by Anna Kyss
I walk to the railing, which overlooks the Opera House. When he joins me, still talking about options to help me get through my grief, I place my index finger to his lips. “Stop. I can’t talk about this right now. We’re passing some of the most beautiful sights in Sydney. I want to enjoy them instead of creating more terms.”
He laughs. That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting, so I turn to him.
“You want to live life,” he says. “I got so trapped into planning for the future, but you remembered to live life.” He kisses me above the backdrop of the Opera House. A slow, tender kiss that’s full of his sweetness. I pull him closer until I am sandwiched between the metal railing and Sage’s warm body. If only we could stay here forever.
This is our last ferry ride together. Tonight, he’ll return to the city while I continue on at Susan’s. I know only too well how this progresses. So I snuggle even closer, until every inch of my body presses against his. We savor one another as our ferry makes its way along the harbor.
The water taxi finally arrives at Susan’s dock. Sage steps off then offers me a hand. We hike hand-in-hand to Susan’s house. I don’t ever want to let him go.
I’m forced to, though, when Susan runs out her kitchen door, heading with open arms for Sage. She embraces him so hard, I’m worried he’ll pop.
“You absolutely terrified me,” she scolds him. “When I heard Abby screaming, then saw your limp body in the grass…”
I shudder. I had the same reaction.
“I’m sorry about that. I never thought I could actually have a seizure.” He runs his fingers through his curls. “I mean, the doctor mentioned seizures as a possible symptom, but I never imagined—”
“Now don’t get all guilty before our party.” Susan pats his shoulder. “I’m just glad we have the opportunity to say our goodbyes.”
Her words have a double-edged meaning, as if she means our permanent goodbyes. I’ve never thought of Susan as fatalistic. Maybe it’s not fatalistic, though. She always has been a realist, and she’s facing the situation—more bravely than I did—with the information she’s been given. In spite of Sage’s endless optimism, he too considers the worst-case scenario endings.
Maybe I’m the only one who still believes Sage will survive. I have to believe he will. If I don’t, I have no hope left to cling to. And I never want to be hopeless again.
“I’m still preparing our meal,” Susan says. “I’ll need about an hour to have it all ready.”
“Perfect. I’m going to pack up my stuff, then I want to take one last walk around.”
One last walk. No talk about returning to the farm one day instead of acting as if it’s the final hike. I need to distract myself before I lose myself in the spreading waves of grief.
“Do you want company on your walk?” I ask.
Sage considers my offer. “I think I’m going to need some privacy. Do you mind if I go solo?”
I’m relieved, actually. I need to take a break from all the intensity. I need time to regroup and gather my strength.
“I could use some help in the kitchen. Would you mind, Abby?” Susan looks toward her open doorway. “Things are going to burn if I keep chatting out here.”
“I’ll be right in.” Talking with Susan will be the perfect way to figure out how I’m really feeling. She’s become a good friend without me even realizing it.
That’s when I realize just how much I’ve recovered from losing Robbie. I want to seek out the comfort of a friend, rather than lock myself in a room all alone—that’s healing. If I can heal from Robbie’s loss, I can handle anything Sage throws my way. I’m ready, brain cancer. You’re not going to break me.
WHEN I step inside Susan’s kitchen, the aromas wafting off her stove tempt me. A yellowish sauce, speckled with red, bubbles in a pan on the back burner. Rice noodles soak in another pan. An empty wok sits on the largest burner, while her rice cooker steams away.
“I thought I would make a Thai feast for Sage.” Susan hurries from pot to pot, stirring and sniffing each one. “I know how fond he is of all that Asian stuff.”
“It’s perfect.” I spot colorful paper lanterns and intricately designed silken tablecloths piled up. “He’ll love it.”
“I hope so. Cooking is my way of coping, you know.” She adds chopped pumpkin to the yellow sauce then throws in a handful of cut-up potatoes. “I pour all of my feelings into the food.”
“Does it help?” I’m still gathering my coping strategies. On the surface, this frenzied, manic cooking seems to calm her.
“A little. When I think about his age, though—” She throws a pile of tofu into the spluttering oil at the bottom of the wok. “He’s not much younger than I am. If something happened to me, who would be there for Zachary?”
That’s the thing about death. It makes people reflect on all the worst-case scenarios out there. I try to bring Susan back to the present. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Twenty-nine? Really?” I would have pegged Susan to be in her mid-thirties. She has a maturity about her, so different from that of the people I went to school with. But she’s experienced loss, too. Maybe grief ages people.
“I know I look older than that. It’s hard to retain your looks when you have the stress of a farm and a baby and…” She wipes a tear away. “It has been a long time since I’ve had a good friend. Sage reminds me of my friends’ brothers, joking, silly, and playful. I guess I’ve grown a little attached.”
“Attached.” I sigh. “Please don’t use that word with him.”
“Why?” She turns away from the pots and the pans. “What happened when you returned to the hospital?”
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good friend as well. Susan’s support, understanding, and willingness to listen help me open up. I share everything. His empty bed, the postcard, his reluctance to continue our relationship. We talk about all the rules he’s constructing for us going forward.
“Sounds like he’s more afraid than you are,” she notes.
“Afraid?” I get why Sage would be afraid of dying, but not why he would be afraid to accept love from those around him.
The buzz of the rice cooker interrupts our conversation. Susan jumps up then simultaneously stirs two pots before they burn. “The food’s nearly ready.” She points to the pile of lanterns and silks. “Can you decorate the outside while I make the finishing touches on our meal?”
A few minutes later, the paper lanterns flicker with candlelight atop Asian-inspired tablecloths. Tonight’s food covers one table, while the other is set with Susan’s best dishes.
“Let’s call our friend.” She reaches up and rings the dinner bell.
Sage hikes down the path a few minutes later. “I’m going to miss that bell.” He pauses while he takes in the twinkling overhead lights, the flickering lanterns, and the buffet of food.
“Welcome to your Thai feast.” I wrap my arm around his waist. Our minutes are dwindling away.
“Pumpkin curry, pad Thai, and a mango-cashew stir fry. All vegetarian, of course,” Susan says.
“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble. I would have been happy with PB&J.” Sage embraces Susan in a big hug. “Thank you, though.”
“You’ll appreciate it more after a few days of hospital food. I don’t know how it is in the States, but the food’s barely edible in our hospitals.”
For a moment, nobody speaks. The uncomfortable reminder of what Sage faces lingers in the air.
“Thanks for being able to talk about it.” Sage takes his plate and piles it high with food. “Too many people are afraid to even mention I’m sick.”
“They don’t teach social niceties for disease and death.” Susan scoops curry onto her plate. “Since I’m being blunt, what did the doctors find?”
Sage sets his plate on the table and slowly lowers himself to his seat. “The tumor actually grew a little bigger over the last few months. It wasn’t supposed to do that.”
<
br /> Things freeze. The tumor was growing? I’m no oncologist, but even I know that’s not a good thing.
“See, another one of those things you think you can control,” Susan says. “Nobody can stop a tumor from growing. That’s its whole life purpose.”
“What do you mean, another thing I can control?” Sage hasn’t eaten anything.
“Abby told me about all of your negotiations.”
He stares at me. I glare at Susan.
Susan just shrugs. “It needs to be talked about. I’m not afraid to play the bad guy when I’m really being a good friend to you both by being honest.”
“I’m not going to let Abby get hurt.” Sage studies his plate.
“You really think you can prevent her from getting hurt?” Susan places her hand on Sage’s. “If the worst happens… I hope it doesn’t, but if the worst happens, Abby is going to be devastated. If she wasn’t devastated, she wouldn’t be worth keeping around.”
Sage glances at me, but now I’m busy examining my plate. Susan’s right. If something happens to Sage, I will be devastated. I won’t tell him that, though. If I thought his stipulations were annoying now, I can’t even imagine how restrictive they will become.
“If you die,” Susan says. “I will grieve for you. I will cry, and I will curse the skies, and I may even throw things.”
I wonder how she keeps her voice so calm when talking about all of this.
“No, I don’t want anyone crying for me.” Sage pushes away his uneaten plate of food then gets up from the table.
“But we will.” Susan reaches for his hand. “Because we care for you. You cannot control the grieving process of others any more than you can control that tumor growing inside of you.”
“I can’t handle hurting anyone!” he yells.
“You’re not hurting anyone. That unnatural thing inside of you deserves all the blame.” Susan rises, still grasping his hand. “You’ve become a dear friend. Without your help, I wouldn’t have been able to keep this old farm running.”
“Susan—”
“Let me cry for you.” Susan begins to cry before pulling him into a final hug. “Goodbye, Sage.”
Sage shakes off her embrace and breaks into a run, his untouched plate still on the table.
Susan grabs my arm before I’m able to follow him. “Give him a few minutes. He’s down at the docks, and he probably needs some alone time.”
“Why would you do that? Why would you ruin his last night?”
She stares quietly at the dark path to the docks. “I’ve experienced enough loss to know that nothing good comes from deceiving yourself.”
SAGE SITS on the wooden dock, staring out at the water. In the distance, the lights from the nearby town reflect off the water’s surface, providing the only luminosity in tonight’s moonless sky.
He holds one of the paper lanterns in his hands. It’s still lit, and the candle’s soft glow illuminates his face. I sit down next to him, and we both gaze into the candle’s flame.
Several minutes pass in complete silence. “How are you?” I finally ask.
“Saying goodbye is so much harder than I thought.” He sighs. “And I’m going to have to repeat the whole darn thing with my friends back home.”
“Did you think it would be easy?” I take his hand. What was he expecting?
“I didn’t think.” He shakes my hand away. “I just shut out all thoughts about the tumor and the surgery and all the terrible outcomes.”
I remember being in the same place. Not wanting anyone to mention Robbie or prepare me for his almost certain death. I wouldn’t talk to my parents, my friends, or even the social worker in the hospital. The conversations would have been that much harder if they were about me instead of my boyfriend.
“I thought if I became skilled enough at this Buddhism stuff, I could just handle… anything.” He laughs but not his normal, happy sound. “I really believed when I left here and had to deal with it, I would be able to just accept my path.”
“Sage, you have the right to be angry and sad and afraid.” I wrap my arms around him and lower my head to his back. “That doesn’t mean you failed anything. It means you’re human.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” He continues to face the water but leans back into my embrace. “I don’t want to cause you more pain, I don’t want to leave my mom all alone, and I don’t want to make anyone sad.”
“But don’t you get it? You wouldn’t be hurting and abandoning people, the cancer would.” I kiss his temple.
“Do you want to know what’s worst of all?” he whispers.
“Tell me.” My lips still rest against his temple.
“I feel so selfish, because a part of me wants to focus entirely on what I’m going to be losing.” His shoulders begin to tremble. “I want to travel more—visit all seven continents. I want to finish school. I want so much more.” His tears fall onto my arms. I hold him even closer. “I don’t want to die,” he cries. “I’m not ready. I’ve tried to prepare myself, but I’m just not ready.”
“What twenty-one year old would be ready?” I kiss away a tear that slides down his cheek. “Wanting to live is normal.”
He flips around so I’m still holding him, but we’re face to face. Sage gently lifts me into his lap, holds me close, and continues to cry softly against my shoulder.
For the longest time, I comfort him in the only ways I can. A gentle embrace, open ears, and caring words. “Do you know what really helped when I was lost in my grief for Robbie?” I finally say. “Talking about him. When I kept my past all shut off, it started to overtake me.”
Sage doesn’t respond, but his crying softens.
“You’ve never talked about your future. Maybe it would help if you shared your dreams.”
“I don’t know. What if putting it on the table makes everything worse?”
“Can it get much worse from how you’re feeling?”
Sage readjusts me until I’m sitting between his legs, staring at the water. “There’s this graduate school I really want to attend.” He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me close to his solid chest. “It combines western psychology with eastern practices.”
“You want to become a meditating psychologist?” I can’t help but giggle.
“I just think combining the two could help more people. The school’s in the mountains. I’m done with Michigan. I want to spend some time in every habitat.”
“So the mountains for graduate school and…”
His soft breath tickles my hair. “Maybe an area with beautiful old-growth forests when I begin my practice.”
“That sounds nice.” I try to picture myself in his dream. I wouldn’t mind escaping from boring old Ohio.
“Travel. I forgot to mention how much I would travel. Each vacation, I would go somewhere new.” He kisses me on one cheek. “Hopefully, with a pretty girl by my side.”
Maybe he has inserted me into some of his dreams. I know he has become a part of mine.
“Sometimes the trips will be for fun, but I’d like to do some volunteer trips, too. Maybe digging wells in a village without clean water, or helping to build houses after a natural disaster.” He sighs. “I want to help people. Make the world a better place.”
This is why I love Sage. Even when faced with a potentially fatal disease, he never stops thinking of others.
Love. For the first time, I realize how deeply my feelings have grown for him. With Robbie, my feelings developed slowly, over the course of several years. I never would have thought it possible to have such intense feelings for a boy I met just a few weeks ago.
Only we didn’t meet under normal circumstances. Instead of an occasional date or a single class together, we spent nearly every waking minute together. Rather than casual flirting and fun, a whirlwind of feelings threw us together.
When you face death, and when you have experienced death’s aftermath, time moves differently. Each moment becomes more valuable, more precious, and more mea
ningful. Sage and I may have spent only three weeks together on Susan’s farm, but it probably was the equivalent of three years of dating, given what we’ve been through.
I love Sage. I test out the idea in my mind. I’m surprised to find that my heart soars, and I don’t feel the tiniest bit of guilt. I really love Sage.
It’s different from my feelings for Robbie. When Robbie and I were young teens, the excitement of first love and the awkwardness found only in teen love filled our relationship. These feelings toward Sage may be a more grown-up version of love. I want to protect him, and he’s shown that he’ll be self-sacrificing to protect me. I might lose him, but the idea of never having met Sage is worse than the thought of losing him.
What’s that old saying? It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
That old poet was right. I’m a better person for having cared for Robbie so deeply, and Sage continues to help me grow each and every day.
“And when I’ve traveled all around the world—” Sage holds me even snugger. “I want to marry the love of my life and start a family.”
Has he been thinking about love, too?
“Thanks, Abby.” He slides me forward until my head rests in his lap. Then he leans forward and kisses me, completely upside down. “It really helped to think about my dreams again.”
“You can’t look at the percentages and let that determine your outcome.” I sit up and face him. “You need to go into this surgery thinking, ‘I will survive’.”
“Are you saying I should let go of my pacifist ways and become a fighter?” He smiles.
“Exactly. You need to need to fight with every bit of energy you can summon up.” I look into his eyes, so dark out here in this moonless sky.
He puffs up his body and shows his muscles. “I will throw down that bloody cancer on its skinny little arse.”
“Three weeks later and your Australian accent hasn’t gotten any better.” I laugh. “It sounds like you’re repeating bad British comedies rather than words from the outback.”