So Be It // o. maatta

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty: Olli's POV

Back home, in Finland, I used to have a cousin, whom I was very close with in our younger years. His name was Marcus, he was just a year or two older than me, and he played on the same travel soccer team as me. To say we were best friends is a major understatement; frankly, we did just about everything imaginable together.

But then, one day, Marcus didn't come to soccer practice. I was a bit confused, since I was almost certain he'd promised me he'd be there, but I didn't waste any sleep over it. I figured something happened, like he got a fever, beforehand, and just couldn't make it. Seems sort of silly of me to think that, I know, but in my defense, I was only eight, at the time.

Just a week after Marcus had missed practice, I began to notice he was appearing at school less, and less. I hardly saw him, talked to him, or had any contact with him, whatsoever. It was a bit strange, honestly, not speaking to Marcus, but I guess I somehow adapted.

Then, after two weeks had passed post-missed practice, Marcus just fell off the face of the Earth, completely. He was never in class, at school, or out on the pitch, for practice, or games. It was like he was erased from everyone's records. Man, it was so fucking weird. Eventually, it got to the point where I was just too confused, and curious to go on completely clueless, so, after school, during the car ride home, I asked my mom where Marcus was.

I remember, clear-as-day, my mom damn-near swerving off the road. "What do you mean?" She'd asked, radiating defensiveness.

I clarified it for her, explaining how I was just, simply wondering what happened to my best friend.

That time around, she sighed, heavily, and if she hadn't been driving, I'm near-certain she would've had her head ducked.

"Olli, honey," My mother rasped, tears practically pounding on the walls of her eyes, begging her to let them slip down he cheeks. "Marcus, Marcus is sick."

Sure enough, my boyhood best friend, and cousin, Marcus, was dying from some sort of heart defect they hadn't noticed, until it was too late.

So, from then, on, for about five months, my mother shuttled me back and forth between school, home, soccer, hockey, and the hospital, to see Marcus. Looking back on it, it was a pretty fucking nice thing for her to do...

But it wasn't my mother's act of kindness that I remember most from visiting Marcus. Instead, I remember him having to take medication that made him sleep. Sometimes they'd pop him a few pills, sometimes they'd stick a needle in his arms, and sometimes they'd give him this cool breaking mask, where you just inhaled, and it made you fall right to a slumber. It used to fascinate me so much.

I wasn't fascinated by the whole scientific idea behind it, or anything, because, hey, I was just a little eight year-old; what did I care about science?

The idea that did fascinate me, though, was this one, single question I had, going as follows: What was it like, to be asleep like that? Was it just like sleeping, normally, or did it feel differently, since it was chemically induced? Did you feel like you were in a dream? A nightmare?

Fact of the matter was, eleven, almost twelve years later, I was getting to experience the medically-guided sleep, and what it was like, through my shoulder surgery. Oh, how little, eight year-old Olli would've been so giddy with pure glee, and excitement.

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Ultimately, it was like sleep, but better, and dream-filled, in the most extraordinary way.

So, about 20 minutes before the actual operation was slated to take place, a tall, lanky fellow came into my room, and brightly greeted me, chirping about how he was going to be my anesthesiologist. He asked me a for series of no-brainer answers, like my date of birth, and what procedure I was having done. He then told me he was going to go the IV method, and stick me with a needle, since it was a quicker, more effective way of getting the medicine to me.

After a few more minutes of incoherent rambling, the guy eventually shot the prick into my upper arm, and pushed down the plunger. He continued to talk, but by then, his voice began to crackle, and fade, before there was nothing left. Clearly, by now, I was asleep.

For the first couple of minutes, I felt normal. There were no dreams, no nightmares, nothing.

Then, all of a sudden, a world illuminated before me, where everything was white, clean, and pure. It seemed like a scene out of a TV show, by the way everything was vast, and open, while remaining snow white.

The version of me within the dream began to walk around, searching for something, anything. It just didn't make sense for there to be nothing but white furniture.

As I meandered around in this world of white nothingness, suddenly, four fellow people appeared, not seeming to notice me. Seeing that I was multiple feel away, I couldn't make out who they were, but from afar, there appeared to be a woman, and three little kids.

Shuffling towards them, the faces of each one began to grow clearer, and more defined, and eventually, I recognized the woman to be, predictably, Alex.

This version of my wife, however, was an older, more mature, motherly version. Physically, her hair remained the same; long, dark, and straightened. Her eyes looked a bit sleep-deprived, but the scattered acne across her face was cleared up. Her skin was still pale, and delicate-looking. Throughout her entire body, she had put on a bit of weight, but in a flattering way, if that made sense.

I continued to approach the woman and her kids, eyes eventually shifting from the woman, to the cute little tykes surrounding her. The youngest child reached with her tiny hand, and grabbed at my wife's pant leg, as the only boy crawled into her lap, and the other girl sat, holding Alex's hand. She was decidedly very popular.

Each of the children had dark, dark brown, messily curly hair. They had razor-sharp blue eyes, and an adorable smile that was practically the smaller version of Alex's. God, these kids were beautiful.

Upon deducting my wife, and the three kids surrounding her couldn't tell I was there, I threw myself down onto the white floor, and joined the little group. I listened to the kids chitter-chatter, and Alex play along, asking them simple questions to engage in conversation.

I listened to them talk for what seemed to be hours, when suddenly the boy proclaimed, "I'm so proud of Olli!"

A toothy grin spread out, across Alex's face. "You mean Daddy?"

The little boy blushed, wildly. "Yeah, daddy."

Alex giggled sweetly, a harmony I had never heard in person. "Why are you proud of Daddy?"

"He won Stanley Cup!" All three children cried in unison.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to put two-and-two together; being asleep while having surgery was a lot like visiting the Mirror of Erised, at Hogwarts. All at once, it showed you everything you desired, or yearned for, in life. It moved you in a devastatingly beautiful way, honestly.