But I knew, even with treatment, I probably
く
wouldn’t make it. I’d asked her to let me die
with dignity, not become… grotesque. Maybe
death was a release.
She’d sighed, saying, “Then do what you
want, go where you want, while you still can.”
Olivia had called countless times since I left
school. I hadn’t answered. I couldn’t bear her
accusations anymore. It would erase the last
flicker of warmth I felt for this world.
- 10.
I loaded up on groceries, dragged myself
back to my apartment, and put everything away. My head was pounding. I collapsed on
the couch and passed out. My phone buzzed
relentlessly.
<
Annoyed, I answered groggily. “Ethan? Dr.
Andrews here.”
Dr. Sarah Andrews, my oncologist. Her voice
somehow lightened the pressure in my skull.
“Hi, Doctor.”
She asked about my symptoms. I told her
everything. She said my prognosis wasn’t
good. If the painkillers were increasing and
the pain wasn’t lessening, it likely meant the
final stage. Her words were a death sentence,
but I felt numb.
She sighed, asking if I’d contacted my family.
I didn’t answer. She knew. Outside, the sky
had darkened, distant windows twinkling like
stars. After Dad left and Evan died, I had no
family left.
<
- 11.
I ate some cold cereal and bread, then drifted off to sleep, the pain my constant companion. Evan hadn’t visited my dreams lately. Olivia had, though, still furious. But not at me.
We were younger, me seven, Olivia eleven. She used to be the best big sister. Evan was
the well–behaved twin; I was the picky eater.
Olivia would secretly finish my carrots and onions, never complaining. Once, when I was
bullied at preschool, she, holding Evan’s hand, shielded me, fighting back.
But after nine, she stopped protecting me.
She’d watch me get picked on, even taunt
- me. She knew what I hated, but that’s all that
appeared on the table. Evan had told her to
look after me but obe
but abe abe
<
look after me, but she chose to protect others
instead.
Evan, Olivia was so mean.
- 12.
I gave my notice to my landlord. I’d travel,
wander, for whatever time I had left. I packed
lightly. A knock. Who could it be? I barely had
any friends. When college started, I’d begged
Olivia to help me move in. She never came.
I chuckled humorlessly. It couldn’t be her. I
peered through the peephole. Dr. Andrews. I
sighed, opening the door, forcing a smile to
mask my exhaustion. “Morning, Doctor.”
She held a bag of takeout. “Morning. I come
bearing gifts.”
The night before, she’d told me she was
taking time off, coincidentally wanted to
travel, and offered to join me. She was
probably my only real friend.
So, we set off.
First stop, Yosemite, watching the sunrise
over Half Dome. Then, the Grand Canyon, its
vastness humbling. Next, New Orleans,
listening to jazz in the French Quarter.
