A Place In This Life

Chapter 3

We dragged the dinghy into the water, and Todd proceeded to drive like the devil as he rounded floating obstacles. Once at his boat, he helped me into the small salon at the back, where I sat down and waited while he fetched whatever he needed. He emerged with a small orange bottle.

"The hospital just put a Broviac in two weeks ago. It lets me take care of myself and I don't have to get 'stuck" a hundred times to get blood tests or chemo," he said, pulling his shirt off to reveal a pale, ribbed chest with a white tube dangling out of it, covered by a clear bandage. It looped into an infinity symbol and split into two smaller tubes that hung above his heart.

Todd removed the bandage, popped open the orange bottle and put its contents into one of the tubes.

"Gotta put my medicine in. Keeps me from fainting in the heat," he said, carefully reattaching the end of the tube and capping the bottle. I wondered where the medicine went. A vein? The heart? How far did the tube go? The thought of having a tube of any kind sticking out of me brought on chills, and I was amazed that Todd appeared cavalier about the whole thing.

After he put a new dressing over the Broviac and pulled his shirt back on, Todd reached for a pack of cigarettes sitting in one of the boat's built-in shelves. A beanbag ashtray sat next to the pack, overflowing with butts and gray, flaky matter.

I was used to smoking because my parents smoked. My aunts and uncles smoked. Nana smoked. But I sure as hell wasn't interested in picking up the stinky habit, and here I was with Todd, a smoker. He seemed to enjoy it, and if it made him feel better, then so be it.

He looked at me, then at his cigarette, putting my expression together with his lighting up.

"I also smoke pot, just so you know. It keeps me from throwing up after chemo."

"Don't they have some kind of marijuana pill they can give you?"

He laughed. "Now tell me — how can someone who can't keep anything down keep down a marijuana pill? It's easier to smoke it. By the way, it's called Marinol," he said, leaning back to throw his cigarette into the water. Unnecessary littering.

"I guess you're right. I wouldn't know — I've never smoked pot," I said. I had no clue how pot actually worked to stop nausea, but knew it gave cancer patients back some sort of appetite. My grandma could have used it — most meals were spent with her staring at her plate, unable to eat anything, her cheeks deep with hollows.

Todd moved over on the bench, seeming hell-bent on getting next to me whenever, wherever possible. I didn't mind.

"There's a beach party tonight. Would you like to go?" he said, carefully putting his arm almost around me, but instead around the edge of the boat.

"I'm not sure my parents will let me," I half-fibbed. Truthfully, I was freaked out about going to a party with a boy I just met, and especially with a boy who had been around the block. The fact that he kissed me earlier in the day didn't help my feelings. Suddenly, my stomach dropped and I felt a wave of heat come over me and down my spine. I felt my snacks coming back up.

"You look like I do sometimes," he said. "Just ask your parents and then call me."

Todd pulled a small pencil and what looked like a business card from his pack. He wrote down his name and number and handed me the card.

The front of the card was red, with a line drawing of two people having sex. It said Sex Coupon across the front.

"This is interesting," I said putting the card in my pocket.

"I used to give those out a lot."

I shifted in my seat and put both hands on my knees.

"I'll call you after I talk to my parents." Even though I knew my parents would say no, I finally decided that I wanted to go. I did. I did. I did. And I was afraid that I did.