“I have hope for lots of things, Will. You get no hints. Expect nothing, accept everything, and you know the rest,” he said to me.
We rode on our bikes for a while. We rode to a nearby flower patch, and we had picked a few flowers that hadn’t belonged to us. We talked about the meanings of flowers. I picked the last three flowers that I considered my favorite while he picked a few favorites.
We went to our home, and sat around on our bean bags and talked until the sky went dark. We had said Hello before parting ways. I walked inside of my house holding three blue roses in their rarity, and I gave one to my mom, one to my dad. They wowed and awed, and said, “I didn’t know there was such a thing as a blue rose!”
I agreed with them. They told me they loved the flower.
I filled a clear cup with water, half-full - then I put the last blue rose in that cup before carrying it to my bedroom.
I sat on my bed uncovered, and I stared out the window next to my bed. I stared at the ledge, where the blue rose was resting, and I thought of the meaning of beauty.
-
beau·ty
ˈbyo͞odē/
noun
1. A combination of qualities such as shape, color, and/or form that pleases a person’s senses, particularly the sight.
2. An alluring or pleasing person.
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I thought the first primary definition of beauty represented a blue rose. A blue rose had a beautiful color, shape, and smell. The second primary definition of beauty easily represented Kennedy, because what person could be more beautiful than someone that only paid attention to beautiful things?
I then stared at the blue rose and also thought about how beauty could be disguised. How nature could be disguised by unnatural things, and then I thought: is there really such a thing as a blue rose?
I had gotten up to find out.
I neared the ledge, and then I grabbed the blue rose. I turned it upside down. It was blue everywhere, no marks, but this flower was disguised. I was holding a white rose that was dyed blue and desperation to prove this to myself caught up with me. I dunked the flower in the water. I left it there as I stepped back, and I watched as the water slowly changed color.
I then thought about beauty again, and I thought about how it couldn’t be disguised for long. This flower was beautiful all in its own, blue, white, or even rainbow colored.
I placed my hand over my chest, realizing I just convinced myself that surprises are, in fact, beautiful things. They are absolutely and undeniably beautiful.
September 2nd, 2006, 9:02a.m.
Willow
My parents were early risers on purpose. My mother had been self-employed ever since she started selling home-grown produce; she had a good name for herself in the small town she lived in. My dad had been retired from the Air Force ever since he turned forty-two. My parents had always liked getting up early, because what they had to wake up to wouldn’t be a disappointing, life-draining job. They had gotten a paycheck for doing the things they enjoyed doing.
My dad liked playing golf with his golf friends, and he enjoyed watching football with his bar friends. Though my dad was quite the risk-taker, he was pretty close with gambling’s. I assumed he liked having extra time with my mom as well. He loved her. I knew he could never stop loving her.
My mother hadn’t had friends, because she hadn’t trusted girls and dad hadn’t trusted men. She was always in her garden. She liked having fresh vegetables and fruits; she liked showing her beautiful garden off, and she liked watching people bid for her creations. My mom had always loved cooking home-grown meals. She’d merely stick her nose up to anything microwavable; my mother was overall humorous and accepting. If I had to pick a woman as my favorite woman, Annabelle Monroe would easily be the person I’d choose. I looked up to her.
Caitlyn and I were the ones with boring lives. We hated waking up, and going on with our days, well - most of the time, anyway. Wyatt had recently changed my attitude regarding people and surroundings and life in general. I was slowly becoming the Willow I used to be, but somehow I was becoming a better Willow. I was almost a more mature Willow, a less naïve Willow, and a more cautious Willow. It was the color that made up my skin that was slowly going back to normal, as in I was slowly starting to feel alive again. Kennedy’s death had hit me harder than anything that had ever happened to me in my life.
I wanted to be able to live on without him and I was starting to accept the fact that I no longer had him here to live with. He wanted me to accept it all, and to live a great life without him. If only he knew, somehow, that it had taken nine years.
Annette was already downstairs with my mother, helping her cook breakfast. I had always ended up finding Annette in the kitchen with my mother every time we visited Tennessee. She loved her grandmother so much. She loved Tennessee, too. I stood in my pajamas with my hair matted, and pointing in every direction as I looked at the two beautiful people living in front of me.
“Good morning, dear. You’re up late this morning,” my mother pointed out, teasing me.
“I was on a plane not that long ago,” I said as an excuse. I walked up and sat on a stool as I watched them scramble around the kitchen.
“Yeah, yeah,” she scoffed. “Your flight lasted less than two hours, you big baby.”
“Mom,” I whined.
“Mommy complains all the time, nana,” Annette tattled on me, giggling.
“Ah,” my mother raised her eyebrows as she vigorously stirred some batter in a bowl. “Well, little one, she’s a young woman. Typically, women rather than men, but mostly young women, are unpleasant to be around.”
I shook my head, grinning. “Would either of you like some help?” I offered.
“We’ve got it,” my mother smiled warmly, her tone reassuring. “How about you wake up Caitlyn, and you two work on getting ready. We have plans for the day after breakfast.”
“Why must I wake her up?” I groaned. “You have no idea how violent Caitlyn is when she’s fatigue.”
My mother sighed. “You’re a twenty-seven-year-old woman, Willow. You should know not to give your mother lip by now.”
I casually stood up, and went to where my mother and my daughter were standing. I threw my arms over my mother’s shoulders, and I hugged her tightly.
“I love you, mom.”
“I love you, too, daughter,” she sighed a blissful sigh, and then she had squeezed me.
Annette soon hugged our legs, causing our knees to slightly buckle.
My father was in the living room, sitting in his recliner. We caught his attention, and I had heard him get up out of his chair as I looked over my mother’s shoulder.
I smiled before I mouthed the words, “I love you, daddy.”
His eyes crinkled in a squint as he grinned at me. Soon he had walked over, wrapped his arms around us, and he said, “I love my girls more than anything.”
It was nice to be home again.
7:56p.m.
We all had gone roller-skating. Caitlyn wasn’t excited about it, but she was willing to take one for the team. She had taken her laptop, and started working two hours after skating for a while. I couldn’t blame her for taking a little break; I expected her to take a break eventually. She even had a lengthy conversation with my father when we went to Cape’s to eat, which was surprising.
It wasn’t as difficult to introduce Annette to Cape’s as I thought it would be. Cape’s was often my and Kennedy’s hangout spot. We ate there all of the time. I had a lot of good memories with Kennedy at Cape’s. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever feel comfortable with showing Annette my and Kennedy’s home. It’d be within the next three days, though. I was going to gain the courage this year. I wasn’t going to cower anymore.
Now we were back at home. We had just finished dinner, and we were all pretty beat due to the fairly busy day we had. I was staying in my old bedroom. Annette and Caitlyn had their own rooms; the house was pretty big.
I was finally alon
e and ready to read Wyatt’s note. I hadn’t read it yet. When we had landed in Tennessee, I was beyond tired. I hadn’t had the energy to take in Wyatt’s words. This morning, I hadn’t been ready to read the note, because I would have had my parents to face directly after. I needed hours to myself before and after reading Wyatt’s note. It was just how I operated.
I walked over to last night’s jeans that had been lying on the floor. I never took the note out of my pocket. I had taken the paper in my hand before sitting on my bed.
I'll give you kisses in the form of words to make up for four days, too, Willow.
K for "kindle" because you did, in fact, throw a flame in my heart.
I for "indwelling" because you are, in fact, a part of my soul.
S for "significant" because you are, in fact, important to me.
S for "serendipity" because I did, in fact, find the series of us to be delightful.
E for "elegance" because you do, in fact, have manners and style. (Just kidding.)
S for "sexy" because you are, in fact, undeniably sexy.
I'll be waiting impatiently, Willow. For four days. You're all I think about.
I folded the note, put it in the front pocket of my duffle, and then I just laid there on my bed as I stared up at the ceiling. I smiled to myself, and I knew at that moment that I had lots of things to tell him in four days.
August 14th, 1997, 8:03a.m.
Kennedy
Tamara, my momma’s best friend, was visiting from Oregon. I hadn’t remembered much of her. Only that she was nice, and loved my mother like a sister. She hadn’t visited often. She’d be able to visit once every two years, usually. Her and my mother had gone to high school together.
I heard my momma crying in the bathroom the other night as she talked on the phone with Tamara, and she had told her that I had terminal brain cancer. My momma needed a friend and I needed a solution. I was relieved when my momma told me that Tamara had wanted desperately to talk to me, to give me advice. I had wanted her advice. Tamara had understood death. I hadn’t known how or why she understood, but she had.
I was starting to develop negative symptoms, and I hadn’t wanted Willow to catch on. I hadn’t wanted Willow to think that I had needed help, or guidance. I wanted Willow to think that I was okay.
I had a plan in my head for our last time saying Hello, and it was difficult because I hadn’t wanted to watch her leave and I hadn’t wanted to live my last days without her.
My and Willow’s last time saying Hello would be the sixteenth of August. She’d be heading to Chicago for college on the seventeenth. I had a lot of things I wanted to get off my chest, a lot of subjects I wanted to touch with her. I wasn’t going to watch her leave without telling her I was in love with her, I couldn’t. I had known that I couldn’t, I just hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself.
I wanted to talk to Tamara about pain. I wanted to talk to her about the pain I’d feel emotionally and internally. I wanted to talk to her about Willow.
My momma and I were going to pick her up from the airport at eight-fifteen this morning; we had been on the way now. My momma kept looking at me, smiling, and then she’d squeeze my leg. Leaving her was the second hardest part of this situation.
We made a few quick turns, and I had started feeling dizzy. My stomach had made an uncomfortable gurgling sound. I tugged on my momma’s arm so she’d pull over to the side of the road. I opened the door and hunched over as I dry heaved once. I hung my head for a second before my mouth started watering, and I had thought about all of the different words that had the same meaning as the word misery as I then upchucked my breakfast.
Heartache. Distress. Anguish. Unhappiness.
My mother handed me a Kleenex; I took the cloth and wiped my mouth with it, folding it twice.
“I think it was just car sickness, momma. Nothing serious,” I said reassuringly, as I closed the door at my side.
“I’ll drive slower,” she answered, her voice brittle. Her eyes were as tired as I had ever seen them. They were seemingly a darker blue, and it made me sad. Any changes in my mother’s appearance would make me sad, because I was the cause. Her long, black hair looked thinner. She looked thinner.
I turned away and peered out of my window, biting my fist. She was just as unhappy as I was. She had to watch me get sick nearly every morning. There wasn’t even peace; there was just an unsettling silence everywhere. It was different with Willow. I was going to watch her leave in just two short days, and I was overwhelmed. I hadn’t wanted to die like this. It was slow. I was unsure of when would be my last day, I was unsure of when the pain would reach its limit, and I was unsure of what all happened the day before - I wasn’t looking forward to my last days being miserable. I hadn’t wanted to forget my placement, or my happiness. I had a lot of happiness in my life; I hadn’t wanted the misery that I was feeling now to consume it.
We had arrived at the airport. We were quiet. We hadn’t known what to discuss, or if we wanted to discuss anything at all.
“Tamara is going to meet us at the car,” she told me.
The misery was laced in her voice. I wanted to plug my ears. I wanted a cure for the feelings I had, and the feelings my momma had, and the feelings Willow had. I just wanted everyone to be in their usual state of happiness. It was all I ever wanted.
Tamara soon approached the car, and I put her bags in the back as my momma hugged her tightly. Tamara had told me to sit in the car so she and my momma could talk for a moment in private. I had given her a hug before obliging.
From the window, I watched as Tamara talked and my momma continuously nodded her responses. They were teary eyed when I decided to look away. I wanted to know what they were talking about, but I also hadn’t. I had known Tamara wanted to have a particular discussion with me. I was fidgety regarding it. I had options and I was willing to face them, now. I wasn’t scared for myself. I worried for Willow and I worried for my mother. I wanted to accept the fact that I was dying, and I wished everyone else could do the same - but life had hardships and this was one of them.
11:03p.m.
I had spent a few hours with Willow at our home before coming back. Tamara had gotten settled in. We all ate dinner together in the living room and watched the news. My mother gathered our plates and kissed me on the forehead before going upstairs. Tamara’s gaze found me and she smiled. It was a bittersweet smile.
“Where’d you head off to?” she suddenly asked.
“Uh,” I paused. “I was with Willow.”
“Oh,” she said, realization meeting her face. “Isn’t that your best friend?”
“It is,” I nodded slowly.
She sighed. “I know you don’t want the next few days to happen, Kennedy,” she said quietly.
“I don’t think they’re going to be good days,” I simply said. “Willow is leaving for college on the seventeenth.”
She had scrunched her eyebrows together. “Wait, what?” she exasperated. “That’s shocking. I thought she’d stay here…you know, to keep you company,” she went on.
It wasn’t like I’d feel betrayed if Willow decided to go to college rather than stay here, and watch me die away. I was still trying to convince her to go to college. She had plans to just not go, because of my health conditions, but I wasn’t going to let that happen.
“I haven’t convinced her to pull through with going, but I will. It’s free med school. It’s all she ever wanted. I’m not going to be the reason she misses out on a huge career opportunity,” I explained.
I studied Tamara’s features. Tan skin, blonde hair. She had green eyes. She was typically bubbly and easygoing. She was a lot more serious-looking compared to what I remembered of her. I hadn’t known if death changed her, or if she was putting on a face for our discussion.
“Do you think things are going to stay the same, or get worse when she leaves?” she asked gently.
I shrugged. “I love Willow more than I love myself. I can’t remember a day I spent w
ithout her. So, I guess the answer to that question is worse. Undeniably so,” I said in a hoarse voice.
“And your mom,” she said lightly. “Do you feel bad about what she’s witnessing?”
I was offended by the particular question.
“What do you think, Tamara?” I asked harshly, raising my eyebrows. “Of course I feel bad. I know I didn’t give myself this tumor that is killing me, but yes. I feel bad that my mother has to watch me throw up every morning. I feel bad that she has to watch me lay around because I don’t have the energy to get up. I feel bad that she has to watch me take melatonin to go to sleep during the day, just so I won’t have to feel the headaches anymore. All of it sucks, Tamara.”
All of it sucked so much, and I figured she wouldn’t have to ask me a question to find that out.
She inhaled sharply. “It’ll only get worse,” she said.
“I figured so,” I said aloud. “But what’s your point?”
She twiddled her thumbs for a second or two. “What are your thoughts on lethal medication?” she asked slowly.
“I don’t know enough about it,” I said honestly. “But I’d like for you to explain your own thoughts on it if you don’t mind.”
She nodded understandingly. “It’s a prescription called secobarbital. It’s legal in Oregon for the terminally ill. Henry, my husband, planned his own death by using this prescription. He decided not to drag out the pain to where he’d only feel pain,” she started, and then had taken a deep breath.
“He wrote a letter to everyone he loved. We had spent his last day together. He took the secobarbital before going to bed, and I woke up next to his lifeless body. Because I expected it, it wasn’t nearly as painful as it would have been if I hadn’t expected it. Of course I grieved; I loved him. I knew he left with his memories on his mind instead of his pain.”
I pulled a tissue from the box sitting on the coffee table before handing it to her. She dabbed the corners of her eyes.
Our Last Time: A Novel Page 16