The Waiting Game

Santana Lopez looked out the window at the backyard. The trees there were dying, hibernating, her environmental activist daughter would say but Santana never shook the feeling that they were dying. She lived with her daughter, her son-in-law and their two kids in their three bedroom house. She stayed in only bedroom facing the backyard. Originally it was to spy on the damned rabbits trying to eat her garden but now it was mostly just to look at something other than the roads, the bustling people on the sidewalk, the people who could still walk and run.

It was also so that she didn't have to see any couples walk by.

It was stupid, it was petty, but it was the only thing that made Santana feel a little better. She had originally taken the room with the most sun, the bedroom that the two grandchildren now occupied. But one night she looked outside and saw two people standing under the street light, holding hands and shyly glancing at each other. Then, as if the pull was too great, they leaned in and kissed each other. It was a peck, and they were children, teens in the throes of teenage puppy love. But that small action was enough to make Santana break down hard enough for her daughter to run in asking if she was alright.

Santana hated mosquitoes. She hated summer actually. She hated the sweltering sun and then the humid, suffocating air that set in after the sun set. Brittany loved it though. She loved sweating, that strange girl. Santana looked uncomfortable in the sun but Brittany would smile and throw her hands up to the sky. She looked good. Her skin glistened with beads of sweat and her hair clung to her face. Santana looked like some sort of animal after exercise but Brittany looked like one of those girls in the commercials advertising sports gear.

"You're walking too slowly." Brittany teased. It was the summer of their seventh grade and they were getting back from middle school cheerleading. Little did they know that nothing they learned from Coach Ericson would prepare them for training with Coach Sylvester.

"It's too hot." Santana complained.

"No it's not." Brittany replied.

"Yes it is." Santana argued back. Brittany flung her open water bottle at her, splashing Santana with water. Brittany laughed and ran away. "OH YOU ARE SO GETTING IT!" Santana dropped her bag and chased after Brittany. Brittany squealed when Santana caught her by the arm and swung her around. In the dim light of the street lamp, they play fought.

"Let go!" Brittany giggled.

"No! I'm going to mess up your hair!" Santana said, ruffling the neatly tied blond hair. Brittany tried to break free. "Say you're sorry!"

"No! You were hot!"

"Say you'e sorry!"

"No!"

"Say it!" Brittany leaned in and kissed Santana on the lips. Santana's grip immediately slackened and Brittany ran off, still laughing.

"I'll see you tomorrow!" She shouted and in seconds, ducked around a street corner and vanished. Santana stood frozen under the street lamp. She put both her hands over her mouth. Her face was flushed, but not from running. Her entire brain turned to mush.

It was her first kiss.

Santana heard the front door open. She groaned as she swung her legs slowly over the side of the bed. She grabbed the cane resting against her nightstand and used it to get to her feet. It took three tries but eventually momentum got her on her feet. Upright was not a word she could ever use again. As if each year added a physical weight to her shoulders, she stood hunched over at the torso, no longer having the strength to pull her back straight.

She heard the familiar sound of her daughter's voice calling out for her. Santana called back, letting her know she was there, she was still breathing. There was something oddly comforting about her daughter asking "Mom, you there?" It was checking to see if Santana would respond, if further investigation was needed to see if Santana was sleeping or dead. If she ever stopped, well, that was a sign that she no longer cared and Santana may as well disappear.

She hobbled downstairs at a painful pace. Her daughter was just making dinner. She had fallen down the stairs and broken several bones in her feet and fractured her leg. The doctor informed her that because of her age, she wouldn't fully recover. Her body was just not equipped to handle injuries that late in life. Santana wondered what would become of her garden.

Within minutes of her daughter coming home, so did her husband and children. Santana inquired about their day but they were too busy to answer her questions. The kids had homework and the husband forgot something at the office and had to make the trip back.

"Can I help?" Santana asked her daughter.

"I'm ok, mom. Just relax." She said. In Santana's head, she heard something completely different. You can't help. You're too old and you can barely move. Santana sat back down and watched the kids do their homework on things she had long since forgotten - calculus, biology, literature. In that house, she felt like little more than dead weight and Santana smiled at her own thinking. Dead...I'd be more useful dead.

As she prepared to go to sleep by reading a book, she heard her daughter and son-in-law talk.

"It might be better for her to live in a nursing home. She's lonely here. You and I have work, the kids don't want to keep her company when they have friends and school. I'm just saying it might be a good idea for her to move to Oak Fields. It's the best one around here and she'd be able to connect with people her age." Her son-in-law reasoned.

"You don't understand my mother. She's never wanted to go anywhere near a nursing home. She doesn't want to connect with anyone, she just wants to live out her life in peace." Her daughter hissed back.

"Doesn't that seem depressing to you?" Her son-in-law pushed.

"No less depressing than going to a nursing home, 'connecting' with people her age only to have them die the next day."

"At least it's better than sitting in her room all day staring out her window." He shot back.

"No. My mom spent her life taking care of my mama. It's my turn to take care of her. I will not turn her away unless she asks." Santana set down her book and sighed. She leaned over, turned off the light and closed her eyes.

Brittany had been a brilliant child. Until she was 7, she had been the top of her class. When she was in the 3rd grade, she started getting headaches. Santana was in the 2nd grade and she only heard about it because Brittany lived not too far away and they went to the same bus stop. Santana remembered that day very clearly. She went to the bus stop with her mother but Brittany and her mother weren't there.

"Where's Brit?" Santana asked.

"I don't know, honey. Maybe she's sick." Her mother offered. Her mother turned out to be right, but in a way Santana never thought possible.

At age 7, Brittany was diagnosed with cancer. The tumor was small but it resided in her brain. For the rest of the year, Brittany went in and out of the hospital for treatment. It was Santana's own father who did the operation to remove the tumor after it was unreceptive to chemotherapy and drugs.

When Brittany came back to school, she had no hair on her head and she had dropped to Santana's grade. Her cognitive functions never returned to normal and she struggled to stay on par with the students.

Santana stuck to Brittany immediately after. It all came together, the fact that they were friends before, the fact that her father operated on Brittany, that Brittany was shunned for being "ugly" and bald, all of these factors contributed to Santana instinctively looking after Brittany. Santana helped Brittany with her homework, held her hand when she needed it and ate lunch with her when no one else would. It was Santana who got Brittany started on dancing and cheerleading. It wa here that Brittany found focus. She poured all of her energy into it and the results were spectacular. Brittany's mother once told Santana's mother that without Santana, Brittany would've been lost.

In more ways than one, that was true. Brittany did get lost often, even on the way back to her house. Santana always made sure to walk Brittany back to her front step before turning and walking in the opposite direction towards her house. But more than that, when Brittany went off into her own world, Santana was always the one who found her and brought her back gently to reality.

Santana never thought of it as taking care of Brittany. She saw it as keeping her best friend by her side. Without her meticulously going over Brittany's homework and reciting off note cards, Brittany surely would've been taken out of the school and put somewhere else. Because of Santana's effort, for better or worse, the school percieved Brittany as dim but functional.

Santana never forgot what happened to Brittany but no one else really knew or if they did, it was soon forgotten. Brittany just became the "dumb blond" but Santana remembered when Brittany would tutor her in math and would correct her grammar whenever she said something wrong. Santana remembered what Brittany was like before.

The first time Santana noticed something wrong was when Brittany was 62. They were walking to the super market when Brittany stopped in midstep and dropped the groceries she was holding.

"Brittany?" Santana asked. "What's wrong?" Brittany shook her head.

"It's just a headache. Nothing." She replied. She picked up her groceries and they walked back to the car.

The headaches got worse and worse over the course of time. Eventually, painkillers weren't enough. One day, Santana got home after a short run to the end of the street to drop off some letters and she found Brittany throwing things at the wall. Vases, plates, cups, whatever she could get her hands on she threw it and broke it.

Santana rushed over to Brittany's side.

"What are you doing?" She demanded, grabbing Brittany's arms. Brittany screamed at her and clawed at her face. Santana held her arms at her side while Brittany flailed and yelled incoherently. In the bits and pieces of real words, she could hear "Kill" and "you". Santana had never been more scared in her life.

Santana took Brittany to the hospital. The doctors did all they could, x-rays, MRIs. Days later, the doctor called them up. Santana knew something was wrong. Doctors only called and asked for them to come back if they found something. They went back the following day. They sat down in the washed out white office. The doctor calmly told them that they found another tumor in Brittany's brain. Santana cried while Brittany held her. Santana shook so much that she barely noticed that Brittany was trembling just as much. The doctor highlighted her options and Brittany simply listened to them and asked only one question.

"What are my chances of surviving?"

In the end, Brittany didn't undergo treatment. She explained it to Santana after Santana demanded to know why she refused.

"We both know I'm too old." Brittany said. But it seemed like only Brittany knew it. Santana realized with a start that somehow, the years and crept up on them. They were no longer 20 and getting drunk at parties then going back to their shared room. They weren't 30 and watching their first child run home after his first day of school. They weren't 40 or 50 or even 60. Everything had flown by so quickly and Santana only now really noticed the wrinkles on Brittany's hands, the veins sticking out, the weariness in Brittany's eyes. Brittany reached out and patted Santana's leg.

"I'd rather spend what time I have with you."

"Mom says breakfast's ready." Chase said, poking his head through the doorway. Santana's eyes opened and she sat up.

"Ok." Santana said. Chase scrambled down the stairs to eat and catch his bus. Santana sat at the edge of her bed. A part of her didn't want to move. She was too tired and all she wanted to do was to go back to sleep. But she painstakingly made it downstairs and sat at the table. By the time she made it, everyone else had finished and were busy running off.

"I'll see you tonight, mom." Her daughter kissed her on the cheek and ran into the garage. In seconds, the house went from busy and hectic to silent. Santana sat at the table, staring down at her cold oatmeal. She looked around. She was alone.

She'd stopped feeling hungry a long time ago. When Brittany died, she no longer felt hungry, or hurt, tired or sad. In a way, she'd felt relieved and it ate away at her. She felt guilty for feeling released of the burden that manifested itself in Brittany's last days. She let their house ruin. Dishes and dust piled high. She'd planned to live that way until her daughter showed up, packed her bags and made her move in with them.

Santana pushed herself away from the table and slowly walked outside. The door rattled shut behind her and she had to stop halfway to the garden. She never felt so old and out of shape in her life. Her leg throbbed with pain and caught her breath. It was bitter cold out and gray. When she felt ready, she walked the rest of the distance to the garden.

She tried to kneel down but any motion only made her leg hurt worse. Instead, she poked and prodded at the ground with her cane. The dirt was hard and caked together by rain and freezing weather. She sighed.

"Mom!" Her daughter ran down the hill towards her. Santana looked up in surprise. Her daughter must've forgotten something at home. She was supposed to be at work. "Mom what are you doing? It's freezing out here!"

"I wanted to see the garden." Santana replied.

"Mom..." Her daughter's face scrunched in disapproval and pity.

"When spring comes around, I want to be ready to plant again."

"Mom, you know what the doctor said...you know you can't..."

"I have to." Santana said desperately. "She would've wanted to see flowers. She would've liked it. It's the only thing I have left." Don't take it away from me, Santana thought. She knew what her daughter was thinking; can you even make it through the winter? Santana looked back at the barren patch of ground.

"Mom, let's go inside."

"I want to stay outside." Santana said. Her daughter put a gentle arm around her.

"I'll make some tea, mom." Santana didn't have the strength to resist as they walked back towards the house.

"I hate you! I hate you!" Brittany shouted. Santana grabbed a hold of both her arms again. Brittany was having another fit.

"Shh, baby, I'm here." She coaxed her down.

"Let me go! Where am I? Let me go!" Brittany flung her arms about, catching Santana in the eye. Santana cursed and instinctively drew back. Brittany started wailing and collapsed on the ground in tears. Santana sank to her knees. Even though her eye was in pain, she made Brittany the priority.

The tumor had progressed and Brittany's fits got worse and worse. More often than not Santana was pinning Brittany down to prevent her from injuring herself. The doctor suggested that they hospitalize Brittany but Brittany wanted to stay at home.

There were some days where Santana wanted to give that responsibility to someone else. But Brittany wanted to be with her in the house they'd bought together so many years ago. When she wasn't having a fit, she was the Brittany that Santana knew and any moment of clarity was worth taking care of her.

That didn't stop Santana from feeling even the tiniest bit of resentment towards Brittany. Why did she place that burden on her? Brittany had to have known that this wasn't easy.

But in her current cognitive state, it was hard to tell if Brittany knew anything that was going on when she had her fits. Usually she slept right after one of the fits and when she woke up, she would act like she had been calm the entire time. But Santana took care of Brittany. They were in love, what more reason did Santana need?

The days leading up to Brittany's death were some of the worst days in Santana's life. One morning, Brittany just didn't get up. She lay in bed, mumbling words that Santana couldn't hear or understand. She stayed that way, only functioning enough for Santana to feed her a little soup. The hospital sent a nurse over and they hooked Brittany up to an IV.

"She hasn't got much time left." The doctor said during his last visit. "Just stay with her."

"I've never left her side." Santana said, slightly shocked that the doctor would insinuate that Santana wasn't with Brittany every minute.

Santana sat by Brittany and read or watched TV, or in the rare moments when Brittany would be able to croak out an audible word or two, have a short conversation. Santana always ended their small talk with "I love you" knowing that Brittany could go at any moment. She wanted to reassure her wife that she loved her, and that hadn't changed.

Brittany passed away quietly in the night. Santana woke up in her chair one morning to an eerie sense of calm. She stirred from her sleep and looked at Brittany. Her face had relaxed and there was even a small smile. Her face was turned towards where Santana was sleeping, as if the very last thing she had done before passing on was turning to look at the woman she'd loved all her life. Santana allowed herself a moment of mourning. She bent over Brittany's body and cried silently into the covers. After that moment, she called the nurse to tell her the news.

"I may not be able to grow flowers for you." Santana whispered. She held a picture of the two of them at age 46, standing outside the Epcot center. They had their hands around each other's waist and they were smiling as happily as ever. "I'm sorry, Brittany. This body just can't do anything for you anymore." She set the picture down and looked out the window again at the garden.

"What am I doing?" She asked aloud. "Oh how I miss you." She looked over at the calendar hanging from her closet door. She got up from her bed again and fumbled with the cap of the pen hanging from the calendar. She crossed out another day from the long list of days. Having done that, she sat back down and continued staring out the window.

"Another day, Brit." She said. "Another day that brings me closer to you."

She waited.

Fin