Unrealistic

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Eric

Be and I were resting in lumpy chairs surrounded by other patients receiving chemotherapy treatments. One side of the room was entirely window, looking out onto a garden in the center of the hospital. There were five others in the room besides us. Closest to us was a young bald boy and his teary eyed mother. Beyond them were two girls, both hooked up to IVs, who looked to be in college; they didn’t look to be in very bad condition. Last was a boy about mine and Be’s age; he was hooked up to an IV like the college girls but he was in worse condition. He hadn’t lost any hair yet but he looked as if he had already given up on living.

The doctor had hooked up Be’s IV just a few minutes ago before moving on to the next patient; the young boy with hollow eyes and no hair. Be’s moral visibly lessened when she saw his pitiful face. I reached for her wrist and smiled at her encouragingly when she turned to face me.

“So the other day I was thinking you might want to make a list of everything you ever wanted to do, just in case. I’d help you finish the entire list and we could do it together,” I start out excitedly.

“Like a bucket list?” she asked to clarify.

“No, more like a backup plan bucket list.”

“Eric, I know that I want to live but I also know that there is the distinct possibility that I will die. If this completes my life as I see fit and I get the bonus of spending time with the people I care about most, I can only win. Do you have any paper with you so we can start on it?” her grin bright the previous talk of death forgotten.

I reach into my pocket for the list and unfold it in my lap. “Actually I started a rough draft last night. I was trying to remember things you’ve told me before about things you want to do before we graduated. Here is what I came up with so far: own a Vietnamese pig, make lanterns, get a tattoo, bake a layered rainbow cake, learn to ballroom dance, sleep under the stars, swim with dolphins, go to a drive in, and dye your hair blonde. You have veto power so if I have anything wrong tell me,” I finish.

“I can’t believe you remembered all that!” she looked close to tears.

“I didn’t do this so you would cry,” I reached over to her.

“I guess I’m just emotional with everything that is happening. I’m sorry, I must not be too much fun to be around today.

“It’s fine Be,” I assure her.

“Well although I love Tangled, I know that’s where you got the idea,” she smiled sneakily. I raised my hands in defense. “I could never part with my hair.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth her eyes darkened. I sighed in defeat and readjusted myself in the uncomfortable seat. Be’s gaze was trailed on the carpet below us in defeat.

“I told you not to give up Be. I didn’t think I’d have to remind you so soon,” I held onto her hand again.

“You’re right,” she sniffed.

“So hair dying is off the list, what else?” I change the subject.

“The pig,” she stated.

“What! You have always talked about how adorable those things are, what changed?” I am appalled she loves those midget pigs.

“It isn’t fair for me to get a pet and then leave it here all alone if I die. Who would take care of the poor thing?” she explained.

“Don’t think about that ‘what if you die’ stuff, think about ‘what if you live’. Then you can keep the little bugger forever,” I try to redirect her ideas.

“Okay supposes I make it through this I live a long happy life with my pig but if I don’t. Wait what if you took care of it after I’m gone?”

“If you die I’d consider it,” I admit.

“Please, I’ll do it, I’ll get the pig if you promise to take care of it if I die,” she looks at me with puppy dog eyes. How am I supposed to say no to that?

“Fine, I’ll take care of the little bugger for you if it is absolutely necessary,” I concede.

“Promise it,” she insisted.

“I promise I will take care of the little bugger to have and to hold for better or worse for rich or for poor. Happy?” I ask sarcastically.

Be laughs and it’s almost as if we aren’t in a hospital, as if she wasn’t in chemotherapy, as if we weren’t discussing the ‘what if’s’ of her possible death. I try not to let my depressing thoughts show but Be can’t be fooled.

“Are you okay?” she touches my shoulder.

How many more times will she be able to do that? How long does she have before she looks like that little boy beside us? “I’m fine,” I smile weakly, it passes her inspection.

We keep talking about her bucket list until the chemotherapy session is over and her dad picks us up on his way home from work. I still can’t shake that feeling looking at the little boy. I can’t stop thinking about how he seemed so sweet yet so close to death. It pierces my heart to think I may see Be like that someday soon.