absolutely wonderful [joshler]

deux

on the bus ride home, i find myself one of only eleven people. i hope it'll remain this way for the rest of the year. silence is good.

my phone vibrates in my pocket, and i see that i've gotten a text message.

unknown message from (436) 555-1975: tyler?

me: josh?

(436) 555-1975: that's me ;)

me: just say what you have to say fast

(436) 555-1975: what?

me: aren't you going to say something rude? comment on how my cannula makes me look like a pig?

(436) 555-1975: tyler, i thought i said i wouldn't do that to you

(436) 555-1975: i want to be your friend

i sigh. could he be different from the rest of them?

me: okay

(436) 555-1975: can i start by asking some questions about you? you can ask me anything too :)

me: ask away.

it takes josh a while to respond, and while he's doing so, i save his number in my phone and change his contact name. it feels good to have someone other than your immediate family on your phone.

josh: what's your favorite color? animal? ooh, what music do you like to listen to? do you have any hobbies? tell me everything!

me: i like red, rabbits, my chemical romance, and drawing, i guess

me: i don't like answering those types of questions, though. the answers change so often it makes my head hurt trying to remember.

josh: oh gosh, i'm sorry, i didn't know if you were comfortable with me asking questions about chemo and stuff

me: that's easier to remember. it's always the same and it doesn't look like it's going to progress any further

me: my cancer, i mean

josh: can i ask you about that? your cancer?

i look up from my phone. the bus is pulling up to my stop, perfect timing, too. talking about my cancer puts me in this mood. makes me feel like i'm actually going to die from it, even if my mother insists i won't. i'd rather talk about it in person with josh, where someone can catch me if i fall. and by falling, i mean fainting. that's happened before.

me: i have to go, i'll get back to you later

josh: okay

i sling my bag onto my shoulder and step off the bus and onto the curb. i still have a bit of walking to do, though, because my house is a few streets away from here. if i have to walk this far every day, i don't know how my lungs will last. i mentally remind myself to bring it up during dinner tonight.

luckily, my teachers decided against giving me homework for the first few weeks to at least see how i'm doing. when i get home i can collapse on my bed and do nothing with my life.

it takes me ten minutes to walk from here to my front door. not bad, but i feel like i ran a PACER test.

my mother is all over me when i get home.

"how did your first day go? did you meet any nice people? how were the teachers?"

"mom," i groan, flopping down on the couch and running my hands down my face. "it was fine."

she gives me one of her looks. "and by fine you mean?"

"no, i didn't get shoved into a locker this time."

"what about friends?"

i start to give her another one of my speeches on how everyone hates me, but i stop when my thoughts jump to josh. was he my friend?

"there's this one kid, his name's josh."

her eyes light up. "oh? tell me about him!"

"i don't know that much, mom. he's got red hair and gauges and stuff," i say. "but it doesn't matter. he'll either get bored of me or break my arm soon enough."

"tyler robert joseph, don't you go around saying that. what if he finds you interesting?"

i roll my eyes. "i'm not interesting."

"well, i think you're interesting," she says, planting a kiss on my forehead.

"wow, that makes me feel loads better."

she meets my gaze with an old smile. "i got you these too, to make your mood go from, what do you say these days, 0-100 real quick?" she hands me a box of pocky and sticks her tongue out.

i laugh at her attempt of a meme and accept the box, tearing it open and shoving the food in my mouth. see, pocky is this weird thin breadstick dipped in chocolate. no idea who invented it, but they deserve a food grammy or something.

"wait a minute," i say after i'm done chewing. "do i have a checkup today?"

my mother looks shocked, but i can tell she's faking it. "what makes you think that?"

"you always try to make yourself happy before each appointment. in case something bad comes up."

we both know what "something bad" means. my cancer has no doubt been spreading, and none of the doctor's efforts have slowed it down. sooner or later, it's going to turn into stage two, then three, and finally, four. it's only a matter of time, and my mother is always prepared for the worst. even if it means the preparation is a box of pocky and a dank meme.

she sighs. "it's not until four, but jay has a dentist appointment at three, so we'll have to get going now."

i groan again. after having walked all this way home, i don't want to do anything but sleep.