A Chance Meeting

Part 11

Chance walked into the room and knew something was wrong when he saw Sara's face.

Worn and tired, with dark semi-circles under her eyes, she wasn't exactly what he was expecting. Add that to the slightly red tinge to her eyes and runny nose, as well as the dulled light in her eyes, and Chance was tensing up as he walked over to her bedside.

What's wrong?

"Chance, there's something I need to tell you. I'm not sick- I'm dying." His brows furrowed together, and he went to grab the paper, but Sara intercepted his hand and stared deep into his teary green eyes. "I just want to go outside one last time. Is that okay with you?"

He pressed his lips into a line, and a tear slipped down his face. Sara held and hand up and caught it before it could drip onto his lap.

"Chance," she said, her voice and eyes softening. "I know I've asked a lot of you in the past week, and I know this is a lot too, but I wouldn't ask it of you if I didn't know it would be soon."

He stood up abruptly, turning around and anxiously running a hand through his hair, Sara watched him, tearing up a little but keeping an eye on him anyway, more than a little concerned about how he was going to take the news.

She watched as he paused in his pacing and glanced over at her as if maybe, just maybe, she had some sick, twisted sense of humor and was joking. She was watching as agony flitted over his features when he realized she wasn't before he turned away and began to walk, pacing back and forth without break for minutes. She watched as he brought his arm up and slid it sideways over his face, his hand poking out on the other side. She was watching as he walked back over to the bed and snatched up the paper before she could stop him and as he angrily scratched words across the lines in ink.

How long have you known?

The set of his face told Sara he had guessed, but he still wanted her to answer the question.

"One week." Quiet. Short. Simple.

It still seemed to enrage him. The paper he had grabbed back crinkled as his fist balled up, and he angrily tossed it into the trash can and grabbed a new sheet, the pen immediately slashing lines onto it.

You knew- you knew this entire time- and yet you couldn't tell me? Actually, you just didn't tell me. Last I checked, your vocal cords still worked.

Sara stopped reading and looked up at him, so much pain and hurt and sorrow in her that it began to overflow and tears dripped out of her eyes. Chance's face wavered in its anger, and Sara ducked her head and hid behind her wall of hair in order to finish his writing.

I'm hurt that you felt you couldn't trust me with this knowledge. Did you think I would run away, or stop coming to see you? *snorts* I can't- Sara, you're like an addiction. Every time I see you, I want more. I wanted to see you everyday; wake up and skip school just to drive over hear and hear you laugh or see you smile. Not doing that, having to go through school and wait to see you- it was like torture. I felt like I finally found someone I could be myself with, tear down the walls and bare myself to someone; I felt like maybe someone would finally understand what I was going through. And then you go and betray me. You withheld information from me Sara, and that's like lying.

Sara took a deep breath, taking the few seconds to collect her thoughts and emotions before she began to speak.

"I'm sorry Chance. I know that won't take back what I didn't say, and I'll understand if you don't want to ever see me again. 'I'm sorry' is just a weak phrase, and you know as well as I that it doesn't appease the turmoil within. But I'll say it again, because that's all I know to say. I'm sorry."

Chance turned around and paced the perimeter of the room again before writing some more, filling up the rest of the page with his slanted handwriting. As he handed it back to her, Sara dully noted that his eyes were full of emotions, about three-quarters pained and the rest angry.

See, you're doing it again Sara. I don't know if I can trust you anymore- I can't tell if you're reallly being truthful or if you're manipulating me again. Your words are so smooth and sweet, but so are a snake's before he kills his enemy and slithers away.

Sara was starting to get mad now too.

"That's me," she snapped sarcastically. "Manipulating people using the experience with the oh-so-many visitors I've had. That's me, with the kind and 'sweet' words, always knowing exactly what to say. That's me, killing people with the variety of weapons on hand." She gestured around the room, glaring into Chance's widening eyes. "Oh, and of course, after that, I just slither away, because, imagine this, my legs totally work."

Sara's chest was heaving at the end of this, and Chance looked a little less angry, but Sara wasn't done yet. She had held all her anger in check for two years, never once snapping at the nurses or doctors who always seemed to bring depressing news. She had never blown up like this in two years, and Chance was going to get the brunt of it.

"Imagine not having any legs Chance. Or, even worse, having legs that are worse than useless. They're a drain on your energy. Imagine never getting to leave a wheelchair, nevering being able to drive, to walk, to run." Sara's tone turned longing before it hardened again. "Now imagine that multiplied by fifty. I never, ever got to leave my room for two years, two years, before you came. For two full years, I have been staring at these blank white walls, smelling these god-awful sterile scents, and feeling these terrible starched sheets. Chance, imagine never once being able to go to the bathroom on your own because you can't get up and go. Imagine having to eat flavorless food for two years. What if you never felt the slightest change in temperature, not even a point one raise or drop? And if you never got to see an animal- be it horse or dog or cat or squirrel? And if there was but one window in your room and you couldn't see out of it and were yearning to, but you didn't want to say anything because the nurses were already too good to you and you didn't want to burden them?"

Chance now looked heartbroken, like a document run through the shredder and shorn into pieces. He reached to grab another sheet of paper, but Sara's voice stopped him.

"I haven't been outside the hospital in two years." Her voice broke and she angrily wiped a tear out of her face. "I haven't felt the wind or seen the sun or smelled fresh air in so long, too long. I'm sorry I didn't tell you Chance, but I didn't want it to weigh down on you like it's been weighing down on me."

She looked him hard in the eyes and sniffled, holding back the tears that were yearning to fall down. A couple slipped through her defenses, and she raised one of her hands to wipe them away, still intently watching him.

Chance nervously glanced around before he sat down in his chair and shakily raised a hand to set on her hand. He watched as her arm stiffened, but she stopped crying and gave him a tentative smile.

I'm sorry for getting so angry, he wrote, an apologetic look on his face and in his eyes. I understand now that you had your reasons, but it was hard to hear you when the seeming-lie was blaring so loudly in my ears. Not that that's much of an excuse.

Sara looked down at their entwined hands and frowned. Chance, already anxious about it, tried to pull his hand away, but Sara wrapped her fingers more tightly around his, and he relaxed. The silence in the room stretched for minutes, and by the time Sara decided to speak, Chance found himself absentmindedly rubbing her hand with his thumb.

"Chance, I need to know- will you take me outside when the time comes?" Sara looked dead into his eyes.

His eyes darted around, not wanting to come to terms with the fact that Sara was really dying. She blinked, then squeezed his fingers and grinned, trying to be brave and face the fact that she would die in the hospital, in the room that she had lived in for the past two years. Chance saw the coming resolution in her eyes and something deep within him clicked and he knew her wish would be granted.

Tears began to roll down his face as he wrote, I'll do it. Three words sealed his terrible realization, and Sara's fate.