In Another Lifetime

Chapter 1

       It's 4 o'clock in the afternoon, and I'm at the hospital. Just because I had a little fever. Most people wouldn't come to a hospital for something as small as a 99.5 fever, but most people haven't had cancer leech away their childhood, either. Dr. Brannigan has been my doctor since I was eleven and my life was turned upside down by some outsider named Leukemia.
       Dr. Brannigan is super pretty. The type of pretty that kind of creeps up on you. She has milky white skin and a chestnut brown color hair that she always wears in a low bun. She's always been my favorite, too, and I've always been hers, except she'd never admit that. We've been in this room for ten minutes and she's barely looked at me. "You have cancer, Wyatt," Dr. Brannigan says as she tries to avoid eye contact with me.
     "I know that, doc. I found that out when I was eleven. It's why we're besties now." I reply back with a smile. Dr. Brannigan let's out a small laugh, not one you let out when you find something amusing, one you let out when you feel pity for the person who made you laugh in the first place. My stomach drops. This is serious. Or maybe it's because I didn't eat anything this morning. Who knows? "No, Wyatt. The cancers back. It's stronger this time. We could try treatments, but it's different this time." She's barely looking at me. Why isn't she looking at me? She only does this when something's really bad. I beat the cancer before, I can beat it again, so why isn't she looking at me? I look at her, and I wait a few seconds before I say anything. Which, by the way, is a record for me because I usually say anything that occupies this noggin' of mine, good or bad.
     "What're you trying to say Dr. B?" I ask. "Wy, you've been my favorite patient since I first met you when you were eleven." Oh, shit. She admitted it. But, I mean, obviously. Come on, like I didn't know that already. "Doc, I call you that because you're a doctor, not because it's your name. Stop beating around the bush, and tell me what you mean. You know, like how a professional doctor would." She looks down, and smiles. Not a big smile. Not a "just kidding, everything is fine smile." But a soft, weak smile. The kind you would give to someone who was like dying or something. Wait. Pause. Reverse. Am I dying? "Dr. Brannigan, am I dying?" I ask. No response. I ask it again. "I don't know how else to tell you, honey, but yes. You're lucky if you have 6 months left." she says. I see a tear roll down her cheek before she quickly and not-so-subtly wipes it away.
       "Oh," is all I manage to say. I mean, I kind of knew this was going to happen eventually. I still can't help feeling like a carton of milk that gets poured down the drain after it expires. Wow. I'm reduced to being milk. I'm a human with an expiration date. It was always too good to be true. No one truly ever gets their happily ever after when they've been in and out of hospitals for 7 years. This is the reason why I have always hated fairytales. Rightfully so. Those princesses say they had a happily ever after, but I bet their husbands cheated on them with the castles maid or something. No one gets a happily ever after. At least in real life. At least not people who have cancer. Shoot, i'm zoning out again. Everyone has said I've been doing that a lot recently. I need to refocus. On Dr. Brannigan. On here. On now. On my inevitable death. Wow, thoughts get dark fast when you find out your life is an hourglass and all you can do is slowly watch the sand drop to the bottom. Damn. I've gotten deep as hell after finding out I'll be 6 feet deep in 6 months. See what I did there? "So this is it, huh?" I say.
       "We could always try something else. There's a new trial, but it's only a 30% chance it'll work. But, hey, maybe it will." I can't tell if she actually believes what she's telling me. I don't know if she genuinely believes it or is trying to make me believe it. "You know, good doctors don't lie to their patients, doc," I say.
       Before I talk again, I make sure she's looking at me. I want her to understand what I'm saying. I want her to truly know that this is what I want."I don't want to try. I don't want to spend the last of my days in agony. I don't want to spend the last of my days with no hair. I want to spend the last of my days with Meadow. I want to spend the last of my days doing normal 18 year old things. I want to live the last of my days like i'm cancer-free. So I'm gonna have to say no deal on the 30% trial, doc. Thanks anyways. Love ya."
      I'm about to hop off of her examination table when Dr. B stops me. "I love you, kiddo. I hope you know that. I always have, and I always will." I smile at her. "I know," I say. This time, I'm the one with a weak smile. After I walked out of the doors to my not-so-favorite place in the world, I unfolded the bucket list I've kept in my pocket since my very first appointment. Since I made it when I was eleven, it looks like I made it when I was eleven.
      The sloppy little kid handwriting, the random blasts of bright colors, the doodles along the sides. In big red letters the title reads, "WYATT FINNEGAN'S BUCKET LIST". I took out a pencil, which I always kept in my other pocket, and wrote "find out I'm dying". After I marked through it, I took out my phone, and texted Meadow.
    "Meet me at Sal's." Sal's was this shitty little hole in the wall cafe that was local to my town. Shitty place to give shitty news. It's the place that Meadow and I always met when we had something bad to say to the other. I guess I should explain who Meadow is. I'm talking about her like she's my soulmate or something. Which, let's be clear, she's not. I don't believe in soulmates. Meadow Dawson is my best friend. Has been since we were born. My mom used to tell me that Meadow and I took our first steps together.
       The first time we met at Sal's, it was so I could tell Meadow that my mom had left. My mom left right after I was diagnosed with cancer because of the Notification. That's what we call it. In the modern age at least, we don't really know how far it dates back. The Notification is something you get when you find out that your soulmate died. See, when your soulmate dies, you stop aging. Your free ticket to immortality. If I did believe in soulmates, wouldn't it be kind of cool if they were to die right now so I wouldn't die in 6 months? I mean, it's not like I know them or anything, but maybe I'd send flowers to their family. Just to be nice.
       My moms' Notification did what every Notification does. Except, my dad was sitting across the table from her when she got it. Alive and well. Turns out she and my dad weren't soulmates. Even though they spent 20 years together. She left after that. Something about "you shouldn't be with the person who isn't your soulmate." Whatever. I've clearly moved on. Dad hasn't, though, and that's why he wasn't at my appointment today, but I'll tell you all about my daddy issues later.
       Ever since my mom left, Sal's has been Meadow and I's spot to tell each other everything shitty that happens in our lives. My phone dings, pulling me back into reality. "Oh no," she responds. "Be there in 5, Finn." Finn. That's what Meadow calls me. I don't know why, I've never known why, and I've always pretended I hated it. I mean, it's an abbreviation of my last name. Who calls anyone the abbreviation of their last name? Meadow does. I'll miss that nickname when the cancer takes over, but most of all, I'll miss the strawberry blonde that gave it to me.