Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5: SISSY, SASSY BIOTCH
9/11/11

Sissy adjusted her red wig,
Trying to make it look jaunty.

In reality, it just looked overly cheery.

Sissy looked real pale; all the chemo had nuked the leukemia, but it'd taken all of her hair. Even her eyebrows. She'd drawn them on with a lip-pencil – bright, cheery red. Just like the Halloween wig. “I refuse to pay $200 for used hair,” she'd told people.

Sissy was dressed in an adorable, retro polka-dot dress. She sat on top of the covers of her hospital bed, flipping through one of last month's issues of People Magazine. “So, this is unusual of you,” she said, flicking delicate red nails at Callista. Even her dainty shoes were red.

“Well, I figure if you're getting my bone marrow, maybe we should talk some.”

“Serious business,” Sissy cooed. “You know, I hadn't even seen you in 3 years, before we'd started fishing for donors.”

“I thought usually they wanted people who were closer in relation.” Callista crossed her legs, shifting her butt around in the stiff visitor's chair.

“You're just lucky,” Sissy said, examining her paint-job on her nails. “Think of it as a sort of, 'Hello, how's the last couple of years been?' present.” Sissy looked particularly small; back when they were kids, Sissy'd always been tall, and more feminine. Sissy peeked at her, from behind the magazine. “So, tell me, Cuz – any cute boys in your life?” She looked back at the magazine. “My boytoy left when he figured out that cancer is a big whoop.”

“Umm...” Callista looked around the stark room – long pale sheets separated the 6 patients in the room. The kid by the door looked to be about 10. She bit her lips, trying not to look back at Sissy.

“Oh, pish-posh. I'm weirding you out, aren't I?” Sissy hopped off the bed, and stepped over to Callista's chair. Leaning over the arm, in to Callista's face, she said, “Let's go for a little walk; I'm dying for a smoke.”

“You smoke.. with cancer?” Callista got up, and made for the door.

Sissy's shoes made soft, 'tic tic tic' sounds on the floor. “So – do you?”

“Do I..?”

“Have some boy. Is there somebody charming the pants off you?” Sissy led them through the hospital maze, somehow ending up in a little protected smoker's nook. She whipped out a slim white pack from within her handbag's folds. She lit a smoke, taking a gentle puff. She let the smoke get sniffed from her mouth, up her nose, before giving up on the first puff.

“Well. No. Not really. I mean, I have a guy taking me out, but we're not like official.” She sat down on a stone bench, swinging her legs impatiently.

“So, you're like a virgin still, or like what?” Sissy stood over her, rocking on her heels.

“Um. No. I actually --”

“-- When I first found out about the cancer, I was a total cockslut. You know, before I looked like Kate Moss,” Sissy interrupted. She gestured down her body with the cigarette hand. She took a deep drag of her funny-smelling smoke.

“What is that? That's not actually a cigarette, is it?”

Sissy looked down at her hand-rolled smoke. “It is. It's just one of those goofy flavored ones.”

“I thought they were illegal?”

“I get them online, from a penpal.”

“So, what flavor is that one? It smells kind of like incense.”

“Hmm.. I don't know. I can't read the labels. I don't actually know what language it's in. Trevor gets them from somewhere.. India, Indonesia...”

Sissy's eyes dulled for a moment. “You know what, I probably would have moved to America, to be with Trevor – you know, when he's not globe-trotting for his cigar store. Stupid cancer.”

“You'd live with some internet guy, someone you've never met.” Callista tugged on the hem of Sissy's dress. “C'mon, seriously.”

Sissy kneeled down, dropping her smoke beside her. Holding Callista's knees, she looked up, and whispered, “Trevor was who I was seeing, before the cancer dealio.”

“What --”

“-- He'd been coming to see me. We'd take weekend trips to a town or two away.” Sissy ripped off her wig, scratching at her peach-fuzzy noggin. She jammed it back on, slightly wrong. She sat down cross-legged, at Callista's feet; she retrieved her smoke, and took a couple of shaky puffs. “It was a lot of fun, actually. Loads. He's rich, too...”

“So rich that he didn't stick by you?”

Sissy shot Callista a dirty look. “Hey, hey, now. It's not like I asked him to pay for all my treatments.” She poofed her lips out. “I'm not exactly broke myself, you know.”

“Yep, that's you; the Callaway relatives – you guys struck it big as lawyers and crap.”

Sissy picked at her dress. “I was planning to be a fashion designer. You know, very Coco Chanel. Forget being a lawyer. All I'd be doing all day is dealing with divorces, and stupid smear campaigns. Torts, retorts, and short skirts.”

“I've learned more about you in 20 minutes, than I did in our whole childhood together,” Callista said.

“Oh, c'mon. You saw this coming. I was always playing sick when we played House. I made you play the frumpy nurse, pretty much always.”

“You made me make you soup, once.”

“I remember – it was terrible. You burned the piss out of it. I made you dress up, too – do you remember?”

“Do you mean that ridiculous get-up with the witch-wig?”

“An apron, and a cop hat! Yes!”

They chuckled, each musing about times long lost. Sissy finished her smoke; grinding it on the cobbled floor, Sissy tottered to her feet; she held out a thin hand to Callista. Taking it, Callista stood. They wandered back to Sissy's room, taking a detour through elevators, and passed the over-priced Starbucks-a-like coffee booth.

“Hey, aren't you glad that you're giving bone marrow to save someone so cool?” Sissy said, when Callista left for home.