RSS 2.0 FeedLight
Olivia had worked at the lighting store for six years, longer than any other employee. Business was surprisingly good in the winter, when other businesses in northern Maine struggled. Light boxes for Seasonal Affective Disorder were a particularly hot item; people craved light when darkness came too early and dawn not soon enough.
Olivia herself owned a light box but found that the feeling of well-being lasted only a few minutes. Then she would resort to Plan B: hit the fridge. Eat everything in sight. That buzz lasted a little longer, and she put on weight like a warm winter parka.
Gaining weight was a personal project of sorts, and she was damn good at it. In the course of the two years since she'd lost her husband and daughter, Mark and Jemma, to a drunk driver, she'd gone from a trim 135 pounds to a sturdy 283, adding another person to her frame. Of course what she added in bulk, she subtracted in spirit. But that was the plan: curl up inside the well-buffered shell of her body and hide from the world.
Speaking of the project, she was out of several staples: Ben & Jerry’s, cream cheese, and grape soda. The A&P was a block away and the day warm, but she chose to drive anyway. She used to ride her bike, but it was in the garage, tangled with her daughter’s pink Huffy, tires flat, frame mangled from the accident like some morbid, post-modern sculpture.
The A&P was quiet this morning as she perused the flavors of ice cream that lined the glass cases.
"My favorite is Cherry Garcia. What's yours?" A musical voice posed. Olivia turned and saw an impish brunette with a splash of freckles across her nose, about nine years old, peering into the case with eager eyes.
"Oh…um…I like that kind, too. And Chunky Monkey."
The girl wrinkled her nose. "Banana ice cream. Ick!"
Olivia laughed. A startling sound. "It's good. Have you ever actually tried it?"
"I don't think you have, Poppy." Olivia caught her breath. A man stood behind them. He was not a plain man, nor was he flashy like her friend Bolo, rather he was lean, light, with auburn hair cropped short, and the same green eyes as the girl.
"Hi, I'm Scott. I see you've met my daughter Poppy. She has no trouble making new friends," he laughed.
"I'm Olivia." She smoothed her tunic self-consciously over her belly.
"I'm pigging out before I have to go back to the hospital in Bangor. I need to get my strength up for the next round of chemo," Poppy said casually, as if she was still talking about ice cream. Scott cleared his throat and pretended to look over the frozen juice in the next case.
"Do you live here?" Poppy asked.
"No, I live just down the street, and I work at the lighting store next door."
Poppy laughed. The sound rang out like a bell. "I know you don't live here, silly! Nobody lives in a grocery store! Even though it would be fun to have all this stuff to eat. I wouldn't live in the frozen section, though. I'd be over by the pineapples and coconuts, pretending that I live on a bee-ootiful tropical island. I'd live there with Paris Hilton. That's my dog. She's an Afghan Hound. She has a silky blond coat," she sighed happily. "Hey, Dad, can we go to Olivia's store and buy a new light for my hospital room? My room is so boring."
"It's Sunday, honey. Olivia's store is probably closed." Olivia nodded.
"Oh. Well, maybe we can come back later? I'd like one with one of those lamps with the stained glass shades. They're so pretty. Like the one mom had, that I broke." A dark look passed over the girl's face.
"Well, it was nice to meet you, Olivia. We better finish up and be on our way," Scott said, putting his hands on Poppy's shoulders.
"Nice to meet you, too," Olivia said. She suddenly didn't want to see them go. "Please stop by the shop any time for that lamp. We have a lot of lights with pretty shades."
"You should come and visit me in the hospital, Olivia. Just ask for Poppy. Everyone knows me," Poppy said proudly.
"It's true," Scott agreed.
"I'll do that," she said. "Take care, guys. Feel better soon, Poppy."
"Dad, can we buy all the lobsters in the tank by the deli and set them free?" Poppy asked as the pair walked past the deli.
"Not today, sweetie. Maybe next time," he turned and gave Olivia a wave.
"Could you add some layers to the back and clean up my bangs so they frame my face a little better? Make it look thinner."
"Oh, my God! What has happened? Did you meet a man?" Bolo said, hands on his hips. "You did! Who is he? Don't shake your head at me, sister. Spill it!" he demanded, guiding her head back into the sink and spraying her hair with warm water. Bolo had been her best friend since they were kids. She considered him a brother and sister all rolled up into one zesty personality.
"Actually, I met the most amazing little girl last weekend. She's sick. Leukemia."
"Oh, no! Poor thing!"
"I know! It breaks my heart. Her father called me yesterday at the store. We talked quite a while. He says they have a good shot with the chemo, but an even better shot if they find a bone marrow donor. I'm thinking of getting tested to see if I'm a match. He's going to stop by the store later on today to pick up a lamp for her hospital room. He lives over in Pembroke and owns a bike shop. He's a really nice man," she breathed. "What?"
"Nothing!" Bolo cried. "I think it's great that you met these people. It will maybe give you a little perspective."
"Give me a little perspective? What the hell does that mean?"
"It doesn't mean anything," he said quickly. "I don't want to fight with you. Forget I said it. Tell me more about this dashing man and his adorable daughter."
"I didn't say he was dashing," she laughed. "Who uses that word anymore? It's so antiquated."
"I use that word, and you didn't have to say anything. Dashing is written across your forehead, plus, you're all shiny and sparkly. And I'd like to point out that the word antiquated is antiquated. So there!"
"Okay, you win. Can you stop talking for five seconds and fix me up? I need to open the store before next Christmas."
"You are sassy today. I haven't seen you so spunky since…in a long time. He must be some man."
"Shut up, Bolo!"
"Okay, I'm shutting up. Would you like me to arrange your bangs so they cover the word Dashing, or leave it out there for the world to see?"
Scott would be arriving any minute. Olivia opened a bag of chips, one of her best buddies, but then threw it into the trash. "Man, I need to stop eating junk."
”I’m right there with you. I'm a junk-food-junkie too." Scott stood at the counter.
"Oh! Hi, Scott," she said, running a nervous hand through her new haircut. "I didn't hear you come in. How are you doing? How's Poppy?"
"She's tired and a little green, but she’s a trooper. That chemo is nasty stuff. I hope it's beating the crap out of the cancer. I wish I could go through this for my little girl," he sighed and gave Olivia a weary smile.
"Hey, I've picked out something I think Poppy might like." She placed a lamp with a hand-painted ceramic base on the counter. Its glass shade was a mix of periwinkle, jade, lilac, and gold ─ the colors of a garden. Olivia clicked the light on, and the shade’s colors glowed like jewels.
"Oh, she's going to love it, Olivia! She needs a little something to brighten her day, no pun intended." He laughed, and Olivia saw a hint of the kind, warm man he would be if things were normal. “Thank you! Now, I just have to figure out how to sneak Paris Hilton into the hospital."
"That's Poppy's dog, right?"
"Yeah, she's out in the car. Paris belonged to Sarah, my wife. Poppy and that dog are inseparable. My daughter misses her." Olivia didn't know if he was referring to his wife or the dog. Both, surely. "I know she seemed really cheery and bright when you met her, but inside she's a scared little girl. This damn disease…" He sighed shakily.
I'm so sorry," was all that Olivia could think to say. I am so lame, she thought.
"Anyway. I’m determined to get Paris Hilton into her room, even though it's a big no-no. Poppy's very susceptible to infection right now. The chemo weakens her defenses, but I've got to take care of her spirits, too. She's being so brave. My plan is to bring the dog in during the night. I gave her a bath today. I'm going to put a mask and gown on her, the whole deal. There's an orderly at the hospital who's going to let me in through a back entrance."
"Sounds sneaky. Poppy will love it."
"You know, she's asked about you many times. You really made an impression with your exquisite taste in ice cream. You wouldn't be up for a little adventure would you? I could really use the help."
"Oh…sure…" Olivia stammered. And that was how she found herself as a passenger driving towards Bangor with a man named Scott and an Afghan named Paris Hilton, who had better hair than the celebrity she was named after.
"My gosh. The things my friend Bolo could do with this dog's beautiful mane," Olivia mused, as they fitted the Afghan with a gown which Scott had lifted from a hospital supply closet. They worked in the dark parking lot. The gentle dog sat wagging her tail as Scott tried to fix a mask around her muzzle.
Scott's orderly friend, Jack, met them at a back entrance. They took a service elevator up to Poppy's floor. Jack scanned the hallway and waved them in.
"Good luck," he whispered. "Don't push it any longer than thirty minutes. The charge nurse comes on at midnight, and she's about five-hundred-years-old and hates everyone."
Poppy sat up in bed when she saw them. Like Paris Hilton, she wore a mask and gown. The RN in the room shook her head at the dog and said, "Keep the masks on! You've got thirty minutes, then you've got to get that dog out of here," she ordered.
"Scout’s honor," Scott said, holding up two fingers. "Hey there, angel," he said to his daughter. "How are you doing?"
"Hey, Daddy," Poppy shuffled over, towing an IV pole, and hugged her father. When she saw Paris Hilton behind him, she flung her arms around the dog's neck and started to cry. "You brought Paris Hilton. I've missed you so much, Paris." She spotted Olivia. "And Olivia came too!" Olivia knelt and caught Poppy.
"Be right back, guys. I left something in the car. You okay with the vicious dog for a sec, Olivia?"
"Yeah, we're fine," Olivia said, still holding Poppy.
"You're soft," Poppy said. "I'm glad you came. My mom was a good hugger, too. Do you like to ride bikes? My dad owns a bike shop, you know?"
"I used to ride quite a bit. My daughter Jemma loved it. She did a report on mountain goats for school and found out that there are some living on top of Mount Evans in Colorado. She wanted to ride her bike to the top of that mountain to see the goats. She talked about it all the time…" Olivia trailed off.
"I love to ride bikes, too. Maybe, when I get out of the hospital, I can go for a ride with you and Jemma. We can go all over the place! Maybe even to Colorado! Would Jemma like that? I would!"
"She would have, sweetie, but Jemma is…she died. There was a bad accident, years ago…" Olivia stammered, wishing she hadn't mentioned her daughter.
Poppy didn't miss a beat. "I'm sorry about Jemma, Olivia. You were a good mom, I can tell. She was lucky to have you. You know, I like mountain goats, too. I saw a special once about them. They can walk straight up a wall and jump from peak to peak. I'd like to go to Mount Evans and see them. I'll get a new bike from my Dad's shop, just for the trip."
"We were going to do it. When she got older. Of course, I was in better shape back then," Olivia cleared her throat. Poppy took her hand.
"You should still do it. I bet that mountain's so high that you'd be right up next to heaven. You could talk to Jemma from up there."
"I'm too old and fat now, honey. I don't think I could do it."
"Yes, you can. If I'm strong enough to get better, then you're strong enough to ride a bike to Colorado." For the first time, Olivia heard an edge to the girl's voice. There was a click, and a soft, colorful light fell over the room.
“Daddy's brought a lamp!" Poppy said happily, throwing an arm over her dog's back. Paris Hilton tried to lick her face, but the mask got in the way.
Olivia walked to the window and closed her eyes. Colorado and the mountain goats, she hadn't thought about that in a long time.
"Olivia picked it out."
"I love it! It's beautiful!" Poppy marveled. "It makes it look like a fairyland in here, instead of a crappy hospital room. Do you like it, Paris?"
The dog yipped in response. Scott shushed them nervously. "I think we better call it a night, sweetheart. You need your rest, plus I need to get Olivia back home. I'll be back bright and early, though, okay?"
"Okay, Daddy." She whispered something in his ear and then turned to Olivia. "Don't be sad, Olivia. I think you should go see the mountain goats," she said. "You're not too fat, either. I like the way you look. You're pretty and strong. And really nice."
Both Scott and Olivia were quiet on the drive home, but it was a comfortable silence. Paris Hilton was fast asleep in the back, freed from her scrubs. When they reached Pembroke, Scott pulled up to the curb on Main Street.
"I know it's been a long night, Olivia, but do you mind if we make a quick stop. I have something for you."
"For me?" They were parked in front of the bike shop.
"Yep. Be right back," moments later, he emerged wheeling a new mountain bike. "Before you say anything, this was Poppy's idea. She said you should have a bike, specifically a Rock Hopper, so you could reach those mountain goats, who, in her words, are also 'Rock Hoppers'."
Olivia started to object, but Scott stopped her.
"You can't refuse the bike. Poppy's orders. It's a ‘thank you’ gift from both of us. You've been a lifesaver, really. Thank you, Olivia."
"He gave you a bike. And now you're feeding his dog. This is getting serious," Bolo said, as he massaged her bare feet. "And you look like you've lost a little weight."
"You can tell that from my feet?"
"No, I can see it in your face, either that or I gave you the most amazing haircut the other day."
"First of all, Paris is Poppy's dog, and I'm just helping them out. He has to make that long drive to the hospital every day, so I offered to feed the dog. No big deal. It gives him one less thing to worry about," she paused. "What color are you painting my toes? Bright purple? Bolo!"
"Yeah, bright purple, for the new you. So, how much weight have you lost?"
"I don't know. Ten pounds? It's barely noticeable. I've just been so busy lately. I haven't had time to work on the project."
"Ah, the Invisible Humongous Woman? That project? That project sucks! Time to start a new one. The Breathtaking Woman with the Purple Toenails," he said, as he applied the last swipe of polish to her big toe with a flourish. "You can't hide with these babies! They look awesome!"
Olivia wiggled her toes and frowned, but, secretly, she agreed ─ they looked awesome. "You know, yesterday I gave blood to see if I'm a bone marrow match for Poppy. It's a long shot, but who knows? Maybe that's why I met them. Everything happens for a reason."
"Yeah, I believe that, too." He shivered. "I hate needles. Did it hurt?"
"No, it wasn't bad. In the past, they had to drill into to your hip bones, but now they just draw blood and run some tests. If you match, then they dig into your bones, but I figure it's a hell of a lot less pain than what that poor little girl is suffering through," she sighed. "She's amazing, Bolo. I just love her! You want to meet her dog, Paris Hilton? I've got her in the car. Wait until you see this dog's amazing hair. You'll go nuts."
Poppy squealed and clapped when Olivia and Bolo walked into her hospital room that night with Paris Hilton in tow. The dog's toenails were hot pink and Bolo had woven colorful ribbons through the braids in her blond mane. He and Poppy hit it off. As they chatted, Olivia noticed that a little more of Poppy's hair had fallen out since her last visit, and dark circles underscored her eyes.
"She smells so good," Poppy said, as she buried her face in the dog's neck. "Like strawberries. Can you paint my nails that color?"
"Sure, honey. Wait until you see what else I brought for you." Bolo tipped a canvas tote, and bottles of nail polish, jars of makeup, blush, barrettes, wigs, and scarves in every color fell onto the bed.
Poppy chose a blond wig, the color of Paris Hilton's coat. Bolo tied a pink polka-dotted scarf over her head, and applied lip gloss and soft blush to her cheeks. He shaped her nails and painted them bright pink. Olivia thought Poppy was going to explode with delight.
Scott arrived, armed with treats from the cafeteria. "I didn't realize there was a movie star staying in this room. I was looking for my daughter, Poppy. Have you seen her?"
"It's me, Daddy," Poppy giggled.
"You're so beautiful," he smiled.
"You're next, handsome," Bolo said, holding up a stick of red lipstick.
Olivia stared out the window with glossy eyes, the crumpled letter on the table next to her. A horn beeped twice outside.
"Come on, Paris. Your dad is here."
"Why the long face?" Scott said, as he nudged Paris into the back of the Subaru.
"I got my test results, and I'm not a match to Poppy. I think they've made a mistake. I'm going to retest. Just to make sure." Olivia stood next to the car and folded her arms defiantly.
"Oh, Olivia. The chance of you being a match for Poppy was slim. I really appreciate you trying though. That was really sweet." Standing in the street, Scott nodded in appreciation.
"No, I know they made a mistake, Scott. I know we were brought together for this purpose…so I could save Poppy."
Scott looked ill. "Nobody can save Poppy, Olivia. Not all these doctors. Not me. And not you. Poppy is going to die," he stopped, his lips in a thin line.
"She is not going to die!" Olivia cried. "How can you say that? You're her father! You can't give up. She needs you to believe in her"
"My God, Olivia! I haven’t stopped believing in my daughter, and I'm not giving up. How could you say that? I'm just trying to accept. And I'm trying to help Poppy accept…and prepare…for the inevitable." His voice broke.
"For the inevitable? What the hell does that mean? I'll tell you what that means: her father has given up! How can you do this?" she snapped. "How can you do this to your daughter?" She knew she had no right to attack him, but she couldn't make herself stop.
"Oh, Olivia. We can't save her, can't you see that? All we can do is make sure her last few days are filled with as much joy as we can muster." His voice shook. "And you've done that. You've made my little girl so happy these past few weeks. And me, too. This is the most horrendous thing anyone can go through. I have no idea what I'm doing. I know you've lost your own daughter, and it brings up a lot of stuff for you. But you need to come to terms with the fact that Poppy doesn't have much longer with us."
Olivia backed away, shaking her head. She couldn't think.
"Olivia, please ─ “Scott moved around the car towards her.
"Get out of here!" She yelled, slamming her fist down on the car’s roof. "I'm not giving up, Scott! I'm not! I won't do that to Poppy." She retreated to her house and slammed the door, sobbing.
Eventually, the gray shadow of the Subaru crawled down the street, away from her house, and her eyes fell on the Rock Hopper, propped against the wall of her living room.
Even though this was her third day on the road, things weren't getting any easier, and she'd only made it a short way down Route 1. It had been two years since she'd been on a bike, and she was 150 pounds heavier. She couldn't breathe, her legs ached, and her ass was sore from that tiny seat.
After her fight with Scott, she had sent Bolo an e-mail, stuffed a few things into a backpack, and hit the road. She was going to see her daughter at the top of Mount Evans. Olivia dropped a letter to Poppy in the mailbox in front of her hotel, and went into the lobby. Several people milled about the front desk, taking care of business.
"I passed you on your bike on the way here. Are you riding for a cause?" A young man asked as they waited in line to check in. Olivia stared at him dumbly, and thought, No, I'm riding away from something, as fast as I can go.
But instead she said, "I’m riding for Poppy, an amazing little girl fighting leukemia. If she finds a bone marrow donor, she'll have a chance at beating the disease. So I'm riding my bike to Colorado for her, to Mount Evans to see the mountain goats," she paused. "And, I'm riding in memory of my daughter."
"Colorado! Wow! That's too cool, lady."
"What a wonderful thing to do!" The woman at the front desk said.
"Good luck to you," an older couple chimed, as she left the lobby to go to her room.
And that was how her ride started.
That night, the news showed footage of a fat lady riding her bike down the shoulder of Route 1. It took her a moment to realize that the fat lady was her. After that, word of her trek spread, and people lined her route. They rode stretches on their bikes with her. They gave her food and bottled water. They held up signs and cheered.
So she kept riding.
It was good to hear Poppy's voice. "I got your letters, Olivia. We've been tracking you on the website. Everyone is talking about you here," she gushed. "About how you're riding your bike for Jemma and me. I knew you’d do it, Olivia! I knew it! What's Nebraska like?"
"It's flat. Tracking me? Website? What website?"
"Dad and I set up a website for you. Your bike has a GPS. I saw you on TV last night, on CNN. Wow! You've lost a bunch of weight! You're still pretty, though."
"Thanks, sweetie. You sound great. How are you feeling? How’s your dad?"
"I feel good. Really good. I'm so glad you finally called. Hang on a sec. Dad wants to talk to you."
"Hi, Olivia," his familiar voice said, and Olivia closed her eyes. They hadn't spoken since that horrible day. He sounded different ─ fresh.
"Scott, I'm so sorry ─,” she started.
”I'm sorry too, Olivia. I know how much you love Poppy. And, guess what? The most amazing thing has happened. Because of you."
Olivia sat up straight. "What?"
"We found a donor. Last week. Or rather, he found us because he saw you on the news. We've already started the replacement therapy, and Poppy is responding wonderfully. We've still got a long road ahead of us, but now we just might have a chance of winning. You did it, Olivia. You did it."
"I've got a new picture of Paris for you. Hang on. I'll send it." Olivia laughed as a picture of Paris Hilton popped up on the small screen of her phone, her hair piled on top of her head and tied with a bow, a curl of bangs between her eyes.
"I see Bolo has been by recently. Hold on a sec. I want to send you a pic, too." Olivia held up her phone. A mountain goat peered down at her from the boulder above. It sprang lightly from the rock, landing on a neighboring ledge. She snapped the picture.
"Wow! Did you see that, Jemma?" Olivia shouted happily to the sky.
Thirteen weeks had passed, and she'd dropped at least fifty pounds. Mount Evans was beautiful. She could feel her daughter and her husband here with her. She felt inspired. She felt healed.
She felt light.
Hall Jameson is a writer and fine art photographer who lives in Helena, Montana. Her recent publication credits include "Fractured West", "Up the Staircase", and "Molotov Cocktail". When she's not writing, Hall enjoys hiking, photographing grain elevators, and cat wrangling. Her e-mail address: Hall Jameson