is death an option? / larry ✅

0.8

The College Part

I remember this part clearly, which is a surprise, considering that most of what I've written is just things I scraped together and hoped was true.

Louis sat in the midst of our local hospital's visitor section, watching Mr. Humbug or: How I Learned To Stop Being So Grumpy and Love Christmas as it was portrayed upon the screen of his laptop. His legs had been dangling off the edge of the seat; playing with a lone Ranch–flavored sunflower seed within his mouth that he wasn't going to actually eat.

I know I said earlier that I wasn't going to describe anymore of Louis' outfits, but, I take that back. He wore a grey–colored jacket and a pair of Snoopy pajama pants that were so long that they nearly covered his sock–covered feet. The Lennon glasses sat beside the laptop, and there was a beanie sat atop his bare head. A light–saber rested in his idle hand.

He had just gotten to the climax of the film when he'd noticed that I had walked into the lobby. He doesn't pause it; but he does divert his attention towards picking up his glasses and placing them upon the bridge of his nose before looking over at me with raised brows.

When Louis noticed the horrendously large book that I was toting around, he, of course, asked about it. I filled him in on how my mother was forcing me to carry around my own "recipe book for a good future" until I finally made the decision to apply to one of them. Louis snickered, pausing the movie with a swift motion of his finger.

Then, we had had a small argument about university. He'd called me stupid, and said that the only reason that I was so terrified of going to college was because I was always perpetually loathing myself–which he didn't know was for attention, or if I truly didn't like the person who I was. I told him that it wasn't for attention, and I simply wasn't as great as he thought me to be.

He says that he never called me great. But, the smile that he gave me afterwards showed that he thought otherwise.

This was the first and last time that he used the "I have Stage 4 cancer, you'd be a dick if you don't do what I ask". He told me to apply to Ohio State, and that if I didn't he might die of distress because his friend doesn't truly care about him, whether he had gross, flesh–eating cancer, or not. (I don't know how he managed to basically quote the words of my father, but he did.)

He forced me to go on Ohio State's site, pulling up the application page before sliding the laptop in my direction.

The application process went like this:

Me: Why do you want to go to college? Well, I think I want to go to college because I think it'll be a great opportunity to make new friends.

Louis: Meh.

Me: *Panicking, developing a thick, Russian accent* My name'm is Aleksander Fyodorovych. I want to attend this college of yours because in my home country, all we have to look forward to is goat baby and cold, inevitable death while our wives sleep with our cousins.

This is the part where Louis instantaneously bursts into a fit of laughter, trying to get me to quiet down so that the other visitors in the lobby would stop staring at me like I'm absolutely mad.

Then, he's reaching forward to grab the laptop away from me. He places it in his lap, still smiling.

Louis: I think I want to go to college because, although I tend to think lowly of myself, I realize that my self–esteem is part of the immaturity that I'll shed during my stay.

Me: *Smiling like an idiot*

I don't make a big deal about sending it in, but instead take the attention off of myself by asking him if he'd apply himself. He warns me by saying that he'd be arriving a year later than I was, but I tell him that I don't care.

Then, I get a text message from Zayn. I tell Louis that I have to go, and he shoos me away to finish his (our) movie.

When I look back while walking away, Louis is splayed across the uncomfortable hospital chair; making small noises with his mouth while playing with the light–saber.

The next couple of weeks are hard. I always make it a point to wait outside of Louis' house after his chemo sessions, welcoming into his home to begin our sessions of binge TV watching. Sometimes he's wearing a hat, other times he's gone far enough to the point where he'll wear a wig of a drastic color, most times he simply doesn't care.

When it seems like he's getting better, that his hair is starting to grow back in the form of little fuzz across his skull, he always relapses. He tells me that his eyesight is getting worst. He actually needs the glasses, now.

So, yeah. I guess, ultimately, I was guilted into making the film for Louis. Either way, after witnessing my friend collapsing to the sidewalk from exhausted and giving himself quite a bruise across his forehead, I text Zayn and tell him that we should get started.