Jack's Last Summer

Prologue

Those were the words that changed the remainder of Jack Summer’s life.

Those three words, three combinations of a total of 10 letters with three millisecond pauses in between.

Just a handful of sounds, really. Sounds that humans of a certain birthplace have been taught to connect to thoughts, feelings, meaning.

Jack had never understood words very well.

Then again, he didn’t need to. Words came naturally, like breathing. Sometimes a little laboured and requiring a little more effort than normal, but otherwise effortless and flowing. Some words, however, flowed easier than normal.

You have cancer.

These three words didn’t flow very well at all. They caught on Jack’s dry tongue and reluctantly crumbled from his mouth in fragments like cheap shortbread. He couldn’t taste those words through the numbness, but he imagined they would have tasted bitter.

“Cancer.” Jack repeated numbly. The foul taste came now, creeping under his tongue and spreading slowly like one of those joke lozenges that were all the rage in grade seven.

“What can we do?” Mr Summers asked numbly from where he sat in a creaky hospital chair, the type with the puffy plastic seat that sticks to your thighs and makes you sweat even more than you already were.

“Science is doing incredible things these days, and doubled with the amazing restorative powers of youth, lots of teenagers receiving this news come out of the bargain victorious…” Dr Grey hesitated.

“But.” Jack stated, pulling the word from where Dr Grey had left it hanging unspoken.

“But this is advanced,” Dr Grey sighed. “Many patients in this situation opt to have treatment anyway, either for a stab at a miracle or to prolong their remaining time here. To slow the process, you know?”

“You don’t sound like you recommend that option, though.” David Summer was holding it together surprisingly well, considering his only son had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer.

“As your doctor, I want you to be as happy and healthy as possible. As a recent firsthand cancer survivor, however, I can only say this. The treatment is different for everyone. Some people barely notice. Others…” He shrugged.

“So if I don’t have treatment my life might be shorter, but at least I won’t be horribly sick for the time I have left, which would be extended by having horrible chemicals regularly pumped into me. Quality or quantity.” Jack extrapolated.

“Exactly.”

The lanky teenage boy turned to his father and saw the defeated look in his eyes. With a nod to himself, he turned back to the oncologist, tasting the words carefully before releasing them.

“I choose quality.”