Chapter 61
Nick
woke up totally disoriented. His mind in
a fog, he looked around and realized he was in his own room, in his own bed,
entangled in his own covers. How long
had he been out? Struggling to sit up
and free himself from the sheets that had somehow gotten twisted around his
legs, he squinted over at the clock on his night stand.
“6:05?”
he read. “Damn…” He had slept for a few hours, and now it was
dinnertime. Not that he’d be eating
anything.
Though
he was still a little dizzy sitting up, he realized that the nausea had passed
for now and decided to take advantage of it by getting up for a bit. Slowly and carefully, he eased himself out of
his big bed and rose upon shaky legs.
Standing still a moment, he waited until he was steady and balanced,
then progressed across his bedroom floor with slow, measured steps.
Clinging
to the banister for support, he made his way down the stairs. As he neared the kitchen, he was shocked to
hear muffled voices. Stopping to listen,
he recognized them as Brian’s and Howie’s and went ahead into the large room.
His
two friends were sitting at his small kitchen table, talking quietly. Brian was fiddling with the tab on a can of
Coke, and Howie had a half-eaten banana in one hand, which he was unconsciously
waving around as he talked. They did not
even notice Nick standing in the doorway until he cleared his throat, and then
they looked up in surprise.
“Nicky!”
exclaimed Howie. “You’re up! How are you feeling?”
How
had he known that question was coming?
Fighting to keep from rolling his eyes, Nick only smiled tightly and
replied, “Oh… okay.”
“Really? That’s good,” Brian said with a smile. “Wanna come sit down?” He eyed the empty chair across the table from
him.
“Yeah,
sure.”
“I
didn’t really feel comfortable leaving you here alone,” Brian said
apologetically as Nick shuffled across the tiled floor to the table, “so I
invited Howie over to keep me company.
Hope you don’t mind.”
“No,
‘s cool,” replied Nick, pulling out the chair and easing himself down into it.
Howie
took a bite out of his banana and then said, swallowing, “So, Nick, um, how
long are you on this chemo thing for?”
“A
week,” said Nick, the familiar scent of banana wafting down the table and
entering his nostrils. Normally, he
wasn’t too bothered by bananas, but right then, all he could think of was that
powdery stuff that school janitors sprinkle on the floor when somebody
barfs. It smelled like bananas. At least the stuff the janitors at his school
had used did. It had been a decade since
he had been in real school, and yet, he could still remember that odor, always
associated with the unpleasant aroma of fresh vomit. And thinking of it now made him want to do
just that – vomit.
Holding
his stomach, he slid his chair back and stood up more quickly than he had moved
all afternoon, ignoring the immediate dizziness and staggering across the room
to the kitchen sink, which was surprisingly and luckily empty, for it seemed
Brian and Howie had put themselves to work and done his dishes for him. He leaned over the sink now and emptied the
contents of his stomach, the pale yellowish-brown liquid that came up staining
the white porcelain. When he was
finished, he turned on the faucet, first dipping his head under to rinse his
mouth, then letting the water run into the basin, washing the last traces of
his vomit down the drain.
He
felt Brian’s hand on his back and the quiet question, “You okay, buddy?”
Nick
nodded. “Howie,” he said through
clenched teeth, “Could you please get rid of that?”
“Get
rid of what, Nicky?” Howie asked innocently.
“The
banana,” Nick muttered. “The fucking
banana. It’s making me sick.”
“Oh…
oh, God, Nick, I’m sorry!” Howie apologized, quickly dumping the unfinished
piece of fruit into the garbage. “I’m
really sorry,” he said again, coming up to stand beside Brian at the sink. “Are you gonna be all right now?”
“I
guess.” Nick started to run a hand
through his hair, a gesture he always did when he was frustrated. But he was greeted with nothing but a few
soft wisps covering a hard scalp.
“Fuck,” he whispered, letting the hand drop.
“What? Your hair?” Brian asked knowingly.
Nick
only nodded, not trusting his voice to speak, suddenly caught up in emotion.
“I’m
sorry, man,” Brian whispered. “If
there’s anything we can do…”
“There
is,” Nick said suddenly, an idea popping into his brain. “I want you to shave it.”
“Shave
it?”
“My
head, shave my fucking head. Get rid of
what’s left on it cause I can’t stand it looking like this anymore. I just wanna get it over with and be totally,
fucking bald.”
Brian
blinked. “You serious?”
“Yes,
I’m serious! I’ve got shaving cream and
a razor upstairs in my bathroom; would one of you go get it please?”
Brian
and Howie exchanged glances. “I’ll go,”
Howie volunteered and disappeared, heading back up the stairs. He returned a few minutes later with a
regular old razor and a can of shaving cream.
“Are
you sure about this?” he asked uncertainly, as Nick sat back down at the table,
a dishtowel draped over his shoulders.
“Positive,”
Nick said firmly. “You ain’t gonna hurt
anything; I’d eventually be totally bald anyway. You’re just speeding up the process a
little.”
Howie
bit his lip, then offered the supplies to Brian. “You wanna do it?” he asked.
“Whatever.”
Brian
started to reach for the razor and shaving cream, but Nick interrupted with,
“No, D, I want you to do it.”
Howie
and Brian both looked at him, Howie beginning to laugh. “Me?
Why?”
“Yeah,
why?” Brian repeated, trying to look offended.
“I can do it.”
“Howie,
you spend an entire freaking hour on your hair alone every morning. I know you’ll be able to do this,” Nick
replied matter-of-factly. Brian burst
out laughing, while Howie just looked as if he were trying to tell whether that
was a compliment or not.
“Okay,”
he sighed finally. “I’ll do it.” He paused.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m
sure,” Nick repeated. “Just get on with
it before I have another puke attack.”
“Fine.” With another sigh, Howie popped the lid off
the can of shaving cream and squirted a liberal amount into the palm of his
hand. Rubbing his hands together, he
gingerly smoothed the thick foam over Nick’s head. Nick shivered; it was cold and tingled his
scalp.
“Be
careful now, don’t nick me,” he advised, as Howie wiped his hands off on a
towel and picked up the razor.
“He
won’t nick you… Nick,” said Brian and then began to laugh. “Get it?
He won’t nick you? Nick?”
“Funny,
Rok,” Nick said dryly, but he couldn’t help but smile. Brian was so retarded sometimes.
“All
right,” sighed Howie, holding up the razor.
“This is it.”
“Don’t
be so melodramatic, Howie,” Nick said with a roll of his eyes. “Just do it already.”
Smirking,
Howie just shook his head and took a deep breath, then lowered the razor to
Nick’s head. He dragged it slowly and
gently down the middle, parting the layer of shaving cream and revealing a
stripe of pale, hairless skin. Nick
studied Brian while Howie worked, watching him wince every time Howie rinsed
off the razor in a bowl of warm water, leaving leftover mounds of shaving cream
and tufts of blonde hair floating behind.
When
the job was done, Nick stood up without a word and headed straight for the
small guest bathroom on the downstairs floor.
He flipped on the light and braced himself for what he would see when he
looked in the mirror. Swallowing hard,
he sidestepped in front of the vanity and gazed into the mirror at his
reflection. When he first caught sight
of his glistening, bald head, he felt a tremor run through his whole body. But the more he looked, the more he got used
to it. It certainly looked better than
it had before anyway. But still, it was
unnerving to see all of his hair gone, his head completely bare.
“You
all right, Nick?” a voice interrupted Nick’s scrutiny, and he looked over to
see Brian standing in the doorway, Howie peeking in from over his shoulder.
“I’m
fine,” he replied, nodding at his reflection in an assured way. “Almost looks like I did this on purpose, you
know… like I wanted it like this…” He
ran a hand slowly over his head, reveling at its smoothness and how odd it felt
to his fingertips, which were so used to raking through his thick, blonde
locks.
Brian
smiled. “Sounds like something AJ would
do.”
Nick
snorted. “Yeah. Boy, won’t he be jealous when he sees this
bad-ass ‘do. Quite the trendsetter now,
aren’t I?” he remarked sarcastically. He
flashed a big cheesy grin and double thumbs up at his reflection and heard
Howie and Brian’s relieved laughter.
But, staring at his mirror image, he saw that the smile did not carry to
his eyes, which showed every feeling of self-consciousness, insecurity, and
humiliation that he possessed. The
smiled wavered, and he began to feel sick to his stomach. Whether it was just the chemo or the visual
representation of what the chemo was doing to him, he did not know. All he knew was that he needed to throw up,
and now.
“Just
a minute, guys,” he moaned, suddenly diving for the door and slamming it
closed, practically right in their faces.
He heard their dumbfounded voices call out his name in concern, but all
he could think about was getting to the toilet.
Sinking to his knees in front of it, he threw up the lid and buried his
face in it, while his ravaged body raised holy hell once again.
***