Hey Kid, You Were Right:

Part 1: November 28th, 2023

I looked at the off-white walls surrounding me, and slowly turned my sore neck to the side to look at the fading orange sky, soon to be turned into a midnight black. I turned back, my arms heavy at my sides and my eyes the same; I was glued to where I would remain—god knows I may be here for the rest of my life—I looked up at the doctor. I opened my heavy eyes slightly more to view him, dark hair, a shiny white lab coat, holding a clipboard holding my information. I zoned out as he spoke, I didn’t want to hear what he had to say—although it was vital, soon it felt as if it wouldn’t matter anyway—I felt another beside me grasp my hand lightly.

“She’s starting to get worse, the labs say-” the doctor stated, until I stopped giving my attention and it all began slurring together.

“Our treatment has a chance of working, but if it doesn’t—you may want to say your goodbyes to Asha.” he said, he assumed I was asleep because my eyes were mostly close and I wasn’t moving a whole lot. I opened my eyes more so he would actually notice me, and I looked to the girl beside me, I had just awoken and didn’t remember if anyone had been in my room before. She had long light brown hair, and wore a long pink and blue floral dress, I looked down at her hands, her nails were short, also in which were also painted bright hues of pink, yellow, and blue. She started to come back to me now, Jules.

“I know times like this are hard, and the diagnosis was only a short while ago—I’m not asking you to expect the worse, but you should prepare yourself in case this possibly finale surgery doesn’t work for her,” the doctor said, I’d recognized him too. He’d been one of the ones to watch over me for the past six months. I’d noticed something may’ve been wrong around February, I waited a little while until around April after I’d had recurring symptoms. Now it was late November, and it hadn’t gotten better, and nothing had worked. Nothing was going to work.

As I was in my thoughts I thought about what he had said, surgery? I didn’t think I’d be going through another one, I assumed this was it. Nothing was getting better. Why were they still trying anyways?

“We’re scheduling the surgery for the day after tomorrow, early in the morning. If that doesn’t work she most likely has around three months to live.” he finished, they had a few more words, then he left the room with his coat flowing behind him. She finally looked down at me with her greenish-blue eyes, with a blurred coat of tears covering them, she moved her hair out of her face as she looked away from me, and sighed starring at the ceiling. She almost always had hair in her face, if was wavy and fluffy. Mine had been fully lost a few months ago. I don’t think she knew what to say, and I didn’t either; we didn’t really talk a lot recently, even when she was there.

The next few hours flew by—before I knew she was gone—and I was all alone in the cold, dark room once again. Only to behold before me the company of my thoughts.

Part 2: November 30th, 2023

I always took interest in the concept of death when I was younger, sitting in the booths of the Catholic Church when I was younger and the mumbling voice of someone reciting a sermon as my mind rambled, was any of it fact? Remembering playing with my long brown hair to distract myself, trying to get comfortable in my fancy church clothes; it made me nostalgic as I lied on a new platform not having the long strands to keep my mind at piece with a new gown wrapped carefully around my body waiting to go under, and to what I thought could be a possible unknown release of death.

And a blessing was given that my thought did not rein true—I’d awoken, but that wasn’t a guarantee that I was out of the woods. I felt I was meant to be perpetually stuck—the rooms air felt cold against my bare limbs, for the gown was sort. My eyes slowly opened as everything was still blurred together, I couldn’t pay attention to almost anything it felt, only stuck in my vast thoughts only covering one thing. I looked down at myself, I slowly moved my arms and looked at my dark hands, I hated feeling strapped down to these ivory beds which were unfortunately familiar. I looked around, I knew the room wasn’t mine, there was nothing around me but monitors to one side and IVs to the other. All else was a chair with cream cushions and oak legs and dark, emerald green silk-looking curtains covering all sides of me. There were most likely others around me, but they may’ve been still asleep, I wouldn’t be able to tell anyways because I was enclosed within the silk. I realized I was overcome with exhaustion and thirst, I expected a doctor to come any second, although I couldn’t be sure—it didn’t usually take awhile, but who know if it would be busy or not—I stared up at the ceiling, wondering when all of this would end. And how it would end. Although I was pretty sure my idealization of how it would was what would rein true.

After a few minutes of silence a new doctor, with short orange-red hair and circle glasses came in. She was wearing a blue button-up shirt with a coat on top, and a belt around her waist. She peeked around the curtain moving it with one hand, and revealing her other hand which held another clipboard. Now was when I would learn more—I wondered if Jules would come, most called her Juliet or Mrs. Whittaker. To me, she was just Jules—I was never usually by myself when a doctor came in. My father died when I was young, I’m not in contact with my mother, and she wasn’t there. So I was on my own once again. I’d tell myself she just had a very busy job, dealing with clients and such. That’s at least why I hope she wouldn’t come, I hope she hadn’t given up on me as I’d given up on myself.

“Hello,” she said in a cheerful, almost sing-song-like voice. I looked up at her and stared at her in those simple brown eyes, they almost resembled mine. Except hers were more life-like and brighter.

“So, the results came back good,” she said in a similar tone, something I had not expected to hear. This would be different than I’d first imagined. The worst part was I thought Jules would visit me, a difference that would definitely change something else. We would be different. She held up her clipboard, and stared down at it only stopping to wipe the fog off of her glasses.

“There was cancer still left in your chest around your lungs, it was still growing and we managed to get it out. Now we may need to do a few more surgeries to get the rest out of your spine and around your shoulders. But other than that you do have a chance—” she said partially quickly. My eyes widened—something sparked inside. I knew it was a tough chance for me to live, and I could barely move. But maybe I still had some time.—the remaining time I had wasn’t useful though, I realized even though I had obtained some “luck”, it would just leave me more to spiral into my thoughts. I wasn’t going to live. Why was I still going through this?

“There is also someone who would like to see you,” she said, pushing her glasses further up her face, and opened the silky curtain. I saw what almost looked like a waiting room on the other side, just rows of chairs holding people reading magazines containing god knows what, and people shaking their legs with wide eyes that held a nervous touch. Except for one girl who stood by the curtain on the side with her arms crossed, wearing a pail yellow button-up shirt, and a long, pristine, white skirt. Her hair was up and looked sort of messy—sort of like she’d come in a rush to see me—she was familiar. Jules.

We conversed for a moment, and the doctor filled us in, I assume she was busy at the office. Most likely why she didn’t come sooner. I kind of wish she did, but this job was her dream, she loved being a lawyer.

Later, the doctor took out a wheel chair and helped me into it. She took me into the main room, it was now evening, and out the window I could see the orange-yellow sky as bright as it would be, soon it would be nightfall. Only a few children, and a few adults around. I was rolled by the chairs in the corner, as the doctor left Jules stayed with me. There were a few kids near us, one had bright red hair and stood by their parents in the other corner, most of the other ones didn’t stick out much, they mostly had pail brown hair—some that stood out however, had no hair at all—like one boy in the corner. He sat in a wheel chair almost identical to mine, but slightly smaller, her was a young Asian boy with a round face and pail but tan skin. I saw he still had some hair left, it was only slightly longer than a buzz cut. He sat in the corner, I hoped he didn’t feel confined to his seat as I often did. I suddenly felt a small, gentle palm go over the back of my left hand sitting on the armrest. I looked down at her hand with pinkish hues.

“How are you doing?” she said, it was in a soft whisper, it was given in a quite gentle tone. She looked me in the eyes, the blueish hues in hers were accentuated today, it had been so long since I was able to get a good look into them. Would I ever be able to see them like this again? What was the point? I’m probably going to die anyway. I am going to die.

“Fine—I mean, the doctor just told you.” I stated back, avoiding eye contact near the end. I looked across the room, and locked eyes with the little boy. He had pulled out a random book, all else that was in the room was children’s toys. I looked back at her, I knew that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. What was going on inside? I could see the question in her eyes. If only she could see the answer in mine, because it was too hard to talk about.

Part 3: November 31st, 2023:

I sat in my bed alone once again, that’s always how it starts. Every morning, just sitting alone. That is how it’s going to end too. Of course it will. I would just dwell in my mind, it was my least favorite place. But I was alone there most of the time. But today I knew someone would most likely come in earlier, since the surgery was yesterday, and they’ll probably tell me when the next one is soon.

After awhile the doctor came in, the same one from when I learned about the surgery.

“Hello, Mrs. Barber,” he said, he often called me ‘Mrs. Barber’ although I’d prefer to be called Asha. It felt odd for him to call me by only one of my surnames, many in the past had called me ‘Mrs. Barber-Whittaker’ but there wasn’t too much of a difference.

“I think you’re doing much better so far,” he stated in his average, clear voice.

“I’d actually like to run a couple more tests, I guess you’ll finally be able to get out of your room today,” he said in a cheerful manner with a clap at the end.

“Alright,” I said with a sigh looking away, I threw the blanket off my body to get ready to get into the wheelchair that would be prepared quickly.

We rolled out of the room once one of the nurses got the wheelchair from the hallway, she was a bigger woman with dark hair tightly secured in a nice looking bun. We walked down the halls past all of the rooms holding a variety of people, new and ongoingly ill pupils around me. it made me sink into my seat thinking of all of the children I saw last night, especially the boy. I’m sure some of the children in there were waiting for someone else to get out and were fine, but that one boy without the hair, it gave an empty feeling. We went passed more rooms and flew past endless hallways until we’d finally gotten to another waiting room, where they would keep people who were about to get labs or tests done in a special room in a few minutes. Most of the time I saw random old men or young adults waiting and pacing around, often biting their nails, waiting for their child or lover to emerge. Today it was mostly empty, nothing noteworthy, you might as well stare at the boring white walls, they were just about as entertaining as the magazines they would leave out on small wooden table by the chairs where they would also often keep plants also. Except, as I looked near one set of chairs, I’d noticed one, single, little boy. The same boy in which I’d seen earlier. He was all alone, looking at the floor. I didn’t look up, he didn’t have a book either.

“We’re about to prepare the treatment—” the nurse said, the chemo they’d kept me on made me lose my hair quickly, I wonder if that’s the same thing they put him on. The doctor and nurse were gone, and it was just me and the boy on opposite sides of the room. I didn’t have any other company. Might as well do what I was thinking.

I pulled the large, black wheels of my chair and rolled over to him, and pushed the back of my chair up against the wall. We were like the other chairs of the room, facing outwards. He looked up at me, I took not of his small dark brown eyes and thin pink lips.

“Hi,” I said to him quietly, he looked away for a split second just to look back, I don’t think he knew what to say, and I didn’t either; but I would find something for him.

“Hi,” he said back, he looked down at his hands, they had turned pail along with his face and his nails looked bitten and odd.

“What are you here for?” I asked, I looked back at the wall in front of me with framed pictures and certificates that I couldn’t read from afar.

“Lung cancer,” he said, he fidgeted with his hands and took small glances at me, and when he did he looked me in the eyes. It was surprising for him to say that. Not that he didn’t look it—he was pail and sickly looking, he gave off a sort of aura that made you worry for him—.

“Same here kid,” I said back, I wasn’t very familiar with talking to children, I never had siblings or the chance to have kids of my own. Twenty-three was too young anyway. And I wasn’t going to get my hopes up of making it to my next birthday. It wasn’t until April, after I had been expected to die. How am I still alive?

The kid didn’t necessarily look sad to talk about it, his attitude made it seem like it was nothing new. The breath after his statement just brushed it into the wind.

“You seem like you’re doing well,” I said with a smile, I hoped for a positive reaction. Like maybe it was going well for him, I wish it would be the same for me.

“Sort of,” he said, “I might be fine, but if I’m not—is there a point to dwell on it?” he looked up at the ceiling and over to the window. He’d peaked my interest with his words.

“What do you mean by that?” this was one of the times I’d actually sounded interested in something, I never really dismissed my depressing, dead tone.

“I mean—if I were to find out I was dying—why dwell on it? Just accept it as anything else. I can’t be that bad—right?” he said, I knew he was going to continue, so I didn’t answer. “Most people are probably scared at the thought of death—but after I found out I decided not to dwell on what will happen.” he said.

“If there’s a Heaven, or a Hell—or maybe not at all.” he continued, I felt as if this was going to be a sort of relieving message. “When my grandfather was dying, he told me that no matter what the truth may be think of it like this—” he said, looking at the ceiling and taking a pause.

“Just imagine yourself—as part of the orange sunset, as the flowers, as the wind. You’ll still remain in other’s thoughts. And in the air.” he finished. My eyes opened wider, he seemed like a bright boy, he was most likely 14 or 15, maybe even 13. He seemed wise—his grandfather seemed to have been a good influence influence on him—he probably said that since we could have the same fate, just beholding good advice to another you can empathize with.

“Your Grandfather must’ve been a good man—and very good with words,” I answered to him, I wondered what his grandfather died from. What his life was like.

“He was a poet,” he said. He looked back at me, his big brown eyes looked into mine.

“Not surprising—” I said, I finally got the courage to ask. “If you don’t mind me asking—what’d he die from?” I asked.

“Same as what we’ve got,” he said looking back up and continued fidgeting with his hands. “I’m glad I remembered what he told me,” he finished.

“I’m glad you told me what he said,” I answered with a small smirk. We sat in silence for a minute. Suddenly, down the hallway I saw the bigger nurse trudging down the hallway again.

“Hey—” I looked back at him. His eyes locked back with mine, and his looked sort of—brighter almost.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Orion,” he answered.

“Asha,” I said back, I stuck my hand out, and after a moment, his slightly smaller, frailer one grasped mine and firmly shook it. I looked forward to the nurse, clipboard in hand, ready to start our appointment.

“Ready?” she said, I looked her in the eyes, and grasped my wheels.

“Yeah,” I said, I looked back at the boy—I exchanged a wave, and he gave another back—and rolled away from the boy of brightness.

He seemed to have hope—I sure as hell didn’t. But maybe, I could try. And if we are to meet among the stars, or in the orange sky, fly past each other in the wind, or greet each other after we bloom as flowers, I’ll make sure to give him another wave; I’ll tell him, ‘Hey kid, you were right.’