Larkin's Letters (5 page)

“Ryan, what are you doing here? It’s late.” Her eyes had a blackness to them.

He pushed the door open and stormed inside. “I don’t care how late it is, Larkin.” He paced back and forth trying to figure out exactly what he was going to say.

“Now, I have one last thing to say to you, and you’re going to listen. No more interrupting me by telling me ‘no, Ryan.’ Just listen to what I have to say, okay?” He could tell she was tired and bothered, but she still gave him a nod, letting him know she was okay with it.

“I couldn’t sleep tonight. This was the first night in a while that I couldn’t sleep, and the only thing I could think of was you and how much I needed you. I wanted and needed you to read to me. And then I realized, what am I going to do if you’re not here, Larkin? Who am I going to call when I land the role of a lifetime? Who’s going to walk the red carpet with me at my premieres? Who am I going to go to when I need to get away from it all? Who’s going to laugh at my jokes even when you know how stupid they are? Who’s going to read to me when I can’t sleep? But most importantly, Larkin, who’s going to be my best friend? Don’t you see? I need you, Larkin. I need you to live,” he paused, catching his breath and fighting back tears. “I need you to at least
try
to live. Please, blue eyes, please let me help you.” He waited for her to respond. She was also fighting back tears, but she didn’t say anything. She just looked at him.

“Please, if not for you, then for me.”

She looked down as she started to cry. He reached out and lifted her chin up so he could make eye contact with her again. “It’s okay, Larkin. It’s going to be okay.”

“Okay,” she finally whispered reluctantly as the tears
ran down her face.

“Okay?” he asked to make sure he heard her correctly.

She nodded yes. “Okay. For you.”

He wiped her tears and pulled her into his arms. He knew that was probably the hardest thing she had ever done.

Letter #6 - August 3, 2011

Dear Ryan,

You came back to see me early this morning. I know you thought you woke me, but you didn’t. I couldn’t sleep. You have since left to head back to South Africa. God, why do you have to be so far away? I just want to thank you, Ryan. Thank you for being you. Thank you for being the most generous human being. I am just happy to know you. Happy to know that people like you exist. You offered to pay for my chemotherapy again, and, although I swore I would not accept your help, the words that came out of your mouth were impossible to say no to. I don’t want to die, Ryan. I know you think I was giving up by not accepting your help, but that wasn’t the case. Being sick is bad. Being sick and not having health insurance is worse. But disappointing you? Leaving you behind without a fight? Being alone? Leaving you alone? That’s improbable. I promise I will do my best to live. If not for me, then for you. As I fight the biggest battle life has to offer, I promise I will tell you everything. I will write you everything, but you must promise me some things, Ryan. If I am not so lucky as to beat this, if I don’t live, promise me you’ll live on for me. Promise me you will live the most incredible life, meet the most incredible people, see the most incredible places, and make the most incredible movies. And lastly, promise me you will stop all this nonsensical dating you do and fall so in love with someone that you can’t imagine living without her. Life is incomplete without love. Find it, catch it, hold onto it, nurture it, and never let it go.

Letter #7 - August 22, 2011

Hey, Fish,

Just a short letter. I spoke with you today. Your voice has a healing tone. Just hearing it makes me smile. You told me today you were able to get some time off so you can come to my first chemo treatment with me. I didn’t say it to you, but I am so relieved. I need you there. I need you to hold my hand. I don’t want you to know how scared I really am. You always tell me how strong I am, but I don’t feel strong. You are my strength, and I can’t wait to see you, although it’s a shame I am going to see you under these circumstances. Three more weeks.

Letter #8 - September 11, 2011

Hey, Ry Guy,

Tomorrow is the big day. Treatment one of six. I am so glad you are going to be there. It means so much to me you are traveling all this way just to be here. You are traveling almost an entire day just to spend a few hours with me.

Have I told you how amazing you are? Why are you so good to me?

I am scared, Ryan. Terrified. I sort of have an idea of what to expect. Being a nurse helps, and I have been reading the brochures that the doctors gave me. But no matter how many preparations I have had, my fear is insurmountable.

I spoke with Chris today. He found out the news. He expressed his concern and sorrows. He said that if he had only known sooner, he would have done things differently. That’s exactly what I didn’t want. I don’t want someone there because they feel obligated. I want someone there because they want to be. And you want to be. You have always been there. Thank you for always being there.

I will see you tomorrow, and I will do my best to be strong.

Letter #9 - September 12, 2011

Ryan,

Well, it’s here. The second Monday of the month. The first day of the hardest journey of my life is about to begin. The scream from the alarm clock was loud enough to wake the entire hotel. My head shot straight up off of my pillow, and for a moment, I didn’t know where I was. It was pitch-black, and the lights that did shine in the darkness were a blinding blur. I looked over and squinted at the alarm clock as I shut it off.

Just 6:00 a.m. I barely got any sleep, tossing and turning with every subtle noise that emerged from the hallway, from the thin hotel walls, from the drift of the curtains blowing from the breeze coming through the window. As I rolled back over, I gathered my thoughts and tried to make sense of the day I was about to journey through. I had no expectations, and I figured I was better off hoping for the best but expecting the worst.

I drew myself a warm bath, and as the mountains of bubbles swallowed my body, the wonder of whether or not you would change your mind consumed my thoughts. I know how busy you are, and you certainly have no obligation to me. It has been six weeks since that night you came to see me, and although we speak almost every other day, we don’t speak much about my sickness. You promised me you would be here with me at my first treatment, and although I truly want you to be there, I always make sure you don’t feel like you have to. But you keep assuring me over and over again that you will be here.

As I towel-dried off after my bath, I heard a knock at the door. I quickly slipped into my robe, approached the door, and although I would have given anything to see you standing on the other side, I felt an overwhelming sense of comfort and safety as I stared at the beautiful woman standing before me—my mother Joan.

I look up to my mother more than any other person, and I aspire to be just like her. As you know, she is very protective of me, her baby daughter—even though I didn’t quite turn out like she had hoped. If it were up to her, I would have been captain of the cheerleading team and homecoming and prom queen just as she was when she was in high school. But I know she loves me just the same and has supported every decision I have ever made. After all, it is my mother’s maiden name that I am named after.

As my mother waited for me to get ready to leave for the hospital, I struggled to find what to wear. I wanted to dress comfortably because I didn’t quite know how long I would be in the hospital and what exactly was going to happen. As I dug through the dresser drawers, I noticed your black and gray OCNJ sweatshirt you had given me a long time ago. Perfect. If you don’t show up, if you do change your mind, then at least I would still feel close to you. I also slipped into a pair of cream-colored sweatpants, and I stepped into my gray and pink flip-flops. You know, the ones you laughed at when I bought them.

I’ve had an uneasiness in my stomach all morning as I think about the chemotherapy. The nervousness severs through my appetite like a machete even though I know it is in my best interest to eat something. But the thought of food just ties the rope in my stomach tighter. I am glad my mother is with me, but I really need you to be here.

I am writing to you as I sit in the passenger seat of my mom’s Land Rover. The freeway is jam-packed, and we are stop-and-go as we navigate our way to the hospital in the midst of rush-hour traffic. Let me take you along as Joan and I have a conversation. This will be fun, don’t you think? Remember, I said I was going to tell you everything.

“Is Ryan coming, honey?” my mother pries as she concentrates on the traffic-filled Philadelphia freeway.

“He said he would be there. I hope he comes,” I said.

“Well, can you blame him if he doesn’t? He certainly shouldn’t have to deal with this. At least he wants to help you financially. That was very generous of him and absolutely unnecessary. I’m surprised you asked.”

“I didn’t ask,” I immediately responded with resentment in my voice. “He offered, and I reluctantly accepted.”

“He offered? Really?” My mother always liked you, Ryan, but for some reason, she always seemed to make me feel like I wasn’t good enough for you. Maybe if I had become that cheerleader, that homecoming and prom queen, then my mother would feel differently.

“Besides, Larkin, he is in South Africa. That is a lot to expect from him to travel all this way. And anyway, he needs to focus on keeping himself out of the tabloids with all these women that he dates.”

I didn’t feel the need to respond to her snarky comment. I instead stared out the window and prayed you would come. I started to think maybe my mother was right. Maybe you shouldn’t have to deal with this. You have your own life to live. You never really talk to me about the women that you date, but I am well aware. It’s hard not to be when your pictures are always in the magazines with different models and actresses. I never know who is coming and going. But how can I blame you? You’re allowed to date. I know you are still reeling from your divorce, and I imagine you’re lonely. I know I am. But, Ryan, I do hope you will eventually settle down soon.

I felt my mother place her hand on my knee. “Well, maybe he will come. I hope he does. I know you really want him to.” She must have seen the sadness in my face after her last comment. I know she doesn’t fully understand the friendship that you and I share, so I am quick to let go of the resentment I am feeling at this moment. We just pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, and I can barely breathe. I’ll continue my letter when I get inside and settled…

…As we made our way across the car-filled parking lot, I intertwined my arm with Joan’s. I felt like everything was moving in slow motion, and it seemed like it took ages to get to the entrance of the building. My mother must have felt me trembling because she unlocked my grasp on her arm and instead wrapped her arm around my waist and held me close to her as we entered into the elevator.

The air in the hospital was frigid, and I was glad I had the sweatshirt you had given me. My mother and I checked in, and the nurse, Rose, guided us to a room where I was to get my blood drawn. Rose was very nice. She is middle-aged. I would guess maybe forty-five. But she has a comforting smile and a soft voice that can put anybody at ease. I hope she is my nurse every time I come. The white-walled hallways were uninviting and cold, and the white-tiled floors underneath my feet felt hard as cement. Rose took us into a laboratory room where she drew my blood to see if I am even healthy enough to get chemo today. After she finished, my mom and I went to the snack room to get something to eat, and then we walked the grounds as we waited to find out if I would indeed be getting treatment. About forty-five minutes passed before I was startled by the beep sounding from the pager, alerting us to come back inside. The last thing I wanted to do was to leave the beautiful and colorful landscape of the hospital grounds and go back into the colorless, unwelcoming hallways. We entered into what they called the infusion room to get ready for my treatment. This room was a little more friendly and inviting with a flat- screen TV, windows, and a huge brown recliner that could probably sit three of me.

As I got comfortable, Rose began to set me up with the IV. I couldn’t help but feel sad and disappointed that you hadn’t come. I figured you would have been here by now or at least left me a message that you were running late. But maybe you’re not able to. After all, you are coming from South Africa, and I knew it was hard for you to get time off from filming. But then again you would have called if you weren’t able to come, wouldn’t you? Well, maybe you just didn’t want to after all. Maybe it is too much for you to deal with, and you changed your mind, and you didn’t want to hurt me.

I must have let my mind drift away into slumber as my mother held my hand while she read a book because the last thing I remember is awakening to the squeeze of her hand. As I turned my head to look over at her, I saw you standing above me, and at that moment, I thought for certain I had to be dreaming. But if this really was my dream, I certainly wouldn’t be here, that’s for sure. I remember I clenched my eyes shut for a couple of seconds to work the blurriness out, and as my vision cleared, I saw you mouth the word “hi” to me as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. As always, the perfection of your face made my heart skip a beat, and I couldn’t help but smile at you. “Hi,” I whispered back. Your face was tired, but still, nothing less than perfect.

You touched my shoulder and guided me toward the other side of the recliner for three, and you climbed in next to me and wrapped your arm around my shoulders. “Sorry, I’m late,” you said.

I buried the back of my head into your solid, muscular chest, and you rested your chin on the top of my head. I love that you are so much taller than me. My head always seems to fit perfectly underneath your chin every time we hug, and this time was no different. You came, Ryan. I can’t believe you came. Why are you so good to me?

“Of course I came. I said I would,” you said to me.

“How did you get the time off?”

“Don’t worry about it, Larkin. Right now at this point in my life, you come first, and I will sacrifice anything to get to you when you need me, okay?” I could feel the vibration of your vocal chords through the back of my head as you spoke to me. You turned your face toward me and gently kissed me on the side of my head. I looked over at my mother, and as our eyes met, she gave me a smile and a nod, and at that moment, I knew she now understood the bond that you and I shared.