The Anesthesia Game Read online

  “Bloodbath.”

  “Bloodbath?” Syd’s heart sinks.

  “Isn’t it great?”

  “Obviously you don’t hang around a clinic,” says Syd. “But whatever.”

  “Oh. Well, I could talk to him.”

  Syd knows Z feels bad, which is the point. You don’t leave your best friend out of a decision as big as changing the name of a band you invented together. Not that Syd ever got to sing; she didn’t. She hasn’t really had the lung power since she got sick. But she could manage the band easily enough—drum up a bunch of business on Facebook and Twitter while she’s hanging out at the clinic. It doesn’t take a genius.

  “Well, why don’t you come over on Thursday to meet him?” says Zelda.

  Syd catches her breath. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I mean, if you can come on Thursday. That’s when we’re rehearsing.”

  Syd says yes, even though she has another spinal on Thursday. She’s given up enough. She will absolutely not give up a chance to meet Dane. Fuck the spinal. She doesn’t have that many left anyway, if she can believe the doctors. She’ll be damned if Zelda is the one to get Dane, since he’s not even her type. Z’s into clean-cut all American blonde boys because it pisses off her Mexican parents. Dane is no clean-cut blonde boy. Syd is the one who spotted him in the first place practically the day he moved next door to Z. Devilishly dark-haired, Arab skinned, and soooo cool, he is definitely Syd’s type, and not just because it would shock her mother. Although it might have the added benefit of doing that. Plus he’s seventeen, so he drives.

  “SYDNEY!” calls her Aunt Hannah. “Come on down, little darlin’!”

  “Coming!” she calls. “Gotta go,” she says to Zelda, and hangs up. She catches her breath before standing. It’s hard to breathe sometimes with all the pills she takes to beat the unnamable shit coursing through her body, not to mention the batch of secondary pills she takes to keep from catching infections caused by the first batch. Confusing. But that’s neither here nor there. What matters is she has to get her act together before Thursday.

  She walks through the hall, stopping periodically for breathers, then down the stairs for whatever dinner she can hold down. When it’s just her and her mom, she begs off dinner and eats a bowl of chocolate chip mint ice cream in her room in front of Modern Family reruns. But Dad won’t allow that, and anyway, who wouldn’t want to be with Dad? And of course, now there’s Aunt Hannah. Not to mention Godiva, who Mom won’t even allow in Syd’s room because of germs that don’t exist. But anyway, tonight it’s actually worth the drain of going downstairs.

  “There she is!” says her aunt. “Come join the party.”

  Syd slips into her chair and says, “I’m not that hungry, but I’ll try.”

  “That’s all we’re asking, kiddo,” says Dad.

  Her mom sits glumly at the foot of the table, staring down. With what seems like a lot of effort, she says, “Where are you meds, Sydney?”

  “I don’t know,” she says.

  “You must have an idea,” her mother drones.

  Syd shrugs, “Maybe upstairs?”

  “Where upstairs?” says Hannah. “I’ll get them.”

  “I’ll take them later,” says Syd. The last thing she wants is for this meal—or any meal—to revolve around her meds.

  “You need to take them now,” says her mom. “You need to take them with food.”

  Aunt Hannah pushes her chair from the table and darts up the back staircase. So much action surprises Syd, since no one has moved like that in this house in over a year.

  “In the bathroom, I think,” Syd calls out after her. “They’re the size of the bathtub, so you can’t miss them.”

  When her aunt returns with the giant pillbox, Syd opens the Monday Evening compartment, and fishes them out. “Thanks, Aunt Hannah,” she says. “Oh, and can we go shopping for that wig tomorrow?”

  Her mom drops her fork.

  “Oh my God, yes, of course!” says Hannah. “What fun!”

  Hannah makes everything fun, anyway. They could be digging a ditch.

  “A wig, well,” says her dad. “That does sound like fun. What color?”

  Syd rocks her head. “Not sure, but Aunt Hannah can help me decide.”

  Aunt Hannah looks from Syd to Syd’s sour-faced mom and back, but says nothing. Syd doesn’t really care how much her mom pouts; she’s not taking her wig shopping. She needs a break from the utter gloominess of it all. The utter sameness. “Plus, I need to change my clinic appointment from Thursday to Friday this week.”

  Her mother blinks. “You know that’s impossible.”

  “You haven’t even asked them yet!” says Syd. “Come on, Mom, at least ask!”

  Her dad looks at her mom. “You can ask, right?” he says.

  Mom looks directly at Syd and says, “Can you at least tell me why? We have all your tutors to rearrange. And I have doctors’ appointments too, you know. It’s not a simple matter.”

  “I’ll take her,” says Hannah. “If you can’t, Mits. I’ll do it.”

  Syd tips back on her seat. “Zelda’s having a get-together, that’s all. I just need to see my friends once in a while. Okay? Let me live a little?”

  Her mom stares down at her plate and back up in slow motion. “I don’t know,” she says. “I’ll think about it. But I’ll have to call Ella Rodriguez to make sure nobody’s sick over there. You can’t be around…”

  Dad taps the table firmly. “Drop it, Mitsy,” he warns.

  Her mom’s eyes widen and her jaw drops. She looks away for a second, and slides her chair back. Syd actually feels bad for her, but this is what you have to do to make her see your side of things—that life can’t be about nothing but sickness or it’s just another version of death.

  Aunt Hannah sips her wine, which in the stone silence sounds weirdly loud. “This dinner is delicious, Aaron,” she says.

  “Yeah, it is, Dad,” says Syd. Might as well move on.

  “Excuse me,” says her mother. She stands and moves slowly across the room to the back stairs and up, closing the door behind her.

  Godiva yips in the back room, “Yip! Yip!”

  “Can I bring her in now?” Syd says to her dad. “Mom won’t even know. Please?”

  Her dad puts his head down and runs his fingers through his hair for a few seconds then nods. “Fine, go get Godiva.”

  Syd walks to the back utility room and hears her dad plead, “You’ve got to promise me you won’t bail out on us, Hannah. We need you. You can see that.”

  Syd’s big concession to her mother was to delay the wig expedition and spend the next three days with tutors catching up on math and history. This involved reading four chapters of The Great Depression, as if her life wasn’t depressing enough. But there wasn’t anything Syd wouldn’t do to clear the decks for the big Dane reveal on Thursday, not that her mother knows about Dane. Her spinal was moved to Friday, thanks to Dad, who made the phone call himself. “Not that hard if you know how to dial a number,” is what he said under his breath. But everything’s hard for Mom.

  For those three days, company was scarce. Aunt Hannah holed up in her suite on her computer, writing whatever…a novel, she said, which is so cool. It figures Aunt Hannah would write a novel. She should be a celebrity anyway; she looks like one. Dad left for Austin on business, and Mom was either buried under her covers or downstairs making list after tedious list about everything from groceries to medications to errands to tutor schedules. Or crying on the phone to that woman, Pandora, behind closed doors.

  Anyway, it’s finally Thursday and time to find a wig. Syd just hopes they find something good since she’s due at Zelda’s at 3:30 sharp. She doesn’t want to meet Dane in a nubby red ski cap. He deserves more.

  At the Wiggly Wig shop in Stamford, no one’s in the reception area, so Syd and Hannah walk back and help themselves to the merchandise. Hannah tries on as many wigs as Syd does, not that she needs one. Her hair is to die for. Syd would
give anything to show up at Zelda’s with Aunt Hannah’s gorgeous silky hair.

  “How does this look?” says Hannah, the wig all long, straight and black like Morticia.

  Syd giggles. “Awesome!” She rips off her ski cap, pulls the hat pin out of a short little punky blonde do, and pulls it down on her bald head. She stares into the mirror. She kind of digs the style but it’s itchy as hell. “How’s this?” she says, turning.

  “Funky!” says Hannah approvingly, which is why Syd likes Aunt Hannah. She approves of things.

  A round little ball of an older woman shuffles to the counter from the back room. “Can I help you?” she says in a screechy little voice. She’s wearing an obvious wig, shoe polish black, all curly and poufy circa Halloween during the Gothic Invasion of Mars.

  Hannah stares open-mouthed and it’s all Syd can do not to laugh. Not to curl up and die laughing, actually. Just the look on her aunt’s face is enough to make her split a gut. Hannah catches the crest of Syd’s laugh attack, and instantly they turn in opposite directions. But even from where she is, Syd can see Hannah holding her legs together so she won’t pee. She has a thing about peeing when she laughs too hard; she’s famous for it. Imagining Hannah peeing sends tears down Syd’s face and she wipes them, trying like hell to swallow her near hysteria, because the little troll lady is getting upset. Syd hasn’t laughed like this in a hundred years. She wants to give the little lady some respect, but get real. She can’t even talk.

  Hannah turns around, dead serious, and says, “Yes I’d like to try on the wig you’re wearing. It’s perfect!”

  The woman blinks. “This is not a wig,” she says. “It’s my own hair.”

  “But…” is all Hannah can say at that point, because whatever the woman has on her head is cock-eyed, long strands of her own gray hair poking out the front and sides.

  Hannah marches over to Syd with her last sane breath, removes the punk wig from Syd’s head, and returns it to its stand. She does the same with her Cher wig, and says, “Bye now!” as they turn and walk outside.

  Exploding!

  “Oh my God, oh my God!” says Hannah, her hands clutching her chest to keep her heart from popping out.

  Syd flips on her ski cap and leans against the closest tree for support. She’s weak from laughing. They stand there for a minute, catching their breath, but it’s freezing, so they can’t stay.

  “Get in the car, my little snow pea,” says Aunt Hannah. “We’re going to go find ourselves a wig made out of real hair instead of hamsters.” They ride out another long giggle, breathless. Just the memory of it. Every three seconds their shoulders shake again.

  Good times.

  In the car, Aunt Hannah pulls out her iPhone and googles Human Hair Wigs. There’s a place right in Ridgefield. They’re off.

  “I’m a little hungry,” says Syd. “Not that I can ever eat that much.”

  “Well, what are you up for?” says Hannah in her jolly way. Hannah, the jolly anti-Mom.

  “I can only handle a milkshake right now, I think. I mean it might be the only thing I can hold down.” She grins mischievously. “Plus Mom outlaws them which makes them even more delicious.”

  Hannah smiles knowingly. “Right!” But then says, “Let’s not be too hard on Mom though.”

  “You don’t live with her,” Syd protests.

  “I used to!” says Hannah as she steers down the entrance ramp to the parkway.

  “Yeah? And what was that like? I mean, what kind of a kid was she?”

  “She was my big sister, so she was always kind of, I don’t know…old.”

  “Ha! I knew it!”

  Hannah raises her eyebrows. “I mean…responsible, how’s that?”

  “You mean uptight!” Syd checks the google map on her phone. “Next exit,” she says. “There’s a McD’s and it’s only a mile from the wig place.”

  At McDonald’s, Syd orders a shake while Hannah orders a kid’s meal, which cracks Syd up. A stellar move. They finish lunch and roll down the highway to Classic Wigs.

  “I’m so glad you’ve changed your mind on the wigs,” Hannah says. “You should have the option, you know? To wear it if you want to, I mean.”

  “Can I tell you a secret?” says Syd as they pull into the parking lot.

  “Oh yeah,” she says, squirming expectantly. “I love secrets!”

  “OK,” says Syd. “Well, just that…” She pauses. “Pinky swear you won’t tell Mom or Dad?”

  “Lips are sealed,” says Hannah. She loops her pinky around Syd’s.

  “Well, there’s a guy I kind of like a lot? Not that I know him, but I’d like to? And now he’s in our band.”

  Hannah nods. “Name? Social security number?” She leans in close. “Details, girlfriend!”

  Syd giggles. They leave the car, lock it and head up the stone path to the salon. “His name is Dane and he’s Zelda’s neighbor,” she says. She’s a bit winded, so hangs onto the railing, climbing the three steps slowly. She suppresses a grin. “He has tattoos.”

  “Oooo! Tattoos! So we have to find a very modern hairpiece. Something spiky!”

  “Mom would pass out if she knew he had tattoos,” says Syd. At the door, she stops and looks at Hannah slyly. “But she would throw me off the Empire State Building if she knew…”

  Hannah plants her fists on her hips. “What?”

  “That I have one, too.”

  “What!!!!” says Hannah, her entire face lighting up. “You have a tattoo? Where?”

  Syd pulls her ski jacket and sweater up on the left side and her jeans down, revealing her lower hip.

  Hannah stares. “A dagger?” she says. “Is that what that is?”

  “More of a sword,” says Syd. “Just…I’m not defenseless. I can take down The Taker.”

  They walk into the parlor and down the hall. “The Taker?” Hannah whispers. “The Taker?!”

  “Yeah,” says Syd. “You know. The fucking Taker.”

  Aunt Hannah’s eyes move rapidly side to side. “Ahhhh. I see.”

  “I knew you would.”

  “The fucking Taker.”

  “Exactly.”

  Hannah takes Syd’s hand. “But he’s not going to take you.”

  “No. I’m armed and dangerous.”

  “But how did you…who? Don’t you need parental permission?”

  Syd chuckles. “There are ways around everything,” she says. “You just have to know the right people.”

  “Like…?”

  “Can’t divulge my sources, sorry. When my mother tortures you in the basement with her boiled chicken and beets, you’ll be too vulnerable.”

  “Ugh. I’ve had that chicken.”

  They arrive at the salon showroom which is filled with obvious upgrades to the hairpieces at Wiggly Wig.

  “Can I help you?” says a sharp looking thirty-something salesgirl with a pile of blonde hair Syd would love to be looking at in a mirror.

  An hour later, Syd leaves the store with a $3,500 wig purchased by Aunt Hannah, of course. Who else would make sure Syd had the exact right kind of upbeat hairstyle for her first date with Dane? Or, encounter really. But first impressions matter.

  “Z’s gonna die,” Syd says in the car, admiring the sleek blonde hair and ear-length spiky cut. “She’s just…gonna die.”

  “You look great as a blonde,” says Hannah. “Who knew?” She pulls on the front tendrils. “So why don’t we go to Bloomie’s and get your makeup done? And maybe a pair of fabulous earrings?”

  Syd thinks about it—the pros and cons of the natural look versus the sophisticated ingénue. “What the hell!” she says, checking the time on her phone. “We have an hour to kill before they get out of school anyway.”

  Sitting on a stool at the Bobbi Brown counter at Bloomie’s, Syd looks like a movie star. Jennifer Lawrence or something. She can’t even believe it. Z might actually pass out, but hopefully Dane won’t. Or maybe it would be ok if he did. Syd is exhausted beyond belief, but she’s
not quitting now. Plus Aunt Hannah treated her to some fierce new turquoise studs and a silver ear collar to show off her new hair. She could have racked up an entirely new wardrobe, but they didn’t have the time. Destiny awaits.

  They pull up to the Rodriguez house, a mid-size brownstone that Syd actually prefers to her own mega-mansion because it’s homier and so colorfully decorated inside. A happy house. A house you would feel okay about messing up once in a while, since it looks like people actually live there. It never ceases to amaze Syd how meticulously clean her mother insists on keeping their house even though she’s lost all sense of personal grooming. Syd can’t even remember the last time her mother bothered to dress up or even put on a nice pair of jeans. Just sweatpants. Gray sweatpants. Who wears sweatpants anymore?! Her depression might be because of Syd’s condition, but whatever. That just makes Syd feel worse. And anyway, it doesn’t help anybody that her mother walks around like a commercial for the hopeless and catastrophic end of everything.

  They pull up to the garage and Syd hears the music. “They’re in there,” says Syd. “Can you hear them?”

  “Ha!” says Hannah. “Lucky they don’t have close neighbors. Shall I stay and wait?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Hannah widens her eyes. “Can I at least say hi to Zelda and meet the boy of your dreams? Pretty please?”

  Syd has to think about this. She doesn’t want to offend Hannah, but she hasn’t even officially met Dane. “Um.” She bites her bottom lip and finally says, “Okay, fine, but just for a second, and remember…”

  Hannah offers her pinkie, and Syd loops, smiling. They jump out of the car and walk several yards to the door at the side of the garage. Syd sighs deeply then opens it. “Hey,” she says as casually as she can.

  Zelda’s fingers freeze on the strings of her electric guitar and Syd can’t even look at Dane to see what he’s doing. He’s a blur.

  “Oh my God,” says Z. Her hands fly to her mouth. “Look at you!”

  Syd looks down. “No big deal,” she says, signaling to Z with her hand to keep her reaction in check. Syd’s regretting the makeover already, but Z shuts up, so maybe she gets it.

  “Hi Zelda!” says Aunt Hannah, going in for a hug. She whispers something into Z’s ear, so Syd feels covered.