Antibody

Stranded in Parallel [Chapter 2]

Dad didn’t make it home for dinner or for dusk or even at some time in the night. I don’t know what happened, but I don’t think it was any sort of accident. Those next few days, Mom alternated between crying softly on the couch and making phone calls to different people. My mom’s side of the family all lives in or around the reservation here. Everyone knows everybody. But Dad came here long ago for work, and we didn’t really talk to or about his side.

All the calls Mom was making didn’t seem to amount to much. A few people came knocking on our door as well. Those meetings on our front porch mostly amounted to hurried, solemn greetings, whispers, shrugs, whimpers, and quick goodbyes. Overall, it didn’t seem like there was any progress in finding or contacting Dad.

The only thing I could focus on, and don’t think badly of me for this, but I was glad that all the attention was away from me. It went from Mom constantly doting on me to having to take care of myself while she spaced out or made more calls. I mean, I did that a lot when I was feeling well and Mom was working. Dad had worked long hours for as long as I could remember, so relying on him being around the house wasn’t an option in the first place either. It was almost like nothing had changed.

I even made it to school the next week. Mom drove me like usual. She stared at me for a moment as we pulled up.

“We forgot to pick up those meds the doctors recommended. And a mask for your face.”

I shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll stop by the drugstore today.”

“There are only two more weeks of school,” I said with a tongue click and a shrug. A lot of things ran through my mind as I said that.

Only two weeks. Two weeks to not stick out. Maybe I didn’t want to be noticed. If I suddenly came with my face covered in a medical mask, I would either be avoided like some sort of plague-carrier or pitied and idolized for being brave enough to finish out school despite being gravely ill. More than usual. I certainly hadn’t been paying enough attention to be able to explain what I was going through.

Only two weeks. Two weeks to be forgotten. When you’re out sick enough, you don’t just miss out on the learning part of school, but the people part, too. You just become someone who only shows up occasionally, not enough to make friends, but not so scarce that people forget your face or name, and you become a stranger. Can’t forget that someone perpetually sick doesn’t invite people over or get invited to other people’s places. Don’t expect that to change just because it’s summer.

Only two weeks. Two weeks to just feel normal, possibly for the last time. It was obvious all the doctors and nurses were going to start treating me like a porcelain doll, simply because there was a new word, a new name for what I was experiencing. Was my health suddenly more at risk simply because a diagnosis had been offered?

Only two weeks. While other people were looking forward to their vacations to distant places, I could only see doctor’s visits on the calendar at home. So with the same old sporadic, translucent presence, I nodded goodbye to my mom and marched to first period.

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A few days into summer vacation, we were off again to Grand Forks. We were back in my mom’s car. The ride was nice, if not hideously boring. The radio worked in her car, but only the fuzzy talk stations could reach us across the seemingly endless expanse of North Dakota grasslands. It only crossed my mind slightly that the car could break down.

The hospital welcomed us again. It was a different wing of the building we had gone to before, but it still contained the shiny floors glaring under pale lights, people shuffling, going about their own challenges and odd smells that hinted at meticulous cleaning.

Before we even talked to anyone or even found a seat in the waiting room, Mom was digging through her purse. She produced a mask, one for me, followed by another for her. They were those ones made out of a paper-like material with all the folds and thin little straps that go behind your ears.

I looked up at her face and probably thought something along the lines of ‘do I have to?’ Mom nodded back, probably reading my mind. “Just so they think we’ve been taking this seriously. I mean, we are.” And so I stretched it over my face as desired.

I don’t know what they were putting in my body through that needle in my arm, dripping from a clear bag of liquid hanging on a stand. It felt cold, but not enough to numb the dull ache of the needle tucked sideways up my arm.

The chair was nice, at least. A chair with some sort of leather covering, in which you might see someone sit to read a book, which is also covered in leather. My mom got a less nice chair to sit on beside me. She had brought a book (one without leather, of course) to read during the whole thing, but it just sat on her lap. She rotated between glancing at my face, then my arm, then her stack of papers— more of her notes. If there was one good thing about the mask, it was that I didn’t have to fake a smile. There was little telling if my mom was trying to force one, either.

Two hours post-arrival, zero pages of my mom’s book had been read, and I was feeling about as healthy as usual. Which is to say, healthy enough to make it to the car, tear off the mask, and then fall asleep against the car window for the two-hour drive home. Except my mom was on the phone as soon as we got out into the parking lot.

“We just got out,” I heard her say. “It’s not too late, is it? Okay, perfect. We’ll meet you there. Yeah, I have the directions.”

I was presented with a printout from one of those map websites as soon as I was buckled into the car. “What’s this? Are we meeting someone?”

“We’re going to look at a place,” Mom responded, turning the car’s ignition. “Just… bear with me, and I’ll tell you… my plans… our plans… on the way back. Just… I just need you to talk me through the directions. Can you do that for me?”

I sat up stiffly, body heavy. “Sure. We’re starting from the hospital here?”

“Yeah, just give me the road.”

We ended up a decent way away from the hospital, staring up at a line of houses… maybe they could have been called apartments. It was like someone had used a cookie-cutter to produce all these narrow, two-story boxes with the same three front windows, single door, and variations of beige and off-white paint. Someone stepped out of a car as my mom turned her engine off.

“That place seemed nice enough,” Mom said during the drive back. “Cheap rent, at least. But it isn’t about the money, of course. You know I would do anything, pay any amount to make sure you’re healthy. This is more about being… practical. I’m sorry that I didn’t discuss this with you before, Natalie.”

“What about the house? I mean, our house?” I asked.

Mom glanced at me and shrugged. “It’s been paid off for a long time, for one. You can thank your grandpa for keeping it in the family. And of course, your Dad… for working so hard so we have plenty of savings.”

“And what if Dad comes back?”

Mom kind of clicked her tongue. “He… has our phone number. And your aunt Wynono is going to take care of the house. So it’s not like we’re going to leave it bare and empty. We can even… leave a note. But, oh, we’ll bring all your stuff. Clothes, bed, TV, stuffed animals. We’ll make this new place up real nice, just like home. It will be our home, really.”

“What about the rent? You’ll have to quit your job.”

Mom sighed and shrugged, barely taking her eyes off the road. “Asking the big questions, just like your dad. Grand Forks has the same Grocery Market, I can get a transfer easily. But none of that is for you to worry about. I’ll handle everything, promise. So let’s just make it home for today.”