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We lined up and walked out. The arena erupted from the time the first kid walked out until the last teacher brought up the end. We listened to the welcome and sang the National Anthem. We sat. We listened to speeches no one would remember two weeks later. We listened to another song performed by the honor band. We listened to the principal ask that cheering and clapping be kept brief and polite for each graduate. Then it was time.

Row by row the graduating class was called up. We clapped for the kids we knew, whistled for the ones we deemed more than tolerable. Then it was our row. Maggie and I held hands. They called her name and I screamed myself hoarse. They called my name. Over the brief and polite clapping, I heard two very distinct voices yell, “Oorah!” It was all the cheering I needed.

The last name was called and hats flew. I grabbed one randomly out of the air as they came back down. Pomp and Circumstance began to play, and we filed back out. There was hugging and crying in the holding area, as if we wouldn’t be seeing each other again in a few hours. And then it was over. Just like that.

I found Ken and James in the seats where I had left Ken. They were grinning from ear to ear, waiting to sweep me into a hug.

“You did it! We are so proud of you!”

“I did! And I didn’t even trip going up the stairs!”

“So, do you want to go somewhere and celebrate?” I looked at Ken, who had sat back down, before answering James’ question.

“Uh, no. I think I need a nap if I’m going to be in any shape to make it through Project Graduation tonight. We could maybe grab a pizza on the way home?”

“Sounds like a plan. Why don’t you two take it slow, and I’ll run out to get the car?”

“Cool.” I sat down in the empty seat next to Ken as James walked away.

“I was going to wait until later to give this to you, but now seems like as good a time as any.” Ken pulled a small velvet box out of his jacket pocket. Inside was a cameo necklace set in silver. “It belonged to my sister. I sent it to her on her sixteenth birthday. I would like you to have it.”

“Oh, Ken. It’s beautiful. Thank you.” I gently took it out of the box and fastened it around my neck.

“She was a lot like you. Full of life and spirit. And tough. I used to tell her she was a Marine by proxy. A badass in training. I miss her every single day.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I held his hand. People walked by, some smiled at the sweet picture I’m sure we made. Some said hello. Some didn’t even notice us.

“Well, we should probably go see if the grunt has brought the car around.”

“Sure.” We walked out arm in arm in time to see James pull up to the curb. Ken was asleep before we got home.

Two hours before I was supposed to pick up Maggie and head to the school, James woke me from my nap.

“Persephone, sweet pea, I need you to get up now.”

“What time is it?” I looked at my phone. “Not yet,” I mumbled rolling back over. “Thirty more minutes.”

“It’s Ken. We need to take him—”

I was sitting up and pulling on my sneakers before he’d finished the sentence.

“What’s wrong with him? Where is he? Should we call an ambulance?”

“No, he doesn’t want any of that. We need to go.”

Ken was sitting in his recliner, struggling to breathe. His face was a nasty gray color. He didn’t look up when I walked in.

“Ken, let’s go. Let me help you.”
Let me make you better. Please, God, anything.

James and I got either side of him, and lifted him the best we could. It was a struggle to get him to the car and tucked in the back seat, but somehow we managed. The drive to the hospital was the longest of my life.

At the ER they loaded him onto a gurney and wheeled him away as James answered the admitting nurse’s questions. I could do nothing but stare at the door where they had taken my friend. For the second time that day, I silently begged
Please God. Please,
over and over.

There were practical things that needed to be done while we waited for news. I had to call Maggie and tell her I wouldn’t be coming to get her. She offered to come sit at the hospital with me. I told her that was ridiculous and to go enjoy her night. Thirty minutes later she texted to say she had decided to hang out with Mick, call if I needed anything. I sent her a smiley face back.

I thought about calling Mom but decided against it. James talked about going back to the house to get whatever paperwork Ken might need. He used nasty words like power of attorney and advanced directive. I tried not to hate him for it.

Frantic parents came in with coughing, feverish children. Cops brought in someone handcuffed and bleeding from a cut above his eye. A woman threw a fit at the front counter because her precious snowflake’s stomach hurt, and they had been waiting for almost forty-five minutes. Her son looked ten or so and was sucking his thumb while jabbing the screen of an iPad. He didn’t seem nearly as concerned about his tummy ache as his mommy did. James and I waited.

I thought about my mom. Was she awake yet? Once she was back among the living, would she reach for the nearest bottle and go right back under? What would Dad do when he got home? He had found me once, would he find me again? Without Ken, would I have any choice but to go back to his house?

It seemed over the past few weeks, my scars had started to fade. Maybe they hadn’t, maybe they just seemed less noticeable. And I hadn’t added any new ones in a while. Maybe that helped the healing process, too. I wondered how I would explain them in the years to come. It struck me that I was actually considering years to come. When had that happened?

Maggie sent a text to check on me around ten. I told her we were still sitting in the waiting room. James and I were waiting. Maggie. The friend who never shared her own pain because she was too busy shouldering mine. Even when the weight was almost unbearable. She deserved a sainthood, or at least a medal. I promised myself I would never take her for granted again. I would never lie to someone who tried to love me.

“I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Do you want anything?” James asked.

“No, I’m good. Wait, yeah. Coffee sounds good.”

“Anything in it?”

“Nope. The stronger the better.”

“Good girl.”

I pulled my feet up in the chair and rested my chin on my knees. I had worried for so long who I would be without the scars and the cutting. I worried if I wasn’t damaged, enraged, terrified Persephone would there be anything left? My nails were chewed to the quick. I needed to stop doing that.

There was a hole starting to wear in the knee of my jeans. I picked at it. Jeans. I would have to buy my own jeans, with my own money. Money I didn’t have. I was used to going shopping for myself, but I typically had cash from Mom in my wallet. And shampoo. And soap. And milk. Memory Lane chocolate milk wasn’t cheap, but it was my favorite. And gas. What about my car insurance? The ID cards appeared every six months. I wasn’t even sure which company insured me. What the hell was I going to do?

Slow down, kiddo. It doesn’t all have to be decided tonight. People do this all the time.

Sure people did, but not this people. This people was scared shitless.

A cup of coffee hovered in front of my face. “Hey, sweet pea, keep your chin up. The doctor will be out soon. I’m sure of it.”

“I know. I just…”

James sat down and put his arm around my shoulders. We sat there for a while, sipping the hot coffee-flavored water.

“Ken Austin’s family?” The voice was shrill and impatient, as if she had been calling us for hours. They needed to find someone else for that job.

“I guess that’s us. Let me talk, okay?”

The woman at the admitting desk waved us through the big, metal double doors. “The doctor will meet you in that waiting room to your left, just through the doors.” More waiting.

Surprisingly, she was sitting in a chair waiting for us.

“Are you family?”

“Yes. I hold Ken’s power of attorney. This is his granddaughter.”
Oh yeah, immediate family only. So I’m not the only one who can lie. Nice.

“Good. Okay. So, here’s the thing. As you both probably know, Ken stopped treatment some time ago. What we’re seeing now are the last stages of AML. We’re moving him up to ICU now that we have everything stabilized. You will be able to see him in about thirty minutes or so. His oncologist will be in tomorrow morning to talk about more options with you. Are there any questions I can answer for you?” She hit a nice note in tone between: I have twelve other patients backed up behind you guys to take care of, and I really do care and want to help.

James answered for the both of us. “No, I think we’re fine. I guess we should just head on up to ICU then?”

“Absolutely. I’ll call up and let them know you’re coming. Hang out in the waiting room up there and they’ll come out and get you when he’s ready for visitors. Do you know where it is?” We both shook our heads. “Okay, so you’ll go out to the elevators down the hall to your right. Take those up to the fifth floor and then hang a left. The ICU waiting room is right there. You guys take care, okay?”

She grabbed her clipboard, wrapped her stethoscope back around her neck and was gone.

“Well, let’s go on up then.”

“Yep.”

The elevator was empty. It was after visiting hours and most of the nurses were working quietly at their stations. We found the ICU without any problems. There was a middle-aged woman snoozing across two chairs at the far end and the lights were turned down low. James and I waited.

He got up and paced in a little circle. I tapped random buttons on my phone. There weren’t any games I wanted to play and no one to call or text. James sat down. The woman made a noise in her sleep and startled herself awake. She rubbed her eyes and looked around.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t snoring, was I?”

“No, you’re fine. It’s important to get your rest.” James, ever the southern gentleman.

“I’ve been trying. When she rests I do. At least I try. But my mind, it just goes so many different directions. And it seems like just about the time I drift off, she gets up. Just like when she was a baby.” I was afraid I knew who
she
was, and I didn’t want to know anymore. “I mean, she never slept, it seemed like. But she never cried, you know? She just wanted to play and snuggle. And sing. It seemed like she was born singing. I want to hear her sing again, you know?”

There weren’t any tears. This was a woman who had cried too many times at a Folgers commercial before she knew there were real reasons to cry. She wasn’t wasting any more tears on casual conversations. She was going to need them again very soon. She was saving them for that day.

“You will. She will sing for you again.” James again. His voice was soothing and sincere. It could almost give you hope, make you believe in a miracle.

Our waiting room companion didn’t buy it either. “You are so sweet to say that. You know, I think I’m going to grab a cup of coffee. If they come looking for me, would you mind telling them I will be right back?”

“Yes, ma’am, of course.”

I gathered my strength and finally asked the question I had been thinking since James woke me up hours earlier. “James, he’s not going to make it, is he?”

“Persephone, he’s a fighter. If anyone—”

“No, don’t tell me that. Tell me the truth.”

He sighed. “No, sweet pea. Not this time. He did what he needed to do. It’s time for him to rest now.”

“You mean take care of me, don’t you?” I was trying to reopen every wound I could and make new ones. I wanted to hear every sad, painful thing I could wring from James and not break.

“Yes, he wanted to take care of you.”

“Where will his funeral be? What does he want?”

James swallowed hard. I was being cruel. This was his friend too. He had cared about Ken for much longer than I had. “At the Veterans’ Cemetery. It will be a graveside service.”

“What about his things? His house? Who will take care of all of it?” I pictured some stranger pawing through his things, assigning values, throwing things away, passing judgment. Another cut. No tears.

“I will. I’ve read his will, Persephone. He had it changed a bit ago. I know what to do with everything.”

“Will you sell everything?”

“Most of it. There are some items I would like to keep. I’m sure there are some things you would like to have as well.”

“Yes. His blanket. The one in the living room.” It was the deepest cut yet. I was still unshaken.

“I’m sure he would want you to have it. Persephone, Ken is leaving you his sister’s piano.”

I was broken.

We finally got to go back to see Ken over an hour later. The woman had returned from getting coffee and had gone to see her own patient.

He wasn’t awake when the doctor drew back the curtain to his little corner of the ICU. His mouth was covered with an oxygen mask. There were tubes everywhere.

I sat down in the chair next to his bed and took his hand.

“Ken? I don’t know if you can hear me.”

“He can, sweet pea. Tell him what you need to say.”

I need to tell him thank you. I need to tell him I wouldn’t have lived this long without him. I need to tell him that he can’t go. I can’t do this alone. I need to tell him I’m scared. I need to tell him I wouldn’t know who John Irving was if it weren’t for him. I need to tell him…

“Ken, it’s Persephone. I love you.”

James and I waited. I sat, holding Ken’s hand, and James stood behind me. A nurse came by and looked at all the machines. She made a note in Ken’s chart and moved on to the next bed.

James moved to the other side. He laid his hand on Ken’s shoulder.

“Your tour is almost over, old friend. You can go home.” The steady beat of the heartrate monitor continued. “Persephone, you need to let him go.”

“No. I want my friend. Please, James. Please give me back my friend.” I was using the only words I could find. Words I stole from Ken’s favorite author.

“Sweet pea, he will always be with you.”

“Ken...” I looked up at James. “I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

“Yes, you can, darlin’. He won’t go until he knows you’re okay.”