can't
assemble it. And I can't tell her about his ghost. Although he has no fear of endings, and watches us from a dark corner of
the sky.
chapter 15
Students of medicine will learn to respect boundaries (i.e., learn the appreciation of differences between personal and professional
roles) in the doctor-patient relationship.
I wake up to Holly kicking my bare feet with her tennis shoe. Sol is nowhere to be seen. She pushes her kilt down between
her knees as she sits and I remember then that we forgot to bring Holly any other clothes while she was in the hospital.
"What you guys been doing?" She pulls a dried piece of grass and puts it in her mouth.
"Sleeping."
She nods and squints into the fading sun. "Mama been telling you her stories?"
I nod, then reach over to grip the long blades of grass to get myself up.
"We gotta mow this crazy lawn."
Holly nods, spitting pieces of grass out of her mouth. "Don't worry, your new boyfriend already said he'd do it. Geez, how
much did you guys drink?"
"Not much," I say, kicking the bottles as I raise myself up on my arms.
"I gotta go," Sol says, coming out of the house, smiling. "But I'll be back later to check up on our patient." He winks at
Holly. "How are you doing?"
"Still hurts, no long jump for a while, that's for sure."
We go in and Mom's making dinner, Holly's favourite: potato salad and tofu dogs with macaroni and cheese. I eat a couple of
bites, but feel too upset to eat much, so I finish the floor, iron the curtains, and Mom falls asleep on the couch, in front
of the eleven o'clock news.
Later that night, Holly comes into my room, where I am staring at old X-rays from school and still trying to process the fact
that Mom knew Thomas before Misha. I don't know where to put this information, where and how to file it in my case against
him. The implications are tremendous.
Holly stands in my doorway, freshly showered. Her hair has grown out from her severe crew cut and she's got it slicked back.
She's in her favourite outfit: a sports bra and Dad's pyjama bottoms. Her foot's hooked against her ankle, her chest is bruised,
purple-blue butterflies bloom beneath the white cotton of her bra, the lowest part of the wing reaching out to her taut belly
button. She stands there sniffing her armpits. Holly's bigger than me, wider hips and shoulders. She also probably weighs
about ten or fifteen pounds more than me, all lean muscle. She's nicely proportioned, her breasts look full and perky at the
same time, everything about Holly is strong. Seeing her, I wonder how it is that I can look at her and see skinny but when
I look at myself I see a bloated mess.
"C'mere, stinky."
"What? I just had a shower."
I touch the bruises lightly. "You want something for it?"
"No, I'm OK. . . it's kinda cool hey? Like those psychology ink pictures."
"Yeah."
Holly looks down the hall. "Should I bother waking her up for bed?"
"No."
She juts her chin out, defiantly, words pushing at the bottom of her lip.
"What is it, Hoi?"
"When I go back next week, I gotta write this math test, a final. I suck at math. I suck so hard, Giselle."
"What about your teacher?"
"Yeah, she explains it all and does the questions but then, when I'm alone, doing a test or something... I just forget it.
I just don't have that math-brain gene. It's missing in me, I think. I'm gonna ask to bring it home, you know."
I laugh, "And I'm going to write your grade-eight math exam?"
"But the numbers, they get all screwy, and now I missed all this school, so I have no idea what's going on . . ."
She stretches her long body up and grips the top of the doorway; I count her ribs.
"So, you'll do it?"
"I'll show you how. Tonight, come on, bring your books in."
Holly blows out a frustrated breath. "What about Sol?"
"Sol's terrible at math, come on, Holly."
"Come on what? I'm not going to be a doctor or an accountant, it doesn't matter." She's clenching her jaw now, grinding her
teeth
assemble it. And I can't tell her about his ghost. Although he has no fear of endings, and watches us from a dark corner of
the sky.
chapter 15
Students of medicine will learn to respect boundaries (i.e., learn the appreciation of differences between personal and professional
roles) in the doctor-patient relationship.
I wake up to Holly kicking my bare feet with her tennis shoe. Sol is nowhere to be seen. She pushes her kilt down between
her knees as she sits and I remember then that we forgot to bring Holly any other clothes while she was in the hospital.
"What you guys been doing?" She pulls a dried piece of grass and puts it in her mouth.
"Sleeping."
She nods and squints into the fading sun. "Mama been telling you her stories?"
I nod, then reach over to grip the long blades of grass to get myself up.
"We gotta mow this crazy lawn."
Holly nods, spitting pieces of grass out of her mouth. "Don't worry, your new boyfriend already said he'd do it. Geez, how
much did you guys drink?"
"Not much," I say, kicking the bottles as I raise myself up on my arms.
"I gotta go," Sol says, coming out of the house, smiling. "But I'll be back later to check up on our patient." He winks at
Holly. "How are you doing?"
"Still hurts, no long jump for a while, that's for sure."
We go in and Mom's making dinner, Holly's favourite: potato salad and tofu dogs with macaroni and cheese. I eat a couple of
bites, but feel too upset to eat much, so I finish the floor, iron the curtains, and Mom falls asleep on the couch, in front
of the eleven o'clock news.
Later that night, Holly comes into my room, where I am staring at old X-rays from school and still trying to process the fact
that Mom knew Thomas before Misha. I don't know where to put this information, where and how to file it in my case against
him. The implications are tremendous.
Holly stands in my doorway, freshly showered. Her hair has grown out from her severe crew cut and she's got it slicked back.
She's in her favourite outfit: a sports bra and Dad's pyjama bottoms. Her foot's hooked against her ankle, her chest is bruised,
purple-blue butterflies bloom beneath the white cotton of her bra, the lowest part of the wing reaching out to her taut belly
button. She stands there sniffing her armpits. Holly's bigger than me, wider hips and shoulders. She also probably weighs
about ten or fifteen pounds more than me, all lean muscle. She's nicely proportioned, her breasts look full and perky at the
same time, everything about Holly is strong. Seeing her, I wonder how it is that I can look at her and see skinny but when
I look at myself I see a bloated mess.
"C'mere, stinky."
"What? I just had a shower."
I touch the bruises lightly. "You want something for it?"
"No, I'm OK. . . it's kinda cool hey? Like those psychology ink pictures."
"Yeah."
Holly looks down the hall. "Should I bother waking her up for bed?"
"No."
She juts her chin out, defiantly, words pushing at the bottom of her lip.
"What is it, Hoi?"
"When I go back next week, I gotta write this math test, a final. I suck at math. I suck so hard, Giselle."
"What about your teacher?"
"Yeah, she explains it all and does the questions but then, when I'm alone, doing a test or something... I just forget it.
I just don't have that math-brain gene. It's missing in me, I think. I'm gonna ask to bring it home, you know."
I laugh, "And I'm going to write your grade-eight math exam?"
"But the numbers, they get all screwy, and now I missed all this school, so I have no idea what's going on . . ."
She stretches her long body up and grips the top of the doorway; I count her ribs.
"So, you'll do it?"
"I'll show you how. Tonight, come on, bring your books in."
Holly blows out a frustrated breath. "What about Sol?"
"Sol's terrible at math, come on, Holly."
"Come on what? I'm not going to be a doctor or an accountant, it doesn't matter." She's clenching her jaw now, grinding her
teeth
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