One More Time (With Feeling)

9

"Do you want to go out to Oak Park?"

You look up at Chayton from your marker doodles on the table. Over the past two years, the astronaut unicorns have been joined by cats on skateboards, juggling squirrels, and a narwhal with a top hat, among other things.

"Are you sure it's not too cold?" Your brow draws down with concern. It's been hitting the freezing mark the past few days. "Will you be able to breathe?"

"Better than I can cooped up inside," Chayton says. "You going chicken on me, Art School?" He's not coughing anymore, but his breathing is labored, his words come slow and wheezing. He should stay where it's warm, away from the snow and biting winds. Pneumonia, the doctor said. She'd wanted to hospitalize him. He'd refused. Not yet, he'd said. There are still too many things left for me to do.

Even inside, with the heat on, he's wrapped up in sweatpants and a heavy hoodie where you're just fine in a t-shirt and boxers. You push your hair out of your face, but it falls right back in. There's just one more streak of brown left, then you'll be totally silver at twenty-five, just as Kyle predicted all that time ago.

"No way." You force a grin. "I can keep up with anyone. Especially you." You almost slap yourself when it comes out of your mouth, but he throws his head back and laughs, his thin throat flashing underneath the living room light.

"You're the only one I'd ever let get away with that," he chuckles. He slowly stands. The creaking of his joints is almost audible.

"I'm going to go change into some more suitable clothes."

"Double up," you call after him. "It's below freezing."

You need to change, too, but you let him get to it first, since he's so much slower than you now. Is he expecting to go out pasting or tagging? He's too slow now; if you were to have to run, he'd be fucked. But he comes out of your bedroom with his backpack slung over his shoulder. You frown.

"Just in case," he says. "In case we're out late and we come across a prime spot. I have stickers for right now, okay?"

You're underground in the pedestrian tunnel between the Red and Blue line Jackson stops when he collapses. Your phone has no signal and at first everyone passing by thinks you're comforting a drunk friend, but then you start yelling, clawing at the hems of people's pants as they pass you, and they start to realize, something is going on.

"I need a phone. Please. Please!" you shout. Nobody responds. A young man maybe your age starts to pass by and you latch onto his pants leg. He nearly trips and he turns back around to yell at you.

"Please." Your voice is hoarse. His face turns from angry to scared.

"What --"

"My friend is really sick. He has a chronic illness. He fainted. Our phones don't have signal."

Chayton shifts in your lap. He groans. He was only out about thirty seconds, thank god.

"Please, can we use your phone? Nobody's paying attention to us, and I --"

Your voice cracks and he shoves his phone in your hands. You only now notice the guitar slung over his shoulder.

"Yeah, man, yeah. Call whoever you need."

Your fingers shake.

"911, where are you located?"

"I'm in the underground passage between the Jackson red and blue lines. My friend is AIDS positive and has pneumonia. He fainted. He didn't hit his head and he's not bleeding. He's conscious now."