explain,” she said. To me: “I
haven’t disclosed anything to them about you. It would violate HIPAA
regulations. But I think it’s best if you told them as much as you’re
comfortable with, given what’s happened here.”

The
others fell quiet and stared at me. I felt Drew looking at me. His hand reached
for mine, but I shook my head again. He put it back in his lap.

“I’m
sorry,” I said, and my voice had that weird underwater quality again, distant
and echoing. “I lied to all of you.” I turned and looked at Drew. “I’m sorry.”

“Lied?”
He pushed a hand through his hair, and I noticed it was trembling. “What...what
are you talking about?”

A
tear slipped out, streaked down my cheek. I didn’t even realize I was sad. I
just felt so very numb. “I don’t have MS,” I said, looking out the window
again. A blue Hummer drove by, leaving a trail of thick exhaust. “At least, not
when you mean MS to be multiple sclerosis. I was supposed to volunteer here, in
the hospital, helping set groups up and break them down when they were done
meeting. The day I met you”—I looked at Drew, his eyes wide, staring at me like
he didn’t understand why I was blathering these nonsensical words—“I was just
sitting there, reading a book on multiple sclerosis. You assumed I was part of
the TIDD group, and...I let you. And then I played along. I let you all believe
I was just as sick as the rest of you.”

“Why?”
Drew asked, the question slipping like a mournful song into the room, into my
ear.

I
wanted to stand up, walk out, save myself. But I forced myself to say the
words. “I have Munchausen Syndrome. That means I...I make myself sick for
attention.” I took a deep breath, my lungs filling up with what felt like hot,
fiery air. I wanted it to incinerate me. “I felt included for the first time in
my life,” I said. Another tear streaked down my cheek, and then another and
another. “I felt like I belonged here. I started to care about you guys.”

Zee
laughed, a forced, mirthless bark. “Right. You started to care about us. You
wanted our
friendship
. It had nothing to do with the fact that we’re all
dying. That you love being sick so much you wanted to see up close what that
looks like.”

“No,
it wasn’t like that.” I looked at her, my voice breaking. I wanted to be
honest, I had to. Now was the time for candor. Clearing my throat, I began
again. “I’ll admit that at first, it...it
was
interesting.” Carson
looked like he wanted to punch me, his hands tightening around the handles of
his wheelchair. “I admit that, okay? But really quickly, it became so much more
than that.” I turned to Drew again. “You became so much more than just your
disease. All of you.”

“Well,
that’s mighty fucking big of you,” Zee said, shaking her head incredulously.

Drew
was staring at me wide-eyed, as if his brain wouldn’t let him be in the moment
either. I could hear my heart cracking inside.

Linda
cleared her throat again. “Zee and Carson tell me she hasn’t asked them for
money or taken anything from them. Drew, I’m going to have to ask you the same
question. Has Saylor taken monetary advantage of you?”

I
wanted to die. I wanted the sedan that was driving down the parking lot to sail
through the half window of the basement somehow and plow right into me. Just
create nothingness where I was before.

“No.”
Drew’s voice was hollowed out, like a pumpkin at Halloween. His hands were
balled in his lap now, and he was looking down at them.

“And
Pierce?” Linda looked at me.

“No,”
I whispered. “It wasn’t like that. I promise. I’d never have done that.”

“Yeah,
well forgive us if we don’t trust you right now,” Carson said. “I can’t believe
this.”

“I
just want to know one thing,” Zee said. “When you took me wig shopping that
day? Were you just laughing at me the whole time in your head?”

I
shook my head, tears falling fast, dripping down onto the jacket I held in my
lap. They started to pool on the shiny black surface. “No.”

She
kept her arms crossed and looked away, as if she couldn’t believe me.

I
stood up and turned to Linda Adams. “I have to go.”

She
stood up too. “I do need to speak with you quickly.” She turned to the others.
“I’ll be right back, and we’ll talk more about this.”

Then
she followed me outside to the hallway.

“I’m
afraid I’m going to have to tell Dr. Stone about this,” she said. “And you
won’t be allowed to volunteer here anymore. I’m sure you understand. They might
still press charges, and I can’t control that.”

I
nodded.

“You’ll
have to bring back your badge.”

Did
they think I might try stealing in later, just try to pick up where I left off?
I realized then that I had no right to say anything. They were justified in
thinking whatever they wanted about me.

“Okay,”
I said. Then, as an after thought: “How did you find out?”

“I
saw you at Pierce’s place last night. I know his mother. We’re old friends.”

I
nodded. And then I began to walk away.

W
hen
I got home, I went straight upstairs. I sat on my bed, staring at the pink and
gold striped wallpaper on my walls. It was nearly twenty years old, hung back
when my parents had found out they were having a girl. But it looked bright and
new, festive. I wondered how my mother managed to do that—keep this house still
and fresh, as if it were zippered up in some time-defying plastic case that was
invisible to the human eye.

Someone
knocked on the front door downstairs. I heard a shuffling, then my mother
opening it. I hadn’t even realized she was home. I sat there, just absorbing
the sounds, letting the waves travel into my ear, bounce off my eardrum, and
recede. I didn’t move. There didn’t feel like there was a point to anything
anymore.

“Saylor.”

I
jumped. Turned. It was Drew. I squinted. Why was Drew here? Was this a
hallucination? My brain trying to get me to react to some stimulus, any
stimulus, by providing the most outrageous thing it could think of? Trying to
bring me to my knees by twisting the knife in my chest?

He
walked forward, limping quite obviously. “Mind if I sit down?” He motioned to
the chair at my desk.

I
shook my head so he took a seat, stretching his legs out in front of him,
holding the curved neck of the cane in his lap with both hands. We stared at
each other. I still wasn’t sure if I was seeing things.

“Tell
me it’s not true.” His voice was soft, almost childlike. “If you say it’s not
true I’ll believe you.”

I
squeezed my eyes shut, but then forced myself to open them and look at him
again. “I wish I could.”

“Why?”
His mouth barely moved. It was like he was a statue, like maybe his brain was
having trouble coming to terms with this new reality too. It was like having
woken up after the sweetest dream to look around at your life. You realize just
how flat the colors really are in this world, just how much effort it actually
takes to be happy. You realize you’re not as lucky as you’d thought after all.

I
shook my head, opened my mouth. But nothing came out. Why did I do it? Because
I’d felt like I’d belonged, like I said at the TIDD group. But to be completely
honest, it was so much more than that.

Falling
in love with Drew? It was like peeling off cold, wet socks and putting your
feet on a warm floor. It was like waking up, thinking you had to go to school
or work, and realizing it was the weekend. Why would you ever go back to the
way you were? Why would you willingly stuff your feet back into those limp,
wretched socks?

It
was because he made me feel things. Drew made me feel like there were parts of
me worth saving. That maybe there might be people out there who’d love me for
being me.

“Sorry,”
I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Did
you...” His voice sounded like it might crack, so he paused for a moment before
continuing. “Linda Adams said she thought you joined the group because you
wanted to be identified as a patient, as someone who had an illness that was
serious and worthy of attention. She said that’s just part of your...your other
disease.” He took a deep breath. “Is that true? Was that...was that all it
was?”

“That’s
what it was at first.” I clenched my fists in my lap, pressed my fingernails
into my flesh, felt them sink in. “I did like that you guys thought I was sick.
When I got sick that day at Zee’s house?” I thought back to the fever, the
vomiting, how Drew had brought me home and sat with me. “That’s what I lived
for every day, Drew. That’s the sort of thing I’ve spent my entire childhood
and my little sliver of adulthood chasing.”

He
closed his eyes and nodded, a resigned sort of acceptance on his face.

“But
then,” I continued, watching him, willing him to open his eyes, to see the
truth on my face now. “But then, I fell in love with you. I fell in love with
you, and that’s the truth. I know you don’t have any reason to believe me, but I
swear I’m being honest. You’re the reason I came out of this—this fucking
shell
I live in and began to engage with the world. I began to care about
something other than my own pathetic existence.” I got up off the bed and
rummaged in my nightstand drawer till I found the syringe, from which I’d
tossed the needle a few days ago. “See this?” I stepped closer to him, holding
it up. “This was my best friend till I met you, till I fell in love with you.
It’s how I made those abscesses on my chest.”

He
reached out and took the syringe, staring at it as if he couldn’t believe
someone would do that to herself. And really, who the hell does? Who besides
me? “You did those to yourself?”

“Yes.
And I ingested Tylenol, which is why I was at the hospital that day you came to
see me. I did it because I wanted attention. I like being sick. I like the
attention it gets me because I don’t feel anything else I do or say or am
warrants that kind of attention. I’ve been making myself sick since I was seven
years old. That’s the kind of person I am, Drew, and because of you I actually
stopped doing it for a little while and began to live my life.” I dropped to my
knees in front of him and took his hands, the body of the syringe pressed
between our skins. “I wanted to tell you the truth. Last night. I wanted to,
but then you asked me to move in with you and it was as if, in that moment, I
got to be the star of a movie, of a perfect fairy tale with a real-life prince
charming. I made a mistake by not telling you then. But I was going to tell you
this morning. Before we got texted to go to the hospital. I swear I was.”

He
ran his hand over my face, over the plane of my cheek, the bridge of my nose,
traveled the slope of my lips. It was like he was memorizing me. I thought he
might be crying, but I couldn’t tell for certain because my own eyes were full
of tears blurring my vision.

He
leaned down and kissed me then, and I tasted tears. Everyone’s tears taste the
same, because they’re made of the same stuff—salt and water. But I swear I
could taste Drew’s tears as different from mine. His were sadder, sweeter.

When
he pulled back, he whispered, “I love you. But I can’t forgive you.”

I
sank back, hugged my knees. I nodded.

He
left, playing his own final caesura.