The Last Leaves Falling

by Sarah Benwell

  H i

  I stab out, one letter at a time.

  I ’ m h e r e.

  Hi. :)

  Thought you’d gone for a moment.

  No. I’m just

  I hit enter, before they get bored of waiting for my answer.

  Fingers

  Not

  Working

  (sorry)

  Oh, Sora! That’s awful. Have you got some pills or something that will make it better?

  DUDE, THAT’S LIKE MY WORST NIGHTMARE.

  I know

  Mine too.

  I think

  I’m going

  To go

  :(

  YOU SURE? WE COULD REGALE YOU WITH TALES OF WOE SO TERRIBLY WOEFUL THAT YOU’LL FORGET ALL YOUR PROBLEMS?

  I’m sure. Frustrating. Better tomorrow I hope.

  All right. Call me if you want to talk rather than type.

  YEAH, ME TOO.

  Otherwise, we’ll see you tomorrow. Check in even if you’re not feeling great, please?

  Ok

  Thanks.

  You’re welcome. xxxxxx

  NIGHT DUDE.

  Tonight, I need my mother’s help to grasp the medicine cup, to tip it back without spilling tiny pills across the floor. Her fingers feel heavy and clumsy over mine, like she cannot judge the distance to my lips.

  I try not to picture her doing this every night, or at every meal, hovering over me with a spoon. Will I end up like an infant? My mother scraping puree from my chin?

  67

  When I woke up the next day, I lay there with my eyes squeezed shut and willed the universe to have reset me in my sleep, to let me wake up fresh and new and able to spring out of bed.

  For the longest time, I did not dare to move. Because while I was staying still—deliberately, perfectly still—it was my choice, and I could jump out of bed, anytime I wanted.

  But then my side began to cramp, and as I thought of lying there forever, suddenly it did not feel like freedom anymore. It was my future prison.

  I blinked in the light and tried to stretch my deadwood limbs, and when they did not move as lithely as I’d hoped, I called my mother to help me get out of my bed.

  Part of me had hoped, even then, that when I properly awoke, the energy would flow back into my fingertips, that I would be all right again.

  But the universe doesn’t grant wishes.

  I don’t think we should meet this weekend. I’m sorry.

  Aw, why? What’s wrong?

  ALS is bad

  :( It won’t be the same without you.

  It won’t be the same with me either. I am useless now.

  MAI’S RIGHT. ARE YOU SURE YOU CAN’T MANAGE IT? WE’LL HELP!

  OR WE CAN DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT. WE COULD COME TO YOU IF YOU WOULD LIKE!

  Yes! We can bring ice cream or coffee or books or ANYTHING.

  I don’t know.

  Pleaaaase? We need you.

  Unless you’re feeling really bad.

  No. It’s not that.

  It’s just

  You shouldn’t have to

  Nonsense!

  DUDE, WE’RE FRIENDS. THAT’S WHAT WE DO.

  Ok

  Yes

  I’ll come

  YES! :)

  Yay! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!

  But promise me . . .

  What?

  I remember the look on my classmates’ faces when they came to visit. Strangers’ pity. The first time I saw Yamada Eiji. And all I can think is: Don’t think any less of me. Please.> But I don’t know how to say it, and I know they’d only take it the wrong way.

  Nothing

  :)

  See you then!

  68

  When we finally leave the apartment, it is with a list of dos and don’ts and emergency numbers as long as my hopeless arms, and I half-expect my mother to come chasing after us and drag me back inside.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as we step into the elevator.

  Mai frowns. “What for?”

  “My mother. The safety talk.” I glance down at my skinny body, neatly turned out and folded into a chair as though dressing it up could hide its true traitorous nature. “This.”

  Her frown deepens. “Don’t be ridiculous. She cares about you, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, and so do we,” adds Kaito. “So stop brooding, and let’s focus on the important thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “DAY TRIP!” Mai squeals, and Kaito grins at her, blushing.

  The elevator dings, stopping to let someone in: an elderly woman I have seen hauling shopping up the stairs.

  “So,” Mai continues, “where do you want to go?”

  Her voice is high and loud, and I think I hear the old lady draw an irritated breath, but when I look across at her, she does not say a word, just smiles.

  I think about all the places we could go: the cinema, the mall, a café. But everywhere will be bustling with weekend crowds, and I do not feel like having all those eyes trail after me. I don’t want people; I want sky.

  “Can we just go to the park? I feel as though I haven’t seen anything living for about a year.”

  • • • •

  They say that everything’s okay, that they’re not shocked or worried by my appearance, but as we walk around the lake they’re quiet, and I wonder whether they are wishing themselves somewhere else.

  Still, the quiet of the park gets into my lungs, and by the time we’re halfway around, I worry less. I watch the clouds scud across the sky, leaving a wintery gray canvas behind, and I watch the water, the way it just touches the edge of the embankment; I imagine dumping one more fish into it, watching as the balance tips and the whole lake overflows.

  When we reach the bridge, Mai points at the water. “Oh look! Fish! Come on. I bet we can see them better on the bridge.”

  We race up the wooden ramp and stop right in the middle of the bridge, looking out at the lake.

  “Looook!” Mai squeals. “They’re so pretty! And that one has a star on its head!”

  “Yeah. But the one it’s picking on doesn’t look so good. Oh! Oh! Fish fight!”

  I lean closer to the edge, peer through gaps between the railings, but I cannot see.

  “Ohhh! Fishy!” wails Mai as there is a splash below us, and a yellow flash of scales darts hastily away.

  “Aaaand, Star Head is victorious!” Kai grins back at me. “Can you see all right?”

  “Yes,” I lie.

  “Cool.”

  I scan what I can see of the lake for a flash of gold, but all I see are reds and whites. “Can you see the emperor-fish?” I ask.

  “The what?”

  “Oh. The emperor-fish. He’s huge and black and glitter-gold all over.”

  “And an emperor?” Kaito looks puzzled.

  “I think so. He’s special, you know? There’s something . . . wise about him.”

  He leans back over the bridge and scours the water.

  “I can’t see him. You, Mai?”

  She shakes her head.

  Where is he? I was sure he would be here, and I want to introduce them. I want to know that they will visit him when I am gone, because . . .

  Why?

  “When I was little,” Mai says, still gazing into the water, “I had this game for on bridges?”

  “Yeah?” Kaito looks across at her, the slightest of smiles on his lips.

  “Yes. We’d each—whoever I was with, and me—find a stick, and we’d drop them in on one side, and then run across the bridge to see whose came out first. Oh! Let’s do it again!”

  “I think,” I say, “the water in the lake is too still for that.”

  “Let’s try it anyway.”

  She rushes off before I have a chance to argue, but I’m not sure I would anyway.

  Kaito turns, rests his back against the bridge, and looks at me.

  “I like her, Sora.”

  “I know.”

  “No, I really like her.�
��

  “Yes. Your ears go red every time she speaks to you.”

  He reaches up and pulls his fringe lower, as though it will hide his embarrassment. And I’m going to tell him that I think she likes him, too, but she’s climbing back across the bridge toward us.

  “Hold that thought,” I mutter.

  “Here!” She thrusts out a handful of sticks. “I brought a selection. Sora gets first choice.”

  I look down at the sticks; there is a tiny one that would just get lost, a thick dark one, a twisty silver birch, and three as straight as arrows, but of different lengths. Using all my concentration, I lift my arm up and out toward her, pulling against invisible elastic. I try to straighten my fingers, but all they do is quiver, stiffen further. It’s no use. “I can’t . . .”

  “I’ll drop it for you.” She pushes her hand closer. “Go on. Choose.”

  There’s a note of desperation in her voice, and I cannot refuse. I force myself to smile. “Okay then. If you promise not to cheat, I’ll have the long straight one, please.”

  Mai places her free hand across her chest. “I promise. I will drop your stick at the exact same second as mine. Millisecond, even.”

  “I want this one!” Kaito grabs the thickest branch.

  “Haha. You’ll never win with that. Don’t you know anything about aerodynamics?” Mai laughs.

  “We’ll see.” He smiles slyly.

  “Okay.” Mai pulls out the shortest of the straight sticks and leans out over the bridge as far as she can. “Ready, Kai?”

  He follows suit.

  “Three. Two. One. GO.”

  Our three sticks hit the water with a gentle plomp, and Mai gasps in excitement, stands on her tiptoes, and leans even farther. She wobbles, and Kaito’s hand shoots out to steady her. “Easy,” he says, and then, “I don’t think they’re moving. At all.”

  “No, look, that one is! Yours is! Oh”—her face falls—“there’s a fish underneath it. That probably doesn’t count as moving, huh?”

  “No.” Kaito shoves playfully against her shoulder, and she shoves back, and for a moment I wonder whether they’ve forgotten that I’m here at all, but then Mai sighs and turns to face me.

  “You were right, Mister Genius Professor, the water is too still. Shall we go?”

  “Sorry. Next time I’ll try to be wrong.”

  She giggles. “You do that. What next?”

  I know what I want to do, but . . . it’s weird. Will it be the final straw that drives them both away?

  We amble across the bridge and down the path until it splits into three. Kaito stops, awaiting instruction.

  Okay. Okay. I’m going to ask.

  “Can we go somewhere quiet? I want you to do something for me.”

  “Sure.”

  “What is it?” asks Mai.

  I swallow down my nerves. “Read to me?”

  “Read to you?” she exhales loudly. “Oh, Sora, I thought you were going to ask us something terrible!”

  “No. I just . . . I miss it. I can’t turn the pages anymore.”

  Her eyes flash with pity, but she blinks it back and nods. “I think we can manage that.”

  • • • •

  Kaito takes his jacket and spreads it on the grass beneath a flame-red maple, and Mai stretches out across it, lying on her stomach. He flops beside her and rests his hands behind his head as she flips to the first page. And she begins:

  “The place I like best in this world is a kitchen . . .”

  The book has been sitting in my bag for a while, pulled from the shelf simply as a distraction for hospital corridors. It is not a clever academic book that will build me into something better with each sentence. I think it may, actually, have been my mother’s, but I do not care; I let Mai’s voice pull the words around me like a blanket, and I settle down to listen.

  She warms quickly to the task, her voice skipping lightly over passages and carrying us away into another world. And when she finally stops, I am surprised at the emptiness of the air around us.

  She rolls over and sits up to look at me, a question in her eyes.

  “Thank you,” I say quietly. “That was perfect.”

  Beside her, Kaito stretches, groaning. “Mmm. Don’t stop. I want to hear the rest.”

  “But we’re only halfway through! Anyway, I thought we’d save some for the next time.”

  He opens one eye, lazily. “Next time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cool . . . this is nice, you know?”

  “What?”

  “This. Lying here on the grass, hanging out, no pressure.”

  “Yes,” she says, and I agree.

  • • • •

  We walk back toward the gate along a narrow pathway steeped in gold from the overhead sun. After a few minutes, Mai steps in front of the wheelchair and stops.

  “Does it hurt?”

  My stomach drops. “What?”

  “I mean . . . when you move your arm, or all the time, or . . . does it hurt? Because,” she adds, her voice so small and sad that it rips at my heart, “it looks like it hurts.”

  I wish that I could tell her the truth; that my morphine pills have steadily increased, that sometimes I wake in the middle of the night, and it feels like knives are pinning me down to the bed, or that today, in the autumn wind, my chest feels three sizes too small. But I cannot.

  “Sometimes. Yes.”

  “Oh, Sora!”

  “It’s okay,” I say, but we both know that it’s not.

  Mai turns, so I cannot see her face.

  What have I done? I should have lied. I shouldn’t have said anything.

  She storms ahead, but only gets a few steps away before she whips back around. The sadness has gone, and in its place is red, raw fury. And she lifts her head to the sky and screams.

  “Aaaaaaaaaargh!”

  Fear grips me; I’m sure that a hundred people will come running, and a hundred more will turn to stare at the awkward cripple boy who is so damaged that he makes his friends go mad. But when I look around, there’s no one there, and I’m flooded with relief so great that I want to laugh. But I cannot laugh at Mai, and so I turn my face to the sky and scream with her.

  Behind me, Kaito howls, wolflike. And the three of us stand here, in the middle of a public park, shattering the air with our emotions. We scream and howl and scream until there’s nothing left, and our hearts and lungs are empty.

  “Sorry,” Mai giggles nervously.

  I grin at her, and Kaito lets out a tiny wolf-howl. And everything’s okay again.

  We walk a little way to the nearest bench, and sit.

  “So what happens next?”

  “You mean, symptoms?”

  “Yeah.” Kaito nods, and I can tell he really wants to hear this. Needs to. Mai, too.

  So I take a deep breath, and let the words come out. “My hands are getting worse. There is a lot that I can’t do for myself, and it’s going to get harder.”

  “So . . . you won’t be able to write to us?”

  I imagine day after day trapped in my own head as my computer gathers dust just a few feet away, and my friends trapped inside it, as alone as I am.

  “No.”

  Mai shakes her head defiantly. “Then we’ll call you. And we will visit.”

  “Yeah we will.” He swallows, hesitant. “What happens after your arms?”

  “Eventually? It will be hard to talk, and swallow, and to breathe.”

  Mai squeals, looks away. But Kaito breathes out slowly and continues. “But you’ll be . . . you’ll still be you, right? Inside?”

  “Yes.”

  Was that a shudder rippling across his shoulders?

  Is he totally repulsed?

  “Well,” he says after a moment. “We’re just going to have to get the most out of everything while you still can. Right?”

  I nod.

  “Right, Mai?” Kaito nudges her affectionately, and she looks up to give me a wobbly smile.

&nb
sp; “Yes. The absolutely most! Where shall we start?”

  69

  “Doctor Kobayashi?” I say as soon as Mama’s closed the door behind her, left us alone. I’ve been steeling myself to ask this question and I cannot risk losing my nerve as we settle down to our routine.

  She looks at me, surprised. “Yes?”

  “What do you think happens when you die?”

  “How are you this week, Sora? Are things not going well?” She barely misses a beat.

  “Please, doctor. What happens?” Every day, every symptom, brings me closer, and I have to know.

  “What do you think?”

  Why do the people with all the answers never want to share?

  “I wouldn’t ask if I knew.”

  She isn’t going to tell me.

  “Well, there are lots of theories.”

  “Yes, but . . .” I don’t want theories. I want to know.

  “Some people think that—”

  “No!”

  I clasp a hand over my mouth. What am I doing?

  How could I be so rude?

  “I’m sorry!”

  “No, it’s all right. Go on . . .”

  “Eh, all right. I’m sorry, but I know the theories. I want answers. Why won’t anybody tell me anything?”

  She looks at me with that strange expression of hers, blank but not blank at all, and then her shoulders sag.

  “I’m sorry, Sora, I can’t give you any answers.”

  I growl. It is not intentional.

  “I don’t have any,” she says. “Nobody ever comes back to tell me.”

  We do not say much else. There’s nothing new to say. My legs hurt, and my arms. And yes, they’re getting worse, and no, there’s nothing anyone can do. But she knows all that.

  I sit there, staring at the bonsai’s twisted branches, its thick, gnarled roots. It is an ugly thing, and yet, it is so beautiful.

  Strange, that.

  And it sounds like something you might read about in a book of ancient poems:

  The most broken, bare of things,

  Is the most wonderous.

  Stupid.

  I try again.

  Outside, quiet, but there is a song within.

  No.

  The gnarly tree

  Deadened, goes on living.