Lois Fogg
Fire
Email: SireneCall@hotmail.com
[Author’s Notes at the end]

Chapter Eight: Waiting Beauty

	Light. I was awash with light. Light, however, was supposed
to be warm. I was colder than I had ever been, so cold that I no longer
had a body. I was floating in this sea of light, towards some unknown
destination. It was calming. I almost welcomed it after the weeks of
hell. I thought back on those weeks curiously. So it seemed that even in
a sea of light I could remember who I was. I could still remember
Darien.
Darien.
His name jolted me, and I stopped moving for a second. Was he here,
in this strange world? I looked around, but everywhere this same light
blinded my eyes. I called his name, but my voice was eaten almost
immediately. Was I dead? I wondered, sickened by the thought. How
could I be dead, now, after all this? If I were dead, I realized, then I had
killed myself. I had sat in the snow and stared at a blood moon until my
own life bled away. Had Darien found me? Did he even know I was
dead? I discovered that I wanted to cry, but I did not have a body to cry
with. I still felt it. The gulping agony, the terrible despair of pure
sadness enveloped me. What had I done? I hadn’t meant to die. I had
only meant to sit, and remember. I wanted Darien, not this!
Yet…I felt myself calm, and I continued floating through the void. It
was so quiet, so peaceful to stay like this, bound by nothing, feeling
nothing. I could distance myself from my emotions, if I chose, just as I
was distanced from my body. If I wanted, I could stay here forever, and
never have to worry about Darien again. I would never have to feel that
pain again. I could float here for eternity, happy in willful ignorance.
For a moment, I contemplated it. For a moment, it actually seemed like
an appealing prospect. To never feel pain. To never be betrayed. To
never lose love. To never have to say: it all meant nothing.
To never love at all.
And I stopped again, stunned at my realization. I wanted to love. I
didn’t want this absence of emotion. Even if it *was* damn painful, at
least I had it. At least I had, at one point in my life, love passionately
and been loved in return. If I never did again, at least I had been given
this gift. I could not live in a world without Darien, no matter how calm
or peaceful. I had to go back—even to see him with my best friend—I
had to go back. I loved him, absolutely and unconditionally, and even
death couldn’t keep me from him. Around me the light began to flicker,
and I felt myself fall. His name echoed in my head like a mantra, the
reason and justification for what I was doing. My love for him seemed
tangible, just then, like a fire filling me with uncontrollable heat. The
light grew dimmer. I began to tingle, feeling the cold more acutely than
before. Then the world went black. I crashed with a painful but
satisfying force back into my body.

	I heard something beeping, faintly but steadily. Gradually, I
opened my eyes, pulling against the odd stickiness that seemed to hold
them together. I stared at a blank white ceiling for a while, wondering
where I was. It all seemed to make some vague sense—this foreign,
sterile room, the beeping in the background, my feeling of utter
exhaustion. It did not take me long, however, to remember. Carefully, I
looked around the room and realized that I was alone. Beside my bed
was a heart monitor, the source of the fait beeping, its green screen
tracing the beat of my heart. It occurred to me how close I had come to
a flat line, and the thought made me shudder. There was a small
television mounted from the ceiling in a corner, but no remote control
was to be seen. I also noticed an IV needle in my arm. How long had I
been out, I wondered vaguely, and where was Darien? I looked around
the room again for any sign of him, but I was disappointed. Had he
found me? Did he know what had happened? Did he even care? I rested
my head back on the pillow, and closed my eyes painfully. I thought of
him as I had last seen him, staring at me from below the window, his
eyes filled with emotions I could see, but barely understand.
	“Oh, Darien.” I said, and my voice sounded hoarse and raw
from disuse. Just then, the door opened, and I started. The nurse walked
in, pulling a trolley behind her. She turned around to look at me, and
her eyes widened in surprise.
	“Oh!” She exclaimed. “You’ve come out of it! I’ve got to go
get Dr. Reynolds.” It occurred to me to say something, but I couldn’t
think of an appropriate response. This was just a little unreal. “You just
wait right there, honey.” She added, unnecessarily, and shot out of the
door, trolley forgotten. I wondered what was going to happen, and also
whether or not I would see Darien. Before I could contemplate that
depressing line of thought again, another woman entered the room—the
doctor, I assumed.
	“Well, this is a pleasant surprise.” She said smiling, walking to
the door.
	I finally recovered my voice. “What’s going on? How long
have I been here?”
	“Three days.” She said matter-of-factly. “You were in a
coma—we really weren’t expecting you to come out of it this quickly,
but you’ve been remarkably resilient considering what happened to
you. You had severe hypothermia…we just barely missed operating.”
	 I winced. What the hell had I done to myself? I saw that she
was asking herself the same question, but she tactfully decided not to
ask. What could I say, anyway? I really wasn’t trying to commit
suicide; I was just clinically depressed because the love of my life had
dumped me for my roommate, so I went to the place where we almost
made love and accidentally almost froze myself to death. Yeah, right
Serena—that will go over well.
	After a moment, she continued over the awkward pause.
“You’re recovering nicely, it seems. We’ll probably be able to release
you in another four or five days.”  She stood up and walked towards the
door. “But there’s a nice young man out there, who has practically
lived at the hospital these past few days. Do you think you could talk to
him for a few minutes?” She smiled knowingly. My pulse quickened—
I knew it because the beeps on the machine practically doubled in
frequency. I thought that I heard angels singing, and there definitely
seemed to be a faint golden glow emanating from somewhere. I smiled
broadly, and gripped my hands together tightly.
	“Yes, of course!” I said breathlessly. So he *did* care! I
shouldn’t have doubted him, I decided. I had known that he must love
me. All right, maybe I hadn’t, but I definitely knew it now. Dr.
Reynolds smiled and shook her head, shutting he door. Suddenly I
looked down and realized that I was wearing a hospital gown. My
dumplings had been taken out, and my hair hung limp and tangled all
around me. I must look awful, I thought with rising panic. How could I
face him looking like this? Quickly, I ran my hands through my hair
and lay back a little, to try to cover up the ugly flower prints with my
blanket. I was sort of glad I didn’t have a mirror, though—I wouldn’t
be able to handle it if I knew how bad I looked. All too soon the door
opened and the beeps on the machine grew louder and more insistent. I
wanted to call out his name, but bit my tongue against the urge. The
light of my happiness temporarily blinded me to the identity of the
intruder. He gently closed the door behind him.
	“Hello Serena.” He said. Suddenly the light flickered and then
cut off completely. That wasn’t how Darien sounded! His voice was
much deeper—sexier almost. I looked up, horrified and confused.
Darien wasn’t that pale, and he also didn’t have enough zits to make a
pepperoni pizza ashamed. He was *much* better built, and he was
taller. It wasn’t Darien, my sluggish brain finally realized.
	It was Vance William Jr., my odious and unwanted Casanova.

	I groaned and leaned closed my eyes like an ostrich, praying
that when I opened them again he would be gone and a smiling Darien
in his place. I opened my eyes. Vance was still there. I felt like crying.
Where was Darien? Had he not even bothered to come in the three days
I had been lying here?
	“How are you feeling?” He asked solicitously. I clenched my
hands at my sides, aware of an urge to bite his head off.
	“Like crap.” I said, pursing my lips in an expression I’m sure
was forbidding. Vance looked alarmed, but the practiced politician
smile he had learned from his father remained plastered on his face.
	“You really gave us a scare, you know.” He said, sidling up to
the bed. Under normal circumstances I would have slapped him, but it’s
a little awkward to be violent from a hospital bed. Especially when you
feel like you’ve just been run over by a truck.
	So I settled on sarcasm. “Oh, really?” I said, raising my
eyebrows. “It’s good to know that a liar and a phony was worried on
my behalf. Whatever shall I do to repay you?”
	“Serena,” He said in a tone that made him sound like a bad
voice-over in a fifties movie. He sat on the edge of the bed and before I
could force my sluggish body to move away, he put his hand over
mine. “Don’t be mad at me.” He said, with, I suppose, a look that was
supposed to be pleading, but made him more resemble a begging dog.
Finally, I managed to wrench my hand a way and glared at him.
	“Don’t be mad?” I said, my voice rising to its normally shrill
tones. “Why shouldn’t I be mad at you. You…sycophant!” By his
blank expression I gathered that he didn’t know what the word meant. I
didn’t care. “Stupid, idiotic, lying, cheating, zit-faced…” I searched for
a word to appropriately sum up my feelings for him. “Scoundrel!” I
finished triumphantly. He winced and looked really embarrassed. For
one treacherous moment, I felt sorry for him, but that emotion was
quickly squashed when I heard what he said next.
	“After all, you have to admit that ours is an appropriate
relationship. It’s just not seemly for someone like you to go out with
some farmer’s son. When your father explained the situation to me, I
thought it was the least I could do. You have to understand that.”
	I stared at him incredulously. Could he really be saying what I
thought that he was saying? He was more of a jerk than I had given him
credit for. I could barely stand looking at him now. He was the
representative of everything I hated about my lifestyle: the superiority
complex, the understated stupidity, the intolerance of anyone
‘different’.
	“Get away from me.” I spat, disgust in my eyes. “I never want
to see you again, ever. I would *never* go out with someone like you. I
would rather die. You judge people by how much money their father
makes, where they’ve been to school, who they know. What do you
know about Darien? I’ll tell you—absolutely nothing. And you will
never know him, because he is different from you in every way that
counts. He is the most…incredible person I have ever met, and you are
no better than…pond scum! Who cares if he *is* a farmer’s grandson?
At least he isn’t the bastard son of a corrupt vice-president.”
	He didn’t say anything. To be fair, I don’t know if there was
anything that he *could* say to that. Turning abruptly around, an
expression of horror on his face, he fled the room, leaving me
exhausted and alone.

	No one entered the room for a long time after that, and I was
alternately grateful for the time alone and bitter that no one I cared
about wanted to visit me. I was aware that I was being slightly unfair—
I had been in the hospital for three days, and my friends *did* have
classes, after all. But still, I knew that it was not the solitude I 
resented,
but the conspicuous absence of the one person I desperately desired to
be with me. I kept eyeing the door, anticipating his entrance. He would
open it slowly, I envisioned, with a  tentative smile on his face as he
peeked around the corner. In his eyes would be the unconditional love I
had always longed for. I would smile, then, excited, but careful not to
show too much emotion. Encouraged, he would walk all the way
through the door and behind his back would be a beautiful bouquet of
long-stem white roses: my favorite kind. Then, of course, I realized that
he wasn’t coming, and I ruthlessly stopped my fantasy from continuing.
I could not get the idea of the roses out of my head, however. When I
had been much younger, I had tried to write a song about white roses.
Something about them—their pure color perhaps, or their shocking
beauty had struck me as hopelessly romantic. Throughout all my years
of virgin-lipped dreaming I had always wanted someone to give me
white roses. With a poem, preferably, something shocking and original,
telling me how much they loved me. And I would smile happily as I
received them, tears glimmering in my eyes, and finally, looking up
from the perfect expression of his love I would forgive him for
everything he had ever done to hurt me. I would look into his blue eyes,
once stormy and troubled, but now clear and peaceful, and say:
“Darien, I love you too.” And we would kiss them, him lifting me from
the hospital bed, my arms locked around his strong neck so I would
never let go.
	Oh dear, I thought, returning to reality abruptly, that had been
a stunning bit of maudlin sentimentality. I thought that I was going to
stop dreaming about that. It seemed that with nothing better to do, my
mind continually thought up better and better ways for Darien to make
up with me. Unfortunately, the minutes were ticking by, and his
absence, if anything, indicated that he was as disinclined to love me
now as he had been before. Suddenly, I found myself struggling to stop
real tears from flowing down my cheeks. Not tears of joy or relief, but
of the most profound disappointment. Perhaps, in the back of my mind,
I had somehow expected my near-death experience to make Darien
realize how much he really loved me. I had always believed that he did,
no matter how he denied it. Now, I was beginning to wonder. Had he,
perhaps, meant what he said in that letter? The answer seemed so
obvious, glaring in the face of his conspicuous absence. But I could not
deny the emotions I had seen in his face, in his eyes. The emotions that
only I could see and understand. I knew him intimately, and I knew I
had already given myself to him completely. Was it possible that I
would be forced to live without him for the rest of my life, knowing
that I had found true love, but had never been able to live my life in the
happiness of it?
	“No!” I said aloud, my voice cracking, and my fist slamming
into the sheets for emphasis. It couldn’t happen like this. Not like this.
Me, alone on a hospital bed and Darien still dating Raye? Where was
my happy ending? Sure this was real life, but I had always believed that
things would eventually turn out for the best. Could this, possibly, be
the end of the road for Serena Johnston? Would I be doomed to be
unhappy for the rest of my life? Despairing, I wished that no one had
found me on that beach, or that I had never returned from my
emotionless void. At least then, I wouldn’t have had to face Darien’s
utter rejection of me. Turning violently away from the thought, I
searched around the bed until I found the remote control. I turned on
the television, and flipped through the channels. The only thing
showing seemed to be bad afternoon sitcoms and soap operas. Finally, I
settled on the news, for lack of anything better to watch. As a matter of
fact, I didn’t care what was on television, so long as I didn’t have to
wait in this sterile cubicle, staring at the white door, praying that the
next person to turn the handle would be Darien. I stared at the screen
dumbly for a few moments, barely comprehending what was on the
screen, willfully having sunk into a type of catatonia. It was only when
the news announcer mentioned the primaries that I perked up. I felt a
sense of impending doom—every time I saw something about the
primaries on the news, my father had had another surprise up my
sleeve. Therefore, I wasn’t surprised when they mentioned “Ken
Johnston’s daughter” I braced myself mentally for what was to come, it
occurred to me that this had happened far to often recently.
	“Tragically hospitalized right before Ken Johnston’s
Massachusetts campaign, Serena Johnston is reportedly in stable
condition, although her doctors will not disclose any further details.
Senator Johnston cut short his time in Washington to stay with his
daughter in Massachusetts while she recovers. When not in attendance
of his daughter, Senator Johnston has been making his presence known
among the Massachusetts constituents, who have responded with
understandable sympathy for his situation.” Was it just my imagination,
or had the newscaster said that last bit with a hint of sarcasm in his
voice? I smiled despite myself. If nothing else, father was an
opportunist. “The recent situation, however, has given him a slight edge
over his major republican opponent, Alan Keyes, and the
Massachusetts primary should be a close one.” The newscaster moved
onto other news—something about an outbreak of a potentially fatal
strain of flu—but I didn’t pay much attention. It was strange. I kept
expecting myself to get mad, to slam my hand into the bed, or feel the
telltale rage rip at my insides, but nothing much happened. The greatest
emotion I was able to call up was simply mild annoyance. So he had
used me again, but I had thoroughly learned what type of person my
father was. The action did not feel like a betrayal anymore, simply a
confirmation of what I already knew about him. What did alarm me,
though, was the prospect that he might win the election. I didn’t know
what I would do if he became President, but I had the feeling that the
answer was going to be something like moving to Japan.
	I leaned back on my pillow, and stared up at the tile ceiling. If
he was in Boston, though, where was he, I wondered idly. Not like I
was itching to see him, but it would be nice to know that my father
cared about me in some other capacity besides a political tool. Just for a
little while at least. I had a feeling that this emotional lethargy would
wear off eventually, but for now, it was good to relax a bit. Before I
knew it I fell asleep again, dreaming of moonlit kisses and the
hedonistic scent of white roses.

	I woke up on what, I suppose, was the next morning. The first
thing I was sleepily aware of was the pervasive scent of…roses. That’s
impossible, I thought, snuggling deeper into my somewhat
uncomfortable hospital pillow. It was the middle of winter, why would
I smell roses? White roses, my mind corrected, but I dismissed that out
of hand. How would I know what color they were? Even so, I was
tempted to open my eyes, and discover if the delicate brush of
something against my cheek was indeed a rose petal. The idea of being
surrounded by roses was unbearably intoxicating and romantic. I
wanted it to be true, but I was terribly afraid of it all being my
imagination. As a result, I lay in my bed in a state of strained
wakefulness, but willfully refusing to open my eyes and confront
reality. But what if there *were* roses and they were from Darien?
Would I want that? The question surprised me, because up till now I
had automatically thought that any romantic gesture from Darien would
be welcome. For the first time I wondered if I even wanted his
affections anymore. Yes, I was still in love with him, I couldn’t deny
that. Still, could I trust him? I wondered if his continued betrayal of my
emotions had ruined any chance of a relationship between us. Even if
he *did* want me back, could I handle the perpetual uncertainty of
never knowing when he would hurt me again? I had barely made it this
time. It was practically a forgone conclusion that I would not survive it
again. Well, these were all useless speculations, I realized, shifting
slightly in my bed. I had to open my eyes and see if I was right after all.
	Slowly, I pried my eyes apart and rubbed them gently. At first
I was aware of only white and green surrounding my bed. Then my
vision cleared and I gasped. It was just as I had always imagined; I was
adrift in a sea of flawless white roses. I never understood how he knew
my most private, romantic dream—but he always seemed to be able to
read me like that. However, at that moment, I was not thinking such
thoughts. I was only experiencing the purest joy I had felt in a very
long time. The shriek that emanated from my throat could have been
heard two blocks down the street, and I didn’t care at all.
	Yes, it really was great to be alive.

	Perhaps ten seconds after my shriek of joy, Doctor Reynolds
burst into my room, a worried expression on her face. She relaxed
almost immediately, however, when she saw the roses on my bed.
	“Oh,” She said, sighing. “I didn’t realize he had already given
them to you. He asked permission sometime last night.”
	I couldn’t seem to think of a reply. I couldn’t seem to think at
all, actually. Instead, I picked up a rose and held it to my face, closing
my eyes gently against the petals, and allowing the hedonistic scent to
flow through my nostrils. Dr. Reynolds looked at me a little strangely,
a smile playing on her lips.
	“I wish someone had done something this romantic for me, at
your age.” She said under her breath, seeming to forget about my
presence. Then she laughed, and shook her head as if to clear away the
romantic sentiment.
	“Anyway, I was just here to tell you that some of your friends
are here, if you want to see them?”
	I let the rose drop and perked up. They were here? Did that
include Darien? I wanted it to, and yet I dreaded the thought of seeing
him. Despite my trepidation I nodded eagerly.
	“Well, enjoy.” She said, as she left the room. I realized
quickly that Darien wasn’t there, and experienced a strange mixture of
relief and acute disappointment. The sight of my friends, though, soon
pushed him out of my mind for the time being. Mina, by far the most
demonstrative of the group, ran to the bed practically as soon as she
saw me.
	“Serena!” She called, leaning down to hug me. She stopped in
the nick of time when she noticed the roses. “Omigod!” She squealed,
totally over come. “Did Darien send you these?”
	“I’m pretty sure.” I answered, still in somewhat of a daze.
	“That is *so* romantic! I knew he had it in him.” She said
with evident self-satisfaction. “Were you awake when he gave them to
you?” She continued, grilling me for information.
	“Come on, Mina,” Lita interrupted, “Don’t tire her out.”
	“No I’m fine.” I protested, and then realized that it was largely
true. While the day before I had felt pretty nasty, I was far too happy
this morning to feel anything but fantastic. “But it doesn’t matter,
because I don’t know anything about what’s going on. I only woke up
this morning and found these. I haven’t seen Darien at all.”
	The four of them suddenly looked at each other when I said
that, exchanging an uneasy glance.
	“Serena, Dr. Reynolds tells us that you will probably be able
to leave within the week.” Amy said quickly, trying to cover it up.
	“I already know that, Amy.” Well, actually, I didn’t, but it
didn’t matter. “What is going on? Why did you look at each other like
that when I said I hadn’t seen him?”
	“Well…um…Serena,” Lita began. Raye, I dimly noted in the
back of my mind had remained conspicuously silent during this entire
exchange, barely glancing at me. That fact, however, was not my most
pressing concern at the moment, and I relegated it to another time.
	“See, Serena,” Mina began, taking a deep breath and
obviously forcing herself to say something unpleasant, “Darien isn’t
here any more.” She said finally, and held her breath for my reaction.
	I stared at her blankly. Perhaps my mental faculties had yet to
recover from near-freezing, but I didn’t understand what she was
talking about. “Not where anymore?” I asked, slowly. Even so,
something in their expressions scared me.
	“I mean, Serena, that he left this morning for a semester
exchange to Japan. He isn’t coming back at all this year.”
	For a second I still looked at her blankly, and then the full
import of her words hit me. “But…but…” I stuttered, unable to believe
it, “He didn’t tell me anything about it! Don’t you have to plan these
things in advance?”
	Mina shrugged her shoulders, avoiding my eyes. I felt some of
the old pain at the news, but it didn’t tear at my insides the way it had
for weeks. Perhaps the effect had been mitigated by the hopelessly
romantic gesture of roses in my bed.
	Raye spoke for the first time, and I turned towards her startled.
“Darien gave this to me to give to you.” She said, pulling something
out of her purse, “I haven’t read it, but it may explain some things.”
Even as I accepted the offering from her I knew that relations between
us were still raw and painful. I longed to have the same rapport with her
I had developed before the Darien fiasco, but I didn’t know how to
achieve it. We seemed to be staring at each other from opposite banks
of a river. Again, pushing thoughts of Raye to the back of my mind, I
saw that what she gave me was a scarf and a folded piece of paper. Not
just any scarf, I realized, but *my* scarf, the one I had given him—had
it only been two months ago? Shaking, I opened the letter, half
expecting it to be yet another of the rejections I had come to expect
from him.
	Serena,
	I write this letter knowing you will have nothing but contempt
for my cowardice, but this cannot go unsaid. Please at least try to
understand me, although you have every right not to sympathize.
There is no other way for me to say this, so I will say it simply: I was
wrong, Serena, terribly, horribly wrong, and my mistake almost cost
you your life. You don’t know how grateful I was when I heard, two
days ago, that you had come out of your coma. But I realized then, that
I couldn’t allow myself to hurt you anymore. I love you, Serena. More
than I ever have, and ever will love anybody, and please, *never* doubt
otherwise. Raye told me off two days ago because I refused to accept
you for  who you were—just like your father refused to accept me. She
was right of course, but by then it was already too late. I want you,
Serena, but I know that by now, you may not want me. If you don’t
trust me anymore, it’s perfectly understandable. I have betrayed you far
too many times to earn your trust. I have left for Japan because, quite
simply, I cannot bear to be near you and yet be so far away from you
anymore. It is far more than I have any right to expect, that you can let
me into your heart again. So I have removed any need of you to do so.
If you want me, any time you want me, I will be here. If you don’t want
me, I understand. You will never be under any obligation. In the small
hope that you can some day come to forgive me, my address is at the
bottom of the letter. Regardless of anything, I love you. Nothing can
harm you unless you let it. Including yourself. Including—perhaps
most of all—me.
	Darien

	I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling hot tears coursing
down my cheeks. He loved me. That simple sentence rushed through
my head and formed itself on my lips, filling me with equal measures
of sorrow and joy. Darien was right, did I trust him? When a guy like
Darien controls your heart, it becomes necessary to get some insurance.
Perhaps it was better this way, after all. As much as I would miss him,
a period away from him would probably be beneficial. Smiling
tremulously, I opened my eyes and looked at the faces of my friends.
They held such intense expressions of worry that I nearly laughed out
loud.
	“Don’t worry!” I said reassuringly. “Everything will be fine,
you’ll see.”
	I only wished I were as sure of that as I sounded.

	My parents finally bothered to visit me. I have to say that I
was rather surprised—I had forgotten they were in town, and I hadn’t
really expected it. My mother came in first, my father closely trailing
behind, with an air of mild contrition about him that shocked me. Was
my father, the infamous Ken Johnston, genuinely feeling remorseful
about something he had done to exploit me? The thought seemed too
good to be true.
	“Serena, honey, how are you feeling?” Mom asked, looking so
genuinely concerned that I couldn’t feel too annoyed.
	“Fine.” I said tersely, still looking at my unusually silent
father. If they were so concerned about me, why had they taken so long
to visit me?
	“We would have come sooner...” Mom began, looking guilty.
	“But the constituents called?” I finished sarcastically. Had I
said that I wasn’t bitter? Some sleep had definitely worked wonders for
my disposition.
	My father quickly lost his air of contrition and looked at me
sternly. “Now, Serena, you know that isn’t true. We came here as soon
as we heard what had happened.”
	“You came to Boston.” I amended. “You didn’t come *here*.
The Massachusetts primary isn’t for another couple of weeks. Do your
politics matter so much, Dad? Do I matter at all?”
	His cell phone rang, just as his mouth was hanging in a
startled ‘o’. Of course, I thought fatalistically. My dad always figured
out a way to avoid talking to me. I didn’t know why I thought I could
manage a decent confrontation today. He talked briskly for a few
moments and then hung up.
	“I’m sorry, honey, I have to leave for a couple of hours. We
can finish this discussion later.” He said, looking as though the
prospect did not appeal to him.
	“Yeah, sure, dad.” I said despondently. “I’m sure they’ll love
you.” I said tonelessly, as he whisked out of the door, presumably to
some important political rally. I was alone in the room with my mom
who, for her part, looked a little relieved at the exit of her husband.
	“I really am sorry, Serena.” She said again, and I could not
hold on to my anger. Whatever my father was, she was a different
species entirely. Sometimes I thought that she genuinely cared for me.
“But to be fair, we were *here*, as you say. You were in a coma those
three days, so you don’t remember anything. It was only after we were
sure you would be okay that he did some campaigning.”
	I sighed. This was my mom’s world, and no amount of
arguing and rationalizing from me would make her see my side of the
issue. “Thanks mom.” I said quietly, holding her hand.
	“Honey…” She began, tentatively, an odd note of fear and
compassion in her voice.
	“Yes?”
	“Did you…that night…were you trying to…” She couldn’t
finish. But I knew what she was saying, though. Had I tried to kill
myself? It was an interesting question, one I wasn’t sure I could
answer. In some ways, I suppose I had, subconsciously wanted to die,
but that wasn’t all I had felt. As I looked into her eyes, scared and
unsure, I knew what answer I had to give.
	“No, mom. Of course not.”

	“Mina,” I asked, two days later, “Was Darien the one who
found me?” I don’t know why I hadn’t asked before, but the thought
hadn’t occurred to me until later. Now I felt the most irrepressible
curiosity. I was eating for the first time in what seemed like years, and
the experience was not making me look forward to future occasions.
All those stories about terrible hospital food hadn’t been joking, I
realized, as I pushed some congealing macaroni further away from me
with my fork. Mina looked up in surprise, briefly glancing around for
Amy, who had left to go to the bathroom.
	“Didn’t you know?” She asked, slowly. I shook my head.
“Darien. Well, Darien and Raye really, and then the rest of us helped a
little too.”
	I nodded. Yes, it made sense that it had been Darien. I had
never really expected for it to be anyone else. But Raye? That surprised
me. I had not seen Raye since that day all of them came to visit me, and
I was beginning to wonder, despairingly, if we could ever be friends
again. Darien had said something, though, in his letter about Raye.
When had Raye defended me like that, I wondered.
	“Where is Amy!” Mina suddenly burst out impatiently,
startling me. Now that I thought about it, Amy *had* been gone for a
long time.
	“Do you suppose she got lost?” I asked staring dubiously at a
pile of mashed potatoes. Didn’t they serve *anything* decent at these
places?
	Mina rolled her eyes. “Amy? Serena, you’ve got to be kidding
me. If this were you we were talking about, I’d give you an hour to find
the place and an hour to go back. But Amy, as we all know, is a model
of efficiency. She should have gotten back ten minutes ago.”
	I spluttered. “That’s unfair, Mina! I could too find the
bathroom on my own! Well, sometimes it’s just con—“ however, a
very late, and very flushed Amy rushing through the door interrupted
me. She glanced at us and took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm
down and obviously not succeeding.
	“Well, well,” Mina said slowly, and I could see the suspicions
flying across her brain at light speed. I knew that expression on her
face, even if I didn’t know what had happened to Amy: some
matchmaking was going on. “What happened to you?” She continued,
deceptively innocent.
	Amy blushed deeply, confirming my suspicious. She opened
her mouth but the first couple times no sound came out. “Nothing?”
She finally said weakly, Mina’s inimical gaze forcing her to turn the
last word into a question.
	“Now come on, Amy, you know that I can sense these things a
mile away. It’s no use hiding from me. Now tell me, what happened?” I
leaned forward a little, food forgotten. To be honest, I was just as
curious as Mina.
	“Oh, all right!” Amy exclaimed, sitting down. “I met this
guy…” She said dreamily.
	“My God, Amy,” I interrupted, shocked, “*Did* you read
Sweet Valley books in your youth?”
	Amy looked embarrassed. “Well, it’s true.” She muttered
under her breath.
	“I’m sure it is.” Mina said firmly, giving me a reproachful
glare. “Now, go on.”
	“Well, I was walking down the hall to find the bathroom—“
	“Did you get lost?” I interrupted again, eagerly.
	“No, of course not.” Amy said, looking at me quizzically.
	“Told you so.” Mina muttered under her breath.
	Amy ignored us. “So I’m walking down the hall—“
	“You already told us that.” I pointed out.
	“Do you want to hear me or not?” She asked, exasperated.
	“Serena, shut up.” Mina said firmly. “Yes, Amy, we do want
to hear you. Now, go on.”
	“So I see this guy, pretty young, not a nurse, so probably a
graduate student getting his hospital hours.”
	“Was he cute?” Mina, this time, interrupted.
	Amy blushed again. “Well, yeah, I guess so.”
“You guess so?” Mina asked incredulously.
“All right, all right!” Amy wailed. “He makes me so horny I
want to dance the horizontal polka.”
The orange juice I had been attempting to drink came back out
of my nose in a startled spurt and I began to laugh uncontrollably. The
horizontal polka? Tears began to stream from my eyes. Mina was
experiencing a similar reaction. Amy blushed so deeply it tinted her
hair red, but she ignored us.
“So I sort of walked up to him, and asked him where the
bathroom was.”
	“Hey, I thought you said that you didn’t get lost!” I spluttered,
outraged.
	Amy rolled her eyes. “I *didn’t*. I know where the bathroom
is, I just wanted to talk to him.”
	“Oh.” I said sheepishly. Subterfuge from Amy? Over a guy?
This was getting interesting.
	“So he gave me this great smile, and…and well, I sort of lost
control of my legs for a moment and…”
	“And…” Mina prompted, hanging on her every word.
	“I sort of fell into him.” She said in a quiet voice.
	“You *what*!” Mina and I exclaimed simultaneously.
	“Anyway,” Amy continued. “I realized that he had an
extremely muscular chest and arms, because he sort of held me against
him for a moment, so I could steady myself…”
	“So you could ‘steady yourself’?” Mina asked incredulously.
“You’ve got to be kidding me! This is incredible!”
	“Muscular chest and arms? Amy, I never suspected that
beneath your intellectual exterior lurks a romance novelist!” If it was
possible to get any redder, Amy did, making it harder for me to contain
my barely suppressed laughter.
	“All right!” Amy said imperiously. “Any more interruptions
and I don’t finish my story, you hear me?” Mina and I both shut up
immediately. “Good. Now, let me finish. So eventually, he set me on
my feet and asked if I was all right. And I apologized, and he smiled
and told me that his name was Jonathan. Then he walked me to the
bathroom, and on the way he asked me for my phone number. He said
that I intrigued him…” That was it, I couldn’t repress the words that
were bubbling in my throat.
	“Amy, that’s incredible!” I exclaimed. “Did you actually give
him your number?”
	“Well…yeah. He was just so good-looking. I couldn’t help it.
And intelligent too…”
	Mina just leaned back in her chair and gave a little half-smile.
“This is love.” She said knowingly.
	I looked at her in exasperation. “Yeah, that’s what you said
about Charles and Diana.”
	“Everyone’s allowed a mistake sometimes—“
	“And Michael Jackson and Lisa Marie, OJ Simpson and
Nicole—“
	“I did not—“
	“Ike and Tina Turner, Bruce Willis and what’s her face…”
	“Oh come on, Serena! I wasn’t even *alive* when Ike and
Tina Turner were together…”
	“You saw them in a music video. You said, and I quote, that
you thought they looked like the perfect couple.”
	“Aha! See, I did *not* say that it was love, I said that they
looked good together. It’s two completely different things—“
	“But what about all the others?”
	“Will you two stop that!” Amy interrupted loudly, sounding
more like her usual self, although her face was still suspiciously pink.
Mina and I both snapped our mouths shut simultaneously and looked a
little dejected. It had been so long since I had genuinely enjoyed the
quirks of my best friends so much. I suddenly felt close to tears. I had
been so depressed lately that I hadn’t even been able to enjoy my
friends!.
	“I love you guys!” I blubbered sentimentally, wiping at my
eyes with an unused dinner napkin. Mina and Amy had, apparently,
caught my case of sentimentality, because soon I was involved in a
somewhat awkward, but genuinely enthusiastic three-way bear hug.
	“We love you too!” They wailed, almost simultaneously. Then
the absurdity of it all hit us, and we dissolved into helpless—if
tearful—laughter.

	Finally, I could leave. I had been restless the entire day, so
distracted that I even managed to eat some of the atrocious hospital
food. At five o’clock this evening I was scheduled to leave the hospital
and finally return to normal society. My room, by now, was covered in
flowers (and not just white roses). Everyone from my Shakespeare
class had signed a card for me. I had, at first, enjoyed the attention, but
right now all I wanted to do was return to my normal life. No more
soap-opera dramas, just regular, boring old school. For once in my life,
the idea excited me. Besides, I hated hospitals, the whitewashed walls,
the sterility, the dispassionate nurses all did their best to depress their
patients. To be honest, I could not handle much more. I still felt kind of
strange sometimes—weaker than I had been before, but Dr. Reynolds
said that it would pass in time. I had a remarkable immune system that I
prided myself on—I needed it to counteract the remarkable stupidity
with which I usually conducted my life. Why couldn’t I mange to be
sensible for once, about anything? Well, I giggled to myself, it was
probably all part of my charm. I hoped that someone would have the
foresight to bring me a change of clothes.  A hospital gown was not my
idea of parting with style, and the clothes I had worn coming in were
pink bunny pajamas. Finally, after I thought I would wail with
impatience, the door opened, revealing—to my extreme surprise—
Raye. I quickly glanced behind her to see if anyone else was there, but
she was alone. I felt a sense of extreme trepidation make my heart rate
speed up. I had longed to talk to her, but now that I had the opportunity,
what could I say? How could we possibly bridge the gap between us?
	“Hello, Serena.” She said, somewhat sheepishly.
	“Um…hi, Raye.” I said, still staring at her in mild panic.
	“Everyone else was busy,” she said by way of explanation, “so
they designated me to come and pick you up.”
	“Oh.” It was all I could manage to say.
	“I brought you some clothes.” She said, holding them in front
of her like a peace offering. I looked, delighted. She had managed to
pick just the right outfit for the occasion: long black pants, a low-
necked T-shirt and button-down jean shirt to go over it.
	“That’s fantastic, Raye!” I gushed, momentarily forgetting my
awkwardness. I quickly jumped from the bed, perhaps too quickly,
because my legs wobbled and I fell against the bed. Raye rushed to me,
her hand supporting me around my back.
	“Are you all right?” She asked, worried.
	“Yeah, I’m fine.” I assured her. “I think it’s just that I haven’t
walked for a week. My legs feel a little strange.” She held me while I
tried to stand up again, knees knocking ominously. The first couple
tries were disastrous, largely because I continually fell against her or
some other solid object.
	“This isn’t so different from normal, Serena.” Raye joked
tentatively as we walked around the room, “You’ve never been
particularly ambulatory.” I was tempted to ask what that meant, but
refrained. It didn’t matter, I got the point.
	“We’ll see about that!” I said, mock-indignantly, secretly
happy to finally be bantering with Raye again. Removing myself from
her support, I took a tentative step forward. Feeling a little surer of
myself, I kept walking. I would have made it too, if I had just seen the
television cord in the middle of the floor. As I crashed, even I had to
admit that it didn’t feel very different from normal.
	“Yeah, right.” Raye said, laughing. 	I glared at her, but my
expression was so ludicrous that I began to laugh as well. There was
something of beauty in our laughter, an ease of friendship between us
that I had not expected. Beauty, however, never seemed to last for me.
It came and went in stages, surprising me unexpectedly, and then
leaving when I most needed it. Even as we laughed together I said a
silent prayer: that this time, the beauty would last.
************************************

	Hello everybody! <Looks around sheepishly, hopes no one is
going to scream at her…> All right! I’m sorry I haven’t had anything
out for two weeks! If it’s any consolation, you have got to read two
whole *long* chapters of Fire. In answer to your questions, the LAST
CHAPTER full of twists and turns and surprises will be out (I
promise!) next week. There may be an epilogue, but that depends on
how nice you all are to me ;D So, there are a few shout outs this week
to those in the Sailor Moon world I love and appreciate:

The ‘Talented’ Sailor Jupiter—we just keep talking, don’t we? Thanks
for the help on the couples!
The most stupendous, wonderful, supreme goddess of the world
AMANDA (not to mention a little narcissistic), thanks for the funny
‘hot guy’ line!
Um…everyone else who emailed me, thank you SOO much! I love you
all! I’m *so* sorry if I haven’t emailed you back yet, but I’m just really
backed up (which reminds me, Stelka, don’t worry, I’m writing you
back!). Finally, I have been stunned by the response this fic has been
getting, so keep it coming! There’s more where this came from ;D

Ja ne!

Lois