The Other Side of Tomorrow

I frown.

“What about you?”

“I slept in.”

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” I hedge.

He shakes his head, staring resolutely ahead. We stop at a stoplight and he finally looks at me.

“His room is right across from mine. It’s still the same, but it’s not. There’s this emptiness there. This lack of life. It’s disturbing, how he’s gone but everything is left the same but not at the same time. Like how can that be? He ceases to exist but there are reminders of him all around. They’re painful to see, but I don’t want them to go away, either. Does that make me weak?”

I shake my head as the light turns green and he drives forward.

“No, I think it makes you human,” I reason. “It’s human nature not to want to let go, but that part that’s trying to protect you urges you to hide from it.”

“Is this ever not going to hurt?” he asks softly, almost pleadingly.

I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry, but it’s always going to hurt. Just like I’m always going to be affected by my disease. Yeah, it gets better, the pain dulls, some days you don’t even think about it. But it’s always there. It still exists.”

He works his jaw back and forth. “He was too young to die. It’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair. As cliché as it sounds, it’s true. People die too young, animals get run over, kids get shot, cancer eats people alive, but you have to get up, brush yourself off, and move on. Because where bad exists, so does good, and it’s up to us to remember that—to find it and use it to bring light to others.”

He parks the Jeep and I look around, realizing we’ve already made it to the beach before I know it.

“You’re far too wise for your age,” he whispers sadly, looking me over. I’m sure he’s imagining all I’ve been through, I’m sure his ideas of it are bad but I have news for him, whatever he’s thinking, it’s been worse.

“That’s what happens when life deals you a bad card. But it’s one bad card out of my entire hand. I can still live a happy life. I can still run, and talk, and smile, and live. Living is the greatest gift of all, no matter how it’s done. Each breath is a tiny little miracle.”

He shakes his head. “You amaze me.”

“I’m nothing amazing,” I argue. “I’m just being honest.”

He smiles. It’s a soft, hesitant smile. “I still think you’re the most remarkable person I’ve ever met. Now” —he claps his hands— “no more serious talk. It’s time to surf.”

He hops out of the Jeep and leans the front seat forward, pulling out two wetsuits. “This one should fit you.” He tosses it to me.

I stare at it like it’s completely foreign to me, because it is. I might’ve grown up at the beach, but I’ve never spent much time in the water so I had no need for a wetsuit.

Jasper slips his on easily and I climb out, fumbling and nearly tripping.

“How did you make that look so simple?” I gripe, nearly falling on the ground.

He chuckles and comes to help me. Like that day at the beach, he has the front hanging down, and his shirt is gone giving me a nice glimpse of his tan, bronzed chest.

“Lots and lots of practice.” He chuckles. “I’ll help.”

Even with his help, it takes me ten minutes to get in the wetsuit. By the time we’re done I’m out of breath and questioning my life choices.

“You okay there?”

“I’m not sure,” I pant.

He chuckles. “Think you’re going to live?”

Again, I answer, “I’m not sure.”

He grins slowly. “I mean, I could always give you mouth to mouth.”