broken // luke

f o u r

// luke

I stuffed my earbuds into my ears as the sweet sound of The Cab filled my ears. I nodded my head to the beat as I made my way to the pharmacy.

My favorite verse came up, and I just couldn't help but sing along. My black hi-top Converse stepped one after another, but my mind was somewhere else completely.

I was thinking about my mom, and how much time she had left. I know my sister took good care of her, so I shouldn't worry too much, but the doctors said she needed as much help as she could get.

My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer a few years ago. After a year of nonstop chemo and many expensive doctor's appointments, the cancer finally went away. My younger sister, Kali, and I were ecstatic. We both loved my mother so much, she was so good to us. My mother lived cancer free for about one and a half years -- until the cancer found its way back. She was weaker then, and the doctors said she didn't have the chances she had before of getting rid of it. She hadn't had enough time to recover from the last time her cells were eaten up by chemo radiation.

Kali and I insisted that she try chemo again, but my mother strictly refused. I remember her saying,

"I've gone through it once. It was hell. I am not going through it again. I'd rather live a short amount of time on my own, than a lifetime of continuous doctor's appointments."

And that was the end of that conversation. She was our mother; we couldn't make her do anything she didn't want to. However, she allowed us to at least get her prescribed medications to help with the hot-flashes and side effects of her cancer. But, obviously, we couldn't help her with the most terrifying one: death.

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I was walking back from the pharmacy in the dark, the bag of pills swinging in my hand, when I saw her.

She was laying on the ground, with her eyes closed. Her hair was a mess and only the moonlight lit her up, but I instantly recognized her.

She was sitting outside of a club. If I didn't know her, I would think she shouldn't be around this kind of crowd. However, knowing the first time I met her, I wasn't surprised.

I shook her shoulder, trying to wake her up. "Este. Este, come on. Este! Wake up!"
But she didn't move.

Without thinking, I slipped one arm under her back and another under her legs, and I picked her up in my arms. Her hair fell from her face, which was facing me now. There was mascara running down her face, but she still looked beautiful.

I found my car outside my apartment, and set her down in the passenger seat. I hopped into the driver's seat and headed towards her apartment. I didn't remember exactly where it was, I only knew it was far away from here.

The first time I went to her apartment, I wasn't completely sober...and neither was she. At least I didn't think so. I remember that night as if it was a dream: I don't feel like myself in the memories. I can watch the memories like a movie, but as if I'm in the audience watching. And here is how that night went:

I saw her at a bar, chugging down some alcoholic drink.

I walked up to her, and bought her next one, although I told her she should slow down.

She gave me a dirty look and kept drinking.

A boy came up to her then. He was screaming and yelling at her. She yelled back, though not as harshly.

He left with some other girl, and she threw her glass at the door as he left.

She placed her head in her hands and started sobbing.