What He Wrote

Chapter 3

Believe it or not, I did actually have friends other than Cleo. I was part of a rock-turned-indie-turned-reggae band that covered practically every musical genre you can think of. I was the drummer of Twisting Gravity. My neighbor and partner-in-crime, Mason, played guitar and was the "front man" of the band. Our bassist and official lyricist was Lia, who we actually met through Craig's List. Jason was another guitarist and a year older than Lia, Mason, and I.

Then there was Finley. He could play any instrument you handed him with ease, but piano was his specialty. He was a college drop out who even turned down a full ride to Juliard to remain in Twisting Gravity. He was a genius when it came to music, and though he could have been the front man if he wanted to, he preferred to stay in the back.

Cleo and I were both Juniors in High School when Twisting Gravity booked it's first professional gig. A scout for a big-time music festival had seen us play at an underground show and told us that he loved our sound. The next month I got a letter in the mail saying to prepare a set and report to sound check in a few weeks.

Cleo was ecstatic. Although she wasn't technically part of the band, she pretty much took the role of manager.

The day of the festival was electric. I was beyond excited as I drove to Cleo's house to pick her up.

The moment she opened the door of my car I knew something was off.

"Are you okay?" I had a momentary flashback to when I asked her the same thing after the jerk asked her out.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She did her best to cover her puffy eyes.

"Why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying. I just have allergies."

"That is the most BS excuse I've ever heard. Seriously, what's wrong?"

She sniffed and wiped a tear that had escaped the bold front she put up.

"I'm just...really proud of you guys, that's all."

I should've pushed the issue. I really should have. But I didn't want to be late for the festival, so I bought the excuse and drove off.

The show was insane. Everyone had loved us, and we became the talk of the festival. Our dream of hearing our songs on the radio had become more and more real. Multiple record company reps talked to us about meeting or recording a demo. God, we were so high on life at that moment.

But I found myself crashing down whenever I'd try to meet Cleo's eyes during the performance and she'd look away.

When the festival ended I decided to just go home with Cleo instead of attending the after party. She was silent the whole ride home. When we got to my house she went inside without waiting for me or saying a word.

"Cleo, what's going on?"

She was sitting in the corner of the couch in my family room. A CSI rerun was playing on the TV, but she wasn't watching it. Her eyes were closed, but her breathing wasn't steady, so I knew she wasn't asleep.

"You can talk to me. What's wrong?" I said as I sat next to her.

"Do you love me?" Her eyes were still closed, her head ripped back as if she were looking at the ceiling.

"Of course I do."

"But would you be able to get over me if you had to?"

"Cleo, you're scaring me. You're acting like you're about to die or something."

She opened her eyes and adjusted herself so that her head was on my chest.

"I am."

"You're what?"

"There was this strange growth on my arm, near my shoulder. I noticed it about a few months ago, when it was just the size of a pea. But then it grew, and it hurt. Now it's about half the size of a lime.

"I went in for tests, and they sent me to this...cancer center. You know the one where your mom works? That one. They did more tests, and it's-it's Alveolar Rhabdomysarcoma.

I closed my eyes. No. This wasn't happening.

But it did. It did happen.

"Cancer of the soft tissue." I said softly.

"It's...it's really bad, Teddy. A late stage. The doctor said it's rare, especially for people my age...it's one of the most aggressive cancers. The chances of having it are one in a billion. And for some reason, I'm that God damn one. Like, we're always thinking about statistics in a good way. You want to be the one in a million that the celebrity chooses to date. You want to be the one in a billion who gets the car. But no one thinks about the bad statistics, and how someone has to be the one in a million to get attacked by a shark or be diagnosed with fricking Alveolar Rhabdomysarcoma."

"It's going to sound selfish of me, but I wish someone else could be that negative statistic instead of you."

I felt one of her tears fall onto my shirt.

"I think that anyone in our situation would want to be on the flip side of the statistic. Unfortunately, that person is me."

"When do you...when do you start?"

"In a few days. They're gonna perform surgery, then lots and lots of chemo, and maybe even radiation. I'm so scared, Teddy. I've talked to your mom about how horrible treatment is. I know how it changes your body and your mind and your spirit. I'm so scared...oh God, I'm terrified. I have cancer!"

Whatever it was inside of Cleo that had been keeping her together broke. Her sentence ended in a wail, and she began sobbing. I tried to keep myself together, but the moment I felt her body shake against mine I let go. Tears streamed down my face and into her hair.

For moment, I couldn't decide if I wanted to hold her tighter for fear that she would leave me or looser for fear that she would break.

"Cancer." I mumbled to myself.

"God, I'm so sorry Teddy. I'm so sorry."

Cleo said hysterically into my shirt.

"Don't apologize. I shouldn't have made you go to the festival."

"That's my dying wish. That you guys will make it big."

"You aren't going to die. You're gonna fight this, right? I know you can. You can get it to go away like you got rid of that asshole from freshmen English."

"But how do you fight your body with your body?"

"You use the best weapon you've got-your mind."

Only now do I know that the human mind is the greatest enemy you can ever have.