Pulling into the hospital parking lot the first day was kind of like a child's first day of Kindergarten. You don't know what to expect but you're told by everyone it's going to help you, and it's not that bad. So you're kind of excited for what's to come, because it has to be good right?
Pulling into the hospital parking lot the 152nd day is kind of like getting run over by the bus that brought you to school that first day. Repeatedly.
There wasn't anything left to do, but they still scheduled checkups to see my progression and give me a more accurate timeline for my upcoming death. It was rather tiring, especially when the waiting room was crowded with people and I knew I was going to be here for a while, like today. The only open seat I could find was next to a boy with blue eyes who looked asleep. It'll do.
"Okay, I'm going to be at the McDonald's across the street but I want you to call me if you need me, and when the doctor calls for you let me know immediately. I love you and you are so so strong, please remember that baby." And she left with a kiss to the cheek as she wheeled me to my spot in the room and left. She's a good parent, and I feel bad that all of this had to happen to her only kid. She's one of those moms that spreads the word to keep us in their prayers, as if there's some way I could be cured. She really does try, but I can see the toll it's taking on her. I love my mom and all but sometimes I wish she wasn't my mom, instead it was the wicked lady who killed a bunch of people but loved me anyways, because at least that person deserves a dead son more than my real mom.
The boy next to me fluttered his eyes. I didn't realize I was staring. He stretches his arms out and yawns. It's cute. I almost shudder when he looks at me because the stares always get to me, but he doesn't look me up and down. Just smiles and focuses on my eyes. And then, sparks a conversation.
"I'm Louis, what are you in for?" He spoke of the waiting room as if it were a jail. Maybe it is. But this is the bad part. Not many people speak to me because of the way my neck tilts a little to the left and my body lay slumped against this chair, but when they do, I panic. See, ALS makes it harder to do regular things because it makes your muscles not work right, basically. So talking, that's a bit of a problem for me. I still can, it just comes out more slurred and choppy. Here I go.
"ALS, itsa d'sease thas incurable." I don't speak much at all unless it's to my parents, and even then I feel embarrassed. Louis nods. He just nods. It's such a simple act, but I smile. He didn't scrunch his nose when I talked or turn away, instead, he keeps the conversation going.
"I broke my leg in three different places playing football. The opposing team is harsh, let me tell you. This one guy, his calves alone had to be 500 pounds, it was insane. But at least we won." He's turned towards me, and has the proudest look on his face. Not a trace of discomfort, and actually, it's kind of really nice. Louis is kind of really nice.
"I u-used to play, quite goo' too. We'll 'ave to verse ea'h other somtime." I haven't made a joke in a while, and even before all this no one laughed at my jokes. But when Louis looked at me with his mouth hung open the slightest, as if searching for any hint of seriousness in my expression, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. And he was quick to join. "'M Harry."
"Well, Harry, I might be getting a wheelchair soon, so I think that'd put me at a slight disadvantage." He wiggles his broken leg. It's nice to laugh with Louis, or anyone for that matter. There's no point in being sensitive with my condition, so the jokes don't bother me.
"I've been in this chair for forty five minutes now, how long do these waits usually last?" Louis does a little whine, and honestly, it's adorable.
"Hours, with this crowd, prob'ly." And the look of horror across his face had me nearly tipping out of my chair.
"I've never been to a hospital before, mate, but I'm glad I met someone who I'd be happy to kill the time with," and then he adds, "you. I'm talking about you, by the way." And we laugh. And laugh some more. And I'm happy for the first time in a while.
So we talk. About nothing particularly, just jokes here and there, and this blue eyed boy has made two hours fly by and before I know it they're calling my name.
"Harry, can I get your number? Sorry if this is weird because we just met and all, but I'd like to keep you updated on what color cast I pick out," he emphasis as he points to the orange colored walls that I suggested earlier. And so I give it to him, and ask him to call me if he could because texting is a little hard with shaky fingers.
"I'd do that even without the ALS, wouldn't want to miss out on a chance to hear your voice."
A smile is plastered on my face from the time I leave the waiting room until I wheel into the doctors office, my mom by my side.
"Mr. Styles, how are you feeling today?"
Good, I think.
YOU ARE READING
a little sunshine (larry)
Romance"I'm Louis, what are you in for?" He spoke of the waiting room as if it were a jail. Maybe it is. or Harry was diagnosed with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) at the age of seventeen. Louis was a boy who made him forget.
