Beautiful Together

by Andrea Wolfe

  "This is my request," he said. "Do it for me. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life, but you don't even smile anymore. And it's all because of me. Now you need to put yourself back together. I don't want you to come here again. It's what I want."

  "You're just putting me before yourself," I said pathetically. "Like you always do. You're just saying that to make it easier."

  Mason stared back, his expression powerful and bold despite his weakness. "That's not true," he said coldly. "It is what I want. For the first time, I'm telling the truth about what I want. You can't destroy yourself anymore for me. You can't."

  I shivered uncontrollably as I sat there, even though I wasn't cold. I continued delicately cradling his hand, treating it like it belonged to a newborn. It was equally as fragile, no doubt. Tears had stained my blouse. I couldn't speak, couldn't come up with anything meaningful to say.

  "I have one last request though," he said. "Tell Jesse to come here. Tell him I want to talk to him."

  "Of course," I said, my words wobbly and uncertain. "I will. Of course." His request reminded me of the uncomfortable encounter with Jesse in the hall, but I still didn't tell him.

  It was Thursday night in early April, and potentially the last time I'd ever see Mason alive, depending on how I interpreted his wish.

  He hadn't made it easy for me, that was clear—or maybe he had.

  We sat in that hospital room in silence for probably twenty minutes, just holding hands, maintaining a bond that felt equally strong and weak at the same time.

  I thought long and hard about what he had said, hating myself for agreeing with him. But what else could I do? It's not like he would ever walk out of the hospital again. It's not like he would suddenly get better and graduate high school and become a football star. His life and dreams had fallen into deadly quicksand.

  It's not like he gained anything other than misery by living longer, and it had already been eight months of the same. Every day lived was just another day dying. Mason was in constant pain to the point that he couldn't even think straight most of the time.

  He hated what he had become. Nobody wanted to be the center of attention for that reason.

  "And stop blaming yourself for this," he said suddenly. "Your mom is wrong. Teen sex is not why I got leukemia."

  I nodded, still feeling taciturn. I believed him in that moment, but I didn't know how I'd react once I was alone. It felt like he was right though, that the idea of such drastic punishment was ludicrous. One way or another, I had a lot of thinking to do, and I knew it wouldn't be easy.

  "I love you, Naomi," he said. "And I always will."

  "I love you too, Mason," I whispered, unable to speak any louder. The connection between our hands was all we had left.

  "Just don't forget to tell Jesse. And I'll tell my mom what we talked about. So she doesn't worry or whatever."

  I feigned a pathetic, plastic-y smile and nodded again. I still didn't know what I was going to do. I was almost too scared to talk to Jesse, afraid to show any weakness around him.

  I stayed with Mason until he passed out from the morphine. As his eyes started to close, he turned to me.

  "Goodbye, Naomi," he whispered, his eyes half-closed slits. "I love you."

  "Goodbye, Mason," I said, still clutching his hand. "I love you, too." He passed out just before my sobbing resumed.

  I stared and cried, trying to imagine him how he used to be. I tried to remember the young, strong man who had won over my heart so easily, the young man who cared more about others than he did himself.

  The young man who was being totally destroyed by the detestable, odious, evil cancer inside his bones.

  And as I left the hospital room on that mild night in April, in many ways I became an adult, emerging from an extended chrysalis of agony and sorrow.

  That was the exact moment it happened.

  17

  After I left the hospital, I walked to our secret place in the woods, eventually sitting down on Make Out Rock since I didn't have anything to lay on the ground. It was a warm night for April, a month in which sudden snowstorms were not entirely unusual. The skies were clear, however, and I barely needed my jacket.

  I decided I would text Jesse then, after distancing myself from the hospital. I feared I might just keep getting drawn in again and again, unable to leave Mason's side if I was too close to the building. I brought up Jesse's number and typed away, revising and starting over constantly.

  Nothing seemed to fit, especially given our unexpectedly severed relationship and recent awkward encounter. I wanted my request to be effective, because if he didn't act soon, it would be too late.

  "Mason is dying and he wants to see you."

  That seemed too obvious, since everyone knew he was dying. I deleted it.

  "You really need to see Mason before he dies."

  That one omitted the fact that Mason had made the request, not me.

  "Mason's dying request is to talk to you."

  Too overdramatic, especially if he's already feeling awkward. As far as I knew, he hadn't visited Mason even a single time. Maybe he had tried though...

  I kept at it.

  "Mason wants to talk to you. He asked me to tell you. It's important."

  It worked. Finally, I had the right words. I hit send, appreciative of my brevity. He responded about fifteen minutes later:

  Jesse: Okay, I will.

  I breathed a deep sigh of relief. I had done all I could do to honor Mason's wish. I just hoped Jesse would act soon. The weekend would start after tomorrow, so at the very least, he wouldn't be battling school for free time.

  After it was done, I continued sitting on the rock for another hour, listening to the gentle whisper of the wind and staring up at the moon. It boldly glowed, gently illuminating the night. I thought about the times we had spent in that secret place, times that felt so long ago.

  Times that were no longer possible.

  I cried on and off, but it didn't feel like anything. It was more like scratching an itch or coughing to clear your throat than a huge emotional release.

  Automatic. Instinctive. Necessary.

  Compared to Mason, I still had so much. But it didn't feel like much.

  Was this really the last night that I'd see Mason alive? I didn't know. The question was like Mount Everest in my mind—and I had to climb to find my answer.

  Eventually Arielle texted me wondering where I was, so I headed back to her house. By that point in the evening, I had sufficiently calmed down and was able to have a conversation without breaking down too badly.

  "Mason doesn't want me to keep coming to see him," I said. "I don't know what to do."

  She stretched out her legs and then sat up straight. "That, my friend, is a tough one."

  I nodded. "He said it makes him miserable to see me miserable. And I've been miserable for eight months now, so yeah, it's kinda bad. He said it's what he wants, and I don't think I can fake happiness well enough to pretend I'm okay."

  "Well," she started, clearing her throat, "how much longer... does he have?"

  I swallowed hard. "Probably a week or less."

  "That's so tough," she said. "You should probably just... wait and see how you feel. You know what he wants, so just do what you can."

  I frowned. "Yeah. I'm so not ready for this."

  "Nobody is ready for death," she said. "Even when it goes on for this long. You just have to try and learn from it."

  "I just wish there weren't any emotions involved," I whined. "That would make it so much easier."

  "Well, you'll figure it out. Believe it or not, I was actually pretty worked up about my parents' divorce at first. I cried a lot."

  "Really?" I asked, totally shocked. "You cried about their divorce? You always seem so... logical when you talk about it."

  "Yeah," she said, a hint of indignation in her voice. "Now I do. But I was young. I tried to listen to all of their 'sensible reasons,' but I couldn't hear anything
but my own anger. My own worst fears come to life. I only knew about divorce from TV shows, and it was never pretty."

  "Damn," I said, still shocked by her admission. "You're the strongest person I know, so that's kind of crazy."

  She looked at me incredulously. "I didn't get that way overnight, dude. But now I know it was for the best. Everything is in its right place. Everyone is happier now." She took a really unenthusiastic bite out of a Nutty Bar and dropped it on the coffee table.

  I nodded. Exhaustion hit me hard, and my eyelids grew heavy and droopy. I had school in the morning, plus I was emotionally drained.

  "I think I'm going to go to bed," I said, yawning. "School tomorrow."

  "That's fine," she said. "I've got work early tomorrow, so I'm gonna retire soon too." She stretched her legs out again and yawned.

  "Thanks for... talking," I said. "I think it helped."

  "It's my pleasure, really."

  We said our goodnights and then went our separate ways. For a few minutes, the gears of my mind cranked away. But soon after, I actually fell asleep.

  ***

  The days went by quickly after that, faster than ever. Time seemed to shift into this amorphous, rapidly-moving, incomprehensible blur, like a dense fog over a lake that comes out of nowhere and makes visibility zero.

  But it was okay—I didn't want to see that far ahead. One day at a time was more than enough for me.

  And each day, I didn't go see Mason. I thought about him constantly, so much that I always wound up paralyzed. But it wasn't all bad, though.

  As much as I didn't want to admit it, not seeing Mason actually helped me get myself together. It was the old out of sight, out of mind saying. However, I knew I was just putting off my decision-making entirely, as if not saying yes or no would somehow magically protect me from any feelings of regret.

  Wednesday night, six days after the last time I saw Mason, Donna called me.

  "Naomi?" she said softly.

  I swallowed hard, figuring I knew what was up. "Hi, Donna," I said.

  "He's... he's still fighting," she said. "But something is... different. He just seems different." She paused, but I had nothing to say. "I think it's his last night. I think it's the last time he'll be awake."

  Her words were sad, yet still full of authority. And I knew what I had to do. The decision was already made for me.

  "I'll be there," I said.

  I showed up about ten minutes later. Donna was outside smoking. She immediately put out her cigarette and hugged me.

  "He's just... changed," she said, slowly pulling away. "I can sense it. I wanted you to have one last opportunity to talk to him. He's... forgetting things sometimes, but he's still pretty lucid."

  "Thank you, Donna," I said, surprised that I wasn't crying. "It's just been... so hard. I'm sorry I haven't been coming."

  "Don't worry, hon," she said. "He told me what he told you and I understand. But he probably doesn't remember that conversation now."

  She led me inside, our footsteps echoing down the quiet hall. Although the hospital was full of other people, I felt like we were alone. Donna stopped me at the door.

  "Just a sec," she said as she opened the door. She went in halfway, and I could still hear her. "Mason, someone is here to see you."

  "Oh, hi, mom," I heard, his response delayed. "Yeah, okay."

  My heart thudded slowly, my eyes so dry. Donna took my hand and led me in.

  "Hi, Mason," I said quietly, slowly absorbing my surroundings. When Mason came into view, I realized Donna was right—he was different. Almost imperceptibly so, but I could still sense some difference, some change in the air.

  Mason looked even skinnier than before, a young man slow dancing with death, his frail body hidden below a pile of blankets that probably weighed more than he did.

  "Hi, Naomi," he said, smiling without showing his teeth. He slowly reached to me, and I took his hand as I sat down. His grip was still fragile and weak. "How was the trip?"

  I paused for a second, thinking about what Donna had told me earlier. "Uh—"

  Donna was quick to interrupt. "Yes, Naomi, I told him all about your trip to the University of Southern California last week." She winked at me.

  After realizing what was up, I smiled and nodded. "Yeah, it was great. So sunny and warm." I felt tears forming for the first time that night, brought about by our little white lie.

  "I always wanted to go there," he said, smiling. "But mom always wanted me to go to Texas A&M."

  "Yes, hon," she said warmly. She looked down at her cell phone and then back up to me. "I'm gonna leave you two alone for a moment, okay? I need to step outside again."

  "Okay, mom," Mason said.

  Donna gave me a weak a smile as she closed the door behind her. Then it was just the hum of machinery and us.

  "Thanks for coming," Mason finally said. He looked away. "I don't think I'm gonna last much longer."

  "It's okay," I whispered, still cradling his hand. "I'm... I'm sorry I was gone," I said. I couldn't stop wondering if he remembered our last conversation, but I also wasn't going to potentially spoil the moment and ask.

  "I don't care about that, Naomi," he said. "I'm just happy you're here right now. It's worth it just to see you."

  Tears slowly trickled down my cheeks. I didn't know what to say or do. Everything felt so heavy, like I needed to get it right or I'd never have another chance.

  Because there wouldn't be another chance.

  "I love you, Mason," I said, staring into his tired, worn eyes. "So much."

  "I love you, too, Naomi," he said.

  I turned away to wipe the tears out of my eyes. I needed to choose my words wisely. "I'm just... happy for the time we got to spend together."

  "Me too. We had a lot of great times together." He stopped and coughed an ugly, dry cough. I tried to ignore it.

  "Yeah, we did," I said.

  His grip tightened on my hand. "I think about those times so much now. Even more than football."

  Again came more tears. "Have you watched any good movies lately?" I blurted out.

  "Not really," he said. "I can't focus for that long with all the meds. I'm high all the time," he said playfully.

  "Must be nice." I stroked his hand gently.

  "Yeah, it's not all bad," he said with a giggle.

  Sadness began to flood every cell in my body. Every second felt undeniably huge, undeniably important. I started to feel overloaded by the gravity of the situation.

  I wanted to talk to Mason forever, but I knew I couldn't. What do you say to someone who might be dead tomorrow? I felt so dumb and pathetic and inexperienced and small.

  As if it was perfectly planned, the door opened just a crack and Donna stuck her head in. "The nurses need to take over, Naomi. So we've gotta go in a couple of minutes, okay?"

  I nodded, tears rolling off my cheeks, splashing on the floor. "Okay."

  As soon as she shut the door again, I started crying uncontrollably. "Mason, I love you so much. I'm so, so sorry. I don't want to break down like this, but I can't—"

  "It's okay, Naomi," he said firmly. "Just cry. Just do whatever you need to do."

  "I don't want you to die," I pleaded. "It's so unfair. It's all unfair. I'm not strong enough."

  "You are strong enough," he said. "And we're all gonna die, Naomi. I'm just going back to wherever I came from. That's all. This is my reality; I've come to terms with it."

  I wanted to say so many things, but they would have been selfish. Who was I to question anything he believed or expected? He was going to die soon. So I let it all go. I let everything go.

  I let my boyfriend go.

  I stood up, still holding his hand. "I'll never forget you, Mason."

  He smiled. "You were the best thing that ever happened to me, Naomi. So thanks for being you."

  My sobs mostly under control, I leaned in and kissed him so gently, yet with more intensity than I'd ever felt in a kiss before. "I love you."

/>   "I love you, too. Wherever I go, I'll always be waiting for you."

  I smiled through tears and sobs. "Goodbye, Mason." I really believed it was goodbye forever, but I didn't know what he thought.

  "Goodbye, Naomi."

  I let go of his hand and left him forever.

  ***

  Mason died the next night. His final day was spent unconscious while his organs failed him.

  Even if I had showed up, he wouldn't have known I was there.

  Donna called me right after it happened, and I knew as soon as I saw her number why she was calling. I knew she had been right the night before when she said something seemed different.

  "Naomi?" she said, her voice weary and tired.

  "Hi, Donna," I said.

  "He passed. I just wanted to let you know. Can we meet tomorrow?"

  "Yeah, Donna," I said. "How about the morning? I'm not going to school."

  "Okay," she said.

  I expected to hear her crying, but she didn't. I didn't cry either, not then. The shock of the news hurt, but far less than I had anticipated.

  We shared a few more moments of silent melancholy before ending the call.

  Honestly, I was as thrilled about receiving the news as I was horrified. Mason had come to an end—but so had his suffering. No more daily rituals of pain.

  Somehow, miraculously, I managed to finish my homework that night. And then I smoked myself into oblivion.

  ***

  I skipped school the next day and met Donna for breakfast at the bar where she worked.

  "Hi, hon," she said warmly, hugging me as always. She actually looked less tired than she had in months.

  "Hi, Donna," I said. "I'm so sorry."

  "It's okay," she said. "It's finally over."

  We sat down and ordered food, but it was clear that neither of us really wanted anything other than coffee.

  "Did... Jesse ever come to the hospital?" I asked. "I forgot to ask last night. Mason wanted him—"

  "He did," she said. "He came twice. They talked a lot."