Never Eighteen (16 page)

But first, I need to wrap a few things up, followed by sleep. I take the box I had shoved away up in my closet and place it on my desk. I take the DVD and concert poster that I purchased at the EMP and place them in the box. Removing the camera from my coat pocket, I also put it inside, on top of all my treasures. I sit down at my computer and begin to type.

"Dear Kaylee."

After I've said all the things I need to say, I fold the letter, slide it in an envelope, and place it on top of all my stuff, next to the camera. I put the lid back on but leave the box right where it is. Tomorrow I'll take it to Kaylee's and give it to her mother to keep until I'm gone.

I stare at the box and wonder how I got here. I remember when I found out about the cancer, I was in ninth grade. It didn't really hit me at first. It was like being in a nightmare and thinking at any moment you'll wake up and everything will be fine. It wasn't a nightmare, though, and I didn't wake up.

It was winter and I'd been sick. Since it was flu season, I thought nothing of it, just figured it would run its course. I hated being sick. Symptoms came and went, but eventually I'd been sick for so long on and off that my mom took me to the doctor.

After a physical and blood tests, the doctor called me back in for more tests. He said I had leukemia and sent us to an oncologist. More blood tests and bone marrow tests and he diagnosed me with acute myeloid leukemia.

I began chemotherapy treatment. Chemo sucked. I was in the hospital for nearly three weeks. I hated losing my hair, but the more I looked in the mirror, and the less people stared, the more I got used to it. The chemo made me tired, weak, sick. For months I dealt with it, and it seemed to be working, but then all of a sudden I relapsed. More tests, more drugs, and throw in some spinal taps and they found the cancer was growing again and it had reached my central nervous system. I was dying; there was no doubt in my mind.

My mom has scheduled me for another round of chemo, but I have resigned myself to the fact that very soon I will no longer be a part of this world. I will be gone and it will have to go on without me. I've accepted that there are so many things I haven't done, seen, and experienced.

And what about the rest of the world? What will things be like without me? I thought about all the people around me, the people I loved, the people I cared about. What would their lives be like when I was gone? That's when I started to worry. So many people I knew were barely even living their lives. Touched by addiction, violence, or loss, they had in a sense given up. I wanted to do something, to help, in whatever way I could. That's when I decided to take my journey.

I slip into my pajamas and lie in bed, resting, relaxing, letting my mind drift off. I know my time is short. I'm scared, but I try to hide it. I need to be strong for my family, my friends, especially my mom and Kaylee, but I know it's coming. I can feel it.

I don't get to take that trip to the ocean Kaylee and I had talked about, because without any kind of treatment, the cancer moves quickly and I'm too sick. Instead she comes over and I make her describe in detail what it would have been like, from the car ride, to the weather, to the colors in the sky as the sun is swallowed by the horizon.

As the cancer progresses, so does the pain. Morphine helps. The doctor has given me up to six months, but within weeks I'm bedridden, too weak to move much at all. Hospice comes in, sets me up with a hospital bed and oxygen tank. They care for me when my mom needs a break: rub my back, bathe me, help me use the toilet.

The days are long and lonely, with everyone either at work or school. I sleep, listen to music, watch TV, and think about school, wishing I could be there. It's funny, actually wishing to be at school. How many times, sitting there in chemistry or history, did I wish I were somewhere else? Anywhere else.

I was wrong about my dad. He didn't call the next day. He didn't have to. My mom called him as soon as I went to bed that night. He moved in the next morning. He sleeps in the guest room for now, but it's temporary I'm sure. I think once I'm gone, they'll sell this place and my mom will move in with him, into his cabin in the woods. The memories from this house will be too much for her. Death will linger here.

Visitors come and go, family and friends, neighbors and teachers. Some mean more to me than others. Mrs. Briggs, Jake's mom, visits only once. The visit is short but significant. She looks better than when I saw her last. There's still sadness about her, but she's livelier, seems happier, halfway back to the Mrs. Briggs I used to know.

She brings books, pictures, CDs, and photos all having belonged to Jake, things she thinks will hold meaning for me. They do. She wants me to enjoy them while I'm still here. She tells me to pass them to Kaylee or Justin, or whoever I see fit when I'm done. I promise her I will. I can tell the visit is difficult for her. She shakes, fights tears, paces. Watching me die is like losing Jake all over again.

Trevor and Suz visit together a few times. They bring CDs to listen to, and Trevor reads graphic novels to me. Suz always cries. Trevor doesn't let his secret out before my death, and I take it to the grave as promised. Once he left Suz behind and brought Chris, his boyfriend, instead. He seems nice.

Justin and Steph come to visit together, though they have broken up yet again. They have a crappy relationship. Maybe they should just break up for good. Steph cries while she's here. Justin says he'll think of me whenever he's on the soccer field.

Mrs. Davis, Kaylee's mom, and her sisters, Jordanne and Maddie, visit a few times. Mrs. Davis brings me magazines and comic books and always sits quietly holding my hand.

Maddie sits in the corner trying desperately not to cry, but I know the tears are there, just beyond her pretty blue eyes, eyes not so unlike her sister's. She doesn't speak. I'm sure she's afraid that if she opens her mouth, the tears will flow. She reminds me of her mother, after her dad's death. She's trying to be strong for me. She doesn't have to; I can be strong enough for the both of us.

Other than the hellos and goodbyes, Jordanne is the only one who speaks when the three of them visit, talking endlessly about school. She sings to me Disney songs, "You've Got a Friend in Me" mostly. They've told her I'm sick, but not that I'm dying. Often she asks how long I'm going to be sick. I hope my death is not too hard for her.

Yelling echoes throughout the house the first time Peggy comes to visit me. Not tended to, the wounds are still raw, like an unbandaged cut. Only a few words drift from the living room, up the stairs, and into my bedroom. I catch a few of them, the most memorable being "busybody," "bitch," and "why."

After a while the voices calm, then quiet. It's a long time before Peggy shows up to my room, and when she finally does, she's crying. I'm sure the tears are a mixture of joy and sadness. For the sake of my family, I hope I go quickly. I don't like to see them hurting.

Allie visits a couple times a week. She's letting her hair go back to its natural color, and it looks terrible, with light blond roots and jet black ends. I'm sure it will look fine when it's all grown out. When she comes, she's sober, something I haven't seen in a while. We talk about school, movies, and music. Stupid meaningless stuff. I think she likes to pretend that I'm fine and will be back at school in a day, a week, maybe a month, instead of dead. She kisses me on the forehead every time she leaves.

Kaylee visits every afternoon. She's taken a leave of absence from work in order to spend every moment outside of school or sleep by my side. We kiss, she reads to me, we hold hands, she lies on my bed next to me, we listen to music together, watch movies. I get to watch
Superbad
with her two more times before death comes for me. She doesn't laugh as she usually does when we watch it.

She cries when she thinks I'm not looking. I tell her not to be sad, to do it for me. I know I'm manipulating her, but I have to hear her say she'll be okay before I go. She says she will. I never let her leave without telling her how much I love her, which has become difficult because as the cancer worsens, I never know if it will be the last time I see her.

The disease has completely taken over my body to the point that I can't move at all. The hospice nurse raises my morphine dosage. My mother thinks the morphine is making me incoherent, killing me. The nurse explains that it's not the morphine but the cancer. My body is shutting down. The morphine makes it as painless as possible, that's all. She stands in the hallway outside my door with my parents and tells them it won't be long now. She thinks I can't hear, but I do, and it doesn't bother me. I didn't lie when I told my mom I was ready.

Life is subjective as far as memories are concerned. I mean, what pieces of your own life do you really remember? Some good times, some bad times definitely, but mostly you remember those times that really stand out, those times that define who you are as an individual. Now's the time my life flashes before me—flickering recollections, vacations, holidays, friendships, the moments that made a difference. Mostly I remember that weekend with Kaylee.

It's almost time to go now. Although I can't see her anymore, I feel my mom's hand holding mine. She stays true to her word and lets me know that it's okay to let go, to move on, to follow the light. She tells me that they'll be okay, she and Dad. They're at my bedside when I die. I feel their constant presence.

When death finally comes, it brings relief, and I hope not just for me, but also for everyone around me. It's time for them to close the Austin chapter of their lives, put it on a shelf, bring it out only when needed, when they want to remember. That's what I want. That's what I worked for that weekend that feels like so long ago but wasn't. I want them to feel peace, joy, and happiness. I want for them what I no longer have myself. Life.

The End

Kaylee is in bed, still sleeping when the call comes. It's early, not quite six o'clock, when her mother enters her room. She's holding a shoebox, the box that Austin had given her to pass to Kaylee upon his death. She sits on the edge of Kaylee's bed, tears glistening red, reflecting the light of the digital alarm clock. She sets the box down at Kaylee's feet, and waits. She waits until the right words come to her. How do you tell your daughter that her best friend, the love of her life, is dead? Yes, they were expecting it, but that never makes it any easier, does it?

This is the third time she's had to tell her daughter someone close to her, someone she loves, has died. It won't be easy, it never is. Kaylee was young when her father died, old enough to understand it but maybe not old enough for that loss to fully impact her emotions. Jake's death was difficult. To lose a friend like that, someone you spent just about every waking hour with, someone so full of vitality and life, someone whose death never received justice—it was difficult for her. But this one, this would be the hardest. To lose the person who's like the sun to you, warm and bright and essential to your survival, the person who makes your heart flutter like a million butterfly wings and your pulse race like wild horses, that one person you would give the sky, the sea, your very breath if you could. It's resonant. And her mother knows all too well what it's like to hear that kind of news. She knows it will be the worst pain Kaylee will ever suffer. It will crush her very being, suffocate her. It will leave her hollow.

She doesn't want to do it, but she knows she has to. Putting it off won't make it go away. She puts a hand on Kaylee's shoulder, gives a gentle shake, waits for her to stir.

Kaylee wakes slowly. She hasn't slept much as of late, having gone to Austin's most days before school, and then staying late into the evening afterward. She blinks, stretches, eyes open. "Mom!" she shouts, startled to find her there. She reads her face and knows immediately. "No," she cries. Her mom gathers her in her arms. "No!" she screams, tears streaming down her face. Her mom lets her weep, to let it out as long as she needs to. Kaylee cries herself back to sleep. Mrs. Davis lays her back down gently and leaves her to her dreams.

Waking, Kaylee sits up, sees the box at the foot of her bed. She grabs it, reads the front. It says "To my beautiful Kaylee, from Austin." Tears pour from her eyes. She puts the box back where she found it, stares at it. She's not ready. She showers, dresses, picks up the box again, puts it back down, eats breakfast, brushes her teeth and hair, cries. She picks up the box, needs some air. Cradling the box under her arm, she runs down the stairs, grabs her keys and purse, and heads out the door.

Scarlet roars to life, but Kaylee keeps her still. The name seems dumb to her now. It's just a color, or the protagonist from an old book, or a murder suspect from a board game. Scarlet is not the name for a car. Apple. That's what he wanted. It seemed fitting now. She won't change the name again.

Driving without purpose, Kaylee finds that Apple is guiding her to some of the places she and Austin had visited just weeks prior: Old Town, the waterfront, Point Defiance. She stops at Owen Beach, gets out, walks along the shoreline. She welcomes the cold, stinging wind, imagining it's Austin's spirit walking with her, enveloping her in its, his, chilly embrace.

Kaylee sits on a rock at the far end of the beach near the clay cliffs and watches as the waves crash into the shore. Bringing her knees to her chin, she wraps her arms around herself and weeps once again. When the tears have run their course, she rises, grabs a stick from the beach, approaches the cliffs, and carves "Kaylee Loves Austin" into the cold wet clay. She wonders how long their names will last, and keeps her eyes on them as she walks back down the beach, afraid they will fade as soon as she turns away. As she climbs into her car, her eyes sting, but she puts the Mustang in gear and rolls through the curving wooded roads that lead to the park exit.