One Last Thing ✅

thirty-six things

Jared and Abbott return with Grams, who stops when she sees me. They both look away, like they're embarrassed or something, and then Riley pulls away from me and grabs her jacket.

"See ya later, okay?" she says softly. "I'll call you."

The three of them stand there, in the doorway, looking at me with pity in their eyes. And, in that moment, I feel like the biggest fuckup on the whole planet. These are the people I love, and they're standing in the hospital because of me.

Because of my fucking choice.

Could've been worse, something inside me says.

I picture the scene.

The four of them gathered around a dark wooden table, a box of Kleenex in the middle. A stout man with a bald spot passes them a catalogue with pictures of flowers and caskets. Abbott puts his arm around Grams, who's trying to act stoic but breaks down when he touches her.

After everything she's done for me.

I lower my chin to my chest, feeling the tears welling up. My hair falls over my face, and I am grateful for this curtain to shield me from the onlookers. I hear the door close and know that my friends have exited the room. Still, I can't bring myself to look at Grams. I don't want to see what's in her eyes.

The disappointment.

She sits next to me on the bed.

I wait for the lecture, run through it in my head so it can't hurt me when it actually comes. What were you thinking, Liliana Louise? Don't you think about anyone but yourself? Do you know how much this hospital visit is going to cost? I'll have to work extra hours at the library for a year to pay for it.

But, instead of chastising me, she pats my hand. Beneath my barrier of hair, I can see her fingers, the age spots scattered across her skin. The tips of her fingernails are shaped like mine. The way her veins stick out a little, between her pinky and ring fingers, reminds me of my own. And I can't keep from thinking, if I had been successful, my hands would never look like hers, wrinkly and thin.

It's an odd feeling.

I've never really pictured myself as an adult, how I'll look when I'm older. I guess I've always had it in the back of my head that I'd die young. It's not that the thought of aging scares or disgusts me. It just doesn't seem real. Or possible, or something. Like it's not my fate to live that long.

"Lil," Grams says softly.

"Yeah?"

"Don't you ever do that again."

I'm silent.

"We're not playing that game, Lil. I need you to tell me you will never, ever... attempt that particular act again. I'm serious. I'm not bringing you home until you promise me. I don't think I can take this again. Understand?"

I open my mouth, but my tongue is dry and my yes is so quiet that Grams, who sometimes has trouble hearing me, turns to face me and grabs my chin.

I try it again. "Okay. I understand."

"Say the words: I will never attempt that particular act again."

"I'll never... attempt that... particular act again."

"Or anything like it."

"Or..." I think wistfully of the knife, which is probably in the trash right now instead of beneath my mattress. Or maybe the paramedics seized it. It will be so hard not to find a replacement, to promise I'll never release my pain in that way again. I've tried. Trust me, I've tried. You can't just say you'll never do it again because, when you're in the moment, it's like there's no choice. There's the knife and your skin, and it's inevitable they're gonna meet.

But Grams is still holding my chin, and I don't see any way around this. I swallow before speaking.

"Okay."

I say it, and I mean it.

I know it won't be easy, but the way I feel right now, after dragging everyone here and making them stand around in the hospital while the doctors sewed my arm back up, it's a kind of shitty that I could do without experiencing again, ever. There are just some things you say and you mean, and you'll make them come true, no matter what.

Grams finally releases my chin. "I love you, Lil," she says, pushing my hair back and tucking it behind my ear. Then she just looks at me with warmth in her eyes, which are so like mine, her mouth pursed this way that reminds me of myself. It's weird, looking at someone who looks so much like me, but older.

Like glimpsing the future.