Far From You Read online

  but I do know she kept saying,

  like, every other sentence,

  I’m going to fight this,

  I’m going to fight this,

  I’m going to fight this.

  She had surgery,

  and she went through chemo,

  and she drank green juice every day,

  and she

  just

  got

  sicker.

  I know she fought.

  She fought hard.

  But she didn’t win.

  The cancer won.

  It didn’t just win,

  it basically

  beat the shit

  out of her.

  Beat the shit

  out of all of us.

  Lost Without You

  a song

  by Alice Andreeson

  It’s not supposed

  to happen this way.

  You’re supposed to be here

  each day and every day.

  Like the leaves on the trees,

  the stars and the moon;

  they may disappear

  but they come back soon.

  Why’d you have to leave me?

  Why’d you have to die?

  I’m lost without you,

  like the sun without the sky.

  Lost without you,

  I don’t want to say good-bye.

  People around me,

  they just don’t understand.

  They think time will help,

  like it’s a helping hand.

  Time just hurts

  ’cause the memories all fade.

  I want to see your face

  and your lovely hair grayed.

  Why’d you have to leave me?

  Why’d you have to die?

  I’m lost without you,

  like the sun without the sky.

  Lost without you,

  I don’t want to say good-bye.

  I don’t want to say good-bye.

  Don’t make me say

  good-bye.

  a gift of love

  I played my music for a while,

  and when I stopped,

  I sat on my bed

  and soaked in

  the silence,

  realizing that soon

  the house would be filled

  with the noise

  of a baby.

  I got up

  and stepped

  into the hallway.

  I closed my eyes

  and I could almost see Mom

  coming from her bedroom,

  on her way to give me

  a good-night hug.

  Every night,

  for as long as I could remember,

  she’d hug me

  and whisper in my ear,

  “Sweet dreams, my love.”

  It reminded me…

  I turned

  and went back

  to my room.

  Tucked in my closet

  was a hidden secret,

  underneath

  the pants that were too short

  and the sweaters that were too tight.

  A painting

  she gave me

  two weeks

  before she left us.

  I didn’t tell

  anyone.

  It’s all mine.

  Her final gift

  to me.

  I pulled it out,

  and it was like

  the day she gave it to me

  all over again.

  In the painting

  the sky is dark,

  with twinkling stars

  and a glowing moon,

  and down below

  is a house

  with a girl,

  her chin resting in her hands,

  looking out the window,

  up at the sky.

  And if you look closely,

  the stars

  form an outline

  of an angel.

  The words in the corner

  of the painting say,

  Find the gift in the little things.

  And remember, Alice, I am with you always.

  could it be?

  They turned her studio

  into the baby’s room.

  They didn’t say anything

  to me.

  They just did it.

  I would have taken

  that room

  on the first floor.

  The room

  that was so much

  like Mom.

  But they didn’t

  ask me.

  I didn’t speak to them

  for days

  after I found out.

  I remember

  walking in,

  seeing the crib,

  the changing table,

  and the pink-and-blue

  baby quilt

  hung on the wall.

  It all looked

  so different.

  Except for the ivy.

  Mom had painted

  delicate ivy

  all around the walls,

  just below the ceiling.

  Then it hit me.

  Is that where they got

  the idea

  for her name?

  Seriously?

  spicy

  When I got home

  from school on Monday,

  no one seemed to notice

  when I walked in the door.

  I went to the kitchen

  and got myself

  a Diet Dr Pepper and

  some chips and salsa,

  hoping to

  spice up my mood.

  Newborn cries

  came spiraling

  down the

  stairs.

  I checked the label

  on the jar.

  Extra hot.

  Good.

  I needed all

  the spicy

  I could get.

  doesn’t add up

  Eventually

  they made their way

  downstairs

  and found me.

  Victoria held

  a little pink blob

  in her arms.

  “Do you want to hold her?” Dad asked me.

  “I’m coming down with a cold.

  I better not.”

  I got up,

  put the dishes in the sink,

  and started to go

  to my room.

  “She’s your sister, Ali,” Victoria said.

  Was a statement like that

  supposed to flip a switch

  inside of me,

  so suddenly

  a bunch of sisterly love

  would just come

  shining through?

  I turned around.

  “She’s not my sister.

  She’s my half sister.

  There’s a difference.”

  “Ali—”

  But I didn’t let him finish.

  I left.

  Because last time

  I checked my math book,

  half

  does not equal

  whole.

  do I have to go to school?

  The next morning,

  I was a sloth,

  tired

  and

  slow.

  The baby cried

  all

  night

  long.

  I considered staying home

  until I realized

  at home,

  there was a baby.

  At school,

  there was no baby.

  So

  I went.

  do I look like I care?

  Even at school

  I couldn’t get away

  from the baby.

  At lunch

  Claire drilled me.

  Is she cute?

  Who does she look like?

  Does she have hair?

  I finally said,

  “Claire, just st
op, okay?

  I don’t know, because I don’t give a crap.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Let’s talk about something else.”

  So she told me

  about the latest designs

  she was working on,

  and showed me

  some sketches.

  Who knew

  I could be so interested

  in fashion?

  thank God for Johnny

  When I got home

  from school that day,

  Victoria was on the sofa,

  crying louder

  than the damn baby.

  Pathetic.

  I searched the house for Dad,

  but he was gone

  or hiding

  or something.

  I thought,

  If she thinks

  I’m going to give her

  the gift of sympathy,

  she’s off her

  glider rocker.

  “Ali?”

  she sobbed.

  I realized

  I shouldn’t

  have come

  home.

  I should have driven

  across town

  to see Blaze.

  Maybe I should just

  move

  across town.

  “Ali,”

  she cried,

  “please!”

  I went back

  into the family room,

  and she yelled

  over the baby,

  “Please. Take her.

  Just for a few minutes?

  I need a break.

  I need to pee!”

  “Put her in her crib.

  Maybe she’ll sleep.”

  “She won’t.

  She’s hungry.”

  “Then give her a bottle.”

  Dumb ass.

  She stood up.

  “I’m nursing.

  I can’t give her a bottle.

  I just have to wait until my milk comes in.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  Like a football player,

  Victoria passed that baby off,

  then dashed away.

  I imagined her

  doing a touchdown dance

  in the hallway.

  I walked around the family room,

  the baby against my shoulder,

  wailing.

  “Welcome to the world, girlie.

  It’s not all sunshine and roses, is it?

  Yeah, I know.

  It sucks.

  Get used to it.”

  I turned the stereo on

  and cranked it.

  It was “Slide”

  by the Goo Goo Dolls.

  I took Johnny Rzeznik’s advice

  and slid

  across the hardwood floors

  in big strides,

  like I was skiing.

  Singing

  and sliding.

  Singing

  and sliding.

  Singing

  and sliding.

  Johnny is just

  the best guy ever,

  because

  it wasn’t long

  before she was sleeping,

  exactly

  like a baby

  should be.

  now what?

  I sat down

  when the next song came on

  because my legs

  were done sliding

  for the day.

  I started to move her

  off my shoulder,

  because I had work to do,

  but I didn’t.

  She was sleeping.

  Even I know

  you don’t move

  a sleeping baby.

  At least it was a

  better excuse

  than the dog

  ate my homework.

  you’re welcome

  Victoria came back later

  and turned the radio down.

  She looked at me

  with her tongue curled up,

  her arms crossed,

  and her eyes narrow and hard,

  like she’d had her purse stolen

  from a creepy guy

  on the street.

  “What’d you do?” she asked.

  “I slid and sang.”

  “Give her to me.”

  “You sure?” I asked.

  She reached down

  and scooped her up

  like a little kitten.

  She was lucky.

  The kitten kept on sleeping.

  I got up

  and headed to my room.

  No “Thanks, Ali.”

  No “Great job, Ali.”

  No “I owe you one, Ali.”

  No nothing.

  Even when

  my dad wasn’t around,

  it was like she felt

  threatened by me

  or something.

  I wanted to scream at her,

  This isn’t a competition!

  But maybe

  that’s exactly

  what it was.

  woof

  Victoria

  didn’t ask me

  to take the baby

  the rest of the week.

  Mama Kitty

  was pretty much

  making me out to be

  a

  big,

  bad

  dog.

  where’s my fairy godmother?

  The pile of homework

  grew bigger

  and bigger

  over the next few weeks.

  I was distracted.

  I couldn’t concentrate.

  Ivy this

  and Ivy that

  and help make dinner

  and do some laundry

  and could you run to the store.

  Unbelievable.

  Finally,

  on a Saturday,

  I locked myself in my room

  and attempted to conquer

  two essays, a research paper,

  and a gazillion pages of

  geometry.

  That is,

  until Prince Charming

  came to my rescue.

  I changed out of my Cinderella rags

  into my Lucky jeans.

  No glass slippers, unfortunately.

  When I got downstairs,

  Blaze was holding Ivy

  and talking and laughing

  with Victoria.

  “Did you know Vic was in a band?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “They were called The Lipstick Lunatics.

  Isn’t that an awesome name?”

  I wanted to say,

  Well, the lunatic part sounds about right.

  But I refrained.

  “I thought I told you,” she said,

  like we’d been best friends forever.

  “What’d you play?” I asked.

  “Keyboards.

  Very badly, I might add.”

  “Hey, Ali,” Blaze said,

  “maybe you guys could play—”

  I didn’t let him finish.

  “Give the baby back and come upstairs.”

  My tone told him

  I was not

  joking around.

  “Leave your door open,” she shouted after us.

  Wicked

  stepmother

  indeed.

  trust in me

  I thought

  when Dad

  met Blaze,

  he’d be worried.

  That he’d see

  the longish hair

  and the tattoos

  and think

  he was one

  bad

  dude.

  But all Dad said to him was,

  “I trust you with Ali.

  Break that trust, and you’ll never see her again.”

  And that was that.

  Dad told me later,

  Mom had lots
of talks with him

  about raising a daughter.

  He said

  she told him

  smothering me

  would kill me.

  My mom

  knew me

  so well.

  is that on the SATs?

  I don’t know

  when Blaze does

  his homework.

  He never talks about school.

  At all.

  When I talk about colleges

  and which ones

  to apply to,

  since it’s only a couple years away,

  he never joins in.

  One time I asked him

  what he wants to do.

  He said, “Plain and simple.

  Rock star, baby.”

  So when I asked Prince Charming

  if he could help me

  with geometry,

  it shouldn’t have surprised me