My Little Blue Book
Author's note: This is the first 3 Chapters, and the beginning of the fourth.
Chapter 1I decided to write this journal. I don’t know how well this is going to work. I’ve never been really good at telling people things that were hard for them to hear, and this isn’t going to be easy on you. You’re scared, confused, and feeling panicky. I get it. This is extremely awkward because I am you and you are me, but it’s like we’re different people. Um, I don’t know how to say this any other way, but you don’t remember anything because you have amnesia from an experimental cancer treatment. I/We/You have brain cancer and the only reason you’re not still taking the medication is because you weren’t getting any better. Now, unfortunately, you’ve got a couple of weeks left to live. I know this is hard to hear, but you shouldn’t be expecting many visitors. To explain this, and hopefully any other questions you might have, I’ve decided to write down our life story so you’re not confused. I’m also afraid of forgetting, so I want to make sure that I get all of this down on paper so it doesn’t disappear. It’s a little weird to do this, I feel like I’m talking to myself. I mean, that’s practically what I’m doing, but it’s still strange.
I scribbled frantically in the small, light blue notebook that my parents had sent to me from Paris. I had been getting better on the medication, so they decided that they wanted to get away from the stress of a teenager with cancer. I didn’t blame them, even though it smarted a little, who likes feeling like their family is depressed because they’re around? I felt tears slipping down my cheeks and wiped them away, frustrated and angry so they didn’t drip onto the paper and smear the black ink more.
I hugged myself tight, and pulled the hood of my favorite grey jacket tighter around my head. It was always cold in my room, or at least that was my excuse for always wearing my hood. Being a cancer patient who had chemotherapy, I had no hair. I was extremely self conscious about being bald and I felt a lot better when I had my hood on. I got bored of talking about myself and started doodling on some of the pages in the back of the book I didn’t think I would end up using.
I have my own room and it’s almost nice, if you can forget about the heart monitors and the constant surveillance. There’s a sliding glass door that leads to a garden with a beautiful view of an evergreen forest. I’ve started sitting there a lot lately and I drew the view in the back of my little book.
I reread everything I’ve written now and I know it’s time to write about the hardest thing. I need to make sure I remember everything about Alex.
This is insanely hard for me to write. I really don’t want to but the idea of forgetting Alex hurts too much to not try to write it all down. You might not remember him, and it would break his heart if he was still here. You’re not going to have a boyfriend come see you. You haven’t thought of a guy in that way since his accident. His entire family was in the car when they got hit by a drunk driver. They all died instantly. Alex was your boyfriend for over three years. You were sure you were in love, and you only fought like once during the entire relationship. He had sandy blonde hair and the most amazing eyes in the world. Even now, you’re not sure what color they actually were. They’re like a kaleidoscope; in one light they seemed blue in another green, and you got lost in them frequently. He was a hopeless romantic, and every date was like an adventure. He took you to movies and dances and on so many picnics or “retreats”. You think, you hope he loved you. Your parents loved him and you got along great with his parents. The two of you were soul mates; you could finish each other’s sentences, but didn’t really need to say anything anyway. He was amazing at reading you instantly, and you learned how to tell what he was thinking pretty fast.
Tears fell onto the page and I put my pen down unable to go on. This line of thought was too painful. I let the sobs come, and I felt myself shake. The idea that I wouldn’t remember who he was hurt just as bad as the fact that he was gone. A tremor shook me, and I curled up onto my side.
I guess I was crying pretty loudly because a nurse came in and sat by my side, stroking my back while I sobbed. It was MiKayla, she was nice. She would sit and talk to me when no one else would. Her dark skin made nursing scrubs look good. Her eyes looked like melted chocolate and she had a beautiful smile. I finally stopped crying and turned to look at her. She sniffed once and I began to think of her as a friend. MiKayla wiped her face on her sleeve the way I had. I forced a hopeless smile that she returned.
“It’s time to get you out of your slump.” She announced.
She presented me with about seven movies to watch. Sometimes we’d actually pay attention and other times I’d tell her stories that she’d write down. MiKayla was nice enough that she put my comfort over medicine, at least for a few hours; I wasn’t connected to the heart monitors or the IV all night and the absence of that noise was extremely comforting. I had scooted over, and we were sharing the small bed. I relaxed and opened up to her like I never had. She wrote everything down that I said, and I trusted her to make it accurate. I made sure that she put something down about tonight even though she wouldn’t let me read it. I ignored that and pretended that I was with MiKayla at her house, and we were watching these movies there. It made the night more fun, and when she left I opened the book to read everything she had written. There was at least a few sentences about nearly everything and I wasn’t afraid of forgetting. I turned the lights off after reconnecting the monitors. The noise faded instantly into the background, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep without it.