To say goodbye, she looked at every corner of her room.
Goodbye white-painted dresser. Goodbye desk where she had sat writing hundreds of letters-as proven by the stains where she'd dropped sealing wax on the wood. Goodbye bed, goodbye misty white bed curtains that had made her feel like an Arabian princess in a fairy tale. Goodbye stereo.
ouch, she thought. My stereo. And my CDs. I can't leave them; I can't....
But of course she could. She would have to.
It was probably just as well that she had to deal with the stereo before she walked out of her room. It built her up to start dealing with the loss of people.
"Hi, Mom," she said shakily, in the kitchen.
"Poppy! I didn't know you were up."
She hugged her mother hard, in that one moment aware of so many little sensations: the kitchen tile under her bare feet, the faint coconut smell that dung to her mother's hair from her shampoo. Her mother's arms around her, and the warmth of her mother's body.
"Are you hungry, sweetie? You look so much better."
Poppy couldn't stand to look into her mother's anxiously hopeful face, and the thought of food made her nauseated. She burrowed back into her mother's shoulder.
"Just hold me a minute," she said.
It came to her, then, that she wasn't going to be able to say goodbye to everything after all. She couldn't tie up all the loose ends of her life in one afternoon. She might be privileged to know that this was her last day here, but she was going out just like everyone else-unprepared.
"Just remember I love you," she muttered into her mother's shoulder, blinking back tears.
She let her mother put her back to bed, then. She spent the rest of the day making phone calls. Trying to learn a little bit about the life she was about to exit, the people she was supposed to know. Trying to appreciate it all, fast, before she had to leave it.
"So, Elaine, I miss you," she said into the mouthpiece, her eyes fixed on the sunlight coming in her window.
"So, Brady, how's it going?"
"So, Laura, thanks for the flowers."
"Poppy, are you okay?" they all said. "When are we going to see you again?"
Poppy couldn't answer. She wished she could call her dad, but nobody knew where he was.
She also wished she had actually read the play Our Town when she'd been assigned it last year, instead of using Cliff Notes and quick thinking to fake it. All she could remember now was that it was about a dead girl who got the chance to look at one ordinary day in her life and really appreciate it. It might have helped her sort out her own feelings now-but it was too late.
I wasted a lot of high school, Poppy realized. I used my brains to outsmart the teachers-and that really wasn't very smart at all.
She discovered in herself a new respect for Phil, who actually used his brain to learn things. Maybe her brother wasn't just a pitiful straitlaced grind after all. Maybe-oh, God-he'd been right all along.
I'm changing so much, Poppy thought, and she shivered.
Whether it was the strange alien blood in her or the cancer itself or just part of growing up, she didn't know. But she was changing.
The doorbell rang. Poppy knew who it was without leaving the room. She could sense James.
He's here to start the play, Poppy thought, and looked at her dock. Incredible. It was almost four o'clock already.
Time literally seemed to be flying by.
Don't panic. You have hours yet, she told herself, and picked up the phone again. But it seemed only minutes later that her mother came knocking on the bedroom door.
"Sweetie, Phil thinks we should go out--and James has come over-but I told him I don't think you want to see him-and I don't really want to leave you at night...." Her mother was uncharacteristically flustered.
"No, I'm happy to see James. Really. And I think you should take a break. Really.
"Well--I'm glad you and James have made up. But I still don't know...."
It took time to convince her, to persuade her that Poppy was so much better, that Poppy had weeks or mon ths ahead of her to live. Tha t there was no reason to stick around on this particular Friday night.
But at last Poppy's mother kissed her and agreed. And then there was nothing to do but say goodbye to Cliff. Poppy got a hug from him an d finally forgave him for not being her dad.
You did your best, she thought as she disengaged from his crisp dark suit and looked at his boyishly square jaw. And you're going to be the one to take care of Mom-afterward. So I forgive you. You're all right, really.
And then Cliff and her mom were walking out, and it was the last time, the very last time to say goodbye. Poppy called it after them and they both turned and smiled.
When they were gone, James and Phil came into Poppy's room.
Poppy looked at James. His gray eyes were opaque, revealing nothing of his feelings.
"Now?" she said, and her voice trembled slightly.
"Now."
CHAPTER 10
Things have to be right," Poppy said. "Things have to be just right for this. Get some candles, Phil."
Phil was looking ashen and haggard. "Candles?"
"As many as you can find. And some pillows. I need lots of pillows." She knelt by the stereo to examine a haphazard pile of CDs. Phil stared at her briefly, then went out.
"Structures from Silence . . . no. Too repetitious," Poppy said, rummaging through the pile. "Deep Forest -no. Too hyper. I need something ambient."
"How about this?" James picked a CD up. Poppy looked at the label.
Music to Disappear In.
Of course. It was perfect. Poppy took the CD and met James's gaze. Usually he referred to the haunting soft strains of ambient music as 'New Age mush.'