The school allowed only a three-day mourning period for any family death, and since I had already missed four days, I had no choice but go to school that Friday.
I woke up in a dazed state, unsure what to make of last night. What was a dream, and what was real? What a nightmare. Massaging my throbbing temples, I looked over to the clock on the nightstand and pulled the covers off.
Claire.
I looked around the still darkened room but couldn’t find her. As I shuffled into the bathroom I sniffed the air. Pancakes. Realizing I was famished, I hurried into the bathroom for a quick shower. On the floor, crumpled next to the vanity, was the white shirt I had on last night, now splotched with red stains. I picked it up and examined it closely, but I already knew they were blood.
Could it not have been a nightmare after all? Had it truly happened? What did it mean?
Feeling disoriented and thoroughly confused, I got into the bathtub, turned on the shower, and let the warm water caress my skin. My head throbbed harder than before, and to make matters worse, I was now nauseated. I curled into a ball in the tub and hoped Claire would come and check on me soon.
“Jade?” I must have dozed off, because when I came to, the water from the shower was barely warm. Claire came into the bathroom and found me crying and shivering in the tub. “Oh, no,” she said gently. “Here, let me help you.” Grabbing a towel from the bathroom closet, she helped me up.
She helped me dry off and then slid my arms through the robe that was hanging behind the bathroom door. Before even making it to the door, I threw up in the toilet. Sitting there on the floor, without looking up, I asked the one thing that had me scared to death: “What is happening to me?”
She didn’t answer, which prompted me to look up at her. My body was shaking uncontrollably—whether from cold or fear, I couldn’t be sure. A mix of emotions ran wild through her face: sadness, pain, expectation.
“Claire? What’s happening to me?” I repeated, pleading this time.
She knelt on the floor next to me and rubbed my back. “It’ll be okay,” she said. “You don’t need to worry.” I shook my head and let her help me up. “It’s going to get better.” She sat me on my bed and went to my closet to pick out something for me to wear.
“Thank you,” I said as she helped me get dressed. And as she went to the bathroom and came back with the hairbrush, I said, “You know you’ll have to tell me what’s going on, right?” I didn’t understand how I could be so calm; it was as if something in the air were making me feel that way. Somehow, I was immune to the nervousness I should be feeling.
“I know,” she said. “Let’s just try to get through today. We’ll have all weekend to talk about things.”
She pulled my hair onto a ponytail, the straight ends caressing my back.
“Voila!” she said. “You’re all done. Now, let’s go downstairs and get some food in you. We need you strong.” The smile on her face could not ease the fear that clenched in my gut. My back tingled again as we headed down the stairs.