Unsteady

9 | Us and The Night

I throw the baseball between my hands in a repetitive, constant motion and beat. I stare at the ceiling, my eyes following the short wall wrapping around it again and again and again.

Before, Oliver was on my mind every now and then. He was kind of there on the edge of my every day. I couldn't pass St. Andrews without a small thought of him.

But after talking to him today, I can't shake him at all.

I can't stop thinking about him now.

I can't comprehend this kid. He's so unlike anyone I've ever met. I can't begin to understand what it would be like to know you're going to die so young and accept it like he does. I can't grasp how he can be so bubbly and full of life when a cruel disease is eating away at him every day. It baffles me that he walks around with a smile with the knowledge he may not make it past twenty.

Every time I've been to that ward, I see what I expect: sadness. But Oliver is so different.

He's a light in a dark place. He's a candlelight in the night. He's got this sense of beauty in a world that forced something terrible on him—that gave him something that's killing him.

I peer out my window as the sun begins to set.

It would be nice to see the stars without having to look through glass.

I sit up and swing my legs over my bed. I reach for my phone on the side table and load Instagram.

Just between you and me, I may have saved Oliver's profile to, I don't know, follow up on things. Not to stalk, okay, not to stalk. Just to follow up.

I press the column of three dots in the upper right corner and select 'Send Message' from the drop-down menu. My hands are shaking so badly, I have to retype every word in this single sentence I keep misspelling.

I read the sentence a third time before sending the message:

Hey. How heavy is your telescope case?

I toss the phone on my bed and wait.

Two minutes go by.

I begin to pace.

Four minutes and I'm wringing my hands.

Seven minutes and I'm regretting my decision entirely.

When I hear the notification ding, I pounce on my phone like a cat does a toy.

Heavy enough. Why?

I type back my reply, tapping away with one hand as I feed my arms through my jacket one sleeve at a time, changing hands to finish typing.

Pack it up and get dressed. Be ready in half an hour.