The Red Eye [Open Novella Contest 2023]

Chapter 1

"Love doesn't conquer everything. And whoever thinks it does is a fool."

- The Secret History

There was a parade for a little girl dying of cancer downtown, and Caleb and Donna were watching it on the news. The little town wasn't big enough to have its own news channel, but it was close enough to the city that their stories got reported on with the evening city news, if the stories were big enough. This was one of those stories, and there was a news helicopter following the procession of firetrucks, ambulances, snowplows, squad cars, parade floats, and eighteen-wheelers with their lights on and flashing in the dark night. One Jeep in the middle of the parade had speakers on the doors and was playing music from animated Disney movies. As Donna watched the screen, Donna wondered what the little girl must be feeling. She imagined the scene: the girl would be in her father's arms, blinking at the bright lights. Donna hoped she would smile at the music.

Watching the broadcast felt like watching a funeral procession. In a way, Donna reasoned as she read the note someone had written on the side of their car, it was. The parade was a funeral before the person had died. "We love you, Clara," the note read, in swirly pink ink.

Donna looked away from the laptop screen when Caleb moved next to her, and she watched as he adjusted his G-tube. The room was warm, like how Donna preferred it, but she still felt cold, and she wrapped the blanket tighter around her. She tried not to watch the liquid food slowly making its way into her boyfriend's stomach, which really meant that she was just watching it in her head as she stared at the computer with the live video. The dog lay on Caleb's legs next to the computer, and every once in a while, a certain siren from one of the vehicles would make his ears perk up. When Caleb finished adjusting the feeding tube, he leaned back on the bed, and Donna put her head on his shoulder.

"How long does she have left, again?" Caleb asked.

"The doctors say two weeks," Donna said, scratching the part of her arm that itched often. "She won't make it 'til Christmas."

Caleb shook his head a little. "Poor kid."

"It's crazy that they only found the tumor a few months ago," Donna said. "I mean, she didn't even have any symptoms. And suddenly, she's terminal with less than a year left."

"Yeah," he said. "Crazy."

Donna wondered how someone found out they had cancer. She had always wanted to ask but knew better not to. There were thousands, if not millions, of other reasons why someone would feel tired all the time. Why would a doctor try and look for cancer? If someone was feeling forgetful, when would the doctors choose to chalk it up to getting older, and when would they run an MRI? When did they understand that a pain in your gut was something more than something you should pop two Advil for?

The news broadcast wasn't going to show the girl, her family, or their house to protect their privacy, but somehow Donna didn't find it too difficult to imagine. The girl would be holding on to a pink blankie, maybe with a Disney princess on it. Her face would be pressed against her father's shoulder as she watched the trucks go by through the window. And her father wouldn't be crying. The time for tears would come later. Funerals were a celebration of life, right? That's what people always said. What would he be thinking? Would he be somehow blaming himself for the cancer? Would he be wishing it was him who was dying? Would he hate this parade, this announcement of his family's misery to the entire world?

"I feel bad for the family," Donna said.

"I know," Caleb said. "It's the worst thing that can happen."

Donna closed her eyes and turned her head into Caleb's neck, feeling the warmth of his skin on her face. Somehow, she thought she could feel his pulse on her forehead, strong and steady. His calm intake of breath made a crackling sound in his throat like old paper being rolled up. Caleb had done his second and final therapy vest and huff cough of the day before the broadcast, so Donna wasn't worried. When a pink firetruck passed through the neighborhood where the girl lived, Caleb turned his head and leaned over the side of the bed and started coughing. Even still, the coughs made Donna flinch. It was the cough of someone getting over the cold or the flu: full-bodied, painful, the kind that leaves you tired after. Donna watched Caleb's stomach and diaphragm contract with every cough, and her own abdomen flared with empathetic pain. Caleb reached for the plastic cup on the nightstand as he coughed and held it against his mouth. He spat into it every few coughs, and eventually, the coughing stopped and he sat there, panting, for a long time.