The Charlotte Chronicles

Part 8

Charlotte

Nate is gone when I wake up. He was restless last night but I pretended to sleep. Cowardly I guess. I was afraid he had regrets and I didn’t want to hear them. I had no regrets. Sitting up I enjoy the pull on my muscles. The muscles in my upper back are tight from clutching his shoulders and between my legs I’m sore in places I didn’t realize got sore. My lips curve up in a sly smile. I feel so knowledgeable this morning. Like every risque joke ever told finally makes sense.

In the short time it takes to roll out of bed and pick up my phone from the nightstand, I’m already missing him. When mom laid out exactly why going to this specialty clinic in Europe made sense, I bought into it totally. I’d only be gone for a short time. The boys wouldn’t feel responsible for me if I overextended myself. And, maybe most importantly to me, they wouldn’t see me if I totally loss my memory or forgot how to walk.

The brain stem radiation and chemotherapy may result in the loss of gross and fine motor skills, they warned me. I might have to relearn how to even hold a fork or how to walk or catch a ball. Gingerly, I cupped the back of my head. Fluid is collecting there. We’re watching it and by “we” I mean mom, dad and my team of doctors. None of the Jacksons know. I don’t want them to. It’s rare for an older kid to get hydrocephaly or “water on the brain” and even rarer for it to develop months after the craniotomy.

“You’ve always been special,” Dad joked weakly when the doctors told us that they’d never seen a case like mine. That’s the real reason I’m going to Switzerland—to be studied and treated by an international team of experts and—more than likely—to have a permanent drainage tube installed in the back of my head.

Dr. Mosher said that there were plenty of functioning adults that had permanent shunts. It just meant no contact sports and no activities where I could fall on my head and break my shunt. In other words, no gymnastics. He suggested volleyball. I was too numb by then to respond so I shook my head and he probably took it for agreement.

But all that seems like a distant memory now. Usually I’m on my phone first thing in the morning, checking in to read my texts from friends at school. Right now I’m too busy examining my body.

My face doesn’t look different. I guess I thought I’d be able to see some outward sign that I no longer was a virgin. My hair is still short and my skin looks its general pale tone from lack of exposure to the sun. There are faint bruises on my hip bones and a few marks on my collarbone but Nate was apparently careful not to leave anything too incriminating. I’m both disappointed and relieved.

I flick off the Do Not Disturb on my phone and there about twenty text messages. Three of them are from Nathan. I skip the rest.

Nathan: You pushed me off the bed when I tried to kiss you good morning. Miss you already.

Nathan: U still sleeping? RU OK? Text me. On my way to class but will check phone.

Nathan: Charlotte. For real. Text me. 

I stop and take note of the time. It’s almost noon. I’ve slept for hours. No wonder he’s worried. I send him a response right away.

Charlotte: I just got up. Don’t know why I’m sooooo tired. ;)

He texts me immediately as if he’s been waiting.

Nathan: Christ. Gave me a heart attack. I won’t live until graduation at this rate.

I giggle at his exaggeration. I can just picture his serious face but his eyes would be smiling at me.

Charlotte:  Can’t have that now that I’ve just learned exactly why all the North Prep girls are chasing after you.