Miracle Girl Epilogue

          I walk down the long hospital hallway slowly, not because I'm in a particularly thoughtful mood, but because my right knee hasn't been working well lately and the doctor recommended that I go easy on it.  The white tile passes by piece by piece under my feet.  I glance down at the item clutched in my left hand, then back up at the hallway.  A long, low sigh  burrows its way out of me, surprising me with the intensity of emotion that accompanies it.  A minute or so later I reach the other end and peer around the corner into the food court, looking for the woman with glasses and graying hair.  I spot her at a table in the fall corner, talking animatedly on the phone the way she always does when one of the children calls.  I walk over slowly and sit down next to her.  She finishes the call and looks at me expectantly.

          "Room 2304" I say.  Who was that on the phone?"

          "Charlie"

          "Anything interesting?"

          "Alicia is expecting!  Isn't that wonderful?  That will make...twelve grandchildren now?"

          "Fourteen, counting the twins."  She smiles and I smile back.  I think about all of them, all living happily in their own corners of the world, and decide that life can't get any better.  But then I've been saying that for sixty years, and every passing day has a way of proving me wrong.  For a while longer I look intently into the woman's eyes, thinking about all the things that make her beautiful.  After awhile my gaze settles back down on the object in my hand.  I nod in unspoken agreement to something left unsaid.

          "Well, we'd better do what we came here for."

          She puts a hand on mine.  "Are you ready?  It's been such a long time."

          I think about it, then nod again.  We make our way over to the elevator and ride it up to the second floor.  Partway down the corridor the hallway branches off into the wing specifically designed for long-term cancer patients.  My heart thumps quickly in my chest.  How will she react to my being there?  Will she even remember me?  An almost forgotten feeling from ages past warms back over me, like that distinctive smell that you never quite forget.

          I look at the number on the door, then back at the paper in my hand.  2304.  I take a deep breath and we walk in.  We sit down on the chairs just inside the door, just as we've done at countless hospitals with countless friends and associates over the years.  But this time will be different.

          The lady in the hospital bed is sound asleep, and so we settle down for what we know from experience can be a long wait.  I open the book in my hands to the page with the corner turned down.

          With a gigantic roar, Thymsdale drew his sword once more from its sheath.

          "What doth it matter if we be outnumbered?  Was my fealty to the king to be conditioned on the odds?  I live my life for this kingdom, and I die for it too."

          King Richard looked down at him from his mount in admiration.  "Thou art a miracle to me," he declared.  Then with a thunderous shout, they turned as one to face the enemy hosts...

          A nudge on my arm interrupts me and I look up to see that the person we are here to visit is awake and has opened her eyes.  I close the book and trace my finger over the grooved letters of the author's name.  Mercedes A. Clemens. I look over at the lady in the hospital bed.

          "It's been awhile," I say.  She nods.

          "Yes it has."

          "This is my wife, Lydia," I say, gesturing over at her.  Mercedes nods and smiles with effort, her purple eyes dimmed with age and disease.

          "I brought your book," I say, gesturing to the tome in my hands.  "It's very good.  Actually, all of them are very good."

          She nods and smiles again, too taxed to express herself much more profoundly than that.  I glance over her old, frail body, wondering how much more I can do for her.  Her golden hair, now tinged with silver, splays around her head like a crown.  The vivacity of her spirit is still there, but it's buried deep under the extremity of her current condition.  Her face radiates peace and purity.

          "Thank you."  She says.

          "No, thank you."

          We sit there awhile longer, but all that was needed to be vocalized has already been said.  A little later her eyes close again and her breathing becomes deep and methodical.  It is the last time I will see them open again for a good, long while.  We get up and leave, treading softly on our way out so as not to wake her. 

          As we walk down the hallway away from the room Lydia's hand slips into mine and my eyes sting with sudden tears.  A nearby nurse nods at me sympathetically, probably thinking that I'm mourning the soon-to-be loss of a loved one.  She doesn't see that they are tears of happiness.  But Lydia does, and she squeezes my hand a little tighter.  I pull her close to me and let the tears flow freely, not holding anything back.  I tilt my head back, staring up towards the high-arched ceiling, at the legions of invisible angels that I know are there.  A stream of sunlight arches through the window high above us, bathing all those who let it in with irrepressible, glorious light.

 

 

 

 

THE END

 

 

Miracle Girl Part IX

          I walk swiftly toward the north side of campus,  A zephyr of air snatches wind-born leaves from their hiding places in the nooks and crags of nearby buildings and thrusts them upward into the marbled, overcast sky.  I shove my right hand into my pocket, my left still clutching the phone to my ear.  Another gust throws dust into my eyes and rails me backwards, as if even the forces of nature are conspiring against me to stop my progress.  I beat on, feet against the pavement, borne ceaselessly forward toward my destination by the pulsating beat of the heart within my chest.

          "I'm to the left of the Wilson building.  Just coming up on the McJohnson."  Mercedes says, her voice cracking again.

          I readjust my course, turning down a narrow opening between the Dayton Center and the Donaldson building.

          "K.  I should be able to see you soon."  I scan the pathway ahead for the tell-tail gleam of blond hair.  A blast of air batters me again and I duck my head against the brunt of it.

          "Nick!"  I turn and look left and there she is, walking quickly toward me.  Her hair's disheveled, tied hopelessly in knots from the unrelenting wind.  It's more than the wind though.  There's something about herself as a whole that's worn down.  As we get closer I see the broken look on her face and know instantly, without any possible doubt, that I've made the right decision.  She stops a few feet away from me.  Hot droplets burn tear tracks from the violet gems of her eyes down the sides of her cheeks.  An irrepressible compulsion to protect and comfort wells up inside of me.  I step forward and pull her into a hard embrace. Somehow Mercedes overrides her natural inclination to resist me.  I try to squeeze out all the pain and suffering I can see in her.  My social self-consciousness tries to stop me from showing such unreserved emotion in public, but my desire to help her is too strong.  I hear a tiny groan in my ear and feel her relax against me as the strain of carrying her personal burden becomes too much to bear alone.

          I step back and lead her over to a nearby bench.  She lowers herself down slowly, as if scared she might shatter if she hits something too hard.  The dark barriers I've seen so long in her eyes are gone, beaten down by the cruel weight of whatever drove her to call me today.  I wait for her to get possession  of herself.  I'm in no hurry.  I have all the time in the world.  This is what I have time in the world for.

          When she calms down enough that I feel her trembling against my side slowly subside, I quietly ask, "What is going on?"

          A few more tears slip out.  She's gathering the courage to tell me.  Finally she pulls up the sleeve on her right arm.  I see the marks there, first not comprehending, then suddenly realizing.  I've been wrong all along.  All this time it hasn't been her family at all.  It's drugs.  The dark circles under her eyes, her mysterious late-night activities, skipping class, the fact that she told me she isn't close to anyone when everyone knows she hangs out with Kyra, it all makes sense now.

          The look on her face makes it obvious that she hasn't told anyone before.  She's studying me closely, watching, even expecting, to see me shrink away.  Instead I pull her closer.  I feel the wetness of her cheek against my shoulder.

          "How did it start?"  I ask.

          And the reservoir bursts and she's telling me about feeling lost and alone in high school with all the right friends for all the wrong reasons.  About ending up with the wrong crowd halfway through senior year, how that crowd followed her to college, this time without parental restraint holding her back.  Then about how her grades keep slipping, her sleep schedule getting twisted up into knots, cut off from everyone, wanting to escape all week, making the firm resolve to break free time and time again but finally caving in anew every weekend.  She talks about her repulsion of the people she deals with, how she longs to be with others but how the feeling of who she is drives her away, about waking up coming off a high, how it burns and burns and makes her feel rotten, about hating herself every time she goes back for more.  She goes on and on, pouring out her trembling vulnerable self into my outstretched hands.  I hold the information carefully, honored and humbled by the preciousness of what she's given me.  All through her words I keep her close, locked onto her violet eyes, straining to glean every detail, every facet of what she is feeling.

          I lose track of time.  There is no time here.  It doesn't matter.  There's only the continual stream of thoughts and emotions as Mercedes gives me all that she has.  Finally she stops, having run out of stamina, and silence returns after its long absence.  Mercedes is trembling up against my side again.  Outside our world, the wind has died down.  I give a long pause, letting the silence sink in a bit to soothe her stinging heart.

          "Do your parents know?"  She shakes her head.

          "They know some, but not much."

          I make sure she's looking me in the eyes so she'll feel the intonation of my next question and not take it the wrong way.

          "Why are you telling me now?"

          She sighs, gathering courage, and starts up again.  "One of my roommates found some of my stuff.  She showed it to the landlord and they're going to kick me out."

          "Are they going to report you to the police?" 

          She shrugs.  "I think so."

          "What are you going to do?"

          "I don't know."  We're silent for a little longer.  Then,

          "Your parents can either find out from the police or from you," I say.

          Mercedes nods mutely.  I don't tell her what to do.  I just want to remind her how things are and point her in the right direction.

          She holds her phone in an outstretched hand like it's a bomb ready to go off.  Her arm shakes some more and she slips it back into her pocket.

          "I can't do it."  She says.  I don't push her.

          "What are you going to do now?"  Mercedes shakes her head and remains silent.  I don't know what to say.  I feel the weight of the situation press down over my shoulders.  The emerging crack in my self-assuredness grows wider.   I scrounge around in my brain for something else to say that might help her.  I'm completely out of my depth here.  Seeking inspiration, I look up and for the first time see the people going about their business around us.  

          Some of them glance over us interestingly, but they're all just caught in their own little worlds.  They walk on, each a complex blend of circumstance and decisions.  Some with strong determination and a will to succeed.  Others concealing wounds or chafing at the chains of monotony.  Yet each of them is inherently valuable, inherently powerful.  Each can become, and already is, a creature beyond comprehension.  I think about myself, a self-absorbed study freak turned hero.  I think about Lydia, who against all reason acted against her own interests based on my word alone.  Mercedes is one of those incomprehensible beings, just like me, Lydia, and every other person on this planet.  I've known it all along.  It's still true, even in light of what she's done.  In a sea of exceptional people, she is no less special.  And in that moment I know that there is nothing she could ever do that would stop me from seeing her as extraordinary.  All worry about what to say disappears, leaving in its wake only pure, clear love.

          "You can beat this," I tell her.

          "I can't."  She sobs.  " I've tried so many times and it doesn't work."

          "They have people who can help you.  You don't have to do it alone."

          She gives a humorless laugh.  "Maybe.  But so what if I get better?  No one will hire me with a criminal record.  No one will never be able to see me as anything other than an addict who's gone into remission."  Her free hand tightens into a first, nails pushed up against her palm so hard that it starts to bleed.  " No matter how good I am, people will always see me the way I used to be.  So why even try?"  The last sentence comes out almost like a whisper.

          "I don't see you as an addict."  Something inside me clicks, and I mean these words like I've never meant anything before.  It is crucial, it is imperative, for her to feel how strongly I believe what I'm saying, what I'm about to say.  "I see you as someone who can change the world.  You aren't afraid to tell people to change when they need it.  You're honest with yourself.  You see things the way they really are.  You never give up."  You never give up.  I pause after the last one.  I know it is true; I can see it in her.  But I don't know how I know.  Evidently she sees it too, because she doesn't object.

          "You don't have to settle for struggling back to being ordinary.  You already are one of the most amazing people I have ever met."

          Mercedes looks down at the fist clenched in her lap.  In the distance, somebody calls out.  I turn and look around.  Mara comes around the corner and comes to a halt, frozen, directly in front of us.  Her eyes take us both in:  Mercedes, eyes latched on me, leaning against me for support.  Myself, sitting very close to her, looking back at Mara with an expression somewhere between shock and dread.

          "Who is she?"  Mara asks with calm so false it's downright icy.  She knows exactly who Mercedes is.  It's a different question she's asking.  I remember suddenly that my date with her was supposed to have started in less than an hour and my insides turn rotten.  Mercedes opens her mouth to say something, but I'm not about to let her take the heat for me, so I say,

          "My friend is going through something rough right now and I was trying to help her."

          "Right.  Your friend."  Her gaze sweeps over us again, completely missing Mercedes' tear-stained face, and turns with spiteful derision to mine.  "Well I hope you both have a nice day.  Maybe you should take her to a movie or something."  Her voice cracks and she turns and marches away, trying and failing to hide tears of her own that splatter against the sidewalk beneath her feet.

          The world seems to freeze and shatter into a million pieces at the same time.  It's worth it.  I know it's worth it.  But that doesn't stop the pain of the moment from scorching scars of horror and guilt into my insides.  I will never be able to undo what I've just done to Mara.  But neither could I have backed down and let Mercedes throw her life by the wayside.

          Mercedes stands up.  Her face is devoid of all emotion.  "I should go," she says.  I stand as well, stung once more by the irony of how normal things would have been with Mara if Mercedes had left just a few minutes earlier.  Mercedes gives me one of her sad little cracked half smiles and begins to walk in the general direction of the apartments, where the police and her parents will no doubt be waiting for her.  It hits me as I stand here watching her go that I will never see her again.  If I want to leave one last mark on her life, it has to be now.  There's no time to think.  She's already halfway gone, so I call out the first thing that pops into my head.

          "You're a miracle to me!"  She doesn't turn around.  She's far enough away that I can't even tell if she heard me, and a few seconds later she turns the corner and is gone.  I stand there a while longer before my legs remember themselves and begin to walk away, cursing my choice of words.  "You're a miracle to me?"  What a weird thing to say to somebody.  My phone vibrates and I pull it out.  It's a text from Lydia.   Where are you?  

          Are the presentations over already?  I glance down at my watch and find that not only did I miss the anatomy presentation, I'm not going to make it to the job orientation either.  I've given up a job, a potential girlfriend, and my career plans in one fell swoop.  The thought stings sharply, especially the memory of the look on Mara's face, but the pain is completely swallowed up in the fierce desire for Mercedes' welfare.  Next to that, what is medical school?  Absolutely nothing.  I tell Lydia where I am and a minute or so later she's there.  She's all apology.

          "I tried to get her to give you credit anyway, but she wouldn't listen.  I told her it was an emergency, but she just said that if it was a big enough emergency to miss the presentation you should have let the paramedics handle it.  I'm sorry I really--"

          "I doesn't matter," I say.  She nods and falls silent.  She looks at me pensively, not daring to ask the question burning on her lips.  So I don't make her ask.  I tell her everything.  I start at the very beginning and talk until I get to the very end, leaving out only the details Mercedes told me that I feel are too personal.  I tell her about meeting Mercedes in the library, about the sociology assignment, my repeated attempts to turn my friendship with Mercedes into a miracle, everything right up until the anatomy fiasco and everything that just happened.  I look up at her after I finish, trying to gauge her reaction.  Does she think I'm weird for getting so crazy about everything?  A little.  But she tries to be understanding, and there's something else there too, something that I can't quite identify.

          On the way home I figure out what it is.

The Epilogue will be posted on Monday

Miracle Girl Part VIII

          Drip.  Drip.  The water still comes down in sprinkles, but inside my heart it's a raging downpour. 

          I was wrong.  I try to track down the logic behind my assumptions once more.  Mercedes gave me conclusive evidence that she has a strained relationship with her family...didn't she?  My heart twists as I scramble to latch on to something concrete in what she said.  Now, though, I see everything in a different context.  I try to make myself believe that she lied when she said she doesn't have anything against her family, but I doubt my ability to read her more than I doubt her honesty.

          I failed.  The thought punctures my mind like the worst kind of knife to the chest.  It's worse than her not letting me help her with something legitimate.  The need for help has never been there at all.  I've thrown everything I have into something that didn't exist in the first place.  All the effort I put in to find a way to help her was wasted.  So much for miracles.  So much for being the upper 2.5%.  So much for changing a life forever.

          The feeling of bereavement is so strong it almost overwhelms me.  I carry on, not headed anyplace in particular.  Walking, but not seeing the path before me.  The castle of dreams I built up for myself slowly dissolves into a puddle of scorched sugar crystals.  Those things I thought were miracles no longer seem so amazing.  I mean, sure it's weird that I ran into Mercedes the day after I met her for the first time, but that probably had a lot more to do with the fact that I was looking for her everywhere than it did any kind of divine intervention.  Everything else that's happened since then came either from efforts on my part or her natural reaction to them.  Where's the miracle in that?

          I don't hear my name being called until it's shouted for the third time.  I turn and look, heart whirling again with the tiniest, faintest particle of hope...

          "What's up man?" asks Matt, and the hope comes crashing back down again with an earth-shattering thump.

          "Nothing," I say, and keep trudging, but the fact that it's a lie bothers me, so I slow down and correct:  "Actually, I just tried to change someone else's life for my sociology class and it completely backfired."

          I half expect him to laugh, but he doesn't.  "That's too bad," he says.  "But don't give up.  You'll have your chance."

          Now I'm the one to laugh. "I don't think things like that actually happen in the real world."

          Matt smiles a little but stares intently back at me while he says,  "Maybe moments like that are just rarer than you thought they were."  His smile broadens and tightens his hold on his backpack strap.  "See you around, Nick."

          For a second I feel hope again, making me even more confused than I was to start with.  I'm more than slightly annoyed about how my emotions are getting sling-shot around to every imaginable range of the spectrum.  When did life get so crazy?

          Just then my phone rings.  I slide it open with one hand, not bothering to look at the number.

          "Nick?"

          "Yes?"

          "This is John Broadhead, from  University Broadcasting.  We've decided we'd like to hire you for Summer semester."

          I'm silent with shock, not sure how to react.

          "Pay is $10 an hour, 20 hours a week.  Does that work for you?"

          I nod in response before realizing that he can't see me and quickly answer back, "Sounds good."

          "We're holding a mandatory orientation meeting on Saturday at one o'clock.  Will you be able to attend that?"

          That's right between my anatomy presentation and my date with Mara.  I couldn't have planned it better if I'd tried.

          "Sure."

          "Great, I'll put your name down.  I look forward to working with you, Nick.  You did outstanding in your interview.  You should be very proud of yourself"

          "Thank you."

          I jot down the orientation meeting on my schedule, my mind still whirling.  This day just kept getting weirder and weirder.  I wonder what's coming next.

 

 

 

          The next day, Thursday, is our final group meeting in preparation for the anatomy project.  I work hard, but my mind is on a completely different planet.

          "Are you ok?" Lydia asks and I snap back to reality.  Genuine concern crinkles across her face.  With a great heave of mental effort I force up a smile that probably looks like the half-hearted kind Mercedes does.

          "I'll survive.  It's just life."

          She doesn't say anything, but it's clear that she doesn't believe me.

          "He probably just got shot down by some girl," Jarren says.  He has no idea how right he is, although in a completelydifferent sense than the way he's thinking about it.

          "I'll survive," I say again, with more emphasis behind it.  They both back off.  Even Jarren sees the futility of trying to get more out of me.  We all go back to work.

          A few minutes later my emergency emotional generators conk out and the smile slips away again.  I sink back down beneath the surface of reality.

 

 

          I awake on Saturday morning with a slight headache and a dull attitude.  I have a class presentation, a job interview, and a date today, but none of it matters because Mercedes blew me off three days ago and there's no way I can help her now.  I open and close my hand slowly, watching my veins bulge out against my skin.  I wish that this day would get over already so I can get back to being depressed.

          I pull myself into the shower an hour or so later than normal, but it doesn't matter.  I'll still get there in time.  I fill my backpack with sketches, diagrams, and pictures for the anatomy report, stuff my wallet, phone, and keys into my pockets, and take a mental inventory.  Have I forgotten anything?  I feel like I have, but I can't think of anything I'm missing.  I go through the full list in my head.  Yep.  I have everything.  I'm going to be early if I leave now, but I can't stand just sitting around here waiting for time to pass, so I leave anyway.  The walk to campus seems shorter than ever.  I wander aimlessly through the maze of buildings, checking my watch as I go.  I still have several minutes before I have to be there.  Almost unconsciously my feet take me to the fourth floor of the library, to the spot where I saw Mercedes the first time.

          I brush my fingers tenderly over the grainy wood of the desk in the corner.  This is where it all started.  Despite everything, the spot it sacred to me.  The meaning behind this place transcends ordinary forms of communication.  It's surprising that something that ended so badly could still tug on my heart strings this way. 

          As I stand there, staring out over the rows of shelves, a kind of warm feeling oozes over me.  It isn't the kind of "aha" moment I had that night under the stars when I decided to change Mercedes' life forever.  It's nothing that earth-shattering.  But as I stand there, something comes back that I hadn't realized had ever left:  a peaceful, happy optimism for the future.  I may not ever be able to put my finger on why, but I think it's in that moment that I start believing in miracles again.

          I glance down at my watch and see that it's  time to head over to the anatomy auditorium, then back up at my surroundings.  For better or worse, this marks the end of one of the great epochs of my life, and the start of another.

          "Goodbye."  I whisper into the silence, and turn and glide away.

 

 

          The auditorium is almost full when I get there, but I find a spot next to Lydia and Jarren up near the front and sit down.  Lydia's leg is vibrating up and down rapidly.  She's nervous about her grade.  Come to think of it, I am too.  It will likely be the determining factor in my hopes for medical school.  Even Jarren doesn't look as calm as normal.  I pull my backpack between my legs and unzip it.  The visual aids for the presentation peak out over the edge of my binder, exactly where I put them.  I brush my hand over them, reassuring myself that they're still there.  Dr. Orozco steps up to the front.

          "We'll start with the groups on the front row and work our way back from left to right.  Be sure to keep your presentations under seven minutes so we can get through them all in a timely manner."  She steps over to one side and sits down.

          We're on the third row back, so it will take a little while to get to us, but at least we won't be clear at the end.  Lydia relaxes slightly beside me.

          The first two presentations are very well done.  I'm a little worried how we're going to measure up to their standard.  The next group begins without incident.

          "Our presentation is on the bones of the hand," says the guy up front, pointing to a diagram to his left.  "As you can see here..."

          My phone starts to buzz, vibrating against my side.  It's quiet enough that no one else can hear it, but I still put my hand over it to stifle the sound.  A few seconds later it stops.

          "The Navicular Articuluti, near the base of the hand..."

          My phone starts to vibrate again.  Lydia shoots me a questioning look this time.   I shrug my shoulders and look back up at the front.  Something begins to itch in the back of my mind.  Who would be calling me right now?  I'm relieved when my phone falls silent again.

          "As you can see, the Lunate Articuluti, which borders the Navicular Articuluti..."

          My phone starts up  a third time, but now a feeling that has been vaguely forming in the back of my mind suddenly bursts into full consciousness.  I need to answer my phone.  I don't understand how I know, much less why, but the feeling is unmistakable.  Instantly the doubts start crowding in.  It's in the middle of a presentation!  What will people think?  What if the professor sees me?  But then I remember what I felt standing on the fourth floor of the library just a few minutes ago and reach into my pocket for my phone, bending my head down so that nobody else can see.  It isn't a number I recognize.

          "Hello?"  I whisper into the phone.

          "Nick."  It's a girl's voice on the other line, strangely scratchy.

          "Who is this?" I ask.

          "Mercedes.  Can we talk?"  I almost drop the phone.  This can't be happening.

          "Of course.  When?"

          "Now."

          I glance up at the front.  The hand bone group is still in the middle of their presentation.  I'll be here for another hour at least.  After that I have my job orientation at the broadcasting center, but maybe I could reschedule it? 

          I'm about to mention this when Mercedes chokes out, "I don't know who else to call."  And I hear the tears in her voice, and the whole world goes deathly silent, even though there's still someone speaking up at the front.  The nails of my free hand dig into my palm.  This is it.  It's the very moment I've been waiting for, the miracle that was never going to happen, and here I am stuck inside this stupid anatomy presentation.  All that time and effort, and here I am, unable to help Mercedes when she needs it most.  Mercedes needs me.  She needs me!  I cease to see the class around me as the world snaps into sharp clarity.  I'm here because of my grade; a single splat of ink on a piece of paper, and somewhere out there is a real, live human being who needs me.  And not just any human.  Mercedes.

          I take a deep breath, willing the oxygen to sink back into the depths of my heart and give me courage, courage to do something I'd never done before, to sacrifice what I never thought I would have to sacrifice, what I never thought I should sacrifice, all for a vague chance at the other end of this telephone line.

          Immediately my mind fights back, reminding me that a grade is far more than a splotch of ink.  For me, it's also my hopes and dreams to become a doctor.  To live how I want to live.  To achieve what I have the potential to be.  But just as this thought enters my mind an equally powerful one thrusts it out again.  What I have the potential to be would be nothing, absolutely nothing, without being the kind of person my heart tells me I should be.  In order to gain what I know is most important, I have to sacrifice what everyone else says it is.

          My  legs are lead.  They don't want to move.  I clench my fist tighter and whisper under my breath the battle cry that has kept me going all this long way:

           We have to choose to be the outliers of humanity.  We must defy the consensus.  In short, WE MUST BECOME the miracle that we want to see in our lives.

          And I know my decision.  Even before I say the words.  Even before I make the first movement to rise up out of my chair.  It's etched so deeply in my soul, by this and all the other decisions that have led me up to this point, that for me there is no other answer.  There is no other way.

          "I'll be right there," I whisper back.  With shaking legs I stand up and walk toward the back door of the auditorium.  I feel a half-dozen eyes on the back of my head, but I shove my inhibitions aside and keep on walking.

          I can hardly believe I'm actually doing this.  I'm throwing my grade out the window.  I'm breaking every social norm in the book.  I didn't just think it.  I'm actually doing it.  The door closes behind me, and a soft feeling of liberty and personal triumph clenches tightly in my chest.  I did it.  I really did it.  I walk down the hall a pace.

          "Where can I find you?" I ask Mercedes

          "I'm at the north end of campus."

          "Start making your way south.  I'll be right there."

          Suddenly the door to the auditorium bursts open and Lydia and Jarren storm through.  I lower the phone without hanging up.

          "What's going on, Nick?"  Asks Lydia.  "Professor Orozco's having a fit because you left."

          "She says she's going to flunk  you if you don't get back in there right now," enjoins Jarren.  My nerve almost fails me right then and there.  It'll be on my permanent record.  There's no going back from this.  I'm tottering on the line between being incredibly courageous and incredibly stupid.  I could just wait until after the presentations...

          But the same inner voice that told me to answer the phone says otherwise.  Mercedes needs me, and she needs me now. 

          She strung you along once and then shut you down!  My more cynical voice roars back.  What if you sacrifice your whole academic record and she does it again?  What if she's just worried about the grade on her chemistry test?

          I take a half-step toward the door and stop.  What if it's not?  What if it's important?  What if everything is riding on my willingness to help her?  But yet again, am I still willing to sacrifice all this for the chance that this is something incredibly critical?   The quiet, deeper voice inquires, Are you willing to take the chance that she really needs you, but you weren't willing to help her?

          Lydia and Jarren are staring back at me, waiting for an answer.  No.  I'm not willing to take that chance.  I remember the tears in Mercedes voice.  I trust her.  If she's conning me, let her con me.  I don't care.  I'm here to help her, not matter what.

          "I have a friend that needs me," I say.

          "And it can't wait an hour?" cries Jarren.  "You realize she's going to dock both of us too if you aren't in there."

          "Really, Nick, can't it wait?" asks Lydia.  I look at her.  I look her straight in the eye.  I don't bother with Jarren; he won't listen.  But I stare deep into the back of Lydia's dark brown eyes, willing the contents of my heart to somehow cross the few feet separating us and make it into her.

          "I have a friend who needs me," I repeat slowly, with all the feeling I can muster.  "Now."

          Something changes on her face, but I can't tell what.  My heart aches for her to understand.  Please, if you can't forgive, please understand.  Understand that I'm not trying to hurt you.  Understand that there are more important things than grades or how much the teacher likes you.  The skin on her temple stretches even tighter.

          "Go," she says.  Relief floods through me.

          "Are you crazy?" exclaims Jarren.  "He's going to destroy our grade!"

          I pull the charts and graphs from my backpack and hand them to Lydia.  She's looking at me in a way I've never seen before.

          "Thank you," I say  And then I'm gone.

          "Are you serious?"  Jarren calls after me.  "You're going to shaft both of us just because-"

          The sound of the outside door closing behind me cuts him off in mid-sentence. 

 

 

The penultimate chapter, Part XI, will be posted on Thursday.

 

 

Miracle Girl Part VII

 

         It's always a bad sign when you wake up to the light outside your bedroom window instead of your alarm.  I roll over, fumbling about blindly with an arm for my watch on my bedside table, wondering why I feel so stiff.  My hand can't find it, but suddenly it brushes up against something wet and recoils.  My eyes snap open and immediately get scoured by the blazing sunrise.  I'm not in my room at all.  I'm still outside in the grass, staring up at the sky.

          I shiver involuntarily at the musty morning chill and pull myself to my feet.  Today is the day the Gandhi Scheme lives or dies.  It's now or never, sink or swim, mediocrity or excellence.

          I manage to sneak back into my apartment to get my school stuff and back out again without my roommates noticing.   The route to school is crisp and clear with that spark of a new day that makes it worth getting up in the morning.  Everything is so real to me today:  the backpack strap rubbing against my shoulder, the smell of apple blossoms opening their newly born heads, the tread of gravel beneath my feet.  Like I've been wearing sunglasses all my life and now with them gone I see with sharp clarity everything that was once black and white.  It's the feeling in my heart makes it that way, gyrating like a jet engine, throwing beams of bright intensity to the far corners of my being.  Mercedes' happiness means more to me than anything else in the world.  That desire has changed my heart and has transformed me to see things the way the really are, and the way they really can be.

 

 

           Dr. Orozco proffers three pages of stapled paper towards me.  I take it from her and set it on the armrest of the chair absentmindedly, wondering if it will be better to talk to Mercedes during class or after.  Lydia leans over my shoulder from the row behind to catch a glimpse of the front of the test I've just gotten back.

          "No way!  How did you get an A?  I studied half the night before and I only got a B+!"

          "Well--"

          "I spent all that time making flashcards of all the hand bones and they weren't on the test!"

          "Lydia--"

          "I didn't think it was fair how she put things on there that she didn't even mention to us once!

          "Lydia.  It doesn't matter."  She falls silent.  "There are things in life that are far more important than grades."  I stuff the test  into my backpack without glancing at it.

          Lydia looks at me like she's never seen me before, wondering perhaps for the first time what's going on in this head of mine.

          "The final project presentations will be due next Saturday," the Dr. Orozco reminds us.  "Every team member must be present for you to get full credit on the project.  Make sure you follow all the instructions on the presentation so you don't lose points for silly mistakes."

          "We're meeting Thursday, right?" whispers Lydia. 

          I nod, "I think we should be able to finish the rest of it in one sitting."

 

 

          Outside is overcast now, with tiny droplets of rain speckling the pavement at intermittent intervals.   I pause to brush my hand over the rough bricks of the building next to me.  This is it:  The moment I've been waiting for.  My insides are tied up in knots around my stomach.  After all the thought I've put into this, after all the millions of times this moment has gone through my head, it's finally here.  I ball my hands into fists.  How crazy is it for me to care so much about something so small and routine?  Or maybe the better question is why I didn't know before that the small, routine things could be so important.

          The Scyrene Science Center looms up ahead.  I slow my pace as I walk toward it, step after slow step.  I think about how Mercedes is going to react to what I'm about to do.  What if she hates me for it?  A sudden gush of panic pushes through me.  Should I even go through with this?  I thrust the thought aside and focus on my desire to make Mercedes' life better.  That is worth any cost, including the risk of losing her friendship.

          Almost without realizing it, my hand reaches up to grasp the handle of the door leading into the building.  My mind wills time to slow down, just like it does in the movies before important moments, but it never does.  I shove the door inward and walk through.

          In the hallway, now, staring at the classroom door.  Just one more hour, and this will be all over.  The bell rings and a swarm of students spills out of the classroom. 

          We must become the miracle that we want to see in our lives.  I tell myself.  We have to believe that not only do miracles happen but that they will happen to us.  That they will happen because of us.  Out of the corner of my eye I see the door I just came through open and a spattering of blond hair pass through it.  I turn immediately.  My heart leaps like it did the second time I saw her at the volleyball game.

          "Hi Nick."  She smiles at me and I smile back.

          "How's it going?"  I ask.

          "For now, excellent.  I'm not too excited for the weekend, though." 

          I bet I can guess why.  "How come?"

          She shrugs.  "Just some drama I'm going through right now."  Family drama, I think to myself.

          We go inside the classroom and sit down.  Now time seems to slow down, ticking second by second through the five minutes we have until class starts.  I tap my pencil rhythmically against the armrest to distract myself.

          Class starts.  I take in absolutely nothing of what's being said.  The only class I've really ever been taken in this room is the one taught by the girl sitting next to me, who ironically has never had any idea that she's been teaching it.

          My pencil taps faster against the armrest.  Mercedes brushes a lock of hair behind her ear and gazes off at a spot on the wall a few feet above the teacher's head.  She isn't paying any more attention to what's being said than I am.

          About ten minutes before the end my calves begin to cramp up from being tense for so long.  This situation officially crosses an invisible dividing line and joins the extremely small list of tortures that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.  I watch the clock tick down every one of the 600 seconds between me and the end of class.  The bell rings.

          I stand up, feeling surreal,  my legs shaking slightly.  I slip the pencil into my pocket.  Mercedes stands as well, and we move to leave.  I blink and we're outside, getting sprinkled on once more by dark  clouds high above.  Mercedes is looking down at the ground, lost deep in thought.  This is it.  I don't let myself hesitate.

          "Kyra told me that your family is coming into town this weekend."

          She looks up at me, surprised.  "What's it to you?"

          "I think you should tell them how you feel."  She opens her mouth, but I charge on before she can respond.  "You're never going to be happy until you can forgive them.  Even if they don't take it well, you'll still know you did everything that you could.  I bet they'd respond better than you'd think."

          I reach the end of my prepared speech and look back over at her for the response.  This is the tipping point of everything.  Will she fall on the side of gratitude,?  Or anger?

          "Forgive them?" She asks.

          "Yeah.  So you don't have such bitter feelings toward them anymore."

          She stares back at me, her violet eyes inscrutable.  "I've never had bitter feelings towards my family."

          I furrow my brow, confused.  "But you've made some comments before..."

          "Which is why you shouldn't jump to conclusions, should you?"  She snaps back bitterly.

          "Why are you so upset about it, then?"

          Mercedes' glare goes steely and I realize I've just made a tremendous mistake.

          "Why are you always getting into my business?"

          And opened a GIGANTIC can of worms.

          "Don't you think I can handle my own problems?   Am I so mentally impaired that you think I can't make it through life without you holding my hand every ten seconds?  How does it not get past your thick skull that there are things I just don't want people to know?"

          I stammer back, "I'm just trying to help!"

          "Well I just want to be left alone!"  She turns and marches away.  Just like that, and she's gone. 

 

Part VIII will be here before you know it on Monday.