Authors: Lily Jenkins
Beep
.
Beep
.
Beep
.
I watch the screen of the machine that tells me I am still alive. I half-expect it to stop, to flatline while I’m watching. I’ve been watching it for hours. My mom left a little while ago, and I’ve been alone in my room, feeling sorry for myself.
I don’t want to die. I don’t. But I don’t want to fool myself either. Besides, without Erica, what else is there to live for?
Was I too harsh with her? I know I wanted to push her away. I know it’s better if she hates me. It will make it easier for her to forget. But I already miss her. I’m almost glad I’ll be dead, so that I won’t have to miss her like this forever.
I turn on my side and stare at the screen.
Beep
.
Beep
.
Beep
.
There’s nothing left to do but wait.
* * *
I must have fallen asleep. I hear footsteps in the room, and then the door closing. I know it’s not a nurse; the nurses leave the door open. So it must be my mom. I stay on my side, facing away. I consider pretending that I’m asleep. Then I decide I don’t want to make it easy for her, and keep my eyes open. I turn over, and—
“Erica!”
She’s in my room, her face serious. She has her hair hanging loose, and it looks wet and ragged. I lean forward a little in my bed, longing to touch her, to be close again. Then I reconsider and try to hide it by adjusting my pillow.
She’s not smiling. She takes a look at me, at me in the hospital bed, and then crosses to my left to pull a chair up next to me. She sits, erect and stubborn, and crosses her arms. Her face is like stone—not harsh, though, just decided. This must be her game face.
Well, two can play at this. I cross my arms and tilt my chin up. She only stares at me a moment, and for a brief second I’m so ashamed that I blush. I look away.
“Adam?” she says, her voice in command. I look toward her. “We need to talk.”
I don’t think that phrase has ever been the prelude to happy times. I raise an eyebrow. It’s my
I’m listening and this better be good
look.
“Your mom came to see me.”
I start cursing under my breath, and slam my hands down at my sides in fists. “For what? To beg you to get me to change my mind? Because it’s not—”
“No,” she interrupts. Her voice is even, and after she cuts me off she waits a full beat before continuing. It’s a way of letting me know she’s in control of the conversation. “She came to visit to say good-bye, and to thank me for giving her one last chance to see you.”
I try to imagine the two of them having a conversation, but somehow I can’t picture it. Then I wonder if my mom has left already. I haven’t seen her since earlier today.
My stomach sinks a little. Then I reprimand myself. This is what I wanted, right? This is what I knew had to happen?
Yeah, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
I look back up at Erica. She obviously didn’t come here to tell me this. I ask, “So what are you doing here? Why did you come? I thought I made it clear that I never wanted to see you again.”
She doesn’t even cringe. I think it hurts me more to say it than for her to hear it. That makes me feel worse somehow.
“I know what you said,” she begins, “and I know that the right thing might be to follow your wishes. But, frankly, your wishes are bullshit.”
She says this so tartly that I can’t help but be a little impressed. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard her swear before. She does it well.
“Oh yeah?” I ask. I sit up in bed and meet her eyes, challenging her back. “Bullshit, huh? Why’s that?”
“Because you need to accept treatment.” She’s talking faster now, losing her cool exterior. “You need to get better so that we can be together.”
“Fuck that!” I snap. “It’s
my
life. I can die if I want to.”
She puts a hand on the bed, and I avoid touching it, even a little. I pretend her hand is fire.
“Your mom told me about your father,” she starts.
“Oh, that’s low.” This isn’t funny or cute anymore. She’s fighting dirty.
“She told me you had to watch him die,” she says over my complaints. “She told me he scared you. That you don’t want to be like that for me.”
“Screw you.”
“But I need you to listen to me.” She waits until I look over. “If you’re worried you’ll scare me, you won’t. If you’re worried about me being strong enough, don’t. I can take it. I’m stronger with you.” She grabs for my hand and I pull it away. “You taught me how to push past my limits, Adam. Now it’s my turn to make you push past yours.”
I cross my arms again. “Erica, wake up.
I’m going to die.
”
She nods. “Maybe. But you’ll die for sure if you don’t do anything.”
My heart is beating like crazy. It’s making the machine go
beep-beep-beep
, and I’m hoping that she’s distracted enough that she doesn’t notice what she’s doing to me.
“You don’t have to live,” she says, and this catches me off-guard. I look at her, paying full attention now. She continues. “You don’t have to do more than you want. But I
know
you can do more than nothing.” She gives a smile, and I feel like I might choke, I miss her so much. How can you miss someone before they’re gone? When they’re right here with you? Why does this still feel like good-bye?
“All I ask is that you take the first steps,” she says. “Just ask the doctors what they can do. Find out. You might as well have all the information. Do you think you could do that much?”
“Well, sure, but I don’t see the point—”
“So you can do that. What if they said all it would take was one day of chemo? Could you do that? One day. Maybe not months, or years, but one time?”
“I—that’s stupid.”
“Could you?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“What about twice? Twice and you’re cured?”
“If it were that easy.”
“And then if you can do that time, maybe another? And another? Do you even know how much you can do without testing your limits?”
My mouth closes. I see what she’s doing.
She gets it. She finally gets it: treatment is my driving.
I’m quiet, and she takes my hand. I don’t pull away, but I don’t squeeze back. I try to make my hand that of a dead person.
“I’ll be right here,” she says. “I want to be here for you, with you, every day while you’re here on this earth.”
“Erica,” I object, “I’m going to die.”
She shakes her head. “I still want to be with you. It doesn’t matter if that’s only for one more day, or one more hour, or for the rest of our lives. You’re where I need to be.”
She’s breaking me down, but that doesn’t change the facts. “There’s no point. I’ll die and you’ll forget me. As you should.”
“I won’t!” She says this so loud and so high-pitched that it hurts my ears. I naturally start to pull away, and she tugs me back by the hand. I look at her, and her eyes are wide, intense, and sparkling with tears. “I won’t get over you,” she says desperately. Whatever calm she brought in with her has been used up. She’s frantic now, like she’s trying to talk me off a ledge. “This isn’t a crush or a fling for me. I—” she swallows “—I
love
you, Adam.” She lets out a deep sigh, the fight leaving her. “I love you,” she whispers again, the words lingering in the air.
I can only stare at her, speechless. And for the first time I really wonder if she’ll be okay without me.
She lets go of my hand. She looks down, and doesn’t bother to wipe the tears away. Then she places her hands on either side of the seat of her chair, as if debating whether to get up or not. Whether to leave. Whether I can be reasoned with at all.
She stands, deliberately avoiding my eyes, and makes her way around the bed. She’s going fast, so fast she’s almost out the door before I realize what is happening. She has one foot outside when I manage to find my voice.
“Erica.”
It’s a low grumble. I’m not sure she hears the word itself, but it’s enough to stop her. She turns back to me, one hand holding the door.
I look away, down at my body under the blanket. I’m not sure why I stopped her. I just didn’t like the idea of her running out in tears. Of that being our last memory. But now that I’ve called her back, I don’t know what to say. I’m still not going to do it. If she wants to leave, that’s her right.
I let out a deep sigh, but it does nothing to relieve the tension in my shoulders. I remind myself that I’m ready to die. I remind myself that she’d have to leave at some point anyway. That it’s not fair to make her watch me suffer. I wanted to die privately, didn’t I? Don’t I still? That’s what this was all about. Of course, I didn’t know Erica then. But even if I had, I still don’t want to do chemo. I don’t want radiation. I won’t—
I look up at her face, and our eyes meet. Hers are sparkling green in a cold gray world.
Fuck it. Fuck it all. I’d do anything for her.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “Okay.”
Her breath hitches, and for a moment it looks like she’s so happy that she’s about to jump right onto the bed with me, hopping up and down.
I hold up a hand to stop her. “
But
,” I say, “before we go any further, there are some conditions.”
She’s already nodding before I’ve said more, bending down to the bed and trying to hold my hand.
“Focus, Erica. This isn’t a joke. You need to sit back down and listen, because this is serious. You can’t just agree to anything. You need to be sure.”
This sobers her some, and I see her mind start to work on what the conditions may be.
“This isn’t going to be fun or easy,” I say. “It’s a long ugly process, and—let’s be realistic—it’s going to end with me dead, and you alone. If I go in for treatments, it’s only going to buy us a few months. And they won’t even be good months.”
She’s crying, nodding, but at least she seems to be listening.
“We can’t look at this as me living. This is just me dying slower. Which you might think is better right now, but trust me, it’s worse. What you saw in the car the other day was just a preview. That’ll be pretty compared to what we have ahead.”
This, finally, acts as the cold slap she needs. I continue.
“It’ll be hard on you, but it’ll be hell for me. We’re talking about trying to torture the cancer out of my body. I’m not going to put up with that shit for nothing. I need to know that it’ll be worth it for you too. Because I’ll have enough to worry about without thinking of you unable to manage after me.”
“Adam,” she starts, but I stop her.
“My mom told you what it was like when my dad died? Did she tell you about after? About how she had to live off credit cards for the rest of her life? The hospital bills wiped out our savings. My mom figured once my dad got better, he could go back to work and they’d be fine. He was an engineer. We weren’t rich, but he made good money. Except he didn’t get better. He died. And my mom had tons of debt and no way to pay it off. We lived in a trailer, Erica. She worked late waiting tables, and I was stuck at home alone most of the time. It was a shit way to grow up, and it was all avoidable.”
She looks a bit confused, and I realize I’m rambling.
“My point is, you have to prepare for the reality of being on your own. You can’t be counting on me to survive to take care of you. I won’t be here. Which brings us to our first condition: When fall comes, you’re going to college.”
She opens her mouth to object, and I wave her away.
“I don’t mean New York. I don’t really care where, and from what you’ve said, you don’t either at this point. But you’re going to care. You’ll take classes and you’ll do well in them. Figure out what you’re good at, what you enjoy doing. Prepare yourself for a career. You’re not allowed to be a waitress. You’re too smart for that.”
She’s opening her mouth again, and I add:
“I know. My mom isn’t dumb. But she’s been dumb about life.”
“I was going to mention Nicole,” she says.
I raise an eyebrow. “I think Nicole acts as an argument in my favor.” I raise two fingers. “Two: you can’t stop driving.”
She relaxes with this one. “I drove here, actually.”
I shake my head. “I’m not talking about cars. I’m talking about life. I won’t be there to hold your hand, to kiss you and make it all better. I’ll be dead, and you’ll be alone. You have to promise not to hide. To do things, even if you’re afraid. Do them like I taught you: one step at a time.”
Erica frowns, thinking about this. Her whole face is slack. I know she’s picturing what it would be like without me. Finally, she nods.
“And number three.” I pause, trying to figure out how to word this. “I want you to promise to live, Erica. I want you to live a life that’s big enough for the both of us. I want—I want you to grow old and fat and happy, and if that means forgetting about me, that’s okay. But you have to live the kind of life that would make me proud. The kind of life we should have had together. If you can’t do that, the whole deal’s off.”
She looks up at me, her eyes glassy with tears. Her mouth trembles when she says, “I promise.”
“What do you promise, Erica? I need to hear you say it. To know that you understand.”
She takes a deep breath. “I promise to live my life as fully as I would live my life if we were together.”
I nod. Then I put out my hand. “Shake on it?”
She looks at my hand. She doesn’t move hers. “I have a condition, too,” she says.
“I thought I already agreed to the condition. I’ll take treatment.”
“That’s not enough. Yes, I promise to live my life without you. But you’ve got to promise to fight to be there with me. As much as you can. All this talk about how you’re certainly going to die. It’s
not
certain, not yet. I refuse to believe it, and you can’t believe it either. So if I’ve got to promise to act under the assumption you’re going to die, you have to act under the assumption you might live.” She puts out her hand. “Deal?”
I take in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. My body feels so tired. It feels ready to give up already. I look into Erica’s eyes, seeing them welling up with tears as she holds out her hand, her fingers shaking.