Invisible Read online

  Excitement is starting to build and I let myself believe it’s possible. “I think I’d rather have a capital letter A, you know how they do letters in fancy script? The A would stand for ‘author’.”

  “That sounds like a fine idea.” She leans closer and whispers, “So, do ya wanna?”

  A part of me wants to say yes, but I think about my date tonight. Getting a tattoo just might get me grounded.

  “It’s a great idea, but let’s do it the next time we’re here.”

  Gran digs into her purse and pulls out her wallet. She holds a clenched fist out over my hand. “Take this and next time you’re here, do it.”

  She stuffs a wad of rolled up bills into my palm.

  “There’s a little extra in case you need to bribe ’em,” she says with a giggle.

  “I can’t take your money, Gran…”

  “Why the hell not? Who else am I gonna give it to? It makes me happy so see you happy. Go ahead, take it. Make an old lady happy.”

  Seeing how much it means to her to do this for me, I take the money. “Thanks. I promise I’ll do it.”

  Gran scoffs down the rest of her lunch in record time, even before I finish my tea.

  “We’d better get back. I’ve got to get ready for my Cha Cha Cha class and you’ve got a date.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I eat my beef stir-fry with enthusiasm. I’m actually enjoying my dinner tonight because it’s a nice change from the chicken stir-fry Mom makes at least three times a week.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say, rising.

  “Not so fast,” Dad commands from his post at the head of the table. “You and Eva have to help your mother with the dishes.”

  Eva sighs.

  My lips twist into a snarl and I want to say to Dad, “Why don’t you ever have to help Mom with the dishes?” but instead I move at top speed, clearing, scraping and rinsing, finally piling all the dishes into the dishwasher. Eva and Mom watch wide-eyed and no doubt delighted by the one-woman show.

  “Okay? Can I go now?”

  Dad nods and I make my escape only to freeze when I hear Eva speak.

  “Lola has a date,” she announces loud enough for me to hear from the hallway. I try to creep away on tiptoes to the safety of my room.

  “Lola!” Dad calls. “Get back here!”

  Shit, shit, shit.

  I slink back into the kitchen, cringing.

  Despite his funky appearance, Dad’s old fashioned. He points to my chair. “Sit down.”

  I sit.

  “Is it true?” he asks. “You have a date?”

  “With a boy?” Mom adds.

  My gaze drops to the floor and I steel myself for their reaction. “Yes,” I whisper.

  Then the unthinkable happens. They laugh, but in a good way. Dad’s hands come together in a big clap and Mom’s bouncing with joy. I look up, unbelieving.

  Eva sits sour-faced and disappointed.

  “Finally,” Dad says, smiling.

  “So, what’s his name?” Mom asks. “How old is he?” Her voice drips with gratitude and relief.

  “He’s a senior like me. His name’s Jon.”

  “Is he Italian?” Dad asks with genuine excitement on his face.

  “No, Dad, he’s not Italian,” I say flatly. For some reason, Dad’s got it in his head that if you’re not Italian, then you’re just not as good. Don’t know why he married a woman of Irish descent.

  Dad’s shoulders deflate. “Oh well, not everyone can be Italian.”

  “Where’s he taking you?” Mom is on her feet and standing behind me, fluffing my hair. “Can I help you get ready?”

  “Ah, no thanks. I’ve got it covered.” I try to look grateful. “And we’re meeting at the movie theater.”

  “Well then, get going, don’t keep the boy waiting,” Dad says and I’m gone before another thought can hit their heads.

  The fact Dad doesn’t seem to mind that Jon’s not coming to the front door to pick me up like boys did in the old days, shocks me, but I guess he’s just relieved I have a date, and that I’m not a lesbian.

  I shower and shampoo my mop of dark curls. The way I wear my hair’s never really been a concern before, but tonight I pull out Eva’s assortment of brushes and hair products. After spritzing on something that claims it will make my hair shine, and rubbing in a palmful of mousse, I blow dry my hair with the aid of a big round brush. I yank and pull until my curls are now shiny, straight locks. Then I use Eva’s flat iron to straighten it further and get rid of any leftover frizz.

  “Shit,” I mutter when the iron touches my forehead, leaving a tiny puckered burn. Thankfully, it’s close enough to my hairline; I don’t think anyone will notice.

  I make a mental note  be careful of straightening irons in the future. They’re pretty damn hot!

  Once back in my room, I slide my iPod into its speaker base and crank the tunes while surveying myself in the dresser mirror. Not bad. My hair is shiny and very, very straight. It’s a nice change.

  Since this is all new to me, I don’t know whether to dress first or put on my make-up. I decide on the make-up and take out my tiny zippered pouch. It contains a black eye-liner, mascara and two light pink lip glosses. Not much of a selection.

  I creak open my door and look across the hall to Eva’s room. Should I chance it or not? Eva’s got enough make-up to stock a cosmetics store. I cock my head and listen. There’s still conversation and noise coming from the kitchen. I tiptoe across the hall. Eva’s coming up the stairs. Ah hell, it’s like she’s got some kind of radar or something.

  “What are you doing, freak?”

  “Nothing,” I say and slam my door.

  A moment later, there’s a knock and Eva pushes my door open. “Thought you might want to borrow this,” she says and walks in with what I can only describe as a suitcase of make-up.

  She hefts it onto my desk and after flicking about a half a dozen latches open, she unfolds tray upon tray of lipsticks and glosses, mascaras and colored liners, shadows and bronzers. There are brushes of every size, tweezers and lash curlers. In the very bottom, every color of nail polish imaginable shines up at me.

  “No way! You’re going to let me borrow your make-up?”

  Eva flips her hair over a shoulder and chews on her lip, and for a second I’m afraid she’s going to pack up and leave.

  “Why not?” she says finally. “You need all the help you can get. Just don’t mess it up. Put everything back in its place, then close it up and put it back in my closet. Okay?”

  She makes me feel like a five-year-old, but I nod with hearty enthusiasm.

  Eva smirks and leaves me alone with her treasure trove. Her gesture means a lot because I know how much the suitcase of make-up means to her. She lugs it to and from beauty school every day. It’s her life and will one day be the source of her livelihood.

  “Thank you,” I call after her but I’m met with the slam of a door; though the slam was less emphatic than usual.

  After perusing the cornucopia of beauty products before me, I choose a purple eye-liner and shimmering beige shadow to match my new top. I curl my lashes, apply mascara and pink lip gloss, then take a look in the mirror on the inside lid of the case. A smile stretches across my face. I look pretty damn cute, if I do say so myself.

  In about half an hour I’ve got to meet Jon at the theater. I decide to ask for a drive over there so I won’t have to walk. Suddenly I’m afraid my hair will get blown around – that’s a new thought for me. God, I’m turning into such a girl.

  Earrings are in; one more look in the mirror and I’m good to go.

  The phone rings as I head downstairs. I’m thankful for the distraction, since Mom’s the one who answered. She won’t be able to make a fuss now.

  “No!” Mom shrieks. “Is she okay?”

  I listen for a moment at the bottom of the stairs. The concern in her voice has me rooted to the spot.

  “We’re on our way.”

  And just like t
hat, my life’s flipped upside down.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “No!” I scream when Mom tells me.

  Gran collapsed during her Cha Cha Cha. It was a heart attack. My world stops and a fear, huge and black, looms, threatening to devour me. I want to run, scream, and hit something. I want to curse at God for being so cruel, but I can’t add to my parent’s distress. Everyone’s at the front door, pulling on sweaters and shoes and gathering purses, wallets and car keys. My heart flutters, but I will myself to stay visible by taking long, slow deep breaths. The Vanishing can’t take me now even though I wish it would.

  “Lola, let’s go!” Dad yells.

  I’m frozen, immobile with dread at the thought of what state I’ll find Grandma Rose in at the hospital. Please God, don’t take her away from me. My prayers are to the same God I hated only moments before.

  “Which hospital did you say?” Dad asks when we get into the car.

  “St. Joseph’s,” Mom answers. I think without comfort, it’s the same hospital where I was born.

  The drive to the hospital is eerily silent. The only sound is Mom’s occasional muttering into the air around her, “Please God, don’t let her die.”

  My fear has vanished and is replaced with numbness and disbelief as we walk through the sliding doors of St. Joseph’s. An elderly man sitting at a reception desk tells us where we can find Gran. She’s in Intensive Care and only one of us can go in at a time.

  Dad, Eva and I sit on plastic upholstered green chairs in the waiting room. All around us are tear-stained faces, hands grasping balled-up tissues and a few people pacing laps around the room. I fight the urge to scream at the pacers to stop. My own nervous energy is ready to explode.

  Eva and Dad haven’t shed a tear. Eva is disobeying the “no cellphones” rule which is printed on a large yellow placard above her head. Her fingers move with practised precision as she texts her friends. No doubt this drama is providing her with some extra attention. I want to rip the phone from her hand, stomp on it and kick the shit out of her.

  The thought flashes briefly through my mind: I’ve now officially stood Jon up. It’s not a priority now, only Gran is. Minutes pass like hours and, finally, Mom walks through the doors that have “Intensive Care Unit. Only one visitor per person” written across them in bold, black lettering.

  Mascara-streaked tears run down her cheeks, making her look ridiculous and pitiful at the same time, and suddenly I realize I must look the same. But I don’t care.

  “How is she?” I say, jumping to my feet.

  Mom shakes her head. “Not good.”

  This isn’t real. This can’t be happening. I want to feel sad, but the tears that came so easily earlier refuse to come now. A tremor of anger runs through me. How unfair it all seems.

  “She wants you,” Mom says, looking at me.

  Eva gazes up from her phone. “What about me?”

  Mom sits in my chair and plants her head on Dad’s shoulder. She presses a wadded-up tissue to her eyes.

  “What about me?” Eva asks again as I walk on elastic legs toward the ominous doors.

  The doors are locked. Confused, I look around until I spy the sign instructing visitors to push a buzzer. I will my fingers to the tiny white button and press. There’s a click and I push the doors open. I’m met on the other side by a nurse sitting at a desk.

  “Who are you visiting?” she asks in a serious whisper.

  “Rose Powers,” I say, but I already see Gran in the bed farthest from the door.

  I walk toward her as the nurse says, “Bed 8.”

  The room is large and dimly lit. Most of the beds are encircled by a curtain. Sobs and groans and the beeping of machines emanate from behind them. The numbness and shock begins to fall away and the hot sting of tears prick my eyes.

  “Gran?” I whisper as I approach. She’s not lying flat. Her bed is on an angle. Wires run from her chest under her hospital gown to a monitor that beeps along with her heart. An I.V. drips a clear liquid slowly into her veins and an oxygen mask covers her small face.

  “Kiddo,” she says in a papery thin voice. Her lips are dry and cracked but she manages a small smile.

  “I love you,” I say and start to cry.

  She reaches a shaky hand for me.

  I take it and cover it in kisses. “I love you so much,” I choke out between sobs.

  “I love you too,” she says slowly and her own tears fall.

  I pull a hard plastic chair as close as I can to the bed and sit, all the while holding Gran’s hand. The skin is thin, almost transparent and gray. The blue of her veins is vivid beneath it. I want to crawl into bed with her and hug her to me, but settle for stroking her cheek.

  “You have to get better.” I give a little smile. “I can’t live without you.”

  “Yes, you can,” Gran replies and nudges the oxygen mask from her face.

  “But I don’t want to.”

  I finger-comb her hair which has been flattened by her pillow. It’s finer than I thought and I can see her scalp. “You should put the mask back on.”

  She shakes her head. “Too hard to talk.”

  I sneak a peek at the nurse who’s not looking our way. “I guess it’s okay, for a little while.”

  Gran signals for me to come closer and I lean in a little more.

  “I need to tell you something.” Her voice is barely a whisper.

  “You should save your strength. We can talk tomorrow.” I dab away her tears with a tissue.

  With a slow shake of her head, she meekly pulls me closer still.

  “What is it?” I ask, seeing the urgency in her eyes.

  “It’s not menopause.”

  For a second I think she’s not quite right in her head and a tinge of fear jolts me.

  “The Vanishing,” she says with more vigor, and I suddenly understand.

  “It won’t go away with menopause?”

  “No,” she answers. “It will stop when you’re ready to be seen.”

  I take a breath and puzzle over this. “I don’t understand.”

  “When. You. Love. Yourself.” She pronounces each word slowly and distinctly.

  “I’ll stop vanishing when I love myself?”

  Gran nods and smiles. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “I wanted you to find out for yourself.” A little light shines in her eyes. “It would mean more.”

  Strangely, I want to laugh and have to swallow the urge, but I can see the laughter in Gran’s eyes. She was forever telling me that once a woman gets through menopause, she won’t care what the world thinks of her any more.

  I’m torn. Dealing with my ability has been stressful, but at times it’s been… useful. I quickly weigh the pros and cons and decide I’d be happier if I were just normal. No more disappearing – good-bye to The Vanishing.

  “Then that’s what I’m going to do, Gran. As soon as you get out of the hospital, you can help me.”

  “I won’t always be around, Lola honey.” The beeps on the monitor suddenly grow in intensity then calm again. Gran’s eyes are focused on me. She’s staring, as if savoring this moment; as if she thinks it’ll be our last.

  From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of the nurse heading our way.

  “Time’s just about up, young lady. Your grandma needs her rest.”

  “Please, just another minute,” I say and Gran’s grip tightens in agreement.

  “One more minute,” she says, slipping the mask back over Gran’s nose and mouth. Then she treads silently back to her post.

  My eyes reconnect with Gran’s.

  “I have to go now, Grandma. I love you with all my heart and when I come to see you tomorrow, I know you’ll be better.” I force a smile and kiss her forehead.

  I walk backwards waving and smiling through my tears. Grandma Rose grows smaller and smaller as I walk past the nurse and stand at the door for one last look. She’s so frail and ancient looking.
<
br />   She blows me a kiss.

  Chapter Eighteen

  On the way home, I borrow Eva’s cellphone and text Charlie. I tell her about Gran and can barely see through my tear-filled eyes. I don’t have Jon’s cell number and though my mind is on Gran, I can’t help but feel bad for standing him up. Charlie offers to go to the movie theater to see if he’s still there, but I tell her not to worry about it. I’ll explain everything when I see him. Besides, there’s no way he’s still there. We were supposed to meet hours ago.

  Eva eyes me, bouncing a leg impatiently.

  “Thanks.” I hand back the phone.

  She grunts something unintelligible and immediately her fingers begin to fly again. Eva hasn’t lost a beat, despite the tragedy now hovering, watching with hooded eyes, for its opportunity to pounce.

  “Do you think Grandma Rose will be okay?” I ask Mom.

  She sniffs back tears and turns around in her seat to face me. “The doctor said the next twenty-four hours are the most crucial. If she has a good night, she may pull through.”

  May pull through? I push those negative words from my mind. Denial is my friend right now.

  “Maybe someone should have stayed with her,” I say, alarmed at the thought of Gran being alone. “Maybe she’s scared.”

  “There’s nothing we can do for her right now, honey,” Dad says. “She needs her rest more than anything else and I’m sure they’re making her comfortable.”

  “I’m not going to school tomorrow. I want to stay with Gran at the hospital,” I state in a tone that says I mean business.

  “No, you have to go to school,” Mom replies, trumping me. “We’ll go straight to the hospital as soon as you get home.”

  “She can’t be alone.”

  “Dad and I will stay with her. We’ll stay at the hospital all day, but probably won’t get to see her much until she’s out of Intensive Care and in her own room.”

  “When will that be?”

  “I don’t know, honey.” Mom’s eyes dart briefly to Dad, who returns the look with a sidelong glance.

  There’s something ominous and not quite right about that look, it’s as if they have a secret they don’t want to share. My stomach clenches and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. The confines of the car feel as if they’re closing in around me. With frantic urgency, I roll down my window and stick my head out; drawing in cool lungful’s of air. The world isn’t the same. I can’t stand this horrible feeling, like there’s a part of me missing. Gran may recover. But she’s eighty; how many more years could I possibly have with her?