Provided I kept my eyes shut and plugged my ears, October in No Name almost made me forget I was living in a shithole trailer park. Maybe it was the air – all crisp and clean, just like Autumn air should be. Then again, maybe it was because for once in my life I had something to look forward to.
It’s hard to really appreciate the beauty of the canyon unless you headed to the far end of the park, past the chain link fence and the no trespassing signs, to the part closest to the river. Only here is it possible to comprehend the sheer size of the place. The massive granite walls – a black and gray scar cut into a green and red and orange sea of Aspens and pine; cedars and scrub oak – run through by a river that (depending on the day) looks like a black or blue or chocolate piece of fabric, the sounds of which echo off the canyon walls in a dull roar. And only here, sitting on my ledge away from the rusted aluminum trailers, crying babies and screaming wives, beat up pick-up trucks and empty beer bottles, is it possible to leave everything else behind – all the bad breaks and failed relationships. All the dead end jobs and mom’s with cancer, and all the other shit that just never quite turned out the way it was supposed to.
Usually I bring a beer.
Today I didn’t bring any.
Usually I daydream about jumping.
Today I’m thinking about the wedding.
Jen’s in town looking at wedding dresses or cake or something. I don’t even bother asking anymore. I’ve learned to show just enough interest to seem involved, but not too much to get me into trouble. That’s not to say I don’t care. I do. It’s just that apparently when your fiancee asks for your opinion she only wants it if you agree with her. Remember that if you ever find yourself engaged. But that’s cool. The only thing I really care about anyway is the music, the food and the open bar. Got to have an open bar. That’s the key to any good wedding.
Somehow it’s sunset.
Because Jen said she’d be home late and I’m not in the mood to sit in an empty trailer, I decide to take my time walking home. I follow the canyon rim down to the other end of the park, the muffled sounds of music and voices carries though the trees and brush that separate the park from the cliffs. Smells of barbecue and Mexican food invade the crisp autumn air, bringing reality back into focus. I round the corner and turn into the park, my pace slowing until I notice Jen’s car parked in the driveway.
I enter the trailer and find her sitting at the kitchen table, head in her hands.
“Hey babe,” I say, walking over to give her a kiss.
She looks up. Her eyes are puffy.
“What’s up,” I ask. I notice my phone sitting on the table.
“You didn’t have your phone,” she replied.
“Nope.”
“You need to call your dad.”
The concern in her voice worried me.
“Why?”
She handed me my phone. “You need to get back home.”
There are those events that you never see coming, like meeting the girl of your dreams at a job you hate or finding a one hundred dollar bill under a booth at Pizza Hut. And then there are those events that even though you knew they would one day come, you always always held out hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d happen to someone else instead. Learning that your mom is dying is a great example. Booking a last minute flight home so you can be by her bedside is another.
“Dad?”
“It’s not good Will.” I could hear the fear in his voice. “We should probably get you guys back here.”
“What’s going on?”
He started to explain and I started to pay attention, but as soon as I heard him say ICU and blood infection, my mind went to a place that I knew I wasn’t prepared for.
I hung up and walked back to the spare room that we had turned into an office.
“Will,” Jen said, following me.
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want.,” I said.
“Whatever,” she replied, “When are we leaving?”
I turned on the computer and navigated to a travel site. “First flight out I guess.”
She put her hand on my shoulder. “How bad is it?”
“She’s got a blood infection,” I replied. “It’s spreading.”
“But they can treat it, can’t they,” she asked, the hope in her voice pleading for me to tell her that everything to be okay.
I reached up and grabbed her hand. “If they caught it early enough.”
Jen and I made a conscious effort to not bring any nice clothes with us.
“We’re won’t need ‘em,” I said.
She looked at me and I saw the question momentarily flash across her face.
“Just bring a a polo or something,” I told her.
The first flight out of Aberdeen was at 6 A.M and despite the empty highway the drive to the airport was taking too long. On any other day Jen would be telling me to slow down, but she’s keeping her mouth shut.
“What’s the weather like there,” she asks.
I realize she’s trying to distract me; to protect me from my own thoughts. “Dreary,” I reply. “Grey and cool. A little rain maybe.”
She squeezes my hand. “It’s hard to believe we were just there.”
“Yeah.”
“She looked so good.”
I didn’t reply.
Jen let go of my hand and out the corner of my eye I could see her wiping her cheek.
And that’s the thing, Mom looked so good, so healthy and happy and vibrant. So full of life. Looking at her you’d never know she had cancer. Looking at her gave you the false hope that one day she’d see her children grow old. Little did I know.
I didn’t tell Jen this, but right after I booked our tickets I looked up blood infections on Wikipedia. The medical definition is sepsis, or septic shock, and it’s a really, really bad thing. Especially when your immune system is shot. In short, mom’s blood was poisoned and unless it was contained the infection would spread to her organs. If that happened she was fucked. Her organs would die, then she would.
The mortality rate for the immuno compromised is over 80%.
Things I wish I never knew.
Before I got on the plane Dad called with an update. She was having trouble breathing so they had to sedate her.
“Did you tell her we were coming,” I asked.
“They put her under before I could see her.” His voice broke. “But she knew that if anything happened we’d get you guys here.”
Distraction was hard to come by so I slept. Jen rested her head on my shoulder and held my hand. Sunglasses hid my tear swollen eyes. I stepped onto the plane knowing that my mother was alive. I was prepared to step off and learn of her death.
