The Planetarium

PART ONE

THE FIRST TIME I NOTICED HER, I had just been diagnosed with a brain tumor.

Sitting in the waiting room at the oncology unit, I tried to think about literally anything else besides the mutation blackening my vital organ. Physics - physics was a safe, cognitive-based topic - you couldn't worry about losing your ability to walk when you were calculating trajectories. What about the aerodynamics of Saturn?

Grade II brain cancer at twenty years old. 

If there was a God, he hated me.

Hannah tightened her steel grip around my wrist. I didn't want her to come to the appointment really, considering she knew all the jargon, studying neurosciences herself. My girlfriend was the definition of intelligence. Her soft brown fingers laced mine.

"Pilocytic astrocytoma is a type of glioma," the doctor's speech was far-off, distant. "The effect it has on your physical state depending on the size and location of the tumor. In your case, what we're looking at is slow-growing. By viewing your CT scan and MRI results, it's of high probability we're looking at future surgery."

That morning, I had woken up early, the constellation drawings on the walls blurring before my eyes. The extend of my astronomy fascination was vomited into the details of my dumping ground bedroom - notes pinned to the door, a telescope peeking through the window, galactic non-fiction books piled high on my desk.

I'd been dreading this moment for months now. Somehow, the waiting was worse than the tests, the paper gowns and Hannah's glances of overwhelming pity - but now it was here, I felt relief crash into me like a tidal wave.

I was sick. An abnormality was growing inside my head, its evil poison seeping into the cells of my brain.

Shit, I know that's not how cancer works. Nevertheless, I couldn't shake the image of a black, parasitic leech sucking the life from my wasted corpse.

Hannah's voice cut through my thoughts.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." My voice came out dry, making me sound all choked-up. "It's good to know. I mean, it's not the news I was hoping for, but at least we can fight this thing now. Can't we, doc?"

The doctor painted on a hesitant smile. "That's right."

We'd known even before we entered this grim office that something was wrong with me. I'd been having problems with my balance; I'd get up from the couch to grab a beer and end up dropping on the floor like dead weight. The first time it happened our friends roared with laughter. The fourth, they exchanged expressions of grave disquietude.

Not only that, I had to run to kitchen sink when vomit washed up my throat unexpectedly. One time, I was trapped on the bus and had to force my head through the tiny crack of the window. The other passengers weren't too impressed by the sight of my chunky, burrito-vomit staining their view of the Vancouver cityscape.

"Thank you for attending." The doctor grasped my hand. "I know it must have been difficult, coming in. I wish you the best, and I'll seen you again soon."

"Yeah. Great. No problem."

Man, when the appointment ended, I wished it hadn't. Seconds after our conversation with the receptionist, we were down the clinical hospital hallway and Hannah suddenly gripped me hard. I came to a rapid halt.

Her hot tears dripped on my jacket. I ran my fingers through her thick, dark hair for something to do, tucking it behind her ear while she wept. Her hearing aid glinted underneath the buzzing lights.

I'd always felt a streak of pity about Hannah's disability. Hell, sometimes when she was pissed she'd remove them entirely, making me feel more guilt than I already possessed. Well, I've checkmated her now.