Six Months to Live (9 page)

From outside, they began to hear excited cries, waves of laughter and gasps of shock and surprise as groups arrived for breakfast. They arose and walked casually outside, blending into the crowds that stood gazing and pointing up at the top of the flagpole.

“Look at that!” a boy yelled.

“Do we salute?” someone else asked.

“Hey, Doc Ben!” a counselor called. The bewildered doctor stood at the base of the pole, scratching his head and looking up at his underwear fluttering in the breeze. “I thought you were too smart for these kids!”

The entire camp broke out into wolf whistles, shouts and excited chatter. The red-faced Dr. Ben shrugged his shoulders, scanned the faces of his charges and shrugged. “I’ll get even at the Special Olympics!” he called. Then he burst out laughing and saluted the flowered underwear high overhead in the morning sun.

CHAPTER 11.

The camp talked about the “Fearless Four” for days while gearing up for the final days and the long awaited Special Olympics. Dawn was eager for the promised day of fun. But she was dreading it, too. The Special Olympics meant the end of camp, the end of summer and the end of the best time she’d ever had in her life.

Dr. Ben divided the sixty campers and twelve counselors into six teams of twelve. He passed out sheets of paper outlining the events and the rules. Every team held strategy and planning meetings to discuss winning the overall trophy. Dawn found herself on the same team as Greg. Sandy and Mike were assigned another team.

The night before the big sports event, a band arrived at the recreation hall and set up for dancing and entertainment. The night was hot and muggy. Dawn dressed in crisp white shorts and a sleeveless green top and sandals and met Greg inside the screened Rec room.

Sandy, dressed in pink, met Mike. The four of them watched while the band warmed up and

then played the top songs of summer. Pedro Mendez performed a break dancing routine that caused everyone to howl with delight. Dawn stood and watched, feeling Greg’s presence behind her. His hands rested casually on her shoulders and her heart swelled with pleasure and happiness.

Later they danced slowly in one another’s arms. Her head didn’t even reach his shoulder. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said in her ear. She agreed, and together they left the dance and went into the cooling night air.

Greg took her hand and they walked silently down the moonlit footpath toward the lake. Dawn felt contentment and peace settle within her. They reached the edge of the water and stood watching as it lapped gently against the expanse of white sand along its shore. The moon cut a long white beam across the dark surface of the water. From far away she heard frogs and crickets.

“Look!” Dawn said. And she pointed up at blinking fireflies in the sky above them.

Greg took both her hands in his and pulled her against his broad chest. Her mouth went dry and her blood pounded in her ears. “Let’s write,” he said, his voice husky sounding.

Dawn’s spirits soared. “I’d like that,” she said.

“And we’ll meet here again next summer,” he urged.

“Next summer,” she echoed. She looked up at him. The moon struck his face from the side, lighting it in pearly silver hues. Dawn rose on her tiptoes, held her breath and closed her eyes. He kissed her tenderly.

Fireflies and stars twinkled around them. The moon glimmered, shooting off sparks of silver into the blackness of the night. Dawn would remember this night for the rest of her life.

The day of the Special Olympics was hot and humid. But the teams were ready. “The first event,” Dr. Ben announced over the PA system. “The first event will be the Oatmeal Pass!”

Eagerly, each team lined up in rows. Each member sat behind another, single file on the ground in a line of six. Dawn’s team, the Bandits, snuggled close behind one another’s back waiting for the starter’s gun to sound.

The lead man, Dusty Willis, sat with his arms outstretched. He was ready to receive the glob of cooked oatmeal into his cupped hands that rested in Joan Clarke’s ladle.

“Now remember!” Dr. Ben said. “You must pass the oatmeal over your head to the person directly behind you. It must pass over your heads! The team to reach the end of the line first with the most amount of oatmeal remaining, wins! Ready?”

He fired his starter’s pistol and the Great Oatmeal Race was on! Joan shook off the cold, wet glob of oatmeal into Dusty’s hands who lifted the soggy mess over his head to the outstretched hands behind him. The new hands received it. They passed to Dawn and as it slid and slithered into her hands, she jerked it high above her head to Greg, sitting behind her. A large wet blob of it slid between her fingers and squished onto her head.

Dawn squealed with shivery tingles and dumped the mess into Greg’s hands, laughing and yelling. The diminishing ladle of oatmeal passed swiftly from team member to team member, each trying to keep the slippery mess from oozing out of his hands. At the back of the line, Joan stood urging them on and holding the ladle to receive what was left.

The oatmeal arrived in record time. With a shout, the Bandits stood up celebrating their victory. Dawn laughed at Greg who had oatmeal plastered across his chest. Her own upper arms and head also felt gooey with the mess. “We won!” Greg cried, and the entire team cheered.

From there, the teams moved over to the Egg Toss competition. Partners lined up and started tossing a raw egg between them. After each toss they took a giant step backward, until the couple from each team who kept their egg unbroken the longest, won the event.

Dawn and Greg paired off and began tossing

the fragile egg. Dawn caught it beautifully and tossed it back. Greg caught it perfectly. A screech beside her told Dawn that Sandy hadn’t been as fortunate. Her egg had broken in her hands.

Over and over Dawn and Greg tossed their egg. Over and over they caught it without mishap. All but four pairs were eliminated from the competition. Dawn concentrated hard and tossed the egg high in the air. Greg moved beneath it, his arms raised to receive it and cushion its landing. Disaster struck. The egg hit too hard and disintegrated in his hands.

“Ugh!” he cried as the yellow runny mess slithered in thick drops through his fingers. Dawn collapsed into helpless laughter and he threatened to wipe his hands on her shirt.

“Don’t you dare, Greg Buchannan!” Dawn shrieked and took off running.

Next, the teams passed oranges from neck to neck down their line. Without using hands, the feat proved quite difficult, but after the Bandits completed this round they were in first place.

“We’re not defeated yet!” Mike called, rallying his team to win the Water Balloon Toss event.

The Bandits took the Three-Legged Race and Mike’s team took the Sack Hop. The other teams, now far behind, began to take sides and cheer for either the Bandits or the Scorpions.

“It looks as if we need a tie breaker!” Dr. Ben

called after totaling up the scores.

The teams cheered. “I suggest the Flour-Candy Hunt!” Dr. Ben announced. Dawn didn’t know what it was, but it sounded like fun. Counselors brought out twelve paper plates heaped with white flour and set the plates on the picnic tables under a pavilion.

“Now!” Dr. Ben said. “Believe it or not, there is a piece of candy buried in each mound of flour. You contestants have to find it.”

That seems too simple, Dawn thought.

“

without using your hands!” Dr. Ben finished. The contestants groaned. “It’s kind of like bobbing for apples!” he said. “Dig through that flour with your face! Scratch around in that white fluff with your nose and find that sucker!” Dr. Ben yelled.

He blasted a whistle and the contestants lunged forward with their faces. Dawn felt the flour clinging to her mouth and nose. It stuck in her nostrils and clung heavily to her eyelashes. Her nose bumped something solid. The candy! She groveled for it all the harder, sending flour up around her head in white puffs.

Suddenly, a shout went up. Dawn picked up her head in time to see Sandy standing, grinning a white-faced smile of triumph, with a cellophane-wrapped hard candy dangling between her teeth. A shout of victory went up and Mike picked her up, whirled her around in the air, and proclaimed the Scorpions the “Victors.”

The Special Olympic games ended after a wiener roast and a watermelon pig-out. Trophies went to every team and then all the campers and staff marched down to the lake for a giant bonfire as the sun set over the water.

As Dawn sat close to Greg and watched the flames of the final bonfire burn low, a large lump rose in her throat. “I’m going to miss everybody so much,” she said in a whisper. Her voice cracked slightly and Greg hugged her shoulders to him.

“Yeah, you will,” he confirmed. “But you’ll get busy again. School will start and soon it’s Christmas, then spring. Then before you know it,” he snapped his fingers, “summer’s back!”

A dark thought crossed her mind. “D-Do you think we’ll all be here next year?” she asked, scanning the faces that had grown so familiar to her during the last two weeks.

“Most of us will,” Greg said. “But not everyone… “

Dawn didn’t ask any more. She couldn’t bear to think of one of them not being here the next year. Yet, every kid around the bonfire had a form of cancer. Every camper in the group had his own particular battle to go home and fight, including herself.

Dawn leaned against Greg’s chest and he brushed the side of her cheek with his fingers. She sighed, wishing she could preserve this moment forever under glass. But she couldn’t.

Tomorrow she would go home. Tomorrow she’d go back to blood tests, bone marrow aspirations and clinic visits. Tomorrow her life would pick up where she’d left it, two weeks before.

CHAPTER 12.

Once Dawn returned home, melancholy settled over her. She missed camp. She missed Sandy, Greg, and Mike. She missed the carefree days. She was lonely and sad. Sensing her mood, her mom involved Dawn as quickly as possible with preparations for returning to school. They spent three days shopping and reorganizing Dawn’s wardrobe. They went to lunch together. They drove to distant towns and shopping malls, “… for a better selection,” Mrs. Rochelle told her daughter.

Dawn also returned to the clinic at the hospital and endured the testing for signs that her cancer was still dormant. The tests were fine. She was still in remission.

Dawn saw her friends. She prepared to return to school with them. She visited with the principal and spoke with the counselor. Her work had always been above average. It was decided that she could go into the eighth grade. And Mrs. Talbert said her position was still open on the cheerleading squad.

School started without fanfare. Dawn thought she’d be more excited. But she wasn’t. Her classes were standard. The only excitement came when she arrived at her history room and saw that Jake Macka was in the same class.

“Odd,” she told herself. It was odd that her heart should still pound with excitement every time she saw him, even after the wonderful summer weeks with Greg, even after the kiss Greg had given her… even after the letter he’d written her. It was still Jake Macka who made her pulse race, her palms perspire and her mouth go dry.

Sometimes at school she felt like a freak. The kids who knew her were friendly. Those who didn’t know her whispered about her behind her back. Once, when she went into the girls’ restroom, the conversation stopped cold. She quickly washed her hands and left, her cheeks burning. “Dawn Rochelle …” they whispered. “You know, the girl with cancer

.”

Dawn had been in classes three weeks, when a letter arrived from Sandy. Eagerly, she tore it open in the privacy of her bedroom. Fear mounted within her as she read it.

Dear Dawn,

Bad news! I’ve had a relapse. I’m no longer in remission. I started feeling bad again right after I got home from camp. I didn’t tell my folks right away. But soon I

had to tell them. The tests showed that the leukemia was active again.

Oh, Dawn! I’m so depressed. I can’t face the thought of going through all that chemotherapy again. But as bad as I feel, it isn’t half as hard on me as on my folks. You should see my poor daddy! He’s a basket case. He’s talked to Dr. Sinclair a couple of times, and Dr. Sinclair wants us to come back to Columbus right away. He says that we might have to think about a bone marrow transplant. Boy! Did that set my daddy off!

Now he’s talking about taking me to some clinic in Mexico. I truly hope he changes his mind. I don’t want to go to Mexico! As bad as the chemotherapy is, I’d rather be with Dr. Sinclair. Besides, you could come visit me if I was in Columbus!

On a brighter side, Mike wrote me. I sure miss camp. And I sure miss him, too. He sent me his picture and I sent him mine. I never liked a boy more than Mike. I can’t wait until next summer when I can see him again at camp.

I’d better close now. I’m feeling kind of tired and weak. Please write soon. How’s

school going? Do you hear from Greg? I wish I could go back to school.

Love, Sandy

Dawn quickly sat down and wrote Sandy a letter filled with dismay, sympathy and hopefulness that things would change for her very soon. Then Dawn showed both letters to her mother. “I’m sorry, Honey…” was all her mom could say. Somehow Dawn knew that in her mother’s thought was, “Thank God it’s not YOU.”

“Did you see how Jake ran in for that touchdown?” Rhonda cried to her friends over the table in the Video Shak. Dawn took a long sip from the straw in her glass and listened to the excited babble of the girls surrounding her.

Yes, she had seen how Jake had run into the end zone for the winning touchdown. The whole school had seen it. The fans had cheered. The coach had done a cartwheel. The cheerleaders had gone crazy with joy. The whole school had turned out for the rivalry match between Adams and Harrison. Jake Macka was the hero of the day. He’d been carried off the field on his teammates’ shoulders.

Dawn had cheered for him, too. She cheered

for him so loudly that she’d almost lost her voice. He’d glanced at her, just for a moment, his dark brown eyes sparkling with the excitement of his accomplishment. Her heart had thudded, crazily. Then he’d turned away, basking hi the glory of his heroic moment.