cancer

Her parents weren't home for some reason, but then again, they never were. It wasn't regular for me to ring the doorbell. I stood in front of your door, letting my thoughts turn for a bit, uneasy. The doorknob was cold to my hands.

Your room was dreamy and dark always spinning to the sound of slow, pounding, music. Your mother had cleaned it out while you were in the hospital, acting as if you were already gone. You were just a ghost to her. Pretending as if it had already happened would ease the pain when it actually did.

Now your room was silent. The walls were painfully empty, obviously thirsting for color. Crisp, white sheets. I opened the door and you didn't look up. Sitting cross-legged on your bed, you were small and frail. What was left of your wispy, blonde hair faded into the plain background of your new room. It seemed as if you hadn't moved for days. Everything was different - there was no life in this room, your shaking wrists. The cold silence and the way I stared at your protruding bones. Your veins, so blue, a map to inside your heart.

It had been a long time.

I'm sorry, I tried to say. I'm sorry I never came and I'm sorry I didn't show up that one time and you waited and made everyone else wait because you believed me when I said I would be there. I'm sorry I didn't want to watch, watch you die, and I'm sorry I didn't look into your eyes that one time I came to your hospital room. I'm sorry I left and I'm sorry for telling you everything would be okay.

"I'm sor-" I began, "I know." you replied.

Your fragile body unfolded from the bed and you walked across the room. The only thing that made it real was your staggered breathes, each one grasping onto another minute, second, of existence. You wrapped your skeletal fingers around the vanity's chair and pulled it out, preparing to sit. The scratching whine of the wood cut into the silence. You lowered yourself into the seat. Your hands gripped a small, electronic razor. You stared into the large, round mirror. Your eyes were deep and sunken into your face.

I looked at you, saying I'm sorry, but most of all, I love you, and I knew you heard me though I didn't speak aloud. I wanted to let you know you were beautiful.

I reached towards the silver object. With a push of a button, it came to life, growling and shaking in my hands. The noise was defeaning to me. I quickly turned it off, startled. Looking into the mirror again, I saw your eyes, pleading with me to be strong. I turned the razor back on.

Your already thin hair came off easily, floating sadly to the floor. I waited a moment before continuing to shave your scalp, revealing scary, thin skin beneath. I was scared I may cut you the slightest bit and you would fall apart. You stared not at yourself, but into my eyes. Not once did you observe the growing pile of hair by our feet. I began to quietly cry. Tears ran down my cheek, warm and salty, and your pale head became a blur. The falling hair came quicker and quicker along with the tears until my feet were covered in delicate, golden locks and I was sobbing. My body shook and I couldn't look at you anymore. My hands flew to my face and cradled my forehead, my chest heaving, the razor falling to the floor.

You continued to stare at me in the large mirror. Your large, expressive eyes burning into me. My cries echoing against your walls. Not a word was said for a long time, not until my crying ceased and I stood behind you, tired and weak. You were still staring.

"You...You are going to be okay." you said. "You are going to live the life we have always wanted. And...well, you'll do it because I can't. You are going to be okay, right? Right?"

Sobs rose up in my throat once more.

"Listen, you have to," you continued, "You have to be okay." The last sentence came out in a sob. "I can't be okay unless you are. I don't...I don't want to go away, I don't want to hurt you, I don't want people to be sad, I want you to live and make new friends and remember me and I want you to be happy-you, you have to be-"

You could no longer continue. Your words were choked by tears. I could see how desperate you were for me to be strong. You were the one dying, but I had been letting myself die inside. All you were afraid of was the pain of the ones around you, not your own suffering. You were so pure.

"You're going to be okay." You said, this time more a fact than a question, mostly to reassure yourself. You were still crying, your whole body shaking. I wrapped my arms around your shoulders, trying to still you, trying to absorb some of your pain.

"I'm going to be okay," I whispered.
"I'm going to be okay."

And that made all the difference.