Almond Boy

Almond Boy - 11

Emma rolls her oxygen tank next to her and slumps onto the bench seat. She takes off her oxygen tubes, pulling the nubs out her nose so she can smell the warm air of Florida in her lungs. She lets out a little cough and brings her knees up to her chest, hoping maybe if she compresses her chest she won't cough anymore.

It doesn't work like that though. She rests her head on her knees and takes a deep breath again, and then brigns her legs down so she can grab her bag of trail mix. She takes a few various nuts, one almond is among them she knows, and eats them one by one.  

Elliot stops when he sees Emma, his gaze absolutely fixated on her. Her skin is pale, making the freckles on her skin look very prominent. Her lips look bright red and he can see that they're chapped and have little red marks from her biting them over and over. And though the nubs aren't over her nose, he can see the tubes and all he can imagine are the IVs and tubes that he is sure will be connected to her in the future. 

He almost winces looking at her. He can imagen her eyes sinking into her skull and her skin growing frailer and frailer, like the pictures in the articles he's read about her condition. He takes a step back and breathes a deep breath, but the image won't go away. 

It's one thing dealing with stuff like this yourself; the illness, the tubes, the medications, the decay; but now he's the observer. It's a whole new kind of pain, watching someone endure Hell on Earth in the hopes of not dying. How funny it is that they go through excruciating pain to cling onto the life that's hurting them. 

He doesn't even know Emma that well - well, not as well as he'd like, but he swears he can feel the imprint of her hand gripping his from that day things went downhill. 

"Are you going to sit down?" Emma asks, tipping her head and staring at him, her eyebrows quirked. She pats the seat next to her. "I mean, I know I'm as mythical or whatever as some mermaid in the sea, and about as pale as a creature that has been in the dark depths of the ocean, but I'm nothing special. Just sit down."

"You're in a good mood today," Elliot replies, unsure how to respond to that strange analogy, but she's got a massive smile on her face. He can't help but chuckle, and he walks over and drops his backpack on the ground, causing it to give a large thud.

"You know, for someone with a heart problem, you think you wouldn't be forced to do manual labor." Emma says, looking at his "pregnant backpack". Elliot raises his eyebrows and grabs his bag of almonds and pulls out a few. 

"Well, with someone who can't breathe all that well, why do you have to be labored with heaving an oxygen tank and a backpack? I mean, that seems like a double whammy to me." 

"I can't believe we're comparing this," she laughs, but then she lets out a cough and her smile fades a little.

"I'll trade almonds with you," Elliot says, holding up one of his. Emma's face scrunches up in humorous confusion and she grabs an almond from her trail mix bag and places it in his palm, then takes his. She bites it and half and eats it, and her face scrunches up.

"I'm not used to them without a little salt from the trail mix on them."

Elliot eats the salted almond and he grimaces as well, "I'm not used to them with salt. I probably shouldn't be eating them with salt, but oh well." 

"Eh, live a little." 

Elliot chuckles his low chuckle and Emma finds her self laughing as well. Elliot knows it's for different reasons though, and he can't help but smile even more at how innocent Emma is. 

He hopes she doesn't lose her innocence, but he knows he can't stop it. If she goes through anything that he's recently read on Cystic Fibrosis, the sparks in her eyes are going to die and her bright blue irises are going to dull. If he'd learned anything from being "sick", it's that procedures, medications, and multiple home treatments tend to bleed you of your wonder of the world, pint by pint.