And so, life went by.
We began our fourth year, and then our fifth. Med school is 6 years, where I live.
We were basically living in two houses: Theo's big, not-so-mouldy-anymore house, and a small apartment, that my father had eventually bought for me.
We were spending our days studying, with little to no other holidays, for the next few years.
We were a tight-knit group: Jasmine and Alex, Max and Martha, George and Olivia, Theo and I, and two other couples.
We sometimes spent from morning to evening together.
Sometimes, we even slept together: in my house, we slept on a rickety sofa bed, that I had inherited from my dad's old seaside home.
The thing was nasty, with a mattress not thicker than 2 inches, and squeaking annoyingly any time we moved.
Theo had procured- I don't remember how- an old, portable air-conditioner.
It had a large tube, that was supposed to go out of the window.
It was complicated to use, and you had to pray your lucky star it didn't start dripping water all over the place.
But it was one of the few air-conditioners we had, so, some summer nights we slept in 4 to 6 people, camped in my living room, with the familiar buzzing on.
The luckiest would get the sofa, the other ones, the carpet.
...
In the meanwhile, my brother and my sister had both turned 18. They had left the house: to study, and travel.
My sister eventually came to the same city where I was. My brother, instead, worked all around the world.
Life was beginning for them, as well.
The nightmare was over.
There was only my little boy, back there, alone: now, starting first grade.
He was a little rascal, but he knew my siblings and I would be keeping an eye on him... wherever we were.
But yeah, we wouldn't be living with him.
None of us would.
And the parents were getting better, yes.
They had been helped.
Maybe they had managed to drag themselves out of depression, a bit.
Now, they were starting to see that child as a new beginning for them.
A new family. A child that was their own.
I could see that they looked at him in a different light.
That boy that they had shunned at first, as if he had the Plague.
Now instead, they showed him off like their pride and joy.
They did it their way, of course: all smiles outside, and almost disappearing when they got home.
He spent his days alone, in his room. Eating snacks, and watching TV.
His room was filthy. There was a cleaner in the rest of the house, but never got to his room.
They didn't care, why would they? Guests wouldn't go there.
When me or my siblings came back home, you could see that his eyes lightened up.
He ran to us, because he was not alone anymore. At least, for a day or two.
And I still remembered that first day, when he had looked at me. Almost asking if I was going to take care of him.
And I said yes.
And had I??
I hadn't been faithful to my promise.
...
During the last year of Uni, I started attending a Paediatric Oncology ward.
I met incredible people there.
Those kids were suffering: for real.
I've never seen such a desire to live, as I've seen in them.
Sometimes I would go there, worried about my own things.
My tests, my family.
And I found a 17 years-old girl who looked up at me and said, you're so lucky, Bi.
And why was I?
I wish I could live long enough to go to University, like you! Make friends. Study. But I won't get the chance...
And she didn't: she passed away soon after.
Of course, there was not a 100% mortality rate; most people survived.
But the ones who didn't: they are haunting me still.
Floating through my house, like shadows of what once was. Keeping the many ghosts of my life in good company.
....
The last straw was, actually, around one month after my graduation.
There was a boy, Simon, around my younger brother's age: he was terminal with a type of leukaemia.
His parents wanted to bring him to an amusement park he desired to go to, before his death. We would be going with him as well.
We had everything arranged: it was a surprise, and we couldn't wait to see his face when he'd found out that he was leaving the hospital, for the park.
It would have probably killed him, but no one cared. He didn't have much left to live, anyway.
It was less than one week before the D-day, when I got a phone call from a friend, who was at the hospital.
I need to tell you something. It's about Simon, she said.
What about him?
He passed away tonight... I'm sorry.
He never knew that we were going to take him to the amusement park.
I wanted to kick someone: I didn't know who.
God, maybe- if he existed.
But I started to slowly stop believing that he did.
After that episode, I decided that Paediatric Oncology was too much for me.
...
From then on, every year, Theo and I made a point to bring my little brother to an amusement park he liked.
We liked to see the thrill in his eyes, when we crossed the gates.
The giggles when he was bought yet another candy apple.
We liked to enjoy the gift of life: every day that we were given the chance to.
I had finally realized, that life was a gift.
Every time I cried, and every time I laughed, and every time I kissed, and all the people that I had met along the journey: they had been my gifts.
And I hadn't realized just how much.
YOU ARE READING
Let's hope for the best
Non-Fiction... but prepare for the worst. When I was a kid, I thought that life was going to be like a Disney movie. Then, alas, life happened. And I found out, I was not ready for it.
