Liam laughed. “Julie has no hair. Buzzed it off,” he replied.
Hilary nodded and smiled. “Well, I think you look great. Considering,” she said, and Julie laughed. I liked the sound of that laugh. It was old and good.
“Thanks, Hil,” Julie told her, and she looked to me. “And you said they'd hate it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Falon, how could you say such a thing,” Liam said, holding his hand to his chest. “I am appalled,” he said, drawing the word out.
I gave him the bird, and he gasped.
Hilary pulled at his arm again. “What's going on? Everyone needs to tell me what they're doing so I'll know!” she said.
Liam rolled his eyes, and Hilary punched him. “Ow! What was that for?” he asked, rubbing the rib she had hit.
“I know you, Liam. You were rolling your eyes at me again,” she replied.
Julie and I both watched with smiles on our faces. It was nice to see them together, happy.
Kind of like us. Together. Happy. Alive.
A few months ago, I would have never thought I would have both a girlfriend, and friends. I would have never thought I’d have my own truck, or finished high school, or changed as a person so dramatically that I could look in a mirror and not feel complete and utter disgust anymore.
Things had changed, and that was okay.
I wouldn't give any of this up for anything in the world.
♥
“You know what we should do?” Liam asked.
We had spent the last few hours in total chaos. I had tried to keep Julie from doing anything as much as possible, but she still found ways to work rather than relax.
I had managed to convince her that we could clean up while she and Hilary sat down. They had been giggling when Liam had said his simple statement.
“What should we do, darling?” Hilary asked in a baby voice that made Julie cover her mouth. Concealing more giggles, I suppose. It made me grin.
Liam stood up straight, shrugging slightly. “We need to go on a road trip,” he announced.
The funny thing was, none of us protested.
The first one to say anything was me. I figured I needed to give some sort of objection. “Julie would never be able to just leave,” I replied.
She looked to me, with a small, sad smile. Because she knew it was true. She couldn't leave while she was still going through chemo and radiation.
Liam shook his head. “Maybe not for a long time, but a few days she could. And if she'd just get that trans-”
“Liam, shut up,” Julie snapped. She stood up, glaring at her brother, who hadn’t heard her, but had seen my face. When he turned to her, she told him to shut up again.
“Why? It's true. We all know that the chemo isn't helping. I don't see why you still sit there and let them pump that crap into you when all it's doing is making you worse,” he said.
“It's not your body. And it could help. It's worked that last two times,” she replied.
“No, it postponed it. You actually have a chance at a normal life. I don't understand why you're refusing to take it,” he told her.
“It's not your choice.”
“No, if it was, I'd choose to live. I wouldn't sit there and put everyone else through all this pain just so I can wimp out and die!” he shouted at her.
Hilary was sitting there, her mouth parted, but I couldn't tell whether her eyes were nervously wide like mine were. Hearing Julie and Liam arguing was a difficult situation.
On one side, I agreed with Julie. She was the girl I loved, and the one I would stand behind. If she wanted to take chemo, then she should. It was all her choice and her decision.
But, I agreed more with Liam, because I loved her, and watching her die was not something I wanted to do, not yet. Maybe when we were old and gray, it would be different, because then I wouldn't be too long behind. But not now, not at eighteen.
And then, there was the position that both Hilary and I were forced to take. It wasn't our fight. When siblings fought, we really had no right to butt in.
So we sat on the sidelines, and remained quiet, listening to them, both wishing we could say something to diffuse the situation, but lacking the right words to do so.
“I'm not wimping out!” Julie countered back. “Wimping out would be killing myself, and I'm not doing that!”
“No, instead you're just waiting for your cancer to do it for you!”
“You don't know anything! And it isn't your decision to make!”
“Because everything you do to yourself only affects you?” Liam asked, and then pointed toward me. “What about him? What about us, Julie? Do you think we love the decisions you're making about dying? Do you really think Falon is okay with you killing yourself?”
I wanted to tell Liam to shut up. Please don't drag me into this, I would beg.
Mostly, because it was true.
If it was my decision, I would already be on an operating table, knocked out cold, so they could extract some of my bone marrow. Julie would be waiting and ready for the transplant, and everything would be okay again.
But it wasn't. I was forced to watch her slowly fade away, and not just her outward appearance. No, everyday it seemed another part of Julie left and was replaced with her cancer.
“Falon stands behind whatever decision I make,” Julie said, but her voice sounded almost unsure. Like she wanted to believe it, but knew it was reaching.
Liam turned to me. “Do you? Do you really, Falon?” he asked, her words lined with sarcasm. The way his eyes cut into me, I knew I was in dangerous territory.
“Liam, I'm not getting in this,” I said gently.
He rolled his eyes, laughing bitterly. “Of course not. Wouldn't want Julie to be mad at you again, for what, the fourth or fifth time? It was okay when you were going behind her back though,” he told me.
I knew what he was trying to do, and it wasn't going to work. I knew because he was still angry, still hurt about Julie's disease, just as he had been when he had sent his car spinning.
“Liam-”
“No!” he yelled automatically. “No! It's not fair that she gets to choose!” he yelled at me, and pointed at Julie. When he looked at her, he looked dangerously close to completely melting down. “It's not fair that you get to choose whether we lose you or not. If it were the other way around, you would feel the exact same way,” he told her.
Julie moved toward him, shaking her head gently. “If the tables were turned, I wouldn't be able to stop you either. I would have to be okay with what you chose,” she said softly.
When she came to him, she wrapped her arms tightly around him, and she squeezed her eyes closed. I saw my friend, big, tough, easy going, Liam melt in her embrace and cling to her, shuddering.
“I'll never be okay with this, Julie. I won't,” he told her.
“I know.”
I was suddenly jealous of Liam. Because he didn't have to be okay with it. He could hate it, and tell her he hated it, and that was okay. He could say what he felt.
I couldn't. I had to be strong for Julie. I had to support Julie. I had to stand behind Julie and encourage her on, and pretend that I was okay with everything when I wasn't. I had to keep pretending so she would be happy, while inside, I was miserable, and hurt, and dying.
And none of that mattered. Because Julie was the one that was really dying, not me. And it was selfish for me to want her to stay when she was ready to go.
Love wasn't suppose to be selfish.
It wasn't suppose to be cruel either, but it had been lately.
I would have given anything for her to change her mind. The Lord knew that. I would give everything for Julie to look at me and say she wanted to go through with the procedure, that she was ready. Anything and everything.
“I really hate you, I hope you know that,” Liam said as he pulled away, and Julie laughed softly. Hilary and I just stood there, but I knew she was glad they weren't yelling any more as much as I was.
“You always have,” she replied.
He shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, but I hate you more now than I did then,” he replied.
“I'll just have to live with that,” she said.
I wished I could just live with it.
♥
We all went into the junior store across the street when we left and bought Icees, but I knew I was in a sour mood now.
I wasn't sure why it bothered me so much. Why the simple conversation could make me so mad all over again. Just when I had thought I was okay with it, or that I could accept it, I realized I was wrong.
I couldn't accept her dying. I couldn't.
But I wasn't suppose to say that. I was suppose to be supportive and keep Julie happy because she was the one that was sick.
And I was angry. It didn't take hundreds of dollars in therapy for me to say that. I was angry, and livid, and enraged, and furious, and every other synonym for being angry.
I didn't want to be that way, but I felt it nonetheless. I wanted to be that good guy that stuck by her side, and accepted it, but I couldn't. I couldn't just accept her dying!
I did my best to put on a happy face and be okay, but I think Julie knew something was wrong. She just didn't want to bring it up, just like I didn't. She didn't want to fight, not now, not ever.
So we kept quiet, and we pushed on. Rather than succumb to arguing again, we bit our tongue, and we moved on.
Because that's all we could do.
Move on.
♥
We didn't fight. We simply didn't talk about it. We just kept moving forward, but we both knew something was wrong.
I could hold Julie without ever touching her. We would do this for hours. I could sit there with her in my arms without ever truly holding her. She could kiss me without really kissing me.
Addressing it meant arguing. You didn't argue with people that you knew were dying. Too many risks.
So, we kept our mouths shut and kept moving on.
Because sometimes, that's all you can do.
♥
And then, two things happened. Moving on and moving forward stopped in its tracks and did a U turn. We started moving backwards, and then stopped moving at all.
It started with the doctor's appointment. This was the one where Julie had to go through some blood tests, and such, to see how everything was going, and if the chemo and radiation were having any effect.
Dr. Abraham Lincoln came in, and when he sat down, Julie tensed against my hand. We both knew the results wouldn't be good, but it affected her all the same.
“It's not working,” he said, his voice cold.
I thought Julie's mom might pass out, but she kept it together. She was dangerously pale, but Julie was completely without color. I thought she might vomit.
“How long?” she asked. Her hand was tight in mine, squeezing all feeling from the veins. My fingers were numb and purple.
He sighed, and looked at his folders. He didn't look in them, because he had already anticipated the question. As a doctor giving bad news, he had to know it was coming.
“Four months. Unless you get a transplant-”
“Four months,” she said, cutting him off. “That's it? Four months?” she asked, the grip on me loosening.
He nodded. “That's just a guess too. It could be more time, or it could be less,” he replied.
“There's no sense in continuing the chemo if it's not working, right?”
He shook his head 'no'.
Julie nodded, and she stood. “Okay. Thanks,” she said. She looked to me, and I knew what that look meant. “You ready to go?” she asked me, her voice void of any emotion.
I nodded. “Yeah,” I replied. I didn't know what else to say.
I felt like I had said it all before.
♥
Julie's mom left us, after having a conversation with Julie that obviously affected her more than she wanted. I just stood by my truck, and watched her mom seem to break down, and Julie stand ridged. When her mom left, it was without a hug, or a goodbye, and Julie stood in her spot for a long time.
When she turned around, and came to the truck, she said nothing. She got in the passenger seat, buckled up and waited for me. The look on her face reminded me of that emotionless robot look she had kept in the doctor's office.
I got in the truck, buckling myself up and then leaving. I knew it was her house she wanted me to take her to.
“Are you going to yell at me too?” she asked me. Her voice was drained of it's Julie-ness. All that was left was a scared little girl with a tough face.
I looked to her, and I saw that frightened girl looking out the window. She looked so fragile beneath to rough exterior. Close to breaking, close to leaving, and dangerously close to disappearing.
“No.”
She still didn't look at me. Her eyes followed the objects we passed, and her mouth remained closed. She pretended I wasn't there, or either, she was stuck inside her mind, with her complicated thoughts.
“I love you, Julie,” I told her, licking my lips. My mouth felt dry, as if it was the first time I had ever said the words to her. When she still didn't look my way, a lump grew in my throat. “We all do.”
She took in a deep breath, and rested her face against her closed fist. “I know that. I do,” she answered slowly. “That's what makes it all so hard,” she told me, and for the first time in days, I felt like I was talking with Julie again.
This girl, who had been so detrimental to my coming back from the undead, had disappeared at the first doctor appointment. It was then that she had disappeared, and she had said it was because she was tired of fighting.
Secretly, I think she was afraid to.
Now, hearing that there was no chance without the transplant, she was scared and confused. I could see the thoughts in her mind turning over and over. Should she stay, or go? Should she fight, or give up?
I thought about this song that she had played for me, one of our many times of driving around with the radio on. She had made her own mix tape (only it had been a CD) and she and I drove around until it had played the entire way through.
There was this one song, by Ross Copperman, I think. I had never heard of him, but Julie had put two or three of his songs on my CD, and although I liked all of them, there was one that reminded me of my statue beside me.
The song was called Holding On and Letting Go. It said that it was one door swinging open, and one door swinging closed. Some prayers found an answer, and some prayers never know. We're holding on and letting go.
At that moment, it explained Julie and I completely.
I was the one holding on, and Julie was the one letting go. She was waiting for someone to tell her it was okay to do so, and it wasn't. Not to me. It never would be.
“Fight, Julie. Not just for me, or them, but for you,” I told her, and I glanced her way. The way her green eyes met mine only made my words more powerful. She knew that, and I knew that.
“What if I get my hopes up, and I still lose?” she asked me, and she was on the verge of crying. Because everytime Julie was on the verge of crying, or was crying already, it was because she was scared. I knew that now. My eyes had been opened.
“Then you can go knowing you gave it everything. You can't let your cancer have you,” I told her.
“It already does.”
I shook my head. “No, it doesn't. It has your body, Julie, not you, not your soul. But if you don't fight, it will, and then it wins, and I don't want it to win. I want you to go down fighting, whether it works in our favor or not,” I replied.
Julie wiped beneath her eyes as I pulled up to the curb of her house. She didn't immediately get out. She sat there, and she looked at my dashboard with a torn look on her face.
“I'm just scared,” she told me, and looked at me. Her eyes were blurred with tears. “I don't want to keep putting everyone I love through this pain. I wish I could just quit hurting everyone,” she told me.
That wa
s when I unbuckled my seat belt and moved next to her. I held her against me, and I felt her. Once again, it was Julie in my arms, and Julie in my soul, and she felt it.
“I'd take this pain any day, over losing you. I don't want to be here without you, and I know that's probably selfish, but I love you, and I want to see you become an artist and not feel damaged anymore. I want to see you old and wrinkled and knitting in a rocking chair,” I told her, and Julie laughed against my chest.
“I think I'd be an awesome old woman,” she told me, looking up with a small smile, despite her tears.
Sometimes we're holding angels and we never even know.
♥
Julie's exact promise to me was that she would really consider the transplant. She would rather it come from someone else, someone she didn't know, but she was going to really think about it.
If it was all she could promise, I was willing to accept it.
It wasn't even two days later when the second thing happened. The second thing changed the course of my life forever.
Ava was the messenger, and her news on that late afternoon, after coming home with gum and vomit on my shoes, and sharpie on my jeans and arms, shook me to my core.
She looked at me, and she ran her hands through her hair as she told me my mom had been released from the mental ward.
♥
Parole, probation, good behavior, and very sad and pathetic plea to the judge, I wasn't sure why she was released. I didn't care. All I cared about was that she was out, or going to be, and she wasn't behind brick walls anymore.
There was a childish voice in my head that night that started reminding me of what she had done, of what she might finish. She could still hurt me. She could still burn me alive.
I couldn't sleep. I would think that I was going to, even close my eyes, but then I would smell smoke, and sit up. The clock would remind me I had only had my eyes closed for five minutes.
So I sat in the bed, and I pulled the covers to my face. I thought about what she might want to do if she decided to come after me. I thought about her grabbing acid this time around, and pouring it over my entire body. I thought about her cold stare, watching me writhe and scream as the flames licked my body and consumed me.
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