Author's note: uhm, well, i used this for my portfolio for high school. (i go to a performing arts school and... Show full author's note »
september 30-october 69.30.12
Odelia, sit up to drink some juice.
Sit up and drink your juice.
Noooo, she drags her voice out, I don’t want my juice.
You have to drink something, I tell her.
She says, you know what?
Jesus stopped by yesterday.
I stop. I stop blinking, I stop breathing, I stop holding in my tears. With water droplets quietly falling down my face, I ask, what did he say?
He said you should calm down. He said you should just leave me alone, okay?
With that, I storm out of her house and run all the way home.
Odelia’s mother rang to say sorry. I didn’t want to hear it but I said it was okay.
I told her I’ve been busy—that was why I hadn’t come.
It was a lie.
She squeezes her fists as I walk in. I say, hello?
What do you want?
I ask, what do I want? But I don’t ask her. I ask myself. I want you to get better—of course—I want everything to be normal. I want you back at school. I want everything to freeze. Yes! Yes! I want time to stop.
But instead I say, I don’t know.
She turns away. She gets out of bed. But this isn’t that she gets out of bed, it’s that SHE GETS OUT OF BED!
Where are you going?
I don’t know. She walks towards her door.
Until she collapses. Her knees are weak, buckled.
Do you want help?
Slowly she says, no, no…no. She grips her shaggy, short dark hair that’s finally growing back after the chemotherapy. Odelia holds herself in a ball on the ground, getting louder and louder, screaming NO, NO, NO, NO.
Odelia, how are you feeling?
NO. NO. NO.
Please, Odelia? Let me help you.
I’m dying, Charles. I’m dying. I’m dying. I’m dying.
Come towards me, I tell her as I lean down. Come here.
No, no, no, her scratchy, dry voice trails off. No.
Carry me to the bed, Charles, please, please. Please.
Without any hesitation I pick her up. She cries into my arms until I place her down. She falls asleep soon after, her face red.