Turn the Page

For some reason, my idiotic mind brought back the memory of a stupid paper I'd written in high school about tobacco farming. It was a waste of land that could be better used for growing food; we paid huge amounts of tax money to pay people to grow something that was bad for us, and so on. I had argued so passionately. I was passionate about everything, back then. What was I passionate about now? I tossed the pack of smokes to the dresser. No answers there.

I was passionate about one thing, and only one thing: Merrilee. Over the last five years, every other passion, every other bit of life and hope had been wrung out of me for the temporary amusement of others. One pathetic loser to another. It was like wringing a wet rag over the parched ground of the desert: the rag is dry, but the desert is just as arid as before. I didn't use the word love anymore, even with Merrilee. But I would walk through a wall for her. I would give my life for hers, without a second thought.

But what would become of her then? A penniless orphan, a ward of the state? I knew what happened to young girls in the system. Maybe a family with a little boy like Jason would adopt her. She would like that, I knew. But far more likely, she would be passed from one foster parent to another, and would be lucky to survive.

Suddenly I thought of Nathan's parents. Ben and Sarah were Jewish, not the Orthodox kind with long beards and things, but some other kind. They used to joke that they were the only Jews left in Texas.

"There used to be another family, but we had a theological disagreement, and we told them Texas wasn't big enough for both of us, so they moved to Arkansas." Despite their joking, they were serious about their religion, especially the parts about taking care of other people. They weren't the richest folks I knew by a long shot, but they were the most giving, and Nathan was just like them.

I couldn't think of anyone who would make better parents for her. She wasn't their granddaughter: I didn't know who her father was, and I wasn't their daughter, anymore. But would they be willing to adopt her, just for her? Could I do that for Merrilee? Could they? How would I dare ask? I had to do something, though.

*****

Merrilee went to school. I somehow got that piece of shit started one more time, took her down to the school, filled out some papers with my embarrassing information and an aide took her off down the hall. She turned to wave at the door of the classroom and I walked quickly out, the scalding tears of my loss burning my cheeks. I'd thought I was stronger, but I'd never had my baby in the care of someone else. It was the normal day. The same old clichés. The same soulless faces in the crowd.

I did a lap dance for some fat smelly pig. My acting was better than ever. Right, I told myself. Still, it was 50 bucks. I needed more. That always meant one thing. My sense of self-loathing was almost more than I could bear. It was time to pick Merrilee up from the park. I got in the car. The damn thing gave me fits again. What the hell was wrong with it? Nathan could have told me. He knew about cars. We ate supper at the diner in the motel parking lot. My meager collection of bills from the club mostly expended for a greasy meal. Merrilee chattered happily as the fading sound of the pounding music from the club echoed through my head.

We went back to our rooms. Rent-by-the week: that's how we lived. The air-freshener couldn't mask the funky odor emanating from the pores of the room. Merrilee watched TV for a while and we sat together on my bed, her little warm body cuddled up against me. I read her a book, and she drifted off, an angel with the smell of cigarettes in her hair.

I carried her to her room and tucked her in, kissing her forehead before turning to the bleakness I faced. We needed money. I only knew one thing. The sadness in my heart threatened to overwhelm me and I was drowning in despair. The tears flowed constantly as I dressed.

The gear was much the same. Advertise and they will come. There would be no stage, but a sidewalk would do. The truck stop was within walking distance. I started, the heels hurting my feet already. I didn't make it to the truck stop.

A black Mercedes pulled up and the darkened window whispered down. A man leaned down and I sauntered to the window, the exaggerated sway of my hips full of promise. I leaned in the window.

"Hey, baby, you looking for a date?" I asked.

He was ruggedly handsome, brown curly hair, not some disgusting pig. I breathed a sigh of relief. There was something about his eyes, though.

"I'm looking for a date," he said. "You look like you'd be a fun date, hop in."

I was smarter than that. "I've got a place at that motel." I indicated it with a wave. "I'll meet you there."

He made a U-turn, and I walked back. We haggled over the price, and settled on 300 dollars. He settled back on the bed and I did my strip routine. His eyes glittered malevolently, and when I was down to just thigh-highs, garter belt and heels, he stood, taking me in his arms and crushing my lips.

He forced me to my knees and I sucked him hard. He handed me a condom and I rolled it on. He pulled me back to my feet and everything changed.

I saw his hand move and there was a sharp crack as pain exploded in my cheek. It felt as if my feet left the floor as I flew backward onto the bed. My vision blurred and my head was swimming from the pain. He was on top of me, sitting on my stomach, his erection between my tits and he hit me again. This was going to get ugly. My head rocked from side to side as he methodically turned my face to hamburger.

The beating stopped and he was forcing himself inside. I was bone-dry, and the pain was excruciating. My scream of pain seemed to turn him on and he battered away at me. My vision narrowed to a small tunnel and I sobbed and whimpered as he hammered away. I turned my head and there Merrilee was, Claire clutched in her little arms, tears streaming down her cheeks, watching her mother be destroyed by a stranger. She fled back to her room.

It was mercifully short, and he dressed quickly, spitting on me and contemptuously throwing the money on my quivering body. I turned on my stomach and heard the door close. He was gone. I was alone in my pit of torment.

I lay there, face down, staring vacantly at the wall I never saw, mind numbed and body wracked with pain. I did notice that my face was bleeding on the sheets. I felt it.

There was a feather caress on the skin of my back. Tiny fingers stroked me and I felt a little curly head press against me, a warm little arm over my back.

"Mama?" It was her soft inquiry. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. "Are you..."

I had to do something. My baby was lost in confusion. "I'm okay, baby," I said. "Hand Mama a cigarette, please."

She placed it gently between my lips and gave me my lighter. Nothing like a last cigarette at the end of a good day, right? Turn the page.

This had to end. There was nothing I could possibly do. It had to end, for Merrilee. I didn't matter, just one more broken life lost in a sea of them, going down for the last time. I got Merrilee settled down in her bed, promising to sleep with her after I took a bath. I pulled myself together enough to go down to the ice machine and fill a hand towel.

I ran the bath, lowered my aching body into the soothing water and covered my face with the icy towel. An hour later with four ibuprofens in me, I lay down beside my angel and let blackness comfort me. You don't hurt while you're asleep.

Merrilee was up and pulling at me the next thing I knew, telling me she needed to go to school. "We aren't going to school today, baby," I told her. "We're going on a little trip, okay?"

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Somewhere pretty far," I told her. "Let Mama get ready."

*****

Two hours later, all our meager belongings were packed in the car and we took a last look around. I had no doubt she accepted everything as normal, but I realized what a hole it was. Compared to the little cottage where Nathan and I had lived, it was a pig-sty.

Merrilee had gone ahead, holding Claire. I knew she would be sitting where she always did: on the concrete parking pylon. I heard a noise outside, so I threw the key on the bed and closed the door. I started toward the car and I saw Merrilee looking up at me with wide panicked eyes. Her nose was bleeding and she was holding her hand under it so it wouldn't get on Claire or her dress.

I hurried to her, grabbed some paper towels from the car and cleaned her up with some hand sanitizer while she held some paper towels to her nose. "What happened, baby?" I asked. "Did you bump your nose?"

She shook her head. "No, Mama, it just started bleeding."

It didn't stop. It slowed to a trickle, but no matter what we did, it wouldn't stop. Shit! This was the last thing we needed. I was going to have to take her to urgent care. I had some money saved, but we certainly didn't need to be spending it on doctors. There wasn't a choice, so I took her.

We didn't have to wait long. The doctor was a young woman, and she didn't seem sure what was happing with Merrilee. "I need to do a blood test," she said.

I held my baby as she whimpered a little when the needle stuck her. She had a tissue stuck up her nose and we sat in the waiting room, changing it about every ten minutes. We were there for hours, it seemed, and finally Dr. Chavez came and got us. At least Merrilee's nose had stopped bleeding. She led us down the hall to a little room that looked like a conference room. It had some toys in one corner, and Merrilee went over and started playing with them.

"Mrs. Adler," she said. "I'm afraid I need you to be very strong and listen to me. Merrilee has the nose bleed because her platelets, the part of her blood that clots, are very low. The reason they are low is because she has something called acute lymphocytic leukemia."

My vision began to constrict and there was a roaring in my ears. "I don't know what that is," I said. "Is it bad?"

"It can be, but it's also a very curable kind of cancer," she said. "Children Merrilee's age do very well and we cure about ninety percent of children her age. Mrs. Adler, she needs to be hospitalized, right away."

I stood, walked to the wall, put my back against it and slowly slid down until I was sitting on the floor. Despair flooded my soul and the acid tears cut a channel down my cheeks. I sensed Dr. Chavez coming to sit beside me, her arm was around me and I sobbed brokenly.

"I know this is hard to hear," she said softly. "We really are very good at treating this disease, Mrs. Adler."

I shook my head. "You don't understand."

"What? What don't I understand?"

"We can't afford to go to the hospital," I was choking out the words. "We don't have any health insurance. We're not rich. We can't... Oh God, my baby is going to die." I was no longer able to sit up and I slumped against her.

"She's not going to die!" she whispered fiercely. "Don't say that again, especially if she can hear you! She's going to live and you're going to fight for her, do you understand?"

"How... we don't have any money. I could pay for her to come here, but... I can't..."

She cut me off. "We don't allow people to die because they can't pay," she said. "There are funds, there are free hospitals. We are going to fight. Do you understand? Fight for your daughter, for God's sake. You have to be strong, for her!"

She took my shoulders and shook me a little. Her dark eyes bored into mine. "What are we going to do?" she asked.

"Fight?" I said.

"That's right. We're going to fight. I'll stay here and you go across the hall to the bathroom and compose yourself. You come back here and I'll have a plan ready. Are you going to fight?"

I nodded. "Yes, I am."

I pulled her into an embrace and clung to her like she was the only life preserver in a sea of despair. She really was. She stood and pulled me to my feet. "Your mother will be back in a minute; she needs a restroom," she told Merrilee. "I'll stay with you until she gets back."

I could barely see Merrilee through my tears but I saw her nod, not looking up from the marbles she was rolling down some wire contraption.

*****

I stood in front of that restroom mirror, water running in the sink. I looked in loathing and horror at the woman in the mirror. Wretched creature, eyes red and swollen, who had been as happy and at peace as she had been in years only a few hours earlier. A new life for Merrilee had been the hope that got me out of bed. I could see the bruises, the abrasions, my penance for my sins.

I washed my face, put on makeup to cover the marks of the beating and squared my shoulders. I needed to be strong for Merrilee; no, I WOULD be strong for Merrilee. I was going to do whatever I needed to do. My baby depended on me.

They were waiting for me when I returned and Merrilee smiled up at me when I entered the room, breaking my heart all over again. No... I was not going to cry. I went to her, lifting her to her feet, bending to get Claire. I held her on my lap and Dr. Chavez sat beside us.

"Merrilee..." I didn't know where to begin. "Baby, the doctor says that you're sick and you need to go to the hospital. That's why your nose was bleeding. I'm going to be with you, all the time, always. You need to be brave, baby. Can you do that?"

"What's wrong with me?" she asked.

"You have something called ALL," Dr. Chavez told her. "There is something wrong with the way your body makes blood. The hospital will help you, but you'll have to take a lot of medicine. Will you be brave, like your mother said, and take all the medicine?"

"Will it taste nasty?" Merrilee asked.

We both laughed a little. "That's what I love about children," Dr. Chavez told me. "Yes, some of it won't taste very good, Merrilee. We'll always give you something that tastes good, after the medicine, though, so you will only taste the bad things for a second, okay?"

Merrilee nodded. "If I have to I will," she said. "I'm not very brave, though."

"That's not true," I told her. "You're the bravest person I know."

Dr. Chavez promised to meet us at the hospital and make sure everything would be ready for us. All our things were in the car, anyway, so we drove straight to the hospital. Dr. Chavez was as good as her word, and as soon as we were checked in, she brought another doctor and introduced us to her.

"This is Dr. Morgan," she said. "She's a pediatric oncologist. She knows how to help you," she explained to Merrilee. The long nightmare began. Turn the page.

*****

Two days later, I finally worked up the courage to do what I had been dreading: I called Nathan. I had a very good reason for doing that. Merrilee needed a blood transfusion. She needed platelets, but also red blood cells. They had tested her and it turned out that her blood type was AB-negative. I only knew one person with that blood type: Nathan. Dr. Morgan told us it was very rare and we needed to find donors. She could take O-negative, but AB-negative would be best.

A wild thought had crossed my mind: could it be possible that Nathan was her father? I dredged through my old memories, painful and bleeding though they were. It wasn't impossible. In any case, Nathan was a kind man. I doubted he would refuse to donate, and it was our best possibility. I was an A-negative, so couldn't donate.

I called him on a hospital phone: I doubted he would take a call from me. His phone forwarded to his work number, and he answered.

"Nathan Adler, how may I help you?"

I froze. No words came and my mind stopped, along with my heart. That voice, just the same, deep, husky and kind. It paralyzed me.

"Hello, how may I help you?"

I forced words through the numb channels of my brain and over my lips. "Nathan, please don't hang up. A little girl needs your help."

There was silence. "Nathan? Please don't hang up," I begged.

"Alyssa? What... where... never mind. What did you say about a little girl?"

"She needs a blood transfusion; she has your blood type; she has leukemia; I couldn't think of anyone else... She needs help, Nathan. Please, I'm begging you; please do it for her."

I knew I was babbling so I stopped. There was another silence. Finally, I heard him clear his throat. "Who is she? Where is she? Where are you?"

"We're in Omaha, Nebraska," I said. "Does it matter who she is, Nathan? I know you have donated blood. You did it every month. This would be something called a "directed donation." Can you help her?"

Silence. "Please, Nathan. She needs platelets and red blood cells."

"Is she yours?" he finally asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, it does... No, I suppose it doesn't. How will this work?"

I gave him the logistical details and told him we would make the arrangements. All he needed to do was donate. "Nathan, I'm so grateful. I'll need to talk to the doctors and then can I call you back and tell you what we need to do?"

"Yes, I'm leaving work, now. I'll go to the Red Cross. Here's my cell phone number."

He gave it to me and after thanking him again, I called a nurse who got Dr. Chavez. She gave me all the information and I called Nathan back.

He answered, and I gave him all the information, told him that Dr. Chavez had made all the arrangements and he agreed. He spoke the dreaded words. "Alyssa, I need to know. Is this girl your daughter?"

I didn't want to tell him. I was so afraid he would refuse. "Yes, Nathan, she is. Please, I know you hate me, and it's impossible for you to hate me any more than I hate myself, but please don't punish her because of me. She is innocent, Nathan. Whatever you want to do to me, I deserve, but please don't blame her for anything. She's..."

He interrupted. "I'm not going to punish anyone, Alyssa. Take a breath. I'm almost to the Red Cross. I'm going to donate. What I want to know is... You have a daughter with AB-negative blood. I have AB-negative blood. How old is she, Alyssa?"

The nightmare was deepening, the darkness creeping over my mind and body. "She's five," I managed to breathe.

"Do you know the odds of that?" he asked. "Less than one percent of the people in the world have AB-negative. Alyssa, is she my daughter?"

"I don't know," I wailed. "I never knew her blood type. I... she just... she's sick, Nathan. Can you please just help her?"

"Yes. Alyssa, I'm coming to Omaha," he said. "I want some answers."

"I don't know! I told you..."

"We're going to find out," he said. "I'll be there tomorrow. I'm going in the Red Cross now. Call me at 10 in the morning and I'll tell you what time I'll be there. Do you have a phone?"

I gave him my number and the hospital number, and he ended the call. Terror overcame me. What if she was his? What would he do? What would I do? I wanted to take Merrilee and run, run far away where no one would ever find us, but I couldn't. She was sick. I had to stay. Would he take her away from me? I was nearly paralyzed with dread.

I got a cup of coffee and sat in the waiting room for a minute. My thoughts whirled and suddenly a cold clarity settled over me. If by some wild chance she was Nathan's, if he wanted her and would take her, she would be far better off with him than with me. Did I want the best for her, or was I still the same incredibly selfish and self-centered person I'd always been? I was a stripper. There was no use in clinging to my illusions. Worse, I was a whore. There was no dressing it up.

I was an aging stripper and whore. I wept for those dreams, long vanished over the horizon of my life: dreams of Nathan and me, looking down lovingly on the child we made together. She would be so much better off with Nathan. If Merrilee was with Nathan, she would be immeasurably better off. I had been thinking of his parents, of giving Merrilee to them. Would Nathan not be as good, or better? He would, and they would have a granddaughter they would spoil to death. If she was his. It was time to turn that page.