The Moments

Chapter Five

JORDAN WILLS

As we walk through the hospital, I find myself feeling guilty. I am only here to see somebody who can teach me how to be better at living. I bet a lot of these people wish that was something they could just be taught. I am hyper aware of the fact that I am surrounded by death and dying. There are questions I want to ask these people, questions that a psychologist could never answer for me.

I know I have all these things that I could say to this professional problem solver, but I could get just as far keeping them to myself. When I was 8, I learned to solve a Rubik's Cube without a single tutorial. I didn't look it up, I didn't ask a friend, I just sat there with it in my palm. The longer I stared, the brighter the colors seemed and the bigger the block felt. I would just sit there, flipping it over in my hand, feeling the edges, running the tips of my fingers of each individual square. Eventually, as though by magic, my fingers could detach completely from my mind and spin the cube until it was perfectly in place. In this analogy, I am the cube and the therapist is the useless tutorial. Why pay for what you can do yourself? I haven't killed myself, which means everything is as it should be and I have it under control. I'm seriously not seeing the point.

We turn a corner into another hallway, identical to the last. God, I wish this wasn't so boring. I hate boredom. If anything is to drive me to suicide, it's not anguish or rage, it's just having nothing to do. Nothing exciting to look forward to. No blood pumping, heart racing, brink of death feeling to remind you that you are, in fact, alive. I want to feel the exhilaration of anything. Maybe just an energy drink to pick up my heart rate a little. Anything. My mom would never be able to comprehend the fact that to me, being normal and complacent, is almost the same as being dead. She's practically encouraging suicide! I should let her know.

We're facing an elevator now, her fresh set of acrylics nearly prohibit her from pressing the button, but before I can get it for her, she presses her knuckle against it. Genius.

I am genuinely considering telling her exactly what I'm thinking. I actually do that from time to time, but not usually in an honest way. I have this certain tone, I don't mean to use it, but it makes everything I say sound less serious. So when I turn to her and state, "This place makes me want to die.", she just rolls her eyes. I wasn't kidding.

The metal doors of the elevator pull open slowly. Behind them stands the alopecia grape girl. We lock eyes immediately, a mutual curiosity among us. The sight of this girl comes as a surprise. I'm very shocked and very much in awe. Maybe too much so. I can only imagine the dumbfounded look written across my face right now. I feel myself speaking, but it doesn't register until I hear myself say, "Hey." 

I don't move to get in the elevator and she doesn't move to get out. We both just stand there, looking at each other, waiting for something to happen.

"Hi," she whispers. Her voice is soft and smooth. I can tell from one word that her singing would be beautiful.

I spent so much time thinking about her and the fact that I would never see her again, I would never know if she was okay. And here she is! Alive and well-ish. She looks sick, but not as bad as she did that day. I don't want to accept that maybe she really does have cancer. Maybe there were complications with the grape removal and she had to stay an extra week. Is it wrong to ask?

I feel my mom tap my back with her purse. I glance back at her, she is unfazed. I know she didn't forget that father running in with a limp body, how could she? She probably just didn't take the time to compare this girl and that one. If she had realized they were the same person, she might have said something. But the girl in front of me is nearly unrecognizable from the girl in the E.R. a week ago. She is much brighter. She is much further from dying. She is awake and aware and that's enough for me to be more than just concerned, now I'm intrigued. I am awake and aware too.