Control

37

I couldn‟t bring myself to look up at Josh‟s expression. The fact that minutes had passed without him saying anything didn‟t help me gauge how he was taking the news. I wasn‟t even sure if he was still breathing.

Finally, I turned my head and looked at my friend. His expression was odd, a mixture of confusion, dread and doubt. His forehead was furrowed together, his eyes looking down in deep thought. His mouth hung open slightly in a dumbfounded expression.

I left him to his thoughts, giving him time to process what I told him. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he lifted his eyes to my face.

"You‟re not serious," he said, more of a statement than a question. "I‟m serious."

"No you aren‟t." He said, his certainty rising. "You are just trying to get me back for being nosy, so you‟re making up some wild assed story."

I couldn‟t blame him for doubting me, but I really didn‟t feel like having to repeat myself or justify it. This was hard enough to say it to someone other than my wife or my doctors.

"Josh, I am serious. I have cancer." He said, turning my body to face him. "I have a brain tumor. I found out last spring. I‟ve already tried treatments, and they haven‟t worked."

He started to laugh, an awkward, tense laugh. He was forcing himself to take this as a joke, because like me, the last thing he wanted was for this to be real.

"You‟re joking," he said, the tone of certainly a little less. "This isn‟t even funny."

"You‟re right, it isn‟t, because it‟s not a joke." I kept my face completely neutral, hoping that my lack of participation in the apparent humorous side of this little exchange would make him realize that I was telling the truth.

He laughed for a moment longer, tight strangled sound, before quieting down to look at my serious expression. He considered me for a long moment, before clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"You‟re not kidding?" This time, it was a question and not a statement. I shook my head.

He sat there watching me for a few minutes, his eyes surveying me. He seemed to be appraising me, trying to figure out if I was telling the truth. I didn‟t look completely well, but I didn‟t quite look like a sick person. I knew he was wrangling with the words that I said, and my conflicting appearance. He obviously saw some change in me. Otherwise he would never have confronted me. But obviously he hadn‟t thought it worse than the flu, depression or marital issues. Certainly, something like this had never crossed his mind.

He exhaled loudly after taking several long minutes to consider what I had told him. He ran his hands through his hair, scratched his chin, rubbed his eyes. He seemed to need to keep himself somewhat occupied while he thought of something to say to me. Finally, he must have figured he had stalled long enough.

"Wow," he breathed, almost inaudibly. It was as if the comment was more for himself than me. "I‟m sorry, man, I didn‟t mean to laugh." He sudden realized what he had done, and felt bad about it as he hurried to make apologies. "I honestly thought you were kidding."

I gave a small chuckle. "I wish I was."

He paused again before continuing. "What kind?"

"I have a tumor in my brain." I said bluntly, the words almost a relief to say out loud.

His eyes narrowed again in thought. "That is almost not surprising."

I gave him a shocked, confused look. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Don‟t take it the wrong way, but considering you‟re the smartest person here; the smartest person anywhere, I always figured there was something up with that brain of yours." He said with a smirk.