a dance with cancer

nineteen

Valentina Karas

Something was definitely wrong with my Mexican food from earlier. It was clearly laced with drugs, tampered with in the kitchen, I don't know. I feel like I'm in a body that isn't mine experiencing things I never knew I could. As the beautiful boy in the hot tub and I keep relaxing, his words marinate in my mind.

I missed you, V. Four words, eleven letters. Sometimes little things leave the biggest marks in you. I knew this to some degree, from the thrilled look on the birthday girl's face because of a thoughtful gift to the side eyes and whispers that were quiet enough, but are responsible for the loudest thoughts I have. Most recently, I'll never erase the solemn looks on my parents' faces after a lovely talk with the doctors, no words uttered but still getting the message across that life's about to be different. Leukemia, as awful as it is, is its own teacher of lessons I never asked for.

Asher looks like a Greek god. Am I weird for the extra saliva that coated my mouth seeing him shirtless? God knew what He was doing when He sculpted every inch by hand, letting us mortals know who the favorite is. I have to remind myself that he's a grade younger than me and thinking about a child in that way is a smidge problematic. The age gap sure as hell doesn't change the way his abs are chiseled by Michelangelo himself. 

With us in the midst of a silent staring contest, this hangout takes me back to the awkward days of middle school. Unfortunately my inability to speak to a boy or find something to start a conversation about never left me the way it left my peers sophomore or junior year. If anything, it's gotten worse over time.

"So, how have you been?" Asher moves from his relaxed position for the first time in minutes, curiosity in his beautiful brown eyes. 

I hesitate, not sure how much I want to share. "It's...complicated," I admit. "We're all just trying to get used to everything."

He hums in understanding. "That's understandable. I hope y'all still like St. G's?"

"It's the only good part of this situation. The doctors are basically family and it's only been a couple of weeks." As I explain this to him, I recall meeting his mom yesterday at the hospital. "I didn't realize your mom works there."

"Yes ma'am." Those words again. They transport me right back to that day at the hospital that feels like a lifetime ago. I liked him right off the bat, but taking time out of your schedule for a near stranger's brother? That got my attention and earned my trust. His politeness is unfortunately unheard of among my male peers.

He's a breath of fresh air in a world where most guys my age are either too self-absorbed or immature to give a damn about others. It's not just his manners—it's the way he genuinely listens, how he seems to care about more than just surface-level stuff. It's hard for me to determine if his sincere kindness is a product of his mom, but I know Dr. Mendez raised him well.

"She's good at what she does." I nod, agreeing with his assessment of his mom. She can't fly or make herself invisible, but it's possible that her attentiveness towards patients like Ronan is a superpower of its own.

We start talking about something else and soon enough, the weight of the past few weeks falls off my shoulders. The warm water that rivals the cozy sheets on my bed back at home helps ease the tension my body has accumulated. Everything that's been stressing me out back home is now miles away, but there's something else lingering in my mind.