The Moments

Chapter Twelve

MADELYN SHEEN

For the second time this week, I am standing in the parking lot at a quarter to midnight staring into the world stopping eyes of none other than Jordan Wills. He has this way of making me forget who I am and what my life is. In doing so, he also makes me forget my vow to not get too involved with a guy like him. I have convinced myself that I am not here because of feelings for him, but instead because I want to help him. As soon as I'm not worried I'll glance out my window and see him laying dead in the parking lot, I'll let him go.

It's a cruel thought, I know. He thinks he's in love me with me and I'm just using that feeling as a way to help him cope with whatever he's going through. I can't deny that I experience the same emotions he must have, but unlike him, I am able to push all that aside and put my number one goal in front of it. My number two goal is helping him, and tonight I am allowing myself to focus on that goal instead.

The thing is, death isn't a choice for me. I have to die, I have no say in it. None. So you might understand why it physically pains me to see somebody with endless opportunities wasting his life on wanting to die. Maybe I'll never know what the world is like through his eyes, but through mine the world is very limited. I suppose he must feel the same way, but that's why I'm here to show him that the world is only limited for one of us. His ability to make something incredible is truly limitless and I plan to teach him that through a detailed and multi step plan that I typed up after last week's parking lot meeting.

Step one: Get to know him.

"How are you?" I question. I'm a lot less nervous than last time. Last time I wasn't expecting the night to go the way it went, this time I'm prepared.

"I'm elated," his voice is rough and bold. I close my eyes and hear him singing. It's incredible. Focus, I remind myself. I straighten out, trying to make myself as tall as possible. "How are you?" he returns.

"I'm not so great," I state, and it's very honest. I've decided that in order to get him to open up to me, I have to first open up to him. It's true, I'm not so great because I'm just starting to feel fractionally better and tomorrow that will be reset with another round of chemo. Plus I get updated scans tomorrow and the anxiety is killing me. I think about telling him all of that, but he steps a little closer towards me and my words catch in my throat.

"What's wrong?" he asks, brown eyes boring into mine, as though he sees past everything I've presented to him and can now see everything I never say. It feels invasive, like he's reading my thoughts. Like he knows so much more about me than I could ever tell him.

I don't speak for a few seconds too long. It's only when his fingers reach out and brush against my arm that I realize I need to respond. I clear my throat and say, "You know... just cancer stuff." He nods understandingly, but he doesn't understand.

"Tell me about it," He suggests.

People love hearing about my cancer story. They find it sad and interesting with endless twists and climaxes. I, on the other hand, get so sick of hearing about it. So I give him the summary, it's mostly stuff I'm pretty sure I've told him before, but I use different words so he thinks it's a different tale. I tell him about the tumor growth in my leg and the possibility of amputation, but the more likely outcome of treatment being stopped and me just, you know, dying. He nods along, as though he's comprehending everything, but I'm using medical words that I barely understand, so I'm pretty sure he's not as informed as he wants me to think he is.

Once the story is over, I take a deep breath and stare at him, but his face doesn't change. He's maintained the same expression he had when he asked for the story. Nothing seems to shock or phase him. He just looks at me as though none of that mattered to him and I have to wonder if it did.