Authors: Sarah Benwell

The Last Leaves Falling (39 page)

A cure for cancer.

Visit to the moon.

And I see Mai’s:
I wish to be an artist. An
animator who makes things that people love, that move them,
make them think.

“There’s so
many
,” he says, clapping with excitement. “People are actually
using
it!”

“Can I do one?”

“Of course.”

And I get Kaito to type: “I wish that everyone who has a chance would take it. That everyone who has a dream will chase it. For those of us who can’t.”

I watch the words appear, see Mai’s animated leaves rustle in the background, and I think of Mr. Yamada, and hospital corridors, of falling leaves and autumn breezes, and Mai and Kaito and my mother: sad, yes, for a time, but then . . . And I know how to say good-bye; exactly what words I should leave behind. I get him to write those too. By hand. Signed, “Your son, with love.”

• • • •

My mother pokes her head around the door at exactly eight. I knew she would. And even though I warned my friends, and this is built into the plan, even though I know that all she sees is three friends crowded around a screen, my heart drums faster and I feel as though my skin is dancing to its beat.

“Medications, Sora.”

“Mama!” I protest. “Not now.”

“Yes, now. Your friends won’t mind.”

“I . . . I could help him?” Kaito says, just like we’d planned.

“I don’t know.”

“Please, Mama,” I half-whisper. “It’s embarrassing. I don’t want you to fuss all the time.”

She’s hurt. And I want to tell her that I do not mean it, but it’s kind of true, and anyway, I can’t.

“Are you sure you can manage?”

“Yes. I’ve taken these things every day for months. We can do it.”

She sighs. “All right. If you’re sure.” And then she leaves, shuts the door behind her, and I have to stop myself from calling after her.

I shake my head to clear it. Breathe deep. And I’m back.

“Okay,” I say. That one word meaning everything.

Okay, I’m ready.

Okay, I’m done.

Okay, it is time.

Kaito helps me up and into bed, because I cannot bear the thought of being in this chair, and then I tell him that my pills are on the shelf above my head.

“How many?”

I give him a look, and he pours all of them into the cup. A week’s worth.

He picks up the sake, knocks it back, and rests the bottle on the bed beside me.

He climbs up on one side, and Mai gets on the other so that I’m sandwiched between them.

“You’re sure? You’re really, really sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

He half-closes his eyes as he holds the meds cup up toward my lips.

“No,” I say.

He stops. “What?”

“Let me.”

“But you can’t.”

“I know. But I need to do this.” I will not leave him with that guilt. I need to leave him knowing that I told him how many pills. That
my
fingers were on the cup.

He slides the cup into my fist, wraps his hand around mine, and we lift together. I will my hands to move. To tilt the cup myself. And I know that in reality it’s Kaito’s muscles, not mine, that drop the sugar-coated waterfall onto my tongue, but the intention was there, and I think that counts for something.

I hope Kaito thinks so too, tomorrow.

Our hands drop, and Mai is right there with the bottle, pouring sake after them. I swallow.

And I sigh. Relieved.

“Okay,” I say. “Go.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“We’re not leaving.”

“But—” If my mother walks in, sees us here? And what if I start foaming at the mouth? Convulsing? I don’t really know how this will work, and no one needs to see that.

“No. We’re. Not. Going. Just try to kick us out.” Kai grins. It’s wobbly, but it
is
a grin.

“You know,” says Mai, wrapping her arm over me, “I feel a whole new chapter coming on. ‘Professor Crane and Friends Cheat Death.’ ”

“Yes!” Kaito’s hand meets hers, and we’re interlocked in a strange three-way embrace. “Can we visit catacombs, play chess with the devil?”

“Sure. And then we’re hiking out across a rainbow to see what is on the other side.”

And here they are. My final moments. They say a warrior must always be mindful of death, but I never imagined that it would find me like this, lying on a bed beside my friends, in a room of love and laughter.

I let my mind wander over everything we’ve done and talked about and dreamed. Let their voices carry me along.

I slip, and their voices warp, like underwater songs, but their touch is strong and keeps me from floating away, and I am grateful.

“I can’t hear the birds,” I say. “The air.” And even though it’s night, and cold, I feel Kaito move away, just for a moment, then he’s back, carried over to me on a strong cool breeze that smells of promises and heirlooms.

My eyes grow heavy, my head heavier. There’s a weight against my chest, and the other Sora, the one who lies beside me and feels all the physical sensations, cannot draw a breath, but I don’t care.

And I fall deeper. Tumbling. But I know that they will catch me. And in the blackness there is only me, and my last, handwritten words.

A poem.

The last leaf falls

But look close and you see

The hidden buds of spring

GLOSSARY OF TERMS

Bah-Ba—
Affectionate name for grandmother (obaasan).

bakeneko—
A catlike supernatural creature.

Benzaiten—
Japanese Buddhist goddess; goddess of everything that flows, including the arts.

bonsai—
“Tray plantings.” Miniature trees, cultivated in pots. The art of bonsai is complex and revered.

Gagaku—
Ancient Japanese court/dance music.

jūni-hitoe—
Traditional, elegant, complex kimono; the “twelve-layer robe” (although it’s not always twelve layers).

Ojiisan—
Grandfather.

Otosan—
Father.

Okaasan—
Mother.

raccoon dog—
Indigenous East Asian canine species, named for its resemblance to a raccoon (to which it is not closely related).

sake—
Alcoholic beverage made from fermented rice.

-san—
A suffix to names, which indicates respect. A little bit like sir/ma’am.

yūrei—
Ghosts or supernatural creatures.

SARAH BENWELL
lives in the picturesque English city of Bath, where she studied for an MA in writing for young people. Now she writes, runs creative writing workshops for teens and adults, and works retail at unsociable hours. All of which is great, but she’d rather be off exploring deserts and jungles elsewhere. This is her first book.

Simon & Schuster • New York

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A slightly different version of this work was originally published in 2015 in Great Britain by Random House Children’s Publishers UK.

First US edition 2015

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Book design by Krista Vossen

The text for this book is set in Bembo Std.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Benwell, Sarah.

The last leaves falling / Sarah Benwell.—1st edition.

pages cm

Summary: In Japan, teenaged Abe Sora, who is afflicted with “Lou Gehrig’s Disease,” finds friends online and elicits their help to end his suffering.

ISBN 978-1-4814-3065-4 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-4814-3067-8 (eBook)

[1. Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis—Fiction. 2. Terminally ill—Fiction. 3. Single-parent families—Fiction. 4. Mothers and sons—Fiction. 5. Assisted suicide—Fiction. 6. Friendship—Fiction. 7. Online chat groups—Fiction. 8. Japan—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.B468Las 2015

[Fic]—dc23

2014022950

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