Hunter Hill University: Reaching Rose Part 36

That makes me cry.

The whole reason I couldn't contact her in the first place was wondering what would happen when I did.

How could I bemoan the possible amputation of my leg to a girl who's already lost hers?

How do I tell her that I'd rather risk infection and a lifetime of surgeries than cut off my own leg?

I can't.

Because it would end in hurt feelings and heartache.

Hers and mine.

Just like it did today.

I don't continue to throw pitches. I pick up the b.a.l.l.s, grab my glove, and walk home. Calling myself an a.s.shole the whole way home.

"Benito," my mother calls from the kitchen. "That you?"

"Yeah, Ma." I set my stuff in the back hall and climb up the steps to the kitchen.

"Did that pretty girl find you?"

"Yeah. Rose came to the field."

"You tell her?"

"Yeah."

My mother sets a cup of espresso in front of me. "Just made a pot."

"Thanks."

"Did you make decision?" My mother just wants this over with. Wants the cancer gone. I do too, but it's not as easy as that.

"No."

"Please don't take long to decide."

"Ma. I just can't just say...I can't. I'm going back to school tomorrow."

"What? Benny, no."

"Ma. Give me two weeks. Please. He said I have that long. Two more weeks."

"Okay, Benny. Two weeks."

"Thanks."

Going back to school is futile. I can't finish out the semester and I can't start the season, but I can't stay home. Since I haven't withdrawn yet, why not? I spend the rest of the night surfing the Net. Searching Osteosarcoma. Searching its risks. Searching Rose.

I skip Wednesday cla.s.ses since I don't leave home until eleven, but I do go to practice. Coach knows what's going on with me, and I appreciate that he's promised not to say anything. I'm allowed to play until I can't anymore.

"Ben. What the f.u.c.k? Where you been?" Jax asked.

"Flu. All better." I hate lying, but I can't tell him.

"Cool. Now get your a.s.s back on the mound. We need you. We're scrimmaging this weekend."

"I heard."

"Season starts in two weeks."

"Yup."

"Coach tell you a couple scouts are gonna be at the first game?"

"No. He didn't."

"Really?" Jax is surprised. "You'd think he'd tell his star player."

"You'd think." But I know the real reason he didn't tell me - because it doesn't matter anymore.

"Hmmm. He probably thinks there's no reason to worry with you. You're ready for the Majors now. You don't even need your senior year."

I ignore that and get on the mound. Jax jogs off to first base, and we throw the ball to each other until the rest of the team gets in place.

The next day in Musicology, before I even find a place to sit, I explain to the professor my absence from the first few sessions. She nods in understanding and as I go to take a seat, I nearly collide with Rose, whose eyes are on the floor.

"Rose."

"Ben." She draws out my name, a whisper on her lips.

We stare at each other a moment, but she breaks it first to find a seat. I sit down next to her.

"I'm sorry about the other day. I'd like to explain myself...if you'll let me."

She nods.

"Can I see you after cla.s.s?"

"No. I have to meet with Professor Sherman."

"Oh."

I'll have to wait to talk with her, because cla.s.s has started. Today's topic is music and the emotional voice - how psychologists are using music to elicit underlying emotions and help therapists unleash unconscious elements of human emotions. It's an interesting subject, one I'm sure will come in handy when I'm sitting across from some professional ball player who doesn't know why he's not playing at his full potential...or something like that, but I don't pay much attention. First of all, now that the possibility of never playing in the Majors has become more of a reality than ever, being a sports psychologist seems satirical. Second, all I can think about is the girl sitting next to me, and how I managed to hurt her, when she's the one person I never wanted to hurt.

After an hour and fifteen minutes of pretending to listen to the professor, I approach Rose at the end of cla.s.s. I'd love to ask her why she decided to come back to school and what prompted her to take Musicology, but I have to clean up the mess I made first, so I beg for her forgiveness instead.

"I don't want to hold you up," I say while she slides her books into her bag, "but I really am sorry. I spoke wrong. How my words came out is not how I meant them. You have to forgive me. You just have to."

"Ben," she interrupts my third plea, "it's okay. I forgive you."

Whew. I feel myself starting to breathe easier. "Thank you. Then can we just...get back to where we were. There's so much to talk about."

"Ben." She shakes her head. "I don't want to get back to where we were. I'm sorry." She moves to head toward the front of the room.

"What? Wait. Please."

She turns toward me.

"Why?"

She shakes her head. "I just can't." I receive a sad smile before she walks away.

"f.u.c.k," I whisper so she can't hear me.

I go to practice at three, but I suck. Every single pitch is angry and off mark. I throw my glove across the field and walk off. Twenty minutes into practice.

35.

ROSE.

"Come with us, Rose," Holly begs.

"Nah. You two go. I'll be fine."

"I'd love to get to know you, Rose," Mick says. "Holly talks about you all the time. I'd love to hang with my girlfriend's best friend."

I smile. "Thanks, Mick. Maybe another time. I'm not really up to it tonight. Thanks, though."

"You want me to stay home?" Holly asks.

"No. Go. Really. I have some research to do anyway."

"All right. Have it your way. I'll be home in the morning. I'm staying at Mick's tonight."

"Have fun."

Since no one is home tonight, I bring my laptop into the living room instead of staying in my room like I do most nights. Professor Sherman asked me to do a special a.s.signment on healing the mind through dance. Her asking was not coincidental. Evidently, she'd heard of me and learned of my accident and has been asking my previous professors about me. Originally, I was disappointed that she'd gone through the trouble - it's just another form of staring if you ask me. But she said I'd get extra credit for the cla.s.s, and she also hoped I'd get something out of it. Professor Sherman was a compet.i.tive dancer herself and had heard of me through the dance world. Since my accident, she'd researched dancers with disabilities to learn more. There are tons of us. It's not like I hadn't researched them myself, but it seems such a small percentage make it to compet.i.tion level...or Broadway. In any event, I agreed to the a.s.signment and thanked her for her concern. I still feel violated in a way, because why does every person who meets me think they can fix me? And why do they a.s.sume I need fixing at all?

All the while searching the Internet, my mind keeps returning to Ben. I feel bad that I told him I can't see him like we had been. He's sick right now. And he's struggling. Plus, he's mourning. He needs a friend. I want to be his friend, but I like him more than that, and though he may like me now, I know his real feelings toward someone with a prosthetic leg - he pities me. He may not have told me in so many words, but I read between the lines yesterday. I can't be with someone who pities me and finds me needy and unattractive.

I guess, though, I can put my issues aside for the time being, if only to comfort a friend. He is my friend after all. So I begin by researching Osteosarcoma...and its options.

I stop at the food store on my way to my Friday Musicology cla.s.s. I have two cla.s.ses: World Literature on Mondays and Wednesdays, and Musicology on Thursdays and Fridays. Not a real challenging schedule, but perfect for me right now.

When I walk into cla.s.s, Ben is already sitting in the same seat as yesterday. The one next to it is empty, so I sit there again. We both nod to one another, but I can tell he's sad. In an effort to make him smile, I reach inside the small grocery bag I got at the food store, pull out the small container, and slide it across his desk.

Gooseb.u.mps run up my arms when a smile pulls on his face. "Chocolate pudding."

"Peace offering."

He laughs silently. "Thank you."

"Are you busy after cla.s.s?"

His eyes pop. "No. Not at all. This is my only cla.s.s today. Except for practice at three. Can we go talk somewhere?"

"Sure."

Cla.s.s starts, so I stop talking with Ben, but throughout cla.s.s, I can't keep from glancing at him. Each time I do, he's looking at me too.

After cla.s.s, while Ben waits for me to pack up my stuff, Professor Sherman calls me to see her before I leave.

"It'll probably just take a minute," I tell Ben.

"I'll wait for you in the hall."

Up at Professor Sherman's desk, she says, "Rose. I was talking to the fitness director yesterday. The group fitness room is open from ten to five if you're interested. It has a ballet barre and no one will bother you."

"What?"

She chuckles. "To practice."

"Oh. Thank you, but...I haven't...I don't."

"You should, Rose. They have prosthetic legs specifically for dance, but I'm sure with what you have, you can dance a bit."

I nod. "Yes. I have a dance prosthesis, but..."

"Rose. Then you must use the studio," she says excitedly. "I'd love to practice with you."