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.