Letters to Nowhere #1 (Completed!)

Letters to Nowhere: Part 47

I couldn't say anything. I knew what she was thinking about. But when Stacey finally looked at me, I was surprised by the tears in her eyes. "I remember your mom helping you guys make these for the entire team in the hotel room before Junior Olympics. I thought they were hideous. She did, too. But when you gave her one, she wore it the next day to the competition. None of the other moms did that. I remember looking up in the stands and seeing this woman totally put together, perfect outfit and a big-ass bow in her hair that didn't even match." She exhaled and looked at her hands again. "I remember thinking how much I wanted to be that kind of mother whenever I had kids."

            The lump in my throat was so big I couldn't even think about speaking. Luckily, Stacey walked behind me again and I managed to wipe the tears away the second they spilled out.

            "I miss her in the gym, at parent meetings, at competitions," Stacey said, her voice wavering a bit more with each word. "I can't even imagine how you must feel."

            This was our first conversation about my parents, and it ended as quickly as it had begun. But not until Stacey silently took the green bow and twisted it around my bun, pausing briefly to admire her work. In the mirror, I could see a sad smile spread across her face.

            I wanted so badly to remember something and smile like Stacey had, but how could I when I had no clue where they had gone? How could I do anything but break apart at the mention of them?  

By the time I got settled onto the couch again, a fresh pillow and blanket to comfort me, I was beyond exhausted. That little bit of effort drained me completely.

When I woke up again, Jordan was sitting up, wearing burgundy sweatpants and a gray T-shirt. His hair was wet and his face a little bit stubbly. He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a tissue pressed to his nose.

            "Showers are great, aren't they?" he said after seeing my eyes open. "I think I blew about twenty pounds of snot down the shower drain. Hot water clears the sinuses."

            "Yeah, for about ten minutes, then it comes back again." I sat up halfway and reached for the glass of water Stacey had left for me.

            "But it's a lovely ten minutes."

            "How did you get upstairs?" I asked, wondering if Stacey had helped him strip down, like she had with me, and if he was well enough to enjoy it.

            "I crawled most of the way. Stacey said she'd let me do it alone since me getting injured wasn't a threat to the state of USA gymnastics." He nodded in my direction. "But she did bring me clean clothes and put toothpaste on my toothbrush for me. My mouth has tasted like vomit for at least fourteen hours. I debated gargling bleach."

            I glanced at the clock, seeing that it was nearly three. "Looks like I'm missing another practice. This totally sucks."

            Stacey came in then, a big stack of my clothes folded neatly in her arms. "I've got chicken soup on the stove. Think you guys can eat anything?"

            Jordan and I both glanced warily at each other. "Maybe if she brings me a bucket to puke in," he muttered under his breath.

            "We might feel better if we eat," I suggested.

            The soup turned out to be good, though neither of us could even make a dent in our bowls. Stacey set up Olivia's humidifier in the living room for us before leaving to coach the evening practice.

            "One oh two point nine," I announced to Jordan while reaching for the TV remote.

            "One oh three point one," he said triumphantly.

            "Lucky." 

He flashed me a devilish grin, then selected an episode of Top Chef from the DVR. It was a good compromise, though I didn't tell him that for fear of more History Channel.

            "You do realize why you're sick right now, don't you?" I asked in the middle of the show.

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