~Apologies (September 2)~
Oh dear oh dear oh dear. How do I even start one of these? Does that matter? Hopefully, drafting shouldn’t take too long. Then I can lock all of this away and never look at it again. Still, it’s important for me to get this down now, Lai. Hopefully, you’ll never have to see this, but if you do, I know you’d understand. Just know I’m sorry in advance. ~Shrep
Draft 1:
This is a beginning and a farewell– a sunrise and a sunset. A large ball of fire
Draft 2:
Sometimes the sun sinks behind a cloud, only to spring up upon the rising of another day.
Draft 4:
The sun holds the whole world in awe and wonder as it ascends
Draft 5:
THE SUN METAPHORS AREN’T WORKING SOMEONE HELP.
Draft 6:
The moon shines like molten silver
***
Dear Matilda,
Shrep was with me all Monday, and when I asked about her attending school, she merely shrugged.
“Don’t do this, Shrep. You’re going to have to help me catch up once I’m better,” I warned.
“Please— I’m sure you’re gonna end up teaching me everything anyway.” Flashing a half-smile, Shrep shrugged, then opened the box of pizza she’d been holding, placing it on my lap. “I meant to bring salad, but the closest salad joint was a whole five minutes away, and shrubbery doesn’t even taste good.”
Through a mouthful of pizza, I told Shrep what she both deserved and wished to hear. “This is genius.”
We spent the time playing solitaire, telling jokes, and talking about nothing of consequence for as long as we both dared. Every time our conversation lulled into silence, Shrep picked it up hastily, afraid of what might happen if she let the vacuum suck us in. I was just glad she was there.
Finally, as dusk wrapped around our windows, I ventured in a hopefully off-handed tone, “Hey, Shrep?”
“Yeah?” She straightened, setting aside her seventh slice of pizza.
I frowned. “First, stop stress-eating–”
Shrep glanced at her plate guiltily. “I wasn’t— Okay, maybe, but—”
“Shpresa Sinnani, I can count, you know. Second, I was wondering what you–” I cleared my throat for courage, trying not to stall, stall, stall. “I was wondering what you know about Guillain Barre, your mom being a doctor and all.”
Shrep turned towards me, yet her eyes darted away from mine. “Oh… she was gonna tell me, but I didn’t want to know.”
When I finally caught her gaze, I saw her eyes were dark and hollow, a night sky without stars. She mumbled, “I do know that you can die from it, though.”
An icy feeling slithered into my soul, and I froze. Then, slowly, I grabbed my laptop, dragged it towards me, and heaved it onto my lap. I needed to know. Knowledge is power, right? Painstakingly, I googled my disease, urging myself not to stall, stall, stall. I wanted to glance away, but I didn’t. I felt compelled to look. Shrep settled next to me, squinting gravely at my screen.
Matilda, according to the Mayo Clinic, I have a four to seven percent chance of dying– not bad. As for the certainty of my Guillain Barre diagnosis: Numbness and tingling? Check. Difficulty speaking? Check. Double vision? Check. Rapid heart rate? Check. That might just be me, though.
Sometimes, Shrep’s features tensed, yet she didn’t stop me. Every time I scrolled down, she inched closer to my side, wrapping her arm around my shoulder as our eyes drifted downwards.
Tick! The clock struck nine, and Shrep left apologetically, face steeped in guilt (alas, she had to sleep). I told her it was fine, but she couldn’t seem to believe me.
Trying to drive away feelings of scathing self-pity, I curled inside my blanket and muttered comforting fluff to myself. Shrep would return. Aunt Amanda would return. Health would return. Though I felt like an eighty-year-old, my body was still fourteen.
Tick! The clock struck ten, yet an ache gnawed at my soul, patiently stripping me of my fantasies and instilling me with fear. Intermittently shaking myself awake, I clung to consciousness. What would sleep steal from me next? The feeling in my legs? The steadiness of my heart? Then…?
Tick! The clock struck eleven, and I was crying. I couldn’t stop the tears; I didn’t know why. I begged my eyes to dry, but they didn’t.
Gazing into the darkness, I shivered under its gaze. Then I stilled myself, sticking my chin out in a feeble attempt to regain my dignity. I needed to defy something. I needed something tangible to grasp in the darkness. “This is the end, isn’t it?”
The night gave no reply.
Photo credit: pixabay.com/photos/hospital-station-bed-bedside-292569/