What He Wrote

Chapter 5

The first time I visited Cleo in the hospital had to have been the scariest moment of my life. Everything seemed to be a giant question mark when it came to how her surgery went and if the disease was able to be fought. I knew absolutely nothing about her condition other than a.) she had cancer of the soft tissue, and b.) it was bad. My mom wouldn't tell me anything and neither would Josephine, Cleo's mom. I had no idea what to expect.

The elevator ride up to her room was the worst part. My mind had been swimming with images of her suffering. The idea of Cleo stuck in a white hospital bad with tubes all around and inside her made me dizzy. It was the sort of image you never see your friends in, and that's the way it should be. Why Cleo had to be the one in that image was beyond me.

There was a whole wing of the hospital dedicated to cancer patients alone. It was supposed to be one of the best hospitals in America, but that hadn't made me feel any better. It had, apparently, made Josephine feel better. She had made sure that Cleo was in the best room of the best hospital to receive the best treatment for the worst disease possible.

I paused outside room 608 and took a deep breath before walking in. It was a surprisingly nice room. There were dark hardwood floors, modern looking chairs and a couch, and a great view of Chicago. But the best part was the girl lying down in a hospital bed in the center of it all.

"Hey." I took a couple hesitant steps forward.

"Hi."

"How are you feeling?"

"Hmm. Well, let's see. Would you rather me describe the pain using complex adjectives, or rate it on a scale of 1-10? Oh, and to be clear, one is little pain while ten is tons. Apparently the nurses feel the need to explain this multiple times to every single human being who sets foot in this hospital."

"So, I take it you hate this place already."

"I can't decide which I hate more: the place, or the reason I'm at the place."

"I'm assuming it doesn't help that you aren't allowed any coffee in the morning."

Cleo let out a noise of distress. "You have no idea. I can't even have a flat white. Wait-how did you know about that?"

"My mom refused to tell me anything about your condition or surgery, but she did tell me about the fuss you put up over your lack of coffee."

"Oh. Well if it makes you feel any better, I'm going to start chemo in two days, the surgery didn't go as well as they needed it to, and there's now an unnecessary chunk missing from my arm."

"You're surprisingly chipper despite this all."

"Well, there was a Harry Potter marathon on TV this morning..."

We laughed together, and for a second I forgot that we were in a hospital. It felt like our everyday banter, with Cleo sprawled all over the bed while I perched on the side.

"Your mom's great by the way. She's one of the few nurses who doesn't tell me continually to 'be strong' and 'fight like I've never fought before.'" Cleo paused as if she were remembering something and opened her mouth, only to close it.

"Hey, where's Josephine?"

Cleo's demeanor instantly turned cold at the sound of her mother's name.

"She said she 'couldn't handle the sight of my arm' when they were checking it so she left the room. Can you believe it? She couldn't handle seeing the chunk taken out of my arm when she used to unwrap mummies for fun. She's probably at home soaking up the attention from from her garden club buddies right now. I'm surprised she hasn't stolen any of my flower baskets yet. Although, after I'm dead and gone I hope I never have to see another vase of flowers. I'd much rather someone put a copy of Moby Dick on my grave."

"You aren't going to die."

"Yes I am, Teddy. It's the inevitable end. I hate how the human race complicates things. You're born, and then you die. The space between that is a grey area. It's a blank line. It's all up to you on how you fill the line. You can write good or bad or spontaneous or wonderful-it's up to you. The only catch is that you don't know how long that blank line is. And it sucks that I want to fit spontaneous and wonderful on that line, because for some reason, it got cut too short."

"I wish our lines were the same length, then."

"Don't we all? We either want to live the same amount or die before our spouse. And it's such an awful, selfish thought. We want to die first and go to heaven or Hell or whatever is on the other side to spare the pain of losing someone else. I feel terrible that I have to die before you, because the pain you'll feel is maddening. That's why I'm so sorry about this all."

Cleo was too good for the world. I could not think of any other reason that she would be stuck with cancer.

"I love you, but you need to realize that there are lots of things we can't control. This wasn't your fault. You will get better, and you will live a nice, long, life with me. You'll live long enough to write spontaneous and wonderful on that beautiful blank line, because hell, you're a writer. It's what you do. You edit and revise. You use those carrot-looking marks to squeeze more words on that line. And if you ever need someone to proofread, I'll be right here."

There were tears in Cleo's eyes. She leaned over, hugged me, and spoke into my chest, "God, I love you more than you'll ever know."