david
i smiled weakly at my simon. my hand was clasped tightly in his. i looked down at his hand, all bones and pale. his head lay in starch white pillows, tangled tubes spilled unto the pillows. his mane that he once boasted about was thin and greying. the steady beep of the monitor kept my sanity in check. "when i go will you pray for me? maybe i'll go to heaven that way, david, if you pray for me?
i was so tired of crying. i'd nearly fallen ill myself from all of the many sleepless nights hunched over his bed crying. i finally lifted my glassy eyes to meet his half lidded ones. "it'll be like accepting you're gone. i won't. wouldn't be fair if i went to hell and i never got to meet you there. i think not, simon," i chuckled thinly. he shut his eyes again, nodding. i bit my lip forcefully desperately trying to force my tears away.
my shoulders shook heavily with every stifled sob. i couldn't bear it if he saw me this way. through tears i saw our fingers laced tightly together. still. it's been 253 hours. over a week in the hospital. over 3 months since the diagnose. 2 months since stage 4 emerged. my stomach now cramped with every muffled sob. i finally let go.
ugly sobs burst from my lips. i pushed my face into the sleeve of my black turtleneck. i released his hand to wipe my running nose. it was a pathetic sight, i knew. a gay old man crying over something that he couldn't fix. i buried my face deeper into my sleeve. i felt someone gently prodding my arm, coaxing me out. i sniffled and wiped my nose and looked up. i saw simon's stern face. "david, i don't appreciate you making this any harder. no more crying do you understand? i expect a yessir."
"yes sir."
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rewrote the entire thing.
