Gym Junkie

The tears break free from my eyes, and I lean forward and tenderly kiss him as I hold his face in my hands. Our wet faces scrunch up against each other’s in pain.

He smiles, closes his eyes, and the two of us lie still for a few moments…

Until he seems too still.

“Si,” I whisper in a panic. “Simon,” I hiss as I try desperately to wake him up.

“Simon,” I say louder. “No. Don’t you leave me.” I sob. “Simon. No. Don’t you leave me,” I cry. “Please, no, Si… please?”

I jump up and press the buzzer. The nurses come running in and take over at once. I stand back with my hands over my mouth, frozen with fear.

The nurse turns to me. “Call his parents.”

I take out my phone with frantic shaky hands, and I dial the number.

“What’s wrong?” she answers.

“You have to come quickly. Something is happening,” I whisper in a panic. “Hurry.”

Two days later, I lie next to Simon on his bed. It’s late at night, and a thin stream of light is drifting through the crack in the bathroom door.

I smile. “Remember the time we wanted McDonald’s so we took your mother’s car when your parents were out, and when we got back we left the hand brake off and the car rolled into a telegraph pole?”

He smiles. “How old were we?”

“Like, fifteen.”

“Mac attack.” He chuckles. “Remember Dad’s face when he found out?”

I giggle. “What about the time we tried weed?”

“We were hardcore,” he whispers.

I smile. “We smoked joints in the park and fell asleep on a rug. Our parents called the police frantic because we didn’t come home all night.”

Simon looks over at me. “Remember how many mosquito bites we had?”

I laugh. We were covered head to toe. “That was hell, and we were grounded for forever.” We fall silent again. “Remember when you kissed me?” I whisper.

He smiles and nods. “I paid my friend to dare me to kiss you in that game of spin the bottle, just so you would go along with it.”

I run my hand down his face and cup his jaw. “I would have kissed you without the dare.”

His eyes search mine and we fall silent again. “I’m sorry.”

I frown in question. “What for?”

“I’m sorry I let you go,” he whispers. “That I didn’t try harder to make you happy.”

My eyes fill with tears. How could he possibly think that this is his fault.

“You did make me happy, Si. Every day you made me happy.”

He stares at me, and I know he wants to know why I left when there was so much good between us.

“I don’t know why,” I whisper. “If I knew the answer as to why I had to leave, I would never have left. I would have stayed and fixed it.” I put my head on his shoulder and we lie in silence for a while. I feel him smile above me, as if remembering something.

“Remember the time you made me put spray tan on you and I got it in your eye.” He smiles.

“I had to go to the emergency room over that.” I giggle.

“And only one side of your face was brown.” He chuckles. “And your mother was screaming at me for rubbing it on your face.”

I burst out laughing as I remember the commotion in the hospital that day.

We lie sleepily for a long time, and then his regulated breathing tells me he’s drifted off to sleep.

So many good times together. Too many to remember them all.

The hospital room is silent, and I sit on the chair next to Simon’s bed. I haven’t left his side in six days.

The silence is suffocating, as if our sadness has stolen all of the sound. The birds have stopped chirping and the children have stopped playing. He’s declining, and I feel like the world is about to end.

Simon is asleep, too weak to stay awake now.

Three days ago, the chaplain came in to bless him into the afterlife, and we’ve been told to make peace with his illness. They can’t get his blood count back up no matter how hard they try. The care he has been receiving has been remarkable, but it’s just not enough.

How is peace possible?

How can I make peace with an insidious disease that is threatening to take him from me forever?

Brocks’ been calling me non-stop, but it doesn’t feel right speaking to him when things are so dark over here. I’ve been giving him short texts as replies. I want to speak to him today, though. My phone lights up, and the name Brock lights up the screen. I know I need to take this.

I slowly walk down the corridor and answer. “Brock?” I whisper.

“Oh, thank God.” He sighs. “I’ve been going out of my mind with worry. Are you okay?” he asks in a rush.