What's Left of Me

Taking a week off means my treatment will obviously be prolonged, but I look at it as another week to spend with Parker. It’s one more week I can feel good and forget what’s to come.

I’m not even out of the hospital for thirty seconds before I text him to ask when our next date will be.

Me: When can I see you again?

Mr. Handsome: When do you want to see me?

Me: Tonight?

Mr. Handsome: I have a lot of bitches to see … Dogs that is.

I roll my eyes and let out a small laugh at his horrible sense of humor.

Me: Tomorrow night?

Mr. Handsome: I can’t. Bryn, Jason and I have meetings for the fundraiser. You won’t be in tomorrow?

I could go in, but Genna asked if I wanted to go shopping with her instead. I really want a girl’s day. Knowing I won’t see him much anyway at the clinic, I make my decision.

Me: I’m going to go shopping with Genna tomorrow.

Mr. Handsome: Pick you up Friday night?

Me: Perfect!

Mr. Handsome: I’ll call you later.

Me: :)

Bryn. She’s really not that bad. She just gets under my skin. Like a parasite. She knows just how to warm up to the host and latch on. She’s being nice to me, including me in in her conversations with Shannon during lunch; I even got invited to another one of her parties coming up. But I’m not sure if she actually likes me or if she’s just keeping the enemy close.

When Friday night arrives, I decide on dark jeans, heels, a white baby doll top, and a colorful fall scarf. Considering I have no idea where I’m going, I try to look casual, yet put together.

At seven o’clock, headlights make their way up the driveway. It’s starting to get dark earlier, making it seem much later than it is.

“Hi,” I say as I greet Parker. I don’t let him make it all the way up the sidewalk before grabbing his arm and turning him back toward his car. Last I checked, Genna was upstairs doing whatever it is she does, and I’d like to keep her there.

“You going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask once we’re on the road.

“Not yet. You’ll see soon enough. It’s not that far.”

I look at the radio, noticing it’s off.

“What? No rap tonight?”

“Nah, I figured I’d let you pick the station tonight.”

“Aw, how thoughtful,” I joke, reaching forward to turn it on. I scan the XM radio.

Settling on Today’s Hits, I sit back and listen to the newest Katy Perry song. I start mouthing the words until I notice Parker is watching me.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He smiles.

“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Really.”

“What if I hate it?”

“Doubtful.”

“That confident?”

“Always.”

“Cocky is more like it.”

He chuckles.

My hands are clasped together and resting in my lap, my foot is twitching, and my eyes are roaming. I’m nervous. Parker didn’t tell me what the plan was, and it freaks me out not knowing.

“Relax. I’m not taking you anywhere crazy. It’ll be fun.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“Sure you are.”

He looks down at my foot that is nervously moving back and forth. I freeze it mid-twitch, which only confirms his assumption.

“What is this place?” I ask as we pull into a parking lot by a huge white building. Lights line the parking lot and sidewalk leading into the building. There aren’t that many cars here and I’m not sure if I should be thankful or nervous.

“This,” he gestures to the building as he puts the car in park, “is Graham Arena. You said you didn’t know how to skate. I’m going to teach you.”

“You’re going to teach me?”

“Yup.” He gets out of the car, making his way to my side and opening the door for me. “Come on.” Taking my hand, he leads the way toward the big double doors.

I love walking into an ice arena: the cold air, the smell of the ice, freshly smoothed by the Zamboni, and the sounds of skates leaving their mark on the ice. The smell of the cold rink fills my lungs as I breathe in, and I can’t help but bounce on my toes with excitement. The rink is huge; it looks like a full-size hockey arena.

Still holding hands, we walk over to get skates. It’s open skating, which is free, and the cost of rental skates is minimal. The guy gives us our choice of hockey or ice skates. Parker tells him we need two sets of hockey skates and asks for my size. I cringe.

“Eleven, please.” The guy behind the counter doesn’t even hesitate, grabbing my size and handing them to me.

“Eleven?” Parker questions.

I shrug, embarrassed. I’m five foot nine and have big feet. How many tall women do you know with little feet?

Parker tells him his size, a twelve. He gives the man a twenty and I make my way to the bench to start putting on the skates while he waits for his change.

After the first one is on and I’m sliding my foot in the second, Parker sits next to me. “An eleven?” he asks again, looking down at my feet as I begin to tie up the laces.

“Yes, an eleven.” I sigh. “I hate my feet. Let’s not talk about them, please.”

“You don’t look like you wear an eleven.”

I laugh. I didn’t know that people looked like their shoe size. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“No, no! Not disappointed. Honestly, I’m shocked. I happen to like your feet. I just never thought they were that big.” He nudges my shoulder while giving a playful laugh. Shaking my head, I go back to tying up the laces.

“Ready?” he asks, standing on the skates like a pro.

Pulling the laces tightly, I reach up for him. “Yup.”

I’ve been on skates before, but it’s been awhile and I’ve never been good, hence needing the lesson. Wobbling and holding onto Parker’s arm for balance, I follow him closely toward the ice.

The rink is quiet for this time of the night, which I’m thankful for. I’m not sure I want to be the laughingstock of the bystanders. Parker reaches the ice first, so I let go of his arm, allowing him to skate forward. I watch as he skates toward the center of the ice, making figure eights as he does. When he reaches the center, he does an abrupt stop, shooting ice up from the skates as if they’re like little sparks of fire.

“Showoff!” I call to him.

“Come on, babe.” He curls his finger, motioning for me to come to him.

“No way! You brought me here to teach me. I’m not about to make a fool of myself and show you just how lame of a skater I am.”

He skates toward me and stops in front of me. I take both of his hands and slowly make my way onto the ice with him. I wouldn’t call what I am doing skating. It’s more like me moving my feet while Parker pulls me along. He’s skating backward and never looks back to see where he is going. It’s as if he’s been on this rink a hundred times and knows just where the boards are.

We skate like this for a good amount of time, until he tells me I’m ready to go on my own. I don’t believe him, but try anyway.

I’m surprised I don’t fall on my butt right away, but even more surprised when I’m able to keep up with Parker.

“You’re doing great!” he calls. He’s skating next to me, but there’s about a three-person distance between us. I’m not sure if that’s just a coincidence, or if he’s giving me space so that he doesn’t chop off any of my fingers if I fall.

“Thanks! I think I’m getting the hang of it.” My feet push out in swift forward strokes, allowing me to go faster. When we come up to a turn, I do as Parker said and push off with my outer foot, allowing that foot to steer.

Just when I thought I was doing well at keeping up with him, he takes off full speed ahead, sending ice flying back at me.

“Hey! That’s not fair!” I yell.

“Come on, little lady. Move it!”

I push myself to go fast, but I don’t get much speed. My legs are a little wobbly, so I lose my balance every time I try to push off to go faster.

I can hear Parker laughing as he skates laps around me. We’re the only ones on the ice now. I bend my knees a little, lowering myself slightly closer to the ice. Following Parker’s movements, I swing my arms out with each push off the ice with my feet. Before I know it, I’ve gained enough speed to catch up to him. He looks pleased.

“Look at you go,” he says, smiling at me.

I give a little bow for approval, but seem to have forgotten I’m on ice skates because I lose my balance and go crashing down onto the ice, directly onto my right hip. The wind gets knocked out of me, causing me to grunt at the surprise impact. Pain slices through my hip and into my leg. Any pain I may have felt before in my hip has just multiplied.

“Shit! Are you okay?” Parker is at my side, bending over me before I can comprehend what just happened.

When I look into his eyes, his expression causes me to panic. His eyes are wide, his pupils have doubled, and his mouth is frozen open.

I look around, searching for my worst fear—my hair sprawled out next to me—but I see nothing. My hands fly up to my head. I feel hair. That’s good!

“Parker?” I ask with caution. I don’t know why he is looking at me like that.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay, good.” He stifles a laugh, which causes me to give him a stern look.

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s not funny!”

“I know. You’re right. It’s not.” But he laughs again.

“Parker,” I snap. Even though my hip’s throbbing, I give him a small smile because, after all, it is funny.

We both start to laugh. I’m laughing so hard my stomach begins to hurt. Parker reaches down, offering me his hand, and I take it.

“I think I’ve had enough.”

“I figured.”

We make our way off the ice slowly. My hip really does hurt. I can already feel the bruise forming. With my blood counts a little lower due to the chemo, I bruise easier.

I make a quick move of checking my hair, but it feels good, so I don’t worry about it.

“Thanks,” I say to Parker as he helps me sit on the bench.

“You’ll need to ice that. It looked like you hit pretty hard.”

“I did.” One good thing about falling is I can pass off the pain I’ve been already feeling as this new pain.

I ask Parker to skip dinner and take me home. My hip is throbbing, and I can feel the new bruise forming over the old, but he won’t listen. He insists we go back to his house and finish the date, offering to make me dinner and possibly watch a movie, saying it won’t be a true date if he takes me home without feeding me. So, off to his place we go for homemade pizza.

“Do you want some wine?”

“Sure. Just a small glass.” Because my chemo was postponed a week, and it’s five days before my next one, I was told it would be okay to have a drink or two.

He pours us each half a glass of white wine, and we clink glasses in a silent toast. I watch him taste a small sip before taking a larger one. He makes drinking wine look professional compared to my gulps. Classy!