is death an option? / larry ✅

1.4

The Part We've All Been Waiting For

On the night of my senior prom, I descended the staircase of my home with a bruised face, busted lip, and a crooked nose. My hair wasn't combed, nor done; instead of polished shoes on my feet, I wore a pair of old sneakers.

Yet, my mother stared at me as if I was the most gorgeous thing she's ever seen. She spent what felt like hours fussing over how handsome I looked in my father's tuxedo, and how she never imagined for me to grow up this fast. Mom also ensured me that, while she wasn't impressed with the situation that occurred with me and my future, Dad and her would only speak to me about it whenever I was ready to speak.

Then, I was off.

The driver of the limousine that Dad had rented for me spoke to me the entire duration of the ride, sparing a few "huh"'s and "what's" every single time that I responded to one of his thousand questions. It seemed like it had taken virtually forever for me to arrive at my destination.

And, yes. This is where I tried to shock you, dear reader. Mr. Limousine Driver didn't drop me off at the front of Webster High to meet Kristen, and spend my night partying with my dream–girl. No, instead, he took me to the front of MUCA Hospital for Children, where I gathered my corsage and hopped out of the vehicle. I had nearly gotten hit by a passing ambulance in the process.

When I arrive inside of Louis' hospital room, I interrupt the obvious, deep conversation between him and Johannah. The woman has tears in her eyes, and I notice that it's the first time that I hadn't seen her with some type of alcohol within her grasp. My emotionless friend only blinks at me when I enter; looking sicker than ever as he sprawls amongst the uncomfortable mattress, clutching his light–saber as the iconic "Grease" shirt drowns out his minuscule body.

Louis' mother presses a kiss against his bare temple before she walks towards me, engulfing me in a tight hug as he murmured "He missed you so much" underneath her breath, in my ear. She leaves afterwards, leaving both me and Louis alone in the room in which smelled like all hospitals do–like medicine and death.

It's awkward, as I had expected it to be. After all, our last conversation hadn't really been a conversation, and ended with me telling him to have fun dying. I round the room, giving Louis a little twirl the model the suit that I sported specifically for him. He didn't do anything–not a snicker, not a smile, not even an angry look. He just seemed tired, like he had been waiting for everything to end, already.

I reached downwards, opening the case that carried the corsage and slipping the band that held all of the bright–white flowers together around the wrist that hadn't been wrapped around his favorite toy. Louis' eyes–or, eye, as one had gone completely milky since the time that I'd last seen him; giving him the cool, unique look he'd wanted–trailed down to his hand.

I wanted him to frown at him, to smile. But, he just blinks.

Then, finally, he speaks:

Louis: This is fucking gay.

Me: I know, right? But, you won't take it off.

I don't think Louis could speak any further, but he does twitch his left eyebrow in a way that lets me know that he still thinks I'm an idiot.

Me: Your eye is cool. Kinda looks like someone's shining a light in it.

Louis: I wouldn't be able to see if they were.

I understood that the topic was upsetting him, so without anything else to say further, I advanced forward to begin plugging up my phone to the small projector that rested behind Louis' head.

He blinks for the thousandth time, staring blankly at the wall before him. I wondered if he'd been like this ever since he was admitted.

While I hooked up everything, I remember explaining to Louis that I understood that the film was awful, and while I tried, I couldn't particularly do anything to save the disaster that it turned out the be in the end. He doesn't respond, and I don't expect him to. I just get cozy in the space that used to be occupied by his mother, but was not overtaken by me; waiting for the film that would later be declared as the World's Worst Film™.

My heart thuds wildly in my chest upon realizing that the smell of medicine and death was coming from Louis. It was the first time since meeting him that I truly felt saddened about what was occurring. But, I pushed the thoughts away from my mind as the first scene of Zayn plasters itself upon the wall before us.

I can't and won't tell you much about the film. It's a secret that will stay between me, Zayn, and the dying (dead) boy. But, you can feel comfortable knowing that me and Louis watched it together; and I felt complete tranquility watching him as he squinted through the darkness to observe the movie that had spent months in the making, specifically for him. The movie that had costed me my one–way ticket into college.

Everything was overwhelming in the room in those final moments. I swore that I could smell the tears that escaped from Louis' functioning, as well as dead eye as he cried silently, holding the light–saber closely towards his body. I still cannot tell you whether he enjoyed the film, or not. I like to think that he did.

It was in those moments that I realized how fucked up Louis' situation was. He was a boy–a perfectly good, amazing, talented, creative, sarcastic, and all things in–between boy who never did anything to anyone, yet he was getting his life snatched away from him at the delicate age of 16. As the World's Worst Film™ advanced on, the lump within my throat grew bigger.

We got to about the midst of the movie before I can hear the sounds of Louis' light–saber clattering as it made contact with the room's linoleum floors. My head snapped as I turned to look at him. He's gasping for air, and his skin had started to turn scarlet. I thought I was going to vomit.

I calmly ask him if he needed a nurse. He manages to nod at me, although his sight is still directed towards the movie playing violently in the background.

When the doctors come in, it's clear that something's wrong. Louis remains watching the movie as he struggled to breath; his mom sobbing aggressively as the men and women tried to get his breathing to remain stable. I can only stare–pondering to myself whether or not I'm witnessing the death of my friend.

I'm disgusted, and I'm also crying. It isn't too long before a nurse is noticing me, and ushering out of the room.

I can only collapse onto a nearby wall.

That was the last time that I saw Louis Tomlinson. He went into a coma shortly thereafter, and then died 10 hours later.