Memoirs

Losing You

A hospital bed, white with a typical sense of sterility, sat ignominiously at one side of a dimly clean hospital room, shaded in a faint yellow from the setting sun outside. Laid out upon the bed, in matching paleness, was the figure of a young male, no more than some twenty-odd years of age. Machinery beeped out an intermittent rhythm around him, a discordant melody that no one should ever have been subjected to, let alone made to appreciate. Most were connected to him by tubes and wires, various instruments that seemed not to be doing their jobs properly.

After all, he was dying. He'd even said so the other day, in a brief period of lucidity. The doctors had given their final prognosis; he had only weeks left, at best, days at worst. Or hours, perhaps - but that was a possibility no one dared raise.

Seated by his side, in one of those rickety hospital chairs littered about the harshly white space, was another male, whose face was etched with a seemingly permanent expression of worry and sorrow. His gaze alternately swung around the room, taking in various pieces of furniture with no real interest before returning to the sleeping boy's face, caught up in his own thoughts. Perhaps he wondered if the other's period of wakefulness the day before would prove to be his last. It would be merciful if he drifted away in his sleep, of course. Swift and painless, maybe. He, as well as all those his ill friend would soon leave behind, would turn out to be much worse for the wear should that happen - should anything happen, really. Even thinking about it, he felt the impending panic begin to gnaw away at him again, churning his insides into a senseless turmoil-

"Ket."

The name drew him from his reverie like some unexpected incantation; blinking, he refocused his gaze, noting that his bedridden friend now seemed more wakeful, lidded eyes cracking open into the early evening dusk.

"Dao," he followed up a second later, switching nicknames. "You look concerned. Don't tell me you're actually worried about me?"

His tone was, as always, more teasing than anything; Ketsada couldn't help but give a wry chuckle in reply. "No more than usual," he retorted softly. "There's no reason to be, really - you'll pull through this no problem, Persuth, just like always."

Both of them knew that was a lie, of course. Still, Persuth simply smiled, an unusually cheerful expression that countered even the coughing fit that followed shortly thereafter. He was too sick to be saved, as Ketsada had long since realized. Maybe he just didn't want to accept it, though. After all, Persuth was his best friend - his only friend, arguably. How could he accept such a loss, especially with so little warning? Sure, he'd always been sick, but...

"You're daydreaming again," Persuth interrupted, a brief laugh accompanying. "What are you thinking about?"

It never ceased to amaze Ketsada how perceptive his friend was, even in spite of his infirmity. Flashing only a small smile, he simply waved the question off.
"Aha, you caught me. Nothing much, really..."

Another lie.

"But hey, Singh," he continued after a pause. "Do you remember when we first met? That school trip back when we were twelve-"

"The one that had you hiding under the blankets because of the storm?" The Laotian's voice held blatant amusement in spite of its frailty. "Of course. How could I forget?"

Despite himself, the other male could feel his cheeks reddening in response. Defensively, he shook his head a little too violently for the situation before replying with an indignant: "I did not! That was you, as I recall - you kept crying and wailing about how you'd much rather be at home playing soccer."

Too late, Ketsada realized that soccer was a sore subject for him - he almost slapped himself for forgetting - but Persuth seemed not to notice. "Maybe at the time," he sighed absently, dismissively, "and maybe for a while after, too. But in the long run, perhaps not... Anyway, I'm not sure I would have met you had it not been for that trip."