23

“I PRAYED TODAY,” I tell Saylor when we are back in bed. Her back is to my front and I feel her tense in my arms.

“What did you say?”

“I prayed today.” She turns to face me, the light from the scent warmer on the dresser just enough for me to make out the unbelieving smile on her face. It makes her so happy that I elaborate. “I prayed for both of us,” I tell her, and I see a glint of sadness in her eyes before she smiles wider.

“That’s great, Dirk.” She kisses me before snuggling in closer. But I want to tell her more.

“It worked,” I say, still not believing that it did. I’m sure God did it for her, but the fact that I asked and he actually listened was enough. She pulls her head back, and this time confusion floods her face.

“I don’t understand.” Then I realize why she doesn’t. She thinks I prayed she would get better. Maybe I should have. Maybe I will.

“I don’t want to go into detail about it. I just needed something to go away for a while so I could concentrate on you. I know that no one will take care of you like I will, and I think God knows that too. So I asked on your behalf if he would give me a little more time before I had to deal with it. Tonight, I got confirmation that he did.” Maybe that was a little too much information. Now Saylor is propped on her elbow, and I have her full, inquiring attention.

“Deal with what? Are you in trouble?” I laugh at her concern, even though it really isn’t funny. She smiles, and I watch her eyes as they fall to my mouth. She likes when I laugh.

“No, baby. I’m not in trouble. It’s just some club business I have to handle. I thought I was going to have to do it sooner rather than later, but it worked in my favor. Maybe it was just coincidence.” This has her head shaking furiously.

“There is no such thing. If you asked and got it, then it was ’cause he gave it to you. Don’t go looking for any other explanation than that.” I can already tell she is fixing to go into a huge spill about God and how wonderful he is and how magnificent he is and all that, so I shut her up with a kiss. Then I do what I done last night. This time, I make sure that yesterday wasn’t better, by making sure today is the best.

After Saylor is asleep, I walk outside and stare up at the sky, thanking God for the first time in my life. I called in my favor, and he gave it to me. Shady found the leverage we needed, Cyrus found something more valuable than Texas, and Death Mob would give me four months of life before getting their revenge. And it was all the time I needed.

—

Tuesday, I got the first taste of what the next six weeks would consist of. Saylor was fine one minute, drinking chocolate milk at the kitchen table. The next, she was vomiting all over the floor. There was no warning, it just hit her suddenly.

It stopped as suddenly as it started, but when she realized the mess she’d made, she began to get upset and insisted on cleaning it up herself. Because she begged me, I stepped outside and smoked while she did.

That night, she was laying in bed, sound asleep, then woke up vomiting. Before she could make it to the bathroom, the diarrhea started. This time when she tried to push me away, I refused to leave.

I helped her shower, then put her clothes and the sheets in the wash before remaking the bed. I placed a trash can by the bed, but since her sickness was so sudden, I wasn’t sure it would work. We spent the next hour sitting up while she sipped a glass of Gatorade. I was sure it wasn’t enough to hydrate her, but she said she couldn’t stomach any more.

—

Wednesday morning, she got worse. When Donnawayne and Jeffery came over with doughnuts, she was only two bites in when the nausea hit her again. I expected them to freak out or be grossed out and make a scene, but they simply helped me clean up, ignoring her feeble attempts to do it herself and reassuring her it was okay every time she apologized.

By that night, her throat was so raw that every time she threw up what little bit she drank, tears would fall from her eyes from the pain. But she never complained. I called Dr. Zi on the cell number he gave me, and told him what was happening. He said it was normal, and that the steroids were wearing off, that was why she was experiencing the sickness now.

He told me a home health nurse would be over Thursday morning to give her an IV of fluids, so she wouldn’t have to go out.

When the nurse arrived the next day, she gave Saylor two bags of fluid, and before she left, I could already tell a difference. That night, she managed to eat some applesauce and Jell-O. By the time we went to bed, she was in a much better mood, and had some of her strength back.

Friday morning, we had to be at the hospital for treatment by ten. Saylor ate some oatmeal, drank two glasses of water, and bathed me when we showered. I tried to stop her, but she told me she needed it.

When we arrived at the hospital, they did blood work first and found that Saylor was still dehydrated. They upped the dosage of steroids, administered two more bags of fluid, and this time, Saylor took the green bag of Skittles. While she was in treatment, I went out and brought back the Skittles you can eat, and she managed to eat ten or twelve with no problem.

She had lost three pounds, but it wasn’t enough to notice. By the time her treatment was over, I was sure Saylor had put makeup on. The color was back in her cheeks, the life was back in her eyes, and she was laughing. It still sounded like she had a cold, but her laughter was heart wrenching in all forms.

After we said good-bye to everyone, Saylor and I were asked to go to the maintenance department. There, we found sixty new ceiling tiles that would replace the old ones in the room where she took her treatment. They were painted in bright colors consisting of different scenes. I wasn’t surprised to find a sunset, a rainbow, and a clear blue sky. The maintenance man promised her that he would have them installed tomorrow.

—

Our weekend was good. Saturday, the high was in the sixties, which wasn’t unusual for January in Mississippi, and I took Saylor out for a ride on the bike. Sunday, Donnawayne and Jeffery came over. I grilled, then they all sat down to watch chick flicks. I chose this time to go over to the clubhouse and hang out with Shady.

On Monday, Shady, Rookie, and Carrie came over and the guys drank beer while the women sat and gossiped, or did whatever in the hell it is women do. Saylor was doing so good that I figured the increased dosage on the steroids was enough to keep her body fighting against the medicine. But it’s Tuesday morning and Saylor has been puking her guts up for the last ten minutes.

I know she doesn’t have much dignity left and if it gets worse, she will lose it altogether, so I give her some space. She had said that the vomiting isn’t as embarrassing as the diarrhea. It doesn’t bother me though. I love her, and nothing she does could ever make me think less of her. I just see it as her body ridding itself of poison, no matter what orifice it chooses to come out of.

I fix Saylor a glass of water, grab the trash can and a bottle of Gatorade, and then head back to the bathroom. When I tap on the door, I get no response. So I open it. And my heart stops. Saylor is lying on the floor in her pajamas that are covered in vomit and feces, shaking and crying. Sobbing. And in her hand is a clump of her beautiful hair.

“It just keeps falling out.” She cries, pulling another wad of loose hair from her head. I fall to my knees beside her and take her in my arms. Not knowing what do to. She wails so loud, it scares me. She hiccups in the back of her throat, and another round of vomiting begins. It’s all over me before I have the chance to position her over the toilet, but I don’t pay it any attention. My eyes are drawn to Saylor’s scalp, which is visible through the large bald spot in the back of her head. “I’m so sorry,” she manages, while trying to catch her breath.

“Baby, it’s okay,” I tell her, rubbing her back while her head rests on the side of the toilet. The scent of the room is off and I take notice of what’s around me. This isn’t vomit; it’s bile. I’m glad I’m equipped with a wrought iron stomach; I just wish Saylor was too.

She continues to vomit until there is nothing left and the scent alone has her gagging and dry heaving. I struggle to pull her pajama top over her head, which is a task considering she lacks the strength to hold herself up. I sit her on the toilet and remove her pants, hiding them so she can’t see what they’re covered in. Not wanting to wash her hair for fear that it will fall out and add to her distress, I sit her in the tub and grab the glass beside the sink to bathe her.

When she is clean, I leave her sitting in the tub while I clean up the bathroom. Once her clothes are washing, the bathroom floor and toilet are clean, and the loose strands of hair are disposed of, I wrap her in a towel and carry her to the bedroom, propping her in the middle of the bed against the pillows.

“Saylor,” I say and a piece of me dies at the sight of how sad she looks. I could beat around the bush, but I’m not. This is her and I’m me and she wants it straight. This shit might affect our daily lives, but it doesn’t change who we are.

“Your hair is falling out pretty bad. I remember what you said to me the other week. And if you still want me to, I will.” She cries a little harder, but nods her head. I leave her to get a chair from the kitchen, a towel, and the scissors. Then I position her in front of the floor-length bathroom mirror behind the door so she can watch.

“Will you take a picture?” she asks, and I leave to retrieve the camera and throw some sweats on in the process. I come back and take my first-ever bathroom mirror picture. She manages a smile and I give her a smirk before snapping a few more. I grab her hair in my hand, at the base of her neck, watching as some of the strands fall out with the slightest pull.

“You ready?” I ask, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She takes a deep, staccato breath and nods. I lean down to her ear, never taking my eyes off of hers. “You will still have your power, Saylor. It’s in your heart, not in your hair. And you will still be you.” A tear falls from her cheek and it causes a burning in the back of my own eyes.

I look away long enough to line up the scissors, then meet her gaze before making the first cut. She closes her eyes when the sound echoes in the bathroom, and I look down to finish cutting the ponytail in my hand away from her head. When it is gone, I hold the long locks out to her and she takes them from me.

While she strokes them, I concentrate on cutting the remaining long strands, then take the clippers and run them over her head until the only thing left is a short fuzz that I’m sure will wash off in the shower. I step in front of her, kneeling down and lifting her chin so she is looking at me. “You are beautiful.” And she is. Her hair was something I found remarkable about her, but now I find that she is even more perfect without it. It allows me to see a part of her that I haven’t seen, which is just as flawless as every other part of her body. “I like that I can see more of you. Too much of a good thing is a good thing, and I will never get too much of you.”

—

When Saylor is asleep, I call Donnawayne and Jeffery and ask them to come over. It’s only been ten minutes and they are at the front door. Judging by their disheveled looks, they came in a hurry with no regard to their appearance, which speaks volumes for them.

“I need a favor,” I say while I pour my coffee. My back is to them because I can’t look them in the eye. I know it’s stupid. They care about Saylor too, but it’s a blow to my pride to ask them for help when I should be able to handle everything.

“Whatever you need, Dirk.” Donnawayne’s voice catches me off guard. I know he is doing this for Saylor but the fact that he is addressing me says we are making progress.

“I shaved Saylor’s head this morning.” This time, I meet their eyes and the room is filled with a silent sadness so thick you couldn’t cut it with a knife. “I don’t know much about fashion, so I was hoping y’all would go get her a wig or some head scarves and shit. Something to make her not so self-conscious. We all know how important her hair was to her.”

“We will take care of it. Anything else she needs?” Jeffery asks, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face.

“Some more pajamas. Maybe some that button up.” Diapers probably wouldn’t be a bad idea either, but I don’t want Saylor having to wear those. I could never ask her to do that. Cleaning her didn’t bother me anyway.

They go to leave, and I have to force them to take the wad of cash. I don’t know their financial situation. All I know is that she is mine and I will take care of her. When I tell them this, I might have growled it because they stopped arguing.

—

Wednesday, Saylor stayed in bed. She was so sick Tuesday night that her body was too physically exhausted to get up. I’d had to carry her to the bathroom, and even hold her head while she was sick. Her mouth was covered in sores, making it painful for her to talk and impossible for her to eat. Due to her condition, Dr. Zi sent over the home health nurse again to administer more fluids.

Donnawayne and Jeffery came over Wednesday evening, and I had never been more thankful to see them. They brought not only wigs, scarves, and pajamas, but large, cloth changing pads, new sheets, Pedialyte, Ensure, and a home spa kit. After the fluids, Saylor was marginally better and was able to drink a bottle of the grape-flavored Pedialyte.

I stood in the doorway and watched her smile through her cracked lips at the men as they modeled all of her new wigs. She chose the short purple one to wear to treatment to match her purple stage-three dose of Skittles. Saylor told me to get out of the house awhile, but I couldn’t leave her. I didn’t want the responsibility to fall on Donnawayne and Jeffery, but after thirty minutes of them convincing me that they could handle it, I finally gave in.

I was missing my bike, and was more than surprised to find it sitting at the clubhouse. Shady had pulled it on a trailer back with him when he brought our car. His kindness earned him a hug from me.

After only an hour of riding, I was anxious to get back to Saylor. I found her in bed, with green mud shit on her face and cucumbers on her eyes, wearing one of her new scarves and gowns. A straw sat in a half-empty bottle of Ensure, and an empty bottle sat beside it. The sight of her relaxed and not sick and in pain made me smile.

Then I noticed the two men who lay on either side of her. How had I not noticed them? They too were covered in green mud and cucumbers, wearing jogging pants and nothing else. Both of them held one of Saylor’s hands in theirs, and even though it made me feel weird, I grabbed Saylor’s camera and took a picture of them together. Either they were asleep, or they didn’t know I was here. I was betting on the latter.

—

Thursday was more of the same. The vomiting and diarrhea were now pure liquid, and the mouth sores were so bad I called the doctor again. He called in a prescription for some kind of medicated mouthwash and told me to have her rinse with it every couple of hours. Because of the pain, we had only done it twice today.

Without my knowledge, Saylor had asked the guys to pick her up some of those adult pull-on diapers. I didn’t realize it until I found her struggling to remove it. I helped her take it off, put on another one, and we never said a word about it. I just kissed her on her head, told her she was perfect, and was rewarded with a smile.

Carrie came over that night and painted her fingernails and toenails, then laid in the bed and watched Sex and the City until Saylor fell asleep. Before she left, she told me she was only a phone call away, which was reassuring considering she was a friend and a nurse.

Every day, Saylor managed to find the time and strength to write in her diary. And I always managed to find time for myself too. But, if it was pushups in the hallway or TV in the living room, I was always only a few steps away.

By Friday, Saylor was so sick I was afraid she was too sick for her treatment, but she managed to find the strength to tell me to help her get dressed, that she was going. So I did. And that included putting on her purple wig.

When we got to the hospital, the report from the doctor was good, even though Saylor was anything but. Since she hadn’t been prone to any infection, or had yet to be hospitalized, they felt confident that her body was responding well to the treatment.

But it’s Monday and we are at the emergency room at UMC. Saylor came down with a fever earlier today and when I called Dr. Zi, he said to bring her in. I’m watching her sleep and listening to the monitor around her beep while they pump her body with antibiotics and fluids. She’s lost a total of fourteen pounds and it shows. She looks small and fragile, almost lifeless. And the good doctor just informed me that things are fixing to get worse.

We are moved to a room and they assure me she will be fine while I run home to get clothes, toiletries and, of course, Saylor’s diary. I call Donnawayne and Jeffery to let them know, giving them the doctor’s orders that her visitors have to wear masks, gloves, and gowns. Then I call Shady and inform him of where I am and ask him to let Rookie and Carrie know.

I’m gone only an hour, but I can hear Saylor’s cries when I step off the elevator. I’m down the hall and through the door in half a second, ignoring everyone in the room but the woman who is crying my name.

“I’m here,” I say, and to confirm it, I push my lips against hers and rub her head. When she sees me, smells me, and tastes me, she instantly relaxes.

“I don’t know what happened,” a panicked orderly says. “I was just checking her vitals and she woke up and asked for you. I told her I didn’t know where you were, but I’d see if we had your number. Then she became hysterical.”

I’m listening to the woman, but I’m talking to Saylor. Telling her over and over that I’m here and I’m not leaving. I explain to her where I went and that I wasn’t gone for long, and that I’ll tell her before I ever step out of the room again.

“I didn’t know where I was,” she whispers, running her hands over my face and arms.

“You were out of it when we left the house. I should have told you.” I lean over the bed, kissing her, whispering to her and rubbing her smooth head until she falls back to sleep. By the time I stand, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.

Dr. Zi comes in later and tells me that her white blood count is up and she has a yeast infection in her oral, vaginal, and anal areas, and that is what is causing most of her discomfort. I didn’t know she had any discomfort because she hasn’t complained. When I tell him this, he only nods in understanding and says that they will keep her until it is cleared up, but he can’t promise that it won’t come back.

It’s Tuesday and I open my eyes to find someone dressed in a gown, mask, and gloves standing at the door. When I see his boots, I know it’s Shady.

“Hey, you,” I hear, and both our heads turn to find Saylor sitting up in bed, smiling. Her color is back, her voice is clearer than I’ve heard it in days, and her eyes are bright green and shining.

Shady walks up and kisses her head, but all I can do is lay here and stare at her. She looks incredible. When her eyes meet mine, her smile widens and for the first time in days, I’m smiling too. I go to the bed and kiss her good morning before going to take a shower. When I come back, she is eating. It’s only Jell-O, but at least it’s something.

“How come you don’t have to wear this shit?” Shady asks, looking down at his ridiculous fucking wardrobe.

“I’m special,” I say simply. He looks to Saylor and she nods in agreement.

“He’s special.”

The truth is that since I’m her primary caregiver, I’m exposed to her as much as she is to me. Dr. Zi seems to think that if I had anything, she would have caught it by now, and since I haven’t left her side since she’s been sick, I haven’t had the chance to be exposed to anything that could potentially hurt her.

Then he tells me that Saylor said she wanted to see my face, that it was what kept her pushing on. I’m sure it was just a tactic she used to try and keep him from making me wear it, afraid of what I might say. She had nothing to worry about. I would’ve worn a fucking pink jumpsuit if it was required. Thank fuck it’s not.

The rest of Tuesday was good. Wednesday, we had even more visitors including Donnawayne and Jeffery, who accessorized their gowns with jewelry and paper bows. Surprisingly, I found it funny.

Rookie and Carrie came, bringing in a big basket of junk food that I knew wouldn’t last long with Shady around. But I had managed to salvage all the Skittles. After everyone left, Saylor asked me to lay with her. So I am.

“I didn’t get a chance to write in my diary Monday. Will you do it for me?” she asks, laying on my arm while I flip channels on the TV.

“How about I tell you what happened and you write it?” I ask, hoping she agrees. She doesn’t.

“I want you to.” Reluctantly, I grab her diary from the side of the bed and open it up. I try not to glance at the pages, but I can’t help but notice some of the pictures that are in it. There are pictures of her and our friends, some of just our friends, but most are of me and her. “Did you take a picture on Monday?” she asks, her look hopeful. I had promised Saylor to document every day for her. And of course, I kept good on my promise.

“I did.”

“Okay. I’ll add it when we get home.” Home. Home was in Nevada, and it was a place I never thought I would long for, but now I do.

“How do you want me to start this? Dear diary?” I ask, thinking how stupid it already makes me feel.

“I want you to write it like you’re writing me a letter. But wait till I’m asleep.” I sigh and put the book back on the table. Saylor laughs at my reaction and I smile at the sound. I look down at her, noticing how bright her eyes shine now that her eyebrows and eyelashes aren’t obstructing their view.

“You are so beautiful,” I say, running my fingers across her face.

“You got a fetish for baldies?” she asks, blinking up at me.

“I got a fetish for you.”

“You know, there is a plus side to losing my hair. I don’t have to shave my legs.” I laugh and have to agree with her. I kiss the top of her head and pull her closer. Today was a good day. Yesterday is gone and tomorrow doesn’t matter. Only today, only this moment, and only me and her.