The Definition of Time

Chapter 14

She always expects the perfect goodbyes
but sometimes they are imperfect
in fact, sometimes she doesn't even get to say goodbye at all.
Sometimes someone is here one day, and gone the next
and people come and go in and out of her life
weaving unsaid goodbyes on her heart 

May 28, 2014

The last day of school is finally here.

I'm so ready to load my car and leave everything behind me for the summer. I need to hug Gramps and tell him I love him a thousand times before he can't hear me anymore.

Jordan left yesterday, heading straight for her internship. Her parents took the news surprisingly well, and she departed in better spirits than I've seen her in since Christmas. I drove her to the airport and waved as she pulled her bags towards the security checkpoint, then laughed when they picked her for a pat down. I could hear her cussing out the poor guy the entire time.

She's been texting me pictures of her summer apartment ever since, and I'm a little envious. She's excited because one of her fellow interns is cute and single. Needless to say, her summer is shaping up quite well. Well, minus the lizards.

I'm on my way to the cafeteria for a final meal with Josh before I head home. I haven't seen him since the news about Gramps, and I'm a little hesitant to. Part of me worries that he'll notice something's wrong and press me to tell him what's going on, and the other part worries that he won't even notice at all. Maybe he doesn't know me as well as I like to think he does.

Josh and I are having lunch before we leave for the summer under the pretense that I need him to help me load up my car, but I really just want to see him one more time. Say goodbye, for a few months at least.

He's waiting for me at a cafeteria table after I grab my lunch of Cocoa Puffs and a cookie. I need energy for the very long drive home, and chocolate is my weakness. One of many.

"Hey, Rach," he says and he smiles at me.

Crap. I always forget about how much his smile affects me until I see it again. The dimple at the corner of his mouth and the crystal clarity of his eyes stun me and draw me in like nothing else.

"Hey," I say, setting my tray down and self-consciously straightening my high school debate team t-shirt. 

He looks better--he's shaved some time in the last week and is dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that appear to be fairly clean. And he's smiling.

"You look better," I say and then my face reddens.

"Thanks, Rach." He smiles easily. "I gotta say though, you're looking about as rough as I did a few days ago."

He noticed. I don't know whether to be pleased or perturbed. I turn away from his penetrating gaze. Gramps. How can I share something as personal as my grandfather getting cancer? I'm the one who listens, the one who's strong, the one who carries everyone else's burdens. I'm unaccustomed to sharing my own.

He prods, "what's going on?"

He's noticed my reticence to speak but is not retreating; instead, I feel as if he's peering into my very soul.

"I'm fine," I finally stuter.

"Don't lie to me." His voice is sharp.

"My grandpa...he's...he has cancer. He's..." I catch my breath as I struggle to say the words. "He's...dying. I just found out."

The words rest between us, and I bite my lip and look away. I don't want his sympathy or empty platitudes. If I hear one more person tell me that it's all going to be okay, I'm going to scream so loudly that the stars will hear.