Remember; You Have the Universe

[ 1 ]

Kjrsten:

I had a competition
with this guy
in my Dying Kids Group
during my
stay at the
hospital.

My nurse, Abby,
tells me not
to call it that.
The shrink,
Dr. Sanchez,
says it's, "Support Therapy."
We, the Dying Kids,
call it what it is.

Anyway,
there's this guy
that's new to Group
(Kudos to him. Not.),
whose name is
Robby.

We were talking about
our support systems,
and it turns out,
most of us
have social workers.
or therapists.
Even though
we need to be rescued
from our bodies
and not our homes
or our minds.

Robby started talking
–which makes him
a weirdo
by Group standards,
but I like it–
about his social worker,
given to him
by the school board
because they pity him.

He has to call him
by his last name,
(which is something
gross that

the rest of us

can't pronounce)

preceded by, "Mister."

I won the argument
because you brought
those tiny cupcakes
on your birthday,
and I call you
Kjrsten.

But really, I know
you're the best because
you were there
The day
my world flipped over,
sending me hurtling
into whatever empty
space
exists outside
of the atmosphere.

When the protective bubble,
full of both necessary
and dangerous gases,
bulged,
threatening to let go of
me.

Space
used to be so cool.
The idea of being free,
of floating without
falling,
was liberating to me.

I told my mom
NASA was going to have to
hack the ship
from earth
to bring me back down.

But that was before
the diagnosis.

Now space
reminds me of death
in the way that it
is cold,
and dark,
and lonely.
And nothing exists
but you
and the forever-reaching
void
of absolute nothingness.

Fate has
a plan 

for me

I've realized.
I have a scheduled
due date.

I'm supposed to be
returned back to the stars
I borrowed
my life from.

And clearly, I didn't
do a good enough job
with it,
because they want it back.

ASAP.