How To Catch A Heart | ✓

chapter seven: heart mania

C H A P T E R    S E V E N   :  H E A R T   M A N I A

"alharaca (n.)—an extraordinary or violent emotional reaction to a small issue"

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"I got my invitation," I waved the printed picture in my hands as I saw Frank. "There, I even printed it for you. Do I get to go to your birthday party tonight?"

Frank looked up and smiled, "Two words."

"What?" I asked, confusion dabbing its brush onto my face. Frank waved his two fingers in front of my face and I laughed, finally grasping it. "Happy Birthday, Frank. There, I gave you three."

"The extra one word doesn't get you a VIP pass, okay," he warned me jokingly.

"Do I get to bring one friend, then?" I offered.

"Who, Basil?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "Her sister, Suzy."

His eyes moved upwards as he contemplated about it. "Why not?"

Frank took my camera from me and I let him. We sat on the sidewalk, chins on our knees as the time revolved around our heads like halos. His eyebrows creased downwards, entering the square frame area of his spectacles.

"You have improved," he nodded. "Greatly."

I laughed at his flat tone. "Don't talk like that, you sound like your ninety." His face crumpled in protest. "But really, did you mean what you just said?"

"Don't worry, I don't do sarcasm."

"I can go back to the city, then," I said, looking ahead. "But I have to find another company to work for because I kind of blacklisted my last one."

Frank began telling me about his birthday cake and how his grandmother flew all the way from the other side of the country just to bake it. He told me how he helped to chop apples so it could be sprinkled on top of the chocolate-coated cake. His mother was at the shopping mall at the moment, hunting for birthday decorations. He professed his thrill for his party and how his family never cared this much for a mere birthday.

I felt a lump on my throat as I swallowed. They were afraid it would be his last. Muscular dystrophy kills, although it seemed harmless, encased in leg braces that did nothing but sustain it.

"I know what you're thinking about," Frank said, realizing the zoned out look on my face.

"No, you don't," I blurted out.

"I'm not going to die yet, Izzy. Yes, the doctor said that the muscles around my lungs are getting more and more stretched because my bones are growing. He said I would have difficulty in breathing. But I don't want to die because of it."

After comprehending the fact that it was no use denying him, I sighed, "You don't get to choose your death."

"But still, Izzy," he persisted. "I want to die a martyr, or a saviour or something. I want to go to the Army like my brother. I wan to at least accomplish something—a degree, or a major certificate in Engineering—before I give up my life. I know, I don't get to choose."

"Hey," I said, taking his hand. His face had fallen, the joyful look of a birthday boy nowhere found on his expression. "You're ten today. No fun talking about ends. If it happens, let it happen, okay? We're bound to die anyway. We just live our life and let God settle the rest. Okay?"