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Authors: Amber L. Johnson
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and barely gives me time to
grab it before she takes a staggered breath and steps back.
“ My boyfriend doesn’t look a thing like my
roommate, Coco. Who is a swimmer . Who I talked into donating her hair to
Locks of Love. Who said because my boyfriend was going to another appointment,
she would dress up with me for Halloween. I’ll be sure to tell her you think
she looks like a dude from behind, though. That will really stroke her
ego.”
The food I’ve just eaten is starting to sour in my
stomach, and all of my rightness, all of my bravado is fading as I stare her in
the face. Because I know she’s telling the truth.
“Or maybe I shouldn’t say ‘boyfriend’ because you’ve
never actually defined this, right? What we have. You keep me at arms’ length
because you think you’re going to die.”
“But I’m not,” I whisper. Her mouth opens a little
and then closes as she narrows her eyes at me and lifts a hand to angrily wipe
away the tears that have escaped onto her cheeks.
“I get it. You got the good news. And now you don’t have to define this.” Her chin quivers and she closes her eyes, taking a deep
breath. “Message received, Oliver.” She turns to walk towards her car, and I
can’t find the words to stop her. It’s spiraled too quickly. Suddenly, she
turns back around and points to where I’m standing. “You had a good summer.
According to that.” I know she’s referencing the photos. “You should know that
you got one thing wrong in there though.” She doesn’t elaborate. She just walks
to her car and opens the door.
I watch her get in.
I see her start the car.
I stand at the threshold to my front door long after
she’s out of my sight.
It’s only then that I have the strength to open the
book to see what she’s talking about, and I find it almost immediately.
There, below the picture of the two of us at the
water the night of my birthday, where I had written the words “ Where I fell, ”
she’d crossed them out and written in huge capital letters “ Where WE Fell .”
It’s enough to make me lose my dinner in the bushes.
13 .
THE STRANGEST THING ABOUT being a cancer survivor is
that you feel like you’ve been given this second lease on life. That somehow,
after all the chemicals and the battles you’ve won, after staring death in the
face and coming out the victor, you’re led to believe that you’re bionic or
something. But at the end of the day, you’re still human. No more, no less.
You’re not some wonder of modern science. You’re just you, without cancer.
The reality of my overwhelming humanness is a slap
in the face. There’s nothing perfect or second-chance about any of this.
I’ve ruined everything and I know it. But there’s
something inside of me that won’t come to terms with the fact that it’s
entirely my fault. I saw what I saw and I can’t rectify my wrongness in my
brain. I can’t see Coco as the guy. Can’t stop seeing Hannah on the couch
looking at someone the way she used to look at me.
Our garage door makes this ungodly noise because
it’s right beneath my bedroom. It shakes the floor and rattles the entire way
up and down so I’m never surprised by my parents’ arrival. Tonight is no
exception. They’re trying to be quiet when they come through the kitchen, but
their voices carry up the stairs and into my open bedroom door where I’m braced
on the edge of my bed, awaiting their return.
My dad is the first one to clear the stairs and hit
the landing. But he’s not the one I want to talk to. Given his occupation, he’s
been known to have skewed reactions to certain situations. My mom, on the other
hand, she has a tender heart. While she doesn’t cry much, or hadn’t until
recently, she’s soft on the inside. I need a soft answer to this mess I’ve
made.
Leaning out of my doorframe, I wait for her to walk
my way. She’s looking down at her purse and when I call to her, it makes her
jump and drop it on the ground.
grab it before she takes a staggered breath and steps back.
“ My boyfriend doesn’t look a thing like my
roommate, Coco. Who is a swimmer . Who I talked into donating her hair to
Locks of Love. Who said because my boyfriend was going to another appointment,
she would dress up with me for Halloween. I’ll be sure to tell her you think
she looks like a dude from behind, though. That will really stroke her
ego.”
The food I’ve just eaten is starting to sour in my
stomach, and all of my rightness, all of my bravado is fading as I stare her in
the face. Because I know she’s telling the truth.
“Or maybe I shouldn’t say ‘boyfriend’ because you’ve
never actually defined this, right? What we have. You keep me at arms’ length
because you think you’re going to die.”
“But I’m not,” I whisper. Her mouth opens a little
and then closes as she narrows her eyes at me and lifts a hand to angrily wipe
away the tears that have escaped onto her cheeks.
“I get it. You got the good news. And now you don’t have to define this.” Her chin quivers and she closes her eyes, taking a deep
breath. “Message received, Oliver.” She turns to walk towards her car, and I
can’t find the words to stop her. It’s spiraled too quickly. Suddenly, she
turns back around and points to where I’m standing. “You had a good summer.
According to that.” I know she’s referencing the photos. “You should know that
you got one thing wrong in there though.” She doesn’t elaborate. She just walks
to her car and opens the door.
I watch her get in.
I see her start the car.
I stand at the threshold to my front door long after
she’s out of my sight.
It’s only then that I have the strength to open the
book to see what she’s talking about, and I find it almost immediately.
There, below the picture of the two of us at the
water the night of my birthday, where I had written the words “ Where I fell, ”
she’d crossed them out and written in huge capital letters “ Where WE Fell .”
It’s enough to make me lose my dinner in the bushes.
13 .
THE STRANGEST THING ABOUT being a cancer survivor is
that you feel like you’ve been given this second lease on life. That somehow,
after all the chemicals and the battles you’ve won, after staring death in the
face and coming out the victor, you’re led to believe that you’re bionic or
something. But at the end of the day, you’re still human. No more, no less.
You’re not some wonder of modern science. You’re just you, without cancer.
The reality of my overwhelming humanness is a slap
in the face. There’s nothing perfect or second-chance about any of this.
I’ve ruined everything and I know it. But there’s
something inside of me that won’t come to terms with the fact that it’s
entirely my fault. I saw what I saw and I can’t rectify my wrongness in my
brain. I can’t see Coco as the guy. Can’t stop seeing Hannah on the couch
looking at someone the way she used to look at me.
Our garage door makes this ungodly noise because
it’s right beneath my bedroom. It shakes the floor and rattles the entire way
up and down so I’m never surprised by my parents’ arrival. Tonight is no
exception. They’re trying to be quiet when they come through the kitchen, but
their voices carry up the stairs and into my open bedroom door where I’m braced
on the edge of my bed, awaiting their return.
My dad is the first one to clear the stairs and hit
the landing. But he’s not the one I want to talk to. Given his occupation, he’s
been known to have skewed reactions to certain situations. My mom, on the other
hand, she has a tender heart. While she doesn’t cry much, or hadn’t until
recently, she’s soft on the inside. I need a soft answer to this mess I’ve
made.
Leaning out of my doorframe, I wait for her to walk
my way. She’s looking down at her purse and when I call to her, it makes her
jump and drop it on the ground.
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