Someone To Force You To Care
*1996*
...
Why is survival important?
Why can’t people just pass on when they’re supposed to, and be done with it?
Why does science prevent us from dying when our time comes?
I’d rather die young than suffer in this hospital any longer, with its too-happy nurses and boring food and annoying people and god, just let me sink into the earth forever and never wake up, let me fall into the ocean and live among the dolphins in my dreams. I used to swim. I don’t anymore.
But I’d rather force my weak self into a pool, acknowledging the possibility that I’d drown from lack of movement and too much treatment, than spend time on soil in my bloody hospital bed forced to see people I couldn't be further away from fancying. Not that I fancy anyone.
Nurse Trelawney is new here, and I hate her. Well, I used to like her. She’s really into psychic shite, telling my future and all that crap. I play along just in case the odds are ever in my favor (which I refuse to get my hopes up about). But, this is her second month here, and yesterday she announced that she wants to take the entire ward on an outing, which, in my opinion, is the stupidest idea to have ever been formed in one’s mind. The outing, she claims, will consist of everyone in the ward, which makes up eight people: Harry Ron, Hermione, Luna, Colin, Draco, and of course the new girl and I. I despise all of them. Well, except for Draco, I guess; he hates it here as much as I do. But he really can be mean, and coming from me, I understand that makes me sound like a hypocrite, but he teases people. I just want people to go away. We’re on very different ends of the ‘mean’ spectrum.
But I understand why he’s mean, unlike everyone else. He’s waiting to die, just like I am. We get each other. I think we always have, even when I still talked. I remember he had been listening to The Who when I had gone exploring one night, slowly dragging my IV pedestal behind me..
I stared at him in awe as he bobbed his head up and down to the lyrics from where he stood on his bed. He faced me, but his eyes were closed and his hands were spread out wide to retain balance as he shook his head all over. Before I could shut the door and leave him be, he opened his eyes and saw my silhouette in the doorway. He flinched and sat down on the bed, switching off the music.
“What?” he snapped at me.
I blushed in embarrassment. “I- I’m sorry…” I stammered, backing away. “I got lost, and I thought this was my room.”
“Well, it’s not,” he said, turning his nose to the air.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. I foolishly remained in his sight, despite his evident annoyance. “That was a great song.”
“It’s The Who.”
“I know. I love them. It was ‘Generations’, right?”
“Yeah,” he said, turning to me curiously. “What’s your name?” he asks.
“Lavender.”
“I’m Draco. Now scram,” he said, his voice dropping.
“What?”
“My bloody tutor wanted me to learn everyone’s name in the ward for advantageous purposes. So now I do. And now you can go.”
“I-”
Draco rolled his eyes and looked at me in disgust. “Sorry I mislead you or some shite. Don’t care. There-”
“Now, listen,” I began with asterismos. “I was just trying to find my room, and that gives you no right to be mean to me! Didn’t you mother raise you correctly? Mine at least tried to!”
“Don’t you involve my mother in this,” Draco snarled. It was clear no one had ever interrupted him before.
“I don’t care,” I bravely continued. I had no idea what the bloody hell I was doing. For all I knew, I was beginning to make an enemy. “This is a sodding hard world, and I don’t need you making it worse! So you can just sod off, and-”
“Me? I should sod off?” Draco gasped dramatically, shocked. “You’re the one who’s come into my room-”
“… On accident, not on purpose…”
“… And you don’t even think to say…-”
“… There’s no reason to…”
“… The audacity, I can’t imagine…”
“SHUT UP!” a voice came from the shadows. I hadn’t known there was another person in the room. “Fuck off with your bickering! I’m trying to sleep, and it’s hard enough with The bloody Who in the background, let alone you two!”
“I’m sorry,” I said instantly into the darkness. I turned to shut the door and leave.
“Fuck off, Pansy,” Draco said. He didn’t seem embarrassed.
A groan came in reply.
“She’s had her bad meds today,” Draco whispered to me, but loud enough for Pansy to hear.
“Fuck you,” came the response.
I grimaced, and prepared to leave.
“Hey,” Draco said, stopping me.
“What.” It’s not a question.
“You’re strong, for a girl. Many wouldn’t yell at me like that.”
“I would,” Pansy called from the other side of the room.
“Besides her. Good job. I’ll see you around, I guess.”
“Sure,” I said, my heart pounding. I nervously went back into the hall, shut the door, and expected Draco to come after me and scream at me some more. But instead I only heard the rocking sound of The Who, strumming slowly through the hospital walls. And as I slipped back into my room and heard soft snoring come from the other side of it, I vowed, from that day forward, that I would respect Draco. And, that night, I’m sure he was thinking the same thing.
…
I blink and lift a weak hand to cover my eyes as the sunlight shines brightly. Murmurs of approval come from behind me, most likely Hermione.
“Vitamin D is very good for us. I’m glad I came out, even if Trelawney had to come along.,” she says.
I don’t reply. Hermione hates Trelawney, we all know. The latter is intrigued in the future and being a Seer, whilst the former is obsessed with logic, doing her best to disprove the very notion of it every chance she gets.
I used to get along with Hermione fine back when I first came, but when I no longer wanted friends, she tried to convince me to keep my former beliefs, for, in her words, ‘who knows how long anyone will be alive?’
Bullshite.
Of bloody course we don’t know. That’s why I prefer to focus on the things I do know, and that’s music and poetry. Those are real, and normally they come from the heart. And I know they’re at least going to be alive forever.
“What do you think Trelawney’s going to prophesize this afternoon?’ Hermione continues, oblivious to the fact that no one in the group wants her to continue. “Ron?”
God, why can’t he see that she fancies him?
Ron shrugs halfheartedly. “Maybe she’ll say the hospital will finally get some decent food.”
“Likely,” I snort, regretting it immediately, because then everyone looks at me. I lower my eyes and don’t give any further opinions.
The rest of the group turns away from me awkwardly and ends up facing the new girl.
“Hi, I’m Hermione,” Hermione begins, nodding respectfully at the new girl. “You must be new, because I haven’t seen you around before.”
“Yes,” I hear the new girl respond. “I’m Parvati.”
I knew her name was similar to cheese. Not that I care.
“You’re Lavender’s roommate, right? Has she talked to you yet? Sometimes she has difficulty with that sort of thing. I read in a scientific journal once that PPD-- that’s Postpartum Depression-- isn’t always a result of just birth, you know. Anyone can-”
“Hermione,” Harry cutz in. “Let her breathe, will you?”
I close my eyes and try not to let Hermione talking about me in front of me anger me. Focus.
I block out the murmurings around me and concentrate on the way my shoes squeeze around my feet. How my shirt settles against my bony skin. I feel my hair rest against my neck. My stomach moves in and out. My chest rises with every breath I take.
It’s the little things, I suppose. Or so I’ve been told.
I take a deep breath by mistake.
I cough before I can suppress it; anger surges in me as I lean over in my wheelchair, covering my mouth with my arm. I hack and hack, struggling to breathe. God, I’m about to die. I feel a hand on my back, pounding it. Hermione’s voice is in the background, saying that pounding one’s back actually has the opposite effect, it really does no good at all, Ronald… I’m about to die. Why is swiss the most memorable type of cheese, anyway? Maybe blue, too, but not… I feel weightless, as if I had fallen out of my chair, but I don’t think I have, I don’t feel anything beneath me… I can’t do this anymore, fuck…
I take a breath, but not a deep one. I’ve stopped coughing at last. I blink my eyes as Trelawney stares down at me.
“Well, let’s get going, shall we?” She rhetorically asks the group as if nothing had happened at all. “I predict that we will have a fantastic time this afternoon!”
I see Parvati staring at me, obvious worry in her eyes. I ignore it.
…
I check out the record in a store window. I strain in my seat to see the ones at the top. Sprout, who’s along for the ride, asks me if I want to go inside for a closer look, but I refuse. It’s not as though I could afford anything here. Just looking.
Parvati rolls up to me. “Did you know that Nurse Trelawney can see the future?” she asks curiously.
I roll my eyes. “It’s bull,” I respond.
“She seemed to think you like her work.”
“Sure, let’s call it ‘work.’”
“She told me that good things would come if I bought a Guess Who record.”
I stare at her incredulously. “She told you that?”
Parvati nods. I grit my teeth. I once told Trelawney that I’d become someone who can hold a pleasant conversation for anyone who buys a Guess Who record for me. Sneaky bastard.
“Don’t buy it.”
“Why?” Parvati says defiantly.
I don’t answer. I stare at a Beatles album close to me. I wonder if I could go to Abbey Road someday, when I’m not sick anymore. Yeah, right.
“That was quite an episode earlier.”
“Fuck off. It happens to everyone. It’ll happen to you too.”
“What did you mean by cheese?”
“Pardon me?” I ask, confused, turning to Parvati.
“While you were coughing, you blurted out something about death, and then cheese. I mean, I get the death part, but why cheese?”
“Never you mind.”
Parvati shrugs. “Just wondering.”
I turn my chair around as Parvati asks Sprout if she can go into the store. I just want to go home. I roll down the street alone, ignoring the usual glances of strangers. Someone asks me if I want help. I ignore them. I roll to the next block. I reluctantly ask a young woman to push me up a short hill. She kindly obliges. I don’t feel calm until I roll back to the hospital, nod to the receptionist (they all know me by now), and retreat to the safety of my room. I hoist myself onto my bed, and look over at Parvati’s. Emma is lying open by her pillow. Figures.
Fuck, I hate it here.
…
The next morning when I wake up, I look over to my night table and groan. American Woman is lying there, still in its package. Perfect condition.
I officially hate Trelawney, but in a way I’m sort of grateful, too. At least I’ll have some better music to listen to, now.