Novel Excerpt
Nightingales Don't Cry
by Brenda Tate
I am fortunate to have been selected for a fiction mentorship with Don Aker, a well-known Young Adult writer who has garnered numerous awards and has also been a most wonderful guide during the completion of this book. Juried selection for the Writers Federation of NS mentorship program was made in the fall of 2005; out of 57 submissions, five were chosen. The goal is to have the process complete by spring 2006, with a publishable manuscript as the ultimate aim. Mine has passed through FIVE drafts thus far.
The protagonist, Eve Nightingale, is a 17-year-old girl, adapting to a new school and community. She must also face an additional challenge in the form of a recent ileostomy, the result of severe colitis. I feel that far too few characters with ostomies have ever been portrayed in fiction, yet young people across the world are affected by this situation, usually because of Crohn's Disease, Colitis or Colon Cancer. My husband has an ileostomy owing to cancer, so I know firsthand about its various frustrations and benefits. My hope is that teenagers, in particular, will see some aspect of themselves in Eve's story. Here is a brief excerpt from it:
Eve massaged her scalp with citrus shampoo, appreciating its tropical scent. Wrapped in her cloak of steam, papayas and orange blossoms, she could pretend that winter was no more than a passing dream. Her elbow grazed the metal enclosure and set off a thundering ripple. She was in a rainforest, soaked by a quick storm out of the mountains.
At last she twisted the taps and grasped the yellowed curtain. The rush of cooler air goose-bumped her skin; she felt her nipples pucker and her stomach muscles contract. Brrr!
But the unexpected gasp didn’t come from Eve’s mouth. Jessica Lewis – misplaced brush in hand – stood frozen in front of the shower stall. They stared at each other, Eve well aware that Jess’s focus had been instantly drawn to her abdomen. She quickly pulled the curtain across her torso.
“What the hell was that?” Jess’s voice was a squawk. She tried to squint right through the plastic as Eve shivered behind it. “You have a … thing stuck to your gut.”
Oh, great. I’m wearing nothing but a shower curtain and my worst enemy is standing between me and my clothes. This is looking like a bad sitcom. Eve tried to sound unfazed. “Could you please hand me that towel?” She was counting on the shock effect to derail Jess’s usual resistance. It did: the towel was quickly tossed over the curtain bar.
“Thanks.”
Eve saw Jessica shove the brush into her back pocket. “You didn’t even know I was here.” She strolled toward the corner of the alcove. “Now I know why you won’t do this when anyone’s around. No damn wonder.”
“Jess, let me get dressed, all right?”
“What if I don’t?” Jess was quick to recognize Eve’s vulnerability. “I can just hide your stuff. Unless you give me a good look at … whatever.”
“Okay, but I’m freezing.” Maybe I should just act like I couldn’t care less. Like I’ve let people see it a hundred times. But Eve doubted her ability to carry that off.
“It’s like show and tell,” Jess responded. “I want the show first, then you can tell. Plus you get your clothes.” She waited for Eve’s reply. “Deal?”
No, not really. This wasn’t like trading for a poetry book. But Eve knew when she was stuck. “Yeah, all right - deal. I need to put something on before I catch pneumonia.
Jess dodged behind the lockers and shouted, “Go ahead. But I’ll be right here.”
Eve fought back tears. No way would she appear weak in front of this girl. What was the worst that could happen? Jess might tell Morgan. Not ‘might’ – ‘will’ - if she figures he doesn’t already know.
She wriggled into her jeans, grunting as she forced damp legs into dry denim. Pulled on long-sleeved shirt, added fleece vest. Protected by these layers, the vinyl companion clung comfortably to her skin. She could feel Stella chuckling and was relieved that at least her stoma wasn’t sore anymore. The meds had taken care of that. What would take care of Jess?
“You done?” Jess sounded impatient. Before Eve could reply, she reappeared and plunked herself onto the chair. “So fill me in.”
“It’s called an appliance,” Eve said, patting her side. “Most people call it a bag but the bag part is really a pouch.”
“Appliance? Pouch?” Jess digested this, too clearly interested to bother with crude remarks. “Sounds like you’re a kettle. Or else a kangaroo.” She leaned forward. ”So, let me see it.”
