The Girl with the Iron Lungs
hell is empty.
15 January 2014
"Miss Villagas?"
Lottie stares at the cream colored wall paper of the doctor office, not blinking, not breathing, just staring. Her eyes start to burn when the moisture dries, but she doesn't blink. She just stares. Stares off into the nothingness that has now become her life. To think she just dressed in some of her best, covering her tattoos and crazy piercings, just to get this kind of news. She thought she was going to get good news . . .
Oh yes, Charlotte, you're in perfect health! Just keep off the beer for a few days.
It's just a little cold, Miss Villagas. Here's a prescription for some cough syrup.
Just a cough. Drink lots of water and it should be gone in a few days.
It's nothing to worry about.
Cancer.
Terminal cancer.
In her lungs.
In those big bags of tissue and muscle that contract and expand to keep her breathing and living.
Cancer.
"Miss Villagas, do I need to call someone to take you home?"
Lottie finally turns to look at the slightly worried doctor. This was his job, she realized, to tell people they were going to die and then try to console them. That's what they got paid hundreds of thousands a year to do. To disappoint. To crush dreams of happy futures and hopes of a better tomorrow. But for Charlotte Villagas there seemed to be no tomorrow. There was just today while she was still able to breathe without coughing up blood.
It had started out as a cough a week ago and now it was cancer.
What caused it? Not the weed; weed doesn't give you cancer. Maybe the cigarettes? But she only smoked when she drank. (Then again she did drink a lot, too.) Was it in her blood? Her genetics? The thing that chemically makes her special from everyone else that has ever existed? Maybe she was just meant to get cancer.
Maybe she was meant to die and join the twenty-seven club.
She wasn't old, she was still in her prime. She could pull off as a twenty-two year old and still got carded at the corner store when buying wine coolers and she was young. Why do the best ones always die so young?
"No. No, I'm fine. Thanks."
Lottie stands and leaves the office, ignoring the calls the doctor makes after her.
It was just a cough.
When Lottie gets to her jeep, she just stares at the locked door, the keys hanging from her hand, picking out the specks of dirt and dust that surrounded the handle that she needed to unlock in order to get in and drive off.
Where was she going to drive to, the studio? the beach? Maybe she could call her brother and finally go visit him in jail. Or she could go home and hole herself up in her room for the next six months that she was projected to live and just waste away into the violet colored sheets and thousands of pillows she had to choose from to smother herself with.
She really fancied her cow print pillow and decided that if she was going to off herself it would be that one.
Lottie finally climbed into her jeep and started the ignition, pulling out of the car garage and started to drive around downtown San Diego. This city had been her home since she had moved there with her family from North Texas when she was seven, her brother was ten.
Lots of things had happened in the last twenty years, which included meeting the the closest friend she had, a certain pothead that had a liking for whiskey.
Lottie sat in the drive way in front of the house that he shared with his brother, the two bachelors more like best friends than siblings. Neither of their cars were parked in the drive, which left Lottie to sit alone and quietly, listening to the other cars pass by from behind her and think on her news.
She couldn't tell anybody. She was just going to die and they wouldn't know. Lottie hated not being able to tell them, but this was something she had made up her mind on and she was going to stick with it. She was going to die six months from now and then let it end there. Lottie would not allow them to worry and stress and not live their lives because hers was ending, she wasn't selfish.
Lottie grabs a crumbled receipt from the floorboards of her jeep and digs out a pen from her bag before starting her list. It's just a simple list of twenty four things that she wants to do before she's dressed for her casket. Twenty four simple things. One for each week, give or take a few days. She could do this, she could make these last six months what they needed to be.
There's a loud tap on the window beside her. Lottie jumps and clenches the fabric above her heart, staring at the slightly worried face of her best friend.
"Lottie?" Mike says, his voice muffled as he speaks through the glass. Lottie takes her key from the ignition and opens the door, letting Mike step back before she opens it fully and jumps out. "You have a key, Lottie. How long have you been waiting?"
She had left the doctor's office a little after four, and when she glances down at her phone it's almost seven and the sun is setting off in the distance.
"Not long, I wanted to write something down before I got out," she half-lies, holding up the crumbled receipt. Mike chuckles and shakes his head as the talk walk up the little path to the front door of the condo. Mike unlocks it effortlessly and lets Lottie in first before closing the door behind them.
"What did you write down?" Mike asks, going straight to the kitchen to get his usual beer and a bag of chips that will hold him over until he gets the munchies later and decided to eat some kind of supper.
"My bucket list," Lottie says, dropping her back beside the glass coffee table in front of the couch and falls down onto the cushions, laying out on over half of the leather cushions as she reaches for the remote located two inches from her head and flicks on the television.
"Bucket list?" Mike says, shifting her legs so to sit under them and lets them fall back to rest on the top of his thighs.
"Yep," she pops the 'p' and reaches behind her to show him the list. "Twenty four things I want to do."
Mike chuckles again, sipping his beer, and takes the list, skimming over them. He snorts and little at some of them. "Get married in Vegas? Ride an elephant? Lottie, these are some crazy things."
"And I live a crazy life." For now at least. Lottie stares blankly at the tv screen, much like she had done earlier in the doctor's office.
"Yeah, speaking of which, what's with the get up? I haven't seen you wear more than a crop and a pair of shorts in weeks. You going on a date?"
Lottie shakes her head and flips from her stomach to her back, straining her neck to look at Mike.
"I had an appointment today and wanted to look nice," she says, truthfully, leaving out where the appointment was at. Mike sees right past it and pats her knee.
"An appointment where?" he asks, drinking more of his beer and stuffing a hand of chips into his mouth.
"With a manager," Lottie lies straight through her teeth, but Mike seems happy with the lie not even noticing her tell sign.
"What? Really? Who? Did it go well? What did they say?"
Lottie instantly regretted lying and tried her best to fill in the details from the top of her head.
"Some sleeze ball. He didn't sound very trusting over the phone, don't even know why I agreed to meet him. Didn't last more than five minutes before he tried to get in my pants," Lottie says and drops her head back down, looking to the tv. Mike frowns and pats her leg again.
"Well, maybe next time? You gotta be patient with this stuff. Just keep playing your gigs and I'm sure you'll be signed in no time."
Too bad I'm going to die in six months, Lottie sarcastically says to herself, but her pursed expression turns sullen. She slowly sits up and moves her legs from Mike's lap. He looks from the tv to her, finishing off his beer. Mike frowns.
"You okay, Lot?"
Lottie shakes her head and stands, grabbing her bag. Her hands shake and she tries to steady them, almost running from the room.
Mike stands too, trailing behind her. "Where ya going, Lottie?"
"Home," she mumbles and walks out, closing the door behind her, trying to make sure she gets out of the house before she lets herself begin to cry. Mike doesn't follow her, knowing exactly what Lottie can get like when she's going through one of her few-and-far-between panic attacks. She deals with them in quiet, lonely places so she can calm herself down. Mike goes back to the couch and picks up the crumbled receipt, reading over the twenty-four different things.
The front door opens, and Mike almost thinks it is Lottie, but Vic walks in instead.
"Hey, I just saw Lottie leave, is everything okay?" he asks, dropping his keys and wallet on the front table beside the door. It's Wednesday, and every Wednesday is Lottie and Mike time - which basically means some old 90's movie, at least three joints and a whole bottle of Jack Daniels' shared between the two.
Mike doesn't answer at first. Just stares at the list, deciphering Lottie's chicken scratch before looking over to his older brother.
"Do you know where I can find a fried Snickers?"
"Miss Villagas?"
Lottie stares at the cream colored wall paper of the doctor office, not blinking, not breathing, just staring. Her eyes start to burn when the moisture dries, but she doesn't blink. She just stares. Stares off into the nothingness that has now become her life. To think she just dressed in some of her best, covering her tattoos and crazy piercings, just to get this kind of news. She thought she was going to get good news . . .
Oh yes, Charlotte, you're in perfect health! Just keep off the beer for a few days.
It's just a little cold, Miss Villagas. Here's a prescription for some cough syrup.
Just a cough. Drink lots of water and it should be gone in a few days.
It's nothing to worry about.
Cancer.
Terminal cancer.
In her lungs.
In those big bags of tissue and muscle that contract and expand to keep her breathing and living.
Cancer.
"Miss Villagas, do I need to call someone to take you home?"
Lottie finally turns to look at the slightly worried doctor. This was his job, she realized, to tell people they were going to die and then try to console them. That's what they got paid hundreds of thousands a year to do. To disappoint. To crush dreams of happy futures and hopes of a better tomorrow. But for Charlotte Villagas there seemed to be no tomorrow. There was just today while she was still able to breathe without coughing up blood.
It had started out as a cough a week ago and now it was cancer.
What caused it? Not the weed; weed doesn't give you cancer. Maybe the cigarettes? But she only smoked when she drank. (Then again she did drink a lot, too.) Was it in her blood? Her genetics? The thing that chemically makes her special from everyone else that has ever existed? Maybe she was just meant to get cancer.
Maybe she was meant to die and join the twenty-seven club.
She wasn't old, she was still in her prime. She could pull off as a twenty-two year old and still got carded at the corner store when buying wine coolers and she was young. Why do the best ones always die so young?
"No. No, I'm fine. Thanks."
Lottie stands and leaves the office, ignoring the calls the doctor makes after her.
It was just a cough.
When Lottie gets to her jeep, she just stares at the locked door, the keys hanging from her hand, picking out the specks of dirt and dust that surrounded the handle that she needed to unlock in order to get in and drive off.
Where was she going to drive to, the studio? the beach? Maybe she could call her brother and finally go visit him in jail. Or she could go home and hole herself up in her room for the next six months that she was projected to live and just waste away into the violet colored sheets and thousands of pillows she had to choose from to smother herself with.
She really fancied her cow print pillow and decided that if she was going to off herself it would be that one.
Lottie finally climbed into her jeep and started the ignition, pulling out of the car garage and started to drive around downtown San Diego. This city had been her home since she had moved there with her family from North Texas when she was seven, her brother was ten.
Lots of things had happened in the last twenty years, which included meeting the the closest friend she had, a certain pothead that had a liking for whiskey.
Lottie sat in the drive way in front of the house that he shared with his brother, the two bachelors more like best friends than siblings. Neither of their cars were parked in the drive, which left Lottie to sit alone and quietly, listening to the other cars pass by from behind her and think on her news.
She couldn't tell anybody. She was just going to die and they wouldn't know. Lottie hated not being able to tell them, but this was something she had made up her mind on and she was going to stick with it. She was going to die six months from now and then let it end there. Lottie would not allow them to worry and stress and not live their lives because hers was ending, she wasn't selfish.
Lottie grabs a crumbled receipt from the floorboards of her jeep and digs out a pen from her bag before starting her list. It's just a simple list of twenty four things that she wants to do before she's dressed for her casket. Twenty four simple things. One for each week, give or take a few days. She could do this, she could make these last six months what they needed to be.
There's a loud tap on the window beside her. Lottie jumps and clenches the fabric above her heart, staring at the slightly worried face of her best friend.
"Lottie?" Mike says, his voice muffled as he speaks through the glass. Lottie takes her key from the ignition and opens the door, letting Mike step back before she opens it fully and jumps out. "You have a key, Lottie. How long have you been waiting?"
She had left the doctor's office a little after four, and when she glances down at her phone it's almost seven and the sun is setting off in the distance.
"Not long, I wanted to write something down before I got out," she half-lies, holding up the crumbled receipt. Mike chuckles and shakes his head as the talk walk up the little path to the front door of the condo. Mike unlocks it effortlessly and lets Lottie in first before closing the door behind them.
"What did you write down?" Mike asks, going straight to the kitchen to get his usual beer and a bag of chips that will hold him over until he gets the munchies later and decided to eat some kind of supper.
"My bucket list," Lottie says, dropping her back beside the glass coffee table in front of the couch and falls down onto the cushions, laying out on over half of the leather cushions as she reaches for the remote located two inches from her head and flicks on the television.
"Bucket list?" Mike says, shifting her legs so to sit under them and lets them fall back to rest on the top of his thighs.
"Yep," she pops the 'p' and reaches behind her to show him the list. "Twenty four things I want to do."
Mike chuckles again, sipping his beer, and takes the list, skimming over them. He snorts and little at some of them. "Get married in Vegas? Ride an elephant? Lottie, these are some crazy things."
"And I live a crazy life." For now at least. Lottie stares blankly at the tv screen, much like she had done earlier in the doctor's office.
"Yeah, speaking of which, what's with the get up? I haven't seen you wear more than a crop and a pair of shorts in weeks. You going on a date?"
Lottie shakes her head and flips from her stomach to her back, straining her neck to look at Mike.
"I had an appointment today and wanted to look nice," she says, truthfully, leaving out where the appointment was at. Mike sees right past it and pats her knee.
"An appointment where?" he asks, drinking more of his beer and stuffing a hand of chips into his mouth.
"With a manager," Lottie lies straight through her teeth, but Mike seems happy with the lie not even noticing her tell sign.
"What? Really? Who? Did it go well? What did they say?"
Lottie instantly regretted lying and tried her best to fill in the details from the top of her head.
"Some sleeze ball. He didn't sound very trusting over the phone, don't even know why I agreed to meet him. Didn't last more than five minutes before he tried to get in my pants," Lottie says and drops her head back down, looking to the tv. Mike frowns and pats her leg again.
"Well, maybe next time? You gotta be patient with this stuff. Just keep playing your gigs and I'm sure you'll be signed in no time."
Too bad I'm going to die in six months, Lottie sarcastically says to herself, but her pursed expression turns sullen. She slowly sits up and moves her legs from Mike's lap. He looks from the tv to her, finishing off his beer. Mike frowns.
"You okay, Lot?"
Lottie shakes her head and stands, grabbing her bag. Her hands shake and she tries to steady them, almost running from the room.
Mike stands too, trailing behind her. "Where ya going, Lottie?"
"Home," she mumbles and walks out, closing the door behind her, trying to make sure she gets out of the house before she lets herself begin to cry. Mike doesn't follow her, knowing exactly what Lottie can get like when she's going through one of her few-and-far-between panic attacks. She deals with them in quiet, lonely places so she can calm herself down. Mike goes back to the couch and picks up the crumbled receipt, reading over the twenty-four different things.
The front door opens, and Mike almost thinks it is Lottie, but Vic walks in instead.
"Hey, I just saw Lottie leave, is everything okay?" he asks, dropping his keys and wallet on the front table beside the door. It's Wednesday, and every Wednesday is Lottie and Mike time - which basically means some old 90's movie, at least three joints and a whole bottle of Jack Daniels' shared between the two.
Mike doesn't answer at first. Just stares at the list, deciphering Lottie's chicken scratch before looking over to his older brother.
"Do you know where I can find a fried Snickers?"
Notes
Lottie's ListA new story, with a kind of short introduction. Don't worry, they jump
right into the list next chapter. Whenever they complete a task, I'll
post an updated list of things. This should be fun. Feedback is much
needed and appreciated. Love ya!
@Briwrestlesbears
hey! I just want to thank you for commenting! Sorry its been sooo long since I've updated. My brain is in so many different places right now, but finishing this next chapter is definitely at the top of my to-do list! Keep an eye out. It should be out within the next week or so.
5/21/14