Scars from a Memoir by Marni Mann

Author:Marni Mann
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781620150948
Publisher: Booktrope Editions

-21-

TIFFANY HAD A BRAIN TUMOR? Did that cause weight loss and lack of appetite? I needed to do some research. Before my grandmother died, her skin had turned a strange color, and her hair thinned and fell out after she went through chemo and took all the medications. I didn't know if brain tumors would cause the same side effects, but Tiffany had symptoms similar to the ones my grandmother had. When I asked where in her brain the tumor was located, how the doctor was treating her, and what medications she was on, she wouldn't answer. She said it was inoperable and terminal and then rolled on her side and sucked the tips of her fingers. She was twenty-eight and in love with the professor…and she knew she was going to die. I couldn't blame her for acting this way.

Tiffany needed someone to talk to…a professional who wouldn't cry and show fear. I wasn't that person. My eyes welled when I heard her diagnosis. But a therapist would have the right words and know how to balance her meds with her addiction. But then, with a death sentence, I wasn't sure whether controlling her medication was even important at this stage.

I stayed in her room for the night, curling up on the bottom half of her bed. I lit her cigarette when her hands fumbled with the lighter, rubbed her back when she thrashed under the covers. My eyes wouldn't leave her. I thought that if I looked away for a second, something might happen, like she'd stop breathing. Or maybe if I stared at her body long enough, my gaze would destroy the tumor that was killing her.

I hadn't envied only Tiffany's body when I'd first moved into sober living; I'd also yearned for her strength. She had it together—finishing her college degree, staying sober after an intense coke addiction, and mentoring the women she lived with. I had been so weak, unsure how I was going to stay clean or get a job with a criminal record, and she'd held my hand through all my insecurities. She brought me to meetings, encouraged me to share my emotions with the group, and made sure I was on time to meet with my parole officer. Our situations were different, but I was going to do the same for her.

The blanket jerked; Tiffany leaned over the bed, throwing up in the wastebasket I'd placed on the floor. I tried to hold her hair, but between heaves, she asked for some privacy. We had only an hour before her appointment, so I left her room to get ready. We passed each other when I came out of the bathroom; her head hung low, and her feet dragged on the ground.

I knocked on her bedroom door. “Do you need help picking out an outfit?” Finding something to wear to her appointment had been really important to her last night, and her room was still a mess. The clothes from her closet were

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