‹APRIL›
Sent: Tuesday, April 1 3:23PM
From: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
To: Sara4348@aol.com
Subj: New plans
Sara—Just got your latest e-mail. I’m a bass, I think. In Victor’s choir, we don’t get too technical. And, no, we won’t need to talk at first. Hugging’s a better idea. More soon, but here’s what I’ve already written.
I’m outta here on Saturday (temporarily). Victor talked to me Sunday night about a camping trip for the guys who can’t go home for spring break. This was Dr. Feelgood’s idea—a good one, for once. We’re headed for the Lost Coast, a stretch of empty coastline south of Eureka. (I checked the Internet: great wildlife including whales, fantastic ocean, no people. Wow!)
The only bad thing is that I’ll be out of touch the whole time. Nothing out there but one little store at Shelter Cove. So I’ll be on the Lost Coast, whale watching, with a bad case of e-mail withdrawal.
I may have to carry some of your old notes along in my backpack.
—Rob
Sent: Tuesday, April 1 6:44PM
From: Sara4348@aol.com
To: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
Subj: Re: New plans
Not the Lost Coast with whales! A whole week? I’m so envious. I want to go, too. Doesn’t Victor need a camp cook? I do gourmet mac ’n’ cheese and tuna sands to die for.
No—honestly—I’m really happy you’re getting another trip away from Pine Creek doing what you like most. Looks as if you’ve moved up in the ranks, too, to group leader or something.
Victor sounds like my dad—firm but fair. (Only Dad’s more firm sometimes than fair. Hope Victor leans the other way.) Anyhow, I may decide he’s okay for Ginny if he passes the Lost Coast test—and you STILL like him.
I would like to know your real name before you disappear in the California mists. Are you actually Rob? For all I know, you could be James Martin, although that name doesn’t fit— in my mind. Or your name could even be Alex.
A week without hearing from you would be a good time to say your real name over and over . . . in hopes I’ll get used to it. If it’s really and truly ROB, we’re home free.
To make this a fair trade, you’ve been emailing Sara Joy Wilcox for the last 192 days, more or less.
No April fooling . . . Sara
Sent: Thursday, April 3 3:23PM
From: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
To: Sara4348@aol.com
Subj: Straight talk
Hi, Sara Joy Wilcox. (I’m still getting used to that. For all this time, your last name was 4348.)
Good news: My name really is Rob—sort of. Bad news: My name really is Alex—sort of. (I know you’ll never hear that name without thinking of Shannon’s disturbed psycho.)
My birth certificate says Alexander Robertson Hayes. How’s that for a handle? My father’s father (he died before I was born) was named Alexander. And Robertson was my mother’s maiden name. I was called Allie (Gag!) when I was little, then Alex. Up until now, you’re the only one who calls me Rob.
I wanted a new name when I came to Pine Creek. Rob seemed right—part of my real name but shorter. But I didn’t follow through, except on my e-mail address. (I told you about the Robinson Crusoe business. Now you know how it came to mind.)
More good news: You don’t have to get used to a new name. I’m Alex at Pine Creek, but that name stays here. I’ll start in the next place—wherever that might be—as Rob Hayes. (Wow, that wasn’t so hard. I’ve been wanting to tell you this for months.)
We leave Saturday morning for the Lost Coast.
—Rob (Don’t call me Alexander) Hayes, who misses you already
Sent: Thursday, April 3 6:31PM
From: Sara4348@aol.com
To: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
Subj: Hello and goodbye!
Dear Rob,
You’d never guess, but we’re having our first dinner together here at my computer. With candlelight and “Getting to Know You” from The King and I playing. We clink glasses for a toast:
“To Alexander Robertson Hayes, forever Rob.
And to the joys of a new life.”
We’re also splitting a Subway sandwich (crab) that I picked up on the way home and a green salad I just threw together here. If there’s time before rehearsal, we’ll have brownies.
The email you put off so long touched my heart. I like the idea that your first name stays at Pine Creek after graduation, but someday, if you start feeling like an Alex again, tell me. It’s a great name. I like it, in spite of its Shannon associations. But Rob, as in Rob&Sara, has a history.
Please be careful. I’ll worry. Can’t help it. But I’ll get off an email to welcome you back. Picture me running my tail off seating folks at the IHOP. I’ll picture you leading Victor’s troops along the sea cliffs, singing military songs at the top of your lungs.
Happy whale watching! And come back. I’ll be here waiting.
—Sara, lonesome already
Sent: Friday, April 4 3:23PM
From: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
To: Sara4348@aol.com
Subj: Goodbye
Sara—
Just got your note. Love the ending: “I’ll be here waiting.” It’ll keep me warm on those cold, foggy nights on the Lost Coast. And don’t worry about a thing. Read on for my earlier message.
Some last-minute changes here. On Sunday, Victor figured we’d have four or five guys. Now we have nine, so Bernice, our aide, will be driving another van. I like her, but the trip will be different with her along.
And I found out we probably won’t see whales. The main whale migration is in January and February. So add a grandma and cut the whales. I’m still ready to go.
I’ll miss you, Sara. Nine days—ouch! (We’ll leave Saturday morning, probably get back late the following Saturday. No e-mail until Sunday.)
Don’t worry, I won’t run off. And I’ll be careful. You be careful too—climbing, driving, and with Joel. (Okay, straight talk—I’m jealous of those late-night talks. I’ll bet he likes you. How could he help it?) I’ll miss you. I know—I already said that. Bye.
—Rob
Sent: Wednesday, April 9 8:52PM
From: Sara4348@aol.com
To: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
Subj: WHERE ARE YOU . . . NOW THAT I NEED YOU?
Dear Rob,
I do, I need you! And you’re many miles and ocean cliffs away. Who can I talk to? I hate telling Ginny anything more than I have for fear she’ll pull me off this job, thinking it’s not safe. (Whoa, Sara! Start at the beginning.)
After closing time last Sunday night, I helped Joel and Brian (our 24-year-old head cook) clean up the kitchen. The servers were long gone, and Kent, the manager, had turned off the outside lights. It was 12:30 when Joel and I finally left.
We hadn’t gone ten steps when we heard noises coming from where I’d parked. “Hey!” Joel shouted. Two guys were doing something to my car. Spray painting it! The big guy whirled around to run, but Joel was right on him. Caught him by the coat, then ripped it off and smashed him up against Kent’s SUV.
I tackled the other one. He was skinnier, but wiry as heck. We both went down on the pavement—me screaming and him cussing. His head cracked with a sound that scared me, but he wasn’t fazed and got right up. This whole time I was yelling, “That’s my mom’s car!” Joel was still holding the other one, arms pinned behind him, when a pickup pulled alongside us and two heavyweights rolled out. “They’re gonna kill us!” was all I could think. By then Joel had blood running from his nose. He yelled for me to go back inside, but I was too busy shin-kicking and flailing with my fists.
Suddenly lights popped on. Out came Kent with a baseball bat. Lucky for us, the two linebackers from the pickup turned out to be “good guys” who’d just happened along.
But the damage was done. In big ugly letters, the entire side of my car read FAGGOT with the T never crossed. Minutes later, after the cops came and Kent took a look around, we found that they’d also sprayed FAGGOTVILLE across the rear of the building.
Joel kept saying he’d get the car cleaned, he’d take care of it—pay for it, all that. “No, you won’t!” I insisted. We were still arguing when we got to his house. “Why should you? I have insurance.” I cut the engine so we could talk. “I just don’t get why anyone would do that,” I said. “Why my car?”
Suddenly, he swung around and smacked his hand on the steering wheel. “You honestly don’t know, do you? Everyone else knows! How come you haven’t got the word?” Honest to God, Rob, I must be stupid. I still didn’t catch on. “What word?” I yelled right back at him.
“Sara, I’m gay. They were targeting me. Me and Brian, we’re both gay. Sometimes we’re even seen together.” I’d never heard Joel sound so fierce. “Homophobes, those guys! They hole up just outside Zion, then come in on their dirty little missions after dark. I’m on their list, Sara!”
I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to put my arms around him. I wanted to comfort him—felt I should do something! I finally managed a feeble “It’s okay with me if you’re gay. It doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah, easy to say. But it matters. It damn well matters!”
By then he was staring straight ahead and I was ready to cry. I just felt so bad for him—for how hard things must have been, for how hard things might always be.
He turned away and opened the door. All I could think to say was, “Joel, wait. Let’s sneak off to Arctic Circle for lunch tomorrow. Yearbook business . . . okay?”
He said “Whatever” and got out, then walked off across their pitch-black yard. I sat there a minute, staring after him. His cattle dog ran up to meet him, barking a welcome, and Joel let him jump all over him. I’ve never been so glad for a dog in all my life, for that beautiful, unconditional, tail-wagging love.
So that’s it. We did sneak off for lunch on Monday, then talked about yearbook and everything else BUT his being gay. I guess that’s how it has to be.
As far as tackling some guy in the dark is concerned, well, I did all right there. That nasty little wuss ended up with an eye swollen shut and, I hope, a massive headache. I came out of it all with a skinned knee and a bruised elbow.
I can’t wait to hear from you, Rob Hayes. This week is already the longest in a very long time.
—Scrappy Sara, sappy over you
Sent: Saturday, April 12 10:33AM
From: Sara4348@aol.com
To: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
Subj: Welcome back to Camp Feelgood!
Dear Rob,
How was it? The Lost Coast. I love the name and can’t wait for details. So how’d it go?
Sorry to have inundated you last time. Things are better now. Joel even told me a gay joke in the bus yesterday—a good sign, I think. He seems relieved to have me know. And today he said, “Thanks for being a good friend.” I knew what he meant.
Fast-breaking news: a totally unexpected climbing trip to Salt Lake over Easter! One of the guys is getting his dad to drive us up in his van Wednesday right after school. I’ve called Angie, will stay with her Friday night and Saturday until we leave. Can’t wait to see her!
Everyone has to get back for Easter, naturally. Also, I had to promise Kent I’d be awake and smiling for the Easter-morning crunch at the IHOP. All six of us are stoked to take on our first granite climbing routes. The instructor we had here will meet us in Little Cottonwood Canyon Thursday. Friday we’re on our own. (Pray the weather holds!)
Rob, I saw my first coyote! One loped right through Aunt Ginny’s courtyard, almost in front of me. In broad daylight! (If you go out during the full moon when they’re yipping, they’ll sometimes yip right back at you.)
Anything Goes is shaping up. I’m one of Reno Sweeney’s Angels, which means I’m learning to tap-dance and flirt with the sailor guys. (As is required by the play, my jealous friend. No, I’m not going to morph into Charity, my showgirl character.)
WRITE, WRITE, WRITE! We have only three email days before I leave.
Sent: Sunday, April 13 3:23PM
From: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
To: Sara4348@aol.com
Subj: Lost Coast
Hi, Sara—
Two e-mails! Great welcome-back present. I’m running them off, but have zero time to read them now. I’ll answer tomorrow.
Hello, Sara. I missed you—a lot.
Great trip. Big whitecaps crashing over black rocks. Seals asleep on the beaches . . . I even saw whales—two of them at once. I almost fell off the cliff when I spotted that first spout. They kept surfacing and diving. Again and again. I yelled to the others, and the whole gang got to see them. Incredible.
Bernice was a real surprise. Tough hiker, great cook. Taught me how to build campfires in the wind. Kept the gang busy making sand castles and driftwood houses when I needed some free time.
Hard to come back to Pine Creek. Riding along in the van, I made a decision: I’m going to try to get out of here—the right way. This week I’ll write to my mother and father. Keep your fingers crossed.
Right now I’m just waiting for my Internet session. I hope you wrote me a big long note.
A bad poem to kill some time:
I’m hoping for e-mails from Sara.
Her news I am dying to share-uh:
About school, play, or job,
How much she missed Rob.
Nine days is all I can bear-uh.
—Whale-watcher Rob
Sent: Monday, April 14 7:31AM
From: Sara4348@aol.com
To: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
Subj: Loved your Lost Coast report
Dear Whale-watcher . . .
Quick note: Wonderful having your news to read last night and this morning—and probably all day long behind my American history book! You did an A+ job of describing the trip. (I also love the direction you’re taking. My fingers will stay crossed.)
Darn, I’ve missed the bus! That means I drive today. Not good because I still have remnants of a smeary “FAGGOT” on my car, which we couldn’t get rid of that night. (Joel’s taking it in while I’m gone, and the IHOP’s paying.)
For you especially, a two-minute limerick: not good poetically, but fantastic soulfully. And then I have to jet out of here.
I know a whale watcher named Hayes,
Who’s at home midst the crashing of waves.
He’s doomed if he runs
Or steals cars for fun,
But may win someone’s heart if he stays.
Of course I missed you—more than you know!. . . . .Sara
Sent: Monday, April 14 3:21PM
From: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
To: Sara4348@aol.com
Subj: Catching up
Sara, I want to go to Utah. Coyotes in your front yard. And you playing a tap-dancing, flirting angel. I promised not to run away, but you’re making it tough.
Rotten business about the creeps painting your car. Hate and stupidity—I guess they’re everywhere. Depressing.
I’m glad you didn’t get hurt any worse. But, Sara, don’t ever do that again. Scream. Make them run. But don’t chase them. Guys like that could have guns or knives. (But now that it’s over, I’m glad you beat up the little slimeball.)
Sounds like Joel has a lot of stuff to work out. Straight talk—I hate to admit it, but there’s a nasty little part of me that’s glad he’s gay. Even straighter talk—I deleted that sentence twice, worried about what you’d think.
Here Bernice is helping the guys do research on whales, and Matt is talking about field trips for the summer. (I hope I’m long gone by then. Keep those fingers crossed.)
And you’re leaving on a climbing trip. I miss you already.
—Rob
PS I helped Roland forward Shannon’s note to you. I don’t know what to say about it.
Sent: Sunday, April 13 9:28PM
From: Mlee1830@yahoo.com
To: Rolandjacobs123@yahoo.com
Subj: Hi from Shannon
Hi, Roland. I’m sorry I haven’t written before. I know how much you like mail. Remember the time I sent you 25 e-mails so you’d stop whining about never getting any mail?
I miss you, Roland. Nobody here tells me jokes. If you have a new one, send it to me.
Do me a favor, okay? Print this message and give it to Alex. I don’t know his address. And don’t forget my jokes. SHANNON
Hey, Alex. I figured out how to escape from Camp Feelgood: Take a hundred pills. I don’t recommend it, though. You end up with tubes down your throat.
I know how things looked, but let’s get real, Alex. That wasn’t a suicide scene. I’m no wimpy Juliet, and—sorry, bud— you’re no Romeo. No young-love tragedy here. Just old Shannon—a little ripped—ticked off because she’d paid good money for some low-power pills.
How’s this for ironic? I’m at a rehab hospital, where the therapists are after me to be honest. But they don’t believe me when I tell the truth: “I was high and trying to get higher; I wasn’t trying to kill myself.” So I had to make up a suicide story to satisfy them.
Anyway, Alex, I wanted you to get a little reality for a change. I could just see you going on a big guilt trip, you and your fantasy Sara. (I had a funny thought: What if she turned out to be fatter than me?) Another funny thought: You could write to me sometime. I might be more fascinating on e-mail.
—Shannon
Sent: Tuesday, April 15 6:55AM
From: Sara4348@aol.com
To: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
Subj: The forwarded message
Re: Shannon—she’s indestructible! Sounds like she’ll soon be Queen of the Rehab Ward, just as you predicted. But like in your movie Rashomon, her claims may be her private truth. (Or not.) I guess we’ll never know.
Your fantasy (or not), Sara
Sent: Tuesday, April 15 3:23PM
From: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
To: Sara4348@aol.com
Subj: Goodbye again
Hasta luego, Sara—
I’ll miss you. Five days! Better than nine, but still way too long. I hope you have a good time. Tell Angie hi for me.
About indestructible Shannon. I never know what to do about her. I know one thing—I won’t be writing back.
I liked your last limerick, but you got one thing wrong: I never stole a car for fun. All four times, it was the same deal— I was running from a place I couldn’t stand to be. I took a car to get into open country, then left it when I got there. No thrill, no fun. I was scared to death. Maybe nobody else can see the difference—still wrong, still stupid, still a stolen car. But somehow it matters to me.
I’m working away on the letter to my parents. I may have Matt help me. I want to get it just right.
No wrestling video tonight. The gang is going to watch Moby Dick, so I’ll be watching with them. Hope nobody gets seasick.
I’ll miss you, Sara. (I know—I already said that. But it’s still true.)
—Rob
Sent: Tuesday, April 15 8:19PM
From: Sara4348@aol.com
To: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
Subj: Tuesday night before packing
Dear Rob,
I know, I’ll miss you, too! But I’ll be back soon and you can tell me if you’ve managed to persuade your folks to set you free. Freedom! Rob set free! What a concept!
I have to admit, I love my freedom. I don’t mean to flaunt it—honestly!—but this has been a whole new life for me, living with my aunt and being treated like “an approximate adult.” (Which she calls me sometimes.) We talk about all sorts of things and she even asks my opinion.
But gloating over my own independence wasn’t what I came online to do. It occurred to me today how lucky we are— you and I—that we didn’t meet someone else via that poetry bulletin board. What if you’d taken up with MelodyV or I’d ended up writing to that witless Wesley? Our coyotes were definitely in alignment last September.
Better get my climbing gear in the bag and finish an assignment on The Great Gatsby. Will there be an email waiting when I return? (Is the sky blue? Are the Kayenta cliffs red?) Yours . . . on belay or off! Sara
Sent: Thursday, April 17 3:24PM
From: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
To: Sara4348@aol.com
Subj: My letter
Sara—
Here’s the e-mail I just sent to my father. (I also ran off a copy to mail to my mother.) Maybe you’ll go online at Angie’s and find it. Some of the words are Matt’s, but I hope the letter still sounds like me. I also hope it doesn’t sound too sappy.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I’ve been here at Pine Creek Academy for almost a year. I’ve had time to think about my life—what I’ve done and what I hope to do in the future.
First, I’m sorry for all the pain and trouble I’ve caused you. I made lots of bad choices and did lots of stupid things. I know that you were trying to help me, and I know that I made it very hard for you.
Pine Creek has been good for me. I’ve learned to live with rules, and I’ve learned to work independently. But I believe it’s time for me to move on.
I’m ready to live in the real world. I’d like to spend my senior year in a regular high school. I want to get a job and a driver’s license and start making plans for college.
If you will help me make the move, I promise my full cooperation. I will accept any rules that you think necessary.
In one year I will be, legally, an independent adult. With your help, I would like to spend the next year becoming exactly that.
Your son,
Alex
Sent: Thursday, April 17 6:44PM
From: Angelann@tristate.net
To: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
Subj: A word from Sara’s secretary
Hi, Rob! Sara just called me from her motel and said I HAD TO tell you that she’s here and having a great time. She knew you’d be worrying your head off, but she couldn’t find a computer anywhere. So it’s up to me. I know she’d be mad at me if I didn’t do it, although I doubt if you’re really worrying your head off. She was in a big hurry. They’d climbed all day and were heading for The Porcupine for dinner. I could hear someone yelling for her to get off the phone, but she added that I was NOT!!! to start a big conversation with you. Just pass the message on.
Sara won’t be at my house until tomorrow night, so she won’t know I’m actually writing more to tell you thanks for asking about me so often. It’s been cool knowing someone you don’t even know is wondering how a person is doing. So thank you! Doctor says it looks like I may be going into remission. Why can’t he just say, Hey, Angie, you licked it? But he won’t go that far.
If I thought I’d stumble onto an awesome cyberpal the way you and Sara did, I’d take up poetry tomorrow. Maybe. I’m not crazy about reading poems, let alone writing them. I am soooo not talented in that department.
Sara’s Secretary—Angie
Sent: Friday, April 18 2:47PM
From: MGGinny@aol.com
To: Gabewil@hotmail.com
CC: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
Subj: About Sara: READ NOW
Gabe, dear, Sara was hurt in a climbing accident in SLC— about an hour ago. Serious injuries, but not, I was told, life-threatening. Airlifted to University Hospital and is presently undergoing neurologic evaluation. Suspected cranial hematoma, possible spinal cord damage, other injuries. Her situation is listed as very guarded to critical.
I’ve just talked to your mom in Germany. She’s arranging for a flight now. Your folks think it’s better for you to stay in Boulder for the time being. At the moment, Sara is unconscious and in ICU, but seems to be stabilizing. Tried to call you several times, but kept getting a busy signal. I’m driving to SLC in your mom’s car. Leaving in minutes.
Try not to worry. I’ll call when I know more. Your aunt Ginny.
Sent: Friday, April 18 2:56PM
From: MGGinny@aol.com
To: Angelann@tristate.net
Subj: SARA/CLIMBING ACCIDENT
Angie, Major and Mrs. Meyer: I left a message on your machine. Sara has been taken to University Hospital, is presently being evaluated. In ICU now and unconscious. Knew she planned on staying with you tonight, afraid you mightn’t get word. I’m driving up now, will call again on the way. Ginny Rozendal
Written on four pages torn from a University Hospital notepad
Sent: Tuesday, April 22 3:20PM
From: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
To: Sara4348@aol.com
Subj: (No subject)
Hello, Sara—
I don’t know when you’ll read this. But I want to be sure you have a note when you finally come online. Bernice has been calling the hospital every day and giving me the good reports. Sounds like you’ll be out soon. I hope so.
What a weird first meeting, Sara. I was so worried and so glad to be there with you that I turned into a motormouth. You may not remember any of it, but I couldn’t shut up. The nurse said my talking seemed to calm you, so I had an excuse. (By the way, I think she figured out that I wasn’t your brother. Nobody likes his sister that much.)
I really hated to leave. (Think about it—after all this time, we were finally together. And I had to get up and go back to Camp Feelgood.) I was hoping you’d wake up once more, but you didn’t.
At the Salt Lake airport, I bought presents for the gang— bubble gum and those big plastic water guns that look like Uzis. Two things you can’t get at the school store.
Bernice was waiting for me at the airport. As soon as I told her how well you were doing, she wanted to know what you looked like. She was fascinated by the idea that we’d never seen each other—not even a picture. I thought about you in all those bandages and started laughing. “She’s beautiful,” I said. And I meant it.
The next thing I knew, I was at the Pinecrest Store. (Bernice said I snored and smiled at the same time.) I rode the bicycle back and slipped in without being seen. The gang loved the presents, didn’t care that it was their money I’d spent.
So I’m back here at Pine Creek, thinking about you there in the hospital. It was really special being with you—even for a little while. Even if you were asleep most of the time. I still don’t know exactly what you look like, but I know your eyes. And I know your hand. I really know your hand—skinned knuckles and all.
I hope I hear from you soon—for all kinds of reasons. Don’t worry about writing a long message. One sentence is enough. Even a short sentence.
Love, Rob
Sent: Thursday, April 24 4:43PM
From: Sara4348@aol.com
To: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
Subj: Us!
Utterly Dear Rob,
How can there be anything else on the subject line above? We were the only two people in University Hospital Friday night. I don’t know when I knew it was you, maybe even before I was aware of your voice. I just remember knowing. And I wanted to cry, I was so happy. But you were holding my hand and you don’t like crybabies, so I didn’t let myself.
At first—it was so strange—I just kept slipping away. Even though I wanted to stay more than anything in the world. Oh, how I fought it! I wanted so much to stay right there holding on to you, but I’d be carried off every time, into a dream I didn’t even want. (What did they give me?)
Then I’d wake up in a panic, afraid you’d be gone. But you stayed all night. Do you know how wonderful, how safe that made me feel? Still, I knew you shouldn’t have come.
When I woke up, the nurse was there propping your folded note against the water pitcher. She held it up and winked at me. (You’re right, she knew.)
“You gave us quite a scare. How’re you feeling this morning?”
There’s no way I could tell her how I was feeling right then. 1) You’d been with me all night, talking to me and holding my hand as if it was a prized possession. 2) You were gone. Back to Camp Feelgood, I figured, as you’d promised.
And now, today, another wonderful e-letter. Did you really tell Bernice I was beautiful—in spite of bloody scrapes, a hugely bandaged head, and a spiral fracture of the tibia?
HE THINKS I’M BEAUTIFUL!
Rob, you were very fuzzy against the dim light from the hall. I could see your outline and I thought you were beautiful, too. (I remember touching your face and your hair.)
Oh, sorry! Have to move my leg. I hate this cast!
Mom’s here at Angie’s and is spoiling me to death. We’ll leave Saturday morning to drive back to Aunt Ginny’s. Angie says she’s livid that she didn’t get to meet you herself.
Love, Sara
Sent: Friday, April 25 3:23PM
From: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
To: Sara4348@aol.com
Subj: You’re sounding better!
Hi, Sara—
Great to come online and find a note—especially one like that. (It’s enough to make me grab Victor’s bike and head for Utah again.) By the way, your memory’s a little shaky. You did cry—more than once. And who said I don’t like crybabies?
Straight talk—I’m afraid to say too much about my feelings right now. This is all new to me. I don’t think I could find the right words, and I don’t want to scare you away. Amazing time—the worst night of my life turning into the best night of my life. I’m still smiling.
Really glad to hear you’re out of the hospital. Bernice kept getting good reports, but I was never sure they’d tell us if there was a problem.
Things are looking good here, too. I finally heard from my father—a long, long e-mail. He starts out with all this stuff about how he’s glad I’m growing up—same old talk about how good Pine Creek has been for me. He can’t see why I’d want to leave, and he’s perfectly willing to pay my tuition for the next year. (By this time, I’m expecting a total kiss-off.)
But then he says his lawyer talked to the judge. The judge said once I finish the school year, I can go live with one of my parents. HOWEVER (Dad’s favorite word). Then Dad gives about fifty reasons why I can’t live with him. He’s getting divorced, exploring options, unable to predict future moves— blah, blah, blah. (Sounds like he has a new girlfriend.) BUT (happy ending) if I’m sure Pine Creek isn’t a better choice, he sees no reason I can’t live with Mom.
Or, if I want to be on my own right away, the judge would let me join the army or navy. They’ll take you at 17 if your parents will sign. (Dad will.) I’d never thought about the military. Didn’t even know you could go at 17.
But I don’t think I’ll be going to boot camp. Mom is in her new apartment now, and she’s coming to visit next Saturday. Says we need to talk about the future. So I think I’ll be out of here soon. (Target day: May 16—last day of spring semester. And two days before my birthday.)
You’re the #1 topic of conversation right now (beating out whales and wrestling). The guys keep asking about you. They put up all that money, and they wanted a full report. Finally, last night at dinner, I stood up and said, “All right. I’m tired of all the questions. She’s smart and funny and athletic and drop-dead beautiful. Okay?” They all laughed. Then Henry said, “What’s she doing with you?” (Good question.)
You still haven’t told me how you got hurt. It won’t be easy, but I’m ready to listen when you’re ready to talk.
Wish I was there/you were here/we were both somewhere together.
Love, Rob
Sent: Sunday, April 27 11:44AM
From: Sara4348@aol.com
To: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
Subj: Beginning ... again!
Dear Rob,
If only I could write music. I’d begin with “Were I there . . . were you here . . . were we both somewhere together . . .” and the song would win a Grammy. What do you mean, you straight-talker, that you can’t find the right words? You’re eloquent!
Oh, Rob, I’m so glad to be back in Aunt Ginny’s sunny house and back to you, who are trapped in my computer until I let you out. (Sounds like Camp Feelgood, but it isn’t.) Thank you for getting me through this, for caring enough to risk everything by racing to my side. I’m still pinching myself. If I astound the doctors with my sprint to recovery, it will be because of you.
What a letdown about your dad! But you couldn’t live with him, could you? I’m so hoping your mom will say yes—and will then follow through.
Which brings me to my latest head-butting with my mom. (Don’t get me wrong. I’m VERY glad she’s here.) She’s insisting I fly to Heidelberg in June, then stay on and do my senior year there. I’m telling her how desperately I want to stay/graduate right here, and Aunt Ginny’s on my side. More later, but I think there’s a chance.
My leg’s starting to quiver, but I have to tell you one more thing. A nurse had no sooner wheeled me out of the ICU last Sunday and got me settled in a room than I saw this group of coneheads pushing through the door. Whaaat?! Rob, it was Angie and the old Baldie Club, their heads wrapped in white bandages with only their eyes showing. Jessie even had streaks of “blood” all over hers. It hurt to laugh, but we all did plenty of that until the nurse got after us. Once they all unwrapped, we had to compare hair lengths. We giggled and swapped stories and passed around the raspberry smoothie Angie brought for me.
It was wonderful to see my friends. And Angie, you’ll be glad to know, is getting some color back in her cheeks. “The tumor is shrinking, almost gone,” she said after everyone left. I started to cry, I was so happy. Then Angie called me “a big bawl baby” . . . and we both cried.
Better wrap this up. Mom and Aunt Ginny are doing their sister act (at church) and I’m supposed to be resting. Anyway, Gabe and Dad sent roses to the hospital. And Dad called every day.
The military? Camp Feelgood all over again . . . squared! Love, Sara
PS Upcoming feature: “How I Fell Short Rock Climbing”
Sent: Sunday, April 27 3:23PM
From: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
To: Sara4348@aol.com
Subj: Sunday talk
I came online and found your latest note That’s way too small, but you get the idea. Here’s what I wrote before.
Bad news, Sara: Matt’s getting fired. He’s the best teacher in the place, and he’s done some great work with these guys. But yesterday Dr. Feelgood told him his position will be eliminated after this semester. Budget problems.
But Matt knows the real reason. Remember Masoud, the Saudi who went on the Christmas trip with us? Matt figured Masoud should be in a normal American high school, and he told Masoud’s father that. Dr. Feelgood was hoping to get Masoud’s daddy to put up money for a whole new wing.
At our Saturday morning study hall, Victor told the gang about Matt. They were furious—ready to tear the place apart. “You guys want a fight?” Victor said. “Then let’s fight, in a way it’ll do some good.”
He had them get out their laptops and write letters to their parents, telling how they felt about Matt. In the afternoon, at their Internet times, they sent off their letters—with copies to Dr. Feelgood.
Today, phone day, they all lined up to call their parents. They weren’t supposed to go into detail, just to say they’d sent an e-mail. But most of them couldn’t stick to the plan. They got wound up and started crying and yelling.
We’ll see what happens. Victor figures he’ll get fired now, but he thinks Matt has a chance. If Dr. Feelgood gets enough phone calls tomorrow, he might change his mind. I really hope Matt can come back. (I also hope I’m not here if he does.)
Better news: I used MapQuest yesterday. Driving time from my mother’s place to St. George, Utah, is 7 hours and 38 minutes (454 miles). Wow! Think of the possibilities.
I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.
Love, your “eloquent” Rob
Sent: Monday, April 28 8:59PM
From: Sara4348@aol.com
To: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
Subj: (No subject)
Dear Rob,
No big news from here except that last night the cast of Anything Goes strung a neon yellow banner over our garage:
WELCOME HOME, HEAD TICKET-TAKER
I’m no longer Charity, but I have a job. The kids stayed to do graffiti all over my cast (prayerful, X-rated both). Mom was aghast, but Aunt Ginny says it means they like me.
Right now Ginny’s book club (twenty ladies) is in the living room. Mom’s dishing up the cherry cobbler, but I’m the designated ice cream dipper—in a few minutes, in fact.
Joel stopped by earlier. He’ll be driving me back and forth to school until the doctor says I’m ready. “Only because of your hot car,” he made clear when he offered. Says he’ll tote my books around, too, but will be cussing under his breath because I’m so much trouble.
Okay, Rob Hayes, I figure I could do those 454 miles on crutches, but it might take me eight months. Can’t you think of something easier?
Love, Sara the Pooped
Sent: Tuesday, April 29 3:24PM
From: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
To: Sara4348@aol.com
Subj: Need some company?
Hi, Sara—
Don’t worry. No treks across the Mojave on crutches. I’ve been doing my homework. Cheap flights from LA to Las Vegas. And the Sundance Coach Company has a shuttle to St. George. So watch out, Sara: A lonesome guy may be knocking on your door pretty soon.
Straight talk—All this time I’ve been afraid of what would happen when we finally met. I’m no talker—you know that. I was a joke at some of the schools—Silent Sam, Mr. D&D (Deaf & Dumb), Dummy. When I first started writing to you, I spent hours on those little notes. It got easier and easier, but I didn’t know how it would be when I was actually with you. And then I was there, holding your hand—and I couldn’t shut up. Amazing, huh? Nobody around here would believe it. Love, Rob
Sent: Wednesday, April 30 8:19PM
From: Sara4348@aol.com
To: Robcruise99@yahoo.com
Subj: Finally, a minute to myself
Oh, Rob, how would it be if we could meet somewhere? I’m crazy to see you again (actually SEE you).
Frustration hereabouts. I have to admit I’m not used to being surrounded by a mother AND an aunt, both trying to mother me. Tonight I got Mom to go off with Ginny to her Reiki class. (Whew!) Finally, time alone for my favorite “talker.”
I’ve been thinking about your worrying if you’d be able to talk when we met. I couldn’t talk—remember? Did that matter? As I see it, words are only one part of it. Touch and looks are—well—just as important, aren’t they? I can think of dozens of ways to say “Yeah, me too,” without words.
Last night the climbing group came over bringing fudge brownies and ice cream. Kate burst into tears when she saw me, but we soon got her mopped up and set her straight about my fall. The truth is, it was both our faults. We were in too big a hurry, too excited, and we forgot what we thought we’d learned.
It was after lunch and the guys were still climbing “Schoolroom.” The van was due in an hour. So Kate and I decided to try an easy route on the same Gate Buttress wall, but over a ways. So we hurriedly got back in harness and set up at the base. I started up with Kate belaying me from the ground.
I wanted Kate to get in a turn, so at the top I slipped the rope through a fixed anchor and yelled down that I was ready to lower off. I was about 90’ up at that point. I started down feeling really bouncy about my lead. (I’d flashed it!) But what we hadn’t figured was the length of the rope in relation to the length of the pitch. (Rope has to be twice as long.) And in our rush to get going, we hadn’t retied the knot at her end.
Kate started out feeding rope through her belay plate in great style, holding my full weight, lowering me like a pro. I was still about twenty feet off the ground when the free end of the rope went zinging through her belay device and out of her hands. She said I arced backward off the rock, plunged onto my left leg, then was thrown over headfirst—for what turned out to be a nasty concussion.
Thank God Kate had a cell phone in her gear bag. Good old 911 had the LifeFlight helicopter on its way in minutes. I must have really scared her. Scared some other climbers, too, who rushed over on hearing her scream. I never moved, she said, never fluttered so much as an eyelid. She couldn’t even tell if I was breathing.
I know, Rob, I was lucky. Really lucky. I could have ended up a paraplegic. Or dead, if my head had hit rock instead of the shaley slope it did.
I’d better read some more Gatsby tonight. I’m so far behind at school, I’ll never catch up.
Love, Sara