Pushing the Boundaries (Off Limits) Page 4

  What she did was more than kind, it was amazing.

  “Thank you,” she says, and her cheeks grow just a tad red. I find myself staring at them, her red cheeks. Then she smiles, her cheeks rising with happiness, exposing the dimple in her chin. I like her smile. Probably more than I am supposed to.

  “And thanks for your help.” She steps forward, and my heart skips.

  I shrug. “That is kind of my job.”

  Her smile falters. Is she disappointed?

  Honestly, I’d love to see more of that smile. But me being the cause of her smile can only lead to more trouble than it’s worth. And that smile would be worth a lot.

  Chapter Nine

  Myra

  I eat dinner quickly, then whisper to my mother that I’m headed up to do my prayers. She nods with a smile and jumps right back into her conversation. Funny, this is the most sociable I’ve ever seen her. At home she hardly speaks at the dinner table.

  I do my prayers quickly but respectfully. Since we’re far from home I’m allowed an abbreviated session. I could get away without doing them at all, not like my mother would really notice, but I actually enjoy them. I may not be the best or most devout Muslim in the world, but this is one part of my life I can trust, that never changes. And one part I’ll always know my mother approves of, no matter what else happens.

  Once finished, I head up to the roof.

  The cool night air caresses my skin, sending a ripple of goose bumps down my legs. The cold feels good. It’s a commodity in this place.

  Sitting on my little plastic chair, I try not to keep glancing over to the staircase. Elias probably isn’t coming. Why would he?

  Last night I flashed a camera in his face when he was being sincere. Today, he pretended like he didn’t know who I was. Clearly, he’s not exactly in my fan club.

  That’s okay, though. I don’t need him to like me.

  I close my eyes, and his face pops into my mind. Okay, I’d like him to like me. But I’ll make it without his friendship. I’ve never needed anyone before, why start now?

  Footsteps sound on the steps, and my head whips around to see him.

  My mouth is suddenly dry, my head a little dizzy. Great, this guy has me twitterpated.

  He smiles, exposing white teeth, as he joins me on the old patio furniture.

  “No camera today?” he asks.

  I note the way he pronounces each syllable. Cam-er-a. I open my mouth and look down at my empty hands. “Guess not,” I say, sincerely surprised. I never go out without my camera. How could I have forgotten it?

  He nods to himself, looking out at the city. A rooster from the yard next door crows awkwardly.

  Well, that’s romantic.

  “I thought they crowed at dawn?” I ask, mostly to myself.

  He gives me a strange look, his lips pursing slightly. “They crow at any time.”

  “Oh.”

  Not exactly an award-winning conversation going on here.

  “How was your first day at the clinic?” he asks, meeting my eyes.

  I blink and turn away from him, scared of the strangely intense moment. There is something incredible about his eyes. So deep and emotional. It scares me.

  “It was okay.”

  “Okay? You did not like it?”

  I shrug. “It’s not really my thing. I only really came here for my mother.”

  “Really? I thought you seemed to be interested in the country.”

  My head whips in his direction, forgetting his intense eyes. “Oh, I am. I’m just not as interested in the medical part of the trip.”

  “Oh, you do not want to be a doctor?”

  I shake my head. He looks away from me again, silence filling the air. With his eyes diverted, I look back at him. From his dirty tennis shoes to his faded jeans, to the blue T-shirt that does a spectacular job of showing off his arms. Did I mention he has great arms?

  I’m not supposed to keep thinking about him like this, but the dude is in my head. Even today, I kept imagining the pictures I’d take—the smile he gives to the children out in the yard when he sings with them. His hands as he…does anything. I can’t quite explain how I’m attracted to someone’s hands, but I am. They’re thick and strong, and I love the color of his skin, so dark and beautiful.

  His eyes are so deep and dark. His lips, lush and full. I shake the thoughts from my head, realizing if I keep on this train of thought I’m going to take it too far way too quickly.

  I smile to myself. At least he can’t read my thoughts.

  Chapter Ten

  Elias

  The second I turn away from her, she turns toward me. Like she is scared for me to catch her looking. I pretend not to notice and let her eyes wander. Truthfully, I like it.

  I hold back a smirk.

  “Why are you always up here after dinner?” she asks. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Home, family, something?”

  I nod and meet her eyes. I love her big eyes, I just wish they didn’t wince every time I met them, like she’s scared of the contact. “I have a mother, brother, and sister at home waiting on me.”

  I close my eyes and think about what my family is doing now. My brother and sister are likely arguing about who takes up more of the bed at night, or who can jump higher or scream louder, and my mother is likely just getting home from her long walk to the market where she sells her dolls. She is likely trying to rein in the children, with no luck. Then she will give up, sit out back, and watch the sky change, trying to ignore the yelling.

  “Oh, that’s right. The boy who spoke such great English.” She laughs lightly.

  Her laugh is beautiful. I do not want to stop watching, but I do not want to scare her off either. No camera today—maybe that means she will not flash me away again.

  “Yes, that is Luke.”

  “So why don’t you go home to them?”

  I pause, my face more serious than it should be. It’s an honest question, but it hits hard. I want to be there. But my job requires me to wait on Mr. Rowland to excuse me.

  If I were home, not only would I join my mother in the sweet quiet of the night, but I would convince my siblings to join us too. We would sit as a family and watch the moon rise over the mountains.

  Maybe my mother would even sing a song.

  “I am waiting on Mr. Rowland. Then I can go home.”

  “Oh. Working sucks, huh?”

  I shrug. “I need this job. It is worth a little time away from them.” I sigh, missing them. I have to remind myself of this. They are worth it. Happy and healthy, well fed and educated. All because of this job.

  “What about you? Do you not want to spend time with your mother?”

  She lets out a bitter laugh. This one I don’t find quite so attractive. “No. My mother and I don’t exactly get along.”

  My eyebrows pull down, but I try to hide my reaction. “Why?” I ask softly.

  “We just don’t.”

  I blink at her harsh tone. Okay. No talking about her mother, got it. It is just hard for me to comprehend a family like that. I know some do not always get along, but to not want to be around each other?

  I guess I am more lucky than I realize to have a family like mine.

  “It’s time for bed,” Myra says, standing suddenly. I hope I didn’t offend her again. She takes a few steps away but then turns back with a sad smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

  My heart soars, but I stomp it down. It doesn’t mean anything.

  “Yes,” I say with a giddy smile I can’t help.

  I am feeling so conflicted, so confused. This girl is so beautiful and interesting and confusing. I should not want her, should not think about her the way I do.

  Wanting her is inevitable. Staying away, impossible. Now I guess I will just have to see what kind of trouble it gets me into.

  Chapter Eleven

  Myra

  I didn’t sleep well last night. Between the sticky heat that the ceiling fans can’t even begin to wave
away, and thoughts about Elias and my mother, I wasn’t able to fall asleep until past three a.m.

  I’m determined for today to be a good day, though. I did my good-girl duty; now it’s time for me to get what I came for.

  My camera is shoved into my satchel, leaving no room for anything else. Good thing my skin isn’t as fair as most of the others. No sunscreen for me.

  My mother doesn’t even give me a second look, and I take advantage of it. I’m hoping she’ll let me get away with a bit more today. No grimaces for me today. At least not yet.

  I sit beside Ava during the drive to the clinic and stare out the window. I know there is so much more to this place than what they’re letting us see. Today is the day I get outside the clinic walls and see what this place is really like.

  Just me and my camera.

  I bounce my legs in anticipation, my heart pounding. I wonder if it’s scary out there. It’s scary everywhere, but I’m determined to get my fingers into Haiti.

  We drive past a stream where a large group of Haitians swim…or bathe. I’m not sure which. It’s better than in the city, where I’ve heard they bathe in the gutters by the road. The same place many of them relieve themselves.

  Note to self: do not eat the street food.

  Too soon, we arrive at the clinic where concrete walls surround us, keeping us from the rest of the country.

  My mother wants me to open up to her, to the patients…but what kind of example is this? She’s just as closed off. And she wonders why we don’t talk.

  I use a camera, she uses these big walls and barbed wire. Which one is worse?

  We pile out of the van and set to work unpacking the supplies. Apparently it’s not safe enough to leave most of the medical supplies in the clinic. I guess those barbed-wire fences aren’t enough defense. Personally, I think my mother is just paranoid.

  I work alongside the interns without so much as a word.

  Still, the awkwardness is no fun.

  I set to work preparing the vaccines for today. Not as many as yesterday since many of them have already been done. We’ll be dealing with more of the minor medical issues today. Broken bones, skin lesions, malnutrition, cuts and scrapes. I just hope I don’t get to witness the “lost causes” my mother is always talking about.

  Some children have terminal illnesses—like brain tumors—the clinic isn’t equipped to help. Meaning we have to turn a dying child away with nowhere else to go.

  I don’t know how to handle something like that, though a sick part of me does think that would make an interesting story for my competition. Maybe it would inspire someone to open a free hospital here. But I’m not sure I’d have the strength to snap that picture.

  Kids start piling into the clinic, herded like sheep by some of the male interns. The last thing we need is a trampled child on our record.

  Their chatter fills the room, erasing the awkward silence. I welcome the noise, the bustle. I don’t mind a crowd. Those are easy to get lost in.

  I spend most of the morning with Dr. Stone, who is all smiles and jokes so it’s easy to let loose with him. I mostly watch and hand him the supplies he asks for, like the rubber gloves he changes obsessively.

  He hands out little packs of vitamins and a bar of soap to every child who comes up. Many of the children seem to be fairly healthy, they just want a chance for a doctor to check them out. But they nearly all have signs of malnutrition, most commonly the bloated-looking belly. Strange that a sign of starvation is getting a big belly. The children with orange hair are the ones in the most trouble. Dr. Stone sneaks those children an extra pack of vitamins. Though I do wonder if they’ll understand what the little pills are for or how to use them. Each pack is a week’s supply, so one daily is all that’s needed. They also don’t taste very good, so I wonder if the kids will just toss them away. Or think they’re some kind of magic American medicine?

  Dr. Stone also says soap can work better to prevent disease than vaccines in these areas. It’s astonishing how little these people have available to them. Not just medicines but simple hygiene products are elusive here.

  Suddenly, my clean fingernails seem like a luxury. My Nike tennis shoes are like a shining reminder that I have more than other people could ever dream.

  A knot gradually forms in my throat, and by the time a little girl with big brown eyes, matted braids, and a cute but dirt-covered flowered dress arrives, I’m not sure I can handle this part of the job anymore. She has a bright red wound protruding from her upper arm, and I’m not sure what’s causing the long bump. Maybe an infection.

  “Hmm, would you look at that?” Dr. Stone says.

  The girl stands back, not quite entering the stall. Her mother walks up and roughly pushes her toward us. Already there are tears forming in the girl’s eyes.

  The mother begins talking to us in a rushed tone, but I can’t understand a word. Even if I spoke Creole I don’t think I’d be sure of what she’s saying. Dr. Stone lets the mother talk. For a moment I wonder if he’s only been pretending not to understand the language. But finally, he turns slightly and mumbles, “Grab the interpreter boy.” Then he stands and calmly touches the mother’s arm. “We’ll take care of her.”

  The woman talks louder.

  I rush from the stall and down the aisle to find Elias blowing bubbles for some of the children. “Elias, Dr. Stone needs you.”

  Instantly, there is worry on his face. A sincere emotion that I find surprising. Does he care for everyone with way? Even strangers?

  Together, we rush back to the already hysterical woman. “I can handle this,” Dr. Stone says. “Just get the mother out so I can take care of the girl.” Elias calms the mother and takes her outside, leaving us alone with her daughter.

  I understand why we needed the mother gone and why Elias had to be the one to do it, but I wish there was some way we could talk to the little girl shivering in the corner. She’s probably around nine, though I’ve found age hard to guess here. All the children are small.

  Dr. Stone pulls out a lollipop. Classic doctor tactic. At first the girl doesn’t move, but she finally reaches out and grabs the stick. Dr. Stone motions for her to taste it, and she slowly brings it to her mouth. The second the red candy touches her tongue her eyes grow so wide I think they might explode. She pulls it out and examines the candy, then sticks it back in her mouth, now humming to herself.

  My fingers itch, and I glance toward my bag in the corner.

  Dr. Stone pulls up a chair next to the girl and begins examining her arm. I quietly reach for my bag and pull out my camera. I crouch down and snap a picture of the girl’s exuberant face, unsure if I’m going to be reprimanded by Dr. Stone, but he doesn’t say a word.

  I put the camera back into my bag and rejoin the doctor.

  “There’s something in it,” Dr. Stone says, indicating the girl’s wound.

  “What is it?” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me.

  “A needle.”

  My face scrunches up, and I pause. “A needle? Like from a syringe?”

  “It’s not from a syringe. It’s a metal poker. I’ve never seen it used quite like this. I assume a bὸkὸr was doing some experimenting.” He’s calm, methodical.

  “A what?” I ask, surprised.

  The little girl pulls out the lollipop and stares at me, blinking twice.

  “Let’s talk about this after, okay? I’m afraid of spooking her.”

  I nod, understanding exactly what he means. She already looks ready to bolt. So I try to spread a smile across my face. It’s not a natural expression for me, so I hope it doesn’t have a negative effect. The little girl doesn’t seem to notice the awkwardness of my smile; in fact, it distracts her as Dr. Stone pulls out a syringe and places a numbing agent into it.

  Guess I’m getting some mini surgery experience today. This will be fun.

  I take in a breath, preparing my stomach for the sight of blood. As Dr. Stone reaches up to her arm, the girl notices the needle and i
nstantly starts to squirm and back away.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I say soothingly, but tears well in her eyes and Dr. Stone steps back.

  I kneel down in front of the girl and try to talk to her. “What’s your name?”

  She just stares.

  “Kijan ou rele,” Dr. Stone whispers.

  “Kijan ou rele,” I repeat softly to the girl.

  “Rene,” she says softly, looking down.

  I point to my chest and say, “Myra.”

  She blinks and repeats. “Myra.” Now my smile is sincere.

  Swallowing, she puts the lollipop back into her mouth and reaches for my hair, swirling it on her finger.

  Dr. Stone pulls up to her again. I let her keep my hair in her finger and reach for her arm to keep it still. Just a couple seconds, and she won’t feel a thing.

  She calmly watches the needle approach but jumps and squeals when it pierces her skin. “It’s okay,” I whisper. She whimpers but turns back to me and my long hair.

  “Good job,” Dr. Stone says. “Keep her distracted while I work. She won’t feel what I’m doing.”

  I go to my bag and pull out my camera. Her eyes are bigger than when she tasted the lolly, which is surprising because I thought they were going to explode the first time.

  On the digital screen, I show her the pictures I’ve taken so far, flipping through slowly. She touches the screen with light fingertips. She leaves it smudged, but it’s worth it to keep her distracted from the long cut Dr. Stone is making in her other arm.

  The last picture is one of herself. She sucks in a breath and looks closely, her nose almost touching the screen.

  “Rene,” I say.

  Dr. Stone gently removes the metal piece from her arm. Ava kneels beside him, preparing the stitches. I didn’t even notice her come over to help.

  I try my best to ignore them myself, partially because I don’t want Rene to look where I’m looking, but mostly because I’m pretty sure I’ll toss my breakfast on her sandaled feet if I look too long.