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October 28
"Maybe it's not as bad as you think."
"He doesn't agree."
"If he gets treatment and you guys are careful ..."
Marla sighs, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulder.
"What if you guys don't have sex but stay together anyway?" I suggest. "Surely there's more to your relationship than just sex."
Marla averts her gaze and bites her lip.
"What?" I press, slightly scared.
"We've never ..."
I wait, holding my breath.
"You've never had sex?" I gasp.
I stare. Marla and Hashir have always been the perfect couple. For years, I've thought they'd been at it. I can't believe I didn't know my friend is still a virgin.
"He said we'll wait till marriage," she mumbles.
My heart swells and almost explodes. "But then there's no problem."
Marla lifts her red eyes to meet mine. "That's what I said," she tells me. "I told him we can keep trying long distance. I love him, Tay. I don't want to leave him just because he's sick. You know what he said? He said this changes everything. He's fucking crazy and thinks this is the end."
"Does he have AIDS or is it just HIV?" I ask, not really knowing the details.
"He said the doctor he's seeing said it's AIDS."
"There has to be a cure, right?"
"There's management." Marla chews on her lower lip. "Hashir thinks that means he's as good as dead."
I don't answer, knowing Hashir has probably thought this through better than I ever can. He must have gone over these in his head multiple times, slowly building up his argument, gathering up his strength to do what needed to be done. AIDS might be killing him, but letting go of Marla for her own good probably killed him more.
Marla drops her head in her hands.
"We fought," she's mumbles, her voice low and stifled. "We never fight and yet we fought. We cried and we yelled and we broke things before we just sat in each other's arms and cried some more. He said he can't be selfish and ruin my life just because he wants me to stay beside him through his painful years."
I don't say anything.
"Is it wrong that I want him to be selfish?" she asks.
My heart tears at the thought of it, images of Marla and Hashir together flashing in my mind's eye. I can still see it, the first time Marla told me she had a crush on her neighbor. We'd been sitting on a thick branch in her yard, overlooking the street.
'He comes through here every Friday,' Marla had told me, swinging her legs as she knotted her hands in her lap. 'You'll see him. He looks so cute in white.'
It was a strange time, when he turned around the street with his father, the two of them dressed in white and wearing prayer caps on their heads. I'd never seen such a sight before, their long white shirts and open slippers, faces glowing as the older man whom I later learned was Hashir's father talked and Hashir listened. He's looked up as he passed us by, unsmiling and unspeaking, probably confused to see the two fourteen-year-old girls giggling as he passed by. Every Friday we'd wait there and it wasn't until Marla was fifteen that she actually plucked up the courage to talk to him.
'You're a kid,' had been his exclamation.
'No, I'm not. I've already had my period. I'm a woman.'
Hashir had laughed for the first time, his eyes glowing.
'People will hate this,' he'd said.
'Don't worry. I can fight for us.'
And they did. When Hashir's parents complained about Marla's dressing or when Marla's parents complained about Hashir's religion. When Hashir got into Boston U and wanted to leave our small town for his future. When Marla said they could try long distance.
They fought everything.
"You should go to school," Marla says, sniffling again and closing upon herself.
"I'll skip," I tell her.
"No. Go. I'm just going to sleep."
"I'll sit by you while you sleep," I argue.
"That's creepy as fuck." Marla rolls her eyes. "Go to school and let me breathe in my own space. You're killing me with all this sympathy."
"I'm not pitying you."
"I know," she mumbles, swallowing. "But you need to go. I can handle it, okay? Don't make me push you out."
I smile, knowing why she's doing it. Marla, like me, doesn't like leaning on others for emotional support. She doesn't like sharing her burdens or being treated as helpless. Maybe that's why we get along so well. She's the only one who had understood I need space when I lost Carter.
"I'll drop by after school, okay?" I promise her.
She nods, slipping under the covers. I wait a few moments before sighing and heading for the door. It isn't until I've pulled it open that she speaks again.
"Tay?"
I hum back.
"You know when you lost Carter and I said I know what it feels like?" she asks, her sound muffled by the covers stifling her mouth. "I lied. I didn't know what it felt like." She pauses. "I know now. It hurts like a bitch."
I don't answer, pursing my lips and nodding because I agree. Yes, losing someone hurts like a bitch. It hurts like losing a limb, like having a part of you ripped apart from you without your permission. It hurts like a burning inside, a helplessness that cannot be explained. Losing someone hurts.
But it's not the same, losing someone to life and losing someone to death. It's not the same, Marls losing Hashir and me losing Carter. Marla can still fight for Hashir. She can talk to him, get him back, do something. I can't do anything about Carter. I lost him permanently. There's no coming back from that.
"Does the pain go away after a while?" Marla asks.
A few moments of silence pass by. "No," I answer truthfully. "It doesn't go away. But you learn to live with it. You get used to it."
She doesn't speak, not even moving, and I leave her room and close the door behind me. I go down the stairs and out of her house. Georgia offers to drive me to school but I decline her kindness, not telling her that I have to go to the hospital to get my lab results first. I walk halfway, take a bus to the closest stop, and walk some more, panting by the time I get my results in a sealed envelope that I rip apart to find my results.
The lab results are a list of numbers I can barely interpret.
"Can you tell me what this means?" I ask the nurse who hands them to me.
"You'll have to see a doctor for details but ..." He takes the paper from me and gives it a quick scan. "Looks like juvenile diabetes."
I nod, taking the sheet back and looking down at it. I don't know how I feel about having diabetes, or even if it's diabetes in the first place. Pulling out my phone from my pocket, I click into the search bar and try to interpret the results on my own.
"Boo!"
"Holy fuck, shit, what the hell!"
Jumping around, I drop my phone and the test results, placing a hand over my heart and breathing heavily as I stare at the familiar gray-eyed face of the boy who clearly wants to give me a stroke.
"You want me dead, don't you?" I demand from Shane.
He chuckles, bending over and picking up my dropped items. I wait for him to straighten up and he does, his eyes fixed on my lab results.
"Damn, Taylor," he breathes, his brow furrowing. "Diabetes."
"At least it's not cancer or AIDs," I mumble.
Shane shoots me a look as if wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
"Really?" he asks.
"Hey, I just found out Hashir is HIV positive and, diabetes -- compared to that -- is good news, okay?"
Shane's face contorts in confusion.
"Hashir?"
"Marla's boyfriend of three years."
"Marla?"
"My friend." I sigh. "The tall girl? Dark-skinned, super pretty?"
"Oh, yeah, she's really nice." Shane nods. "Man, that sucks. Is her boyfriend going to be okay?"
I shrug. "Well, I am."
Shane rolls his eyes and hands me the test results and my phone.
"This is still serious, you know."
"At least it's not going to kill me."
"Not directly. It'll kill your heart and your kidneys and slowly take your life --"
I narrow my eyes at him. "Wow, you're just full of optimism, aren't you?"
Shane chuckles. "Have you asked for a doctor's appointment? You need to talk over your treatment options."
"Yup."
He looks at me and his eyes narrow when he sees me smiling slyly.
"You're lying," he guesses.
"A hundred percent," I admit.
Shane scoffs, shaking his head.
"What are you doing here, though? Shouldn't you be at school?" I ask, wanting to shift the focus of our discussion away from my newly diagnosed health condition. It's not that I'm not taking it seriously, I am. I just don't know how I feel about it. Maybe I'm just in denial at the moment.
"I thought I'd find you here and possibly drive you to school?" he tells me, a small smile playing along his lips.
I smile back.
"After we see a doctor," he adds with an admonishing look.
I groan loudly, throwing my head back. "I hate you," I complain.
Shane laughs, gesturing for me to follow him as he heads on towards the reception where he'll probably get the details about which doctor is available.
"Shane, I'm hungry," I whine. "I'll come later, I promise."
"You're a liar, Taylor," he calls back.
"You're mean!" I shoot back, knowing what he's doing is only for me.
Shane continues to laugh and counter my snarky remarks, walking me through the formalities so that twenty minutes later, we 're sitting in front of a bleary-eyed doctor who takes a formal look at my lab results and asks me a few questions before declaring confidently that I have Type I diabetes.
"Thanks, Captain Obvious," I mumble under my breath.
Shane elbows me, fighting a smile. He's sitting beside me, looking like a star in his gray coat and black button-down that should not be allowed to make him look this good. Or maybe he's the one who makes the shirt look good.
"So, good news is it's only mild diabetes and you don't require hospitalization --"
Finally some good news.
"-- But you'll have to monitor your blood sugars using this manual I'm giving you. Once we know your need, we'll personalize your treatment and start you on insulin right away," he says, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.
"She's afraid of needles," Shane points out. "Are there any pills she can take instead?"
"No pills," I interrupt quickly.
Shane stares at me and I avoid his gaze.
"I'm scared of pills more," I mumble. "Can't you just get me a pancreatic transplant or something?"
"Unfortunately, there are no pills for insulin," the doctor says, ignoring my totally valid suggestion for a transplant. "You'll need to be on lifetime insulin therapy which will need to be injected regularly. Since you're a minor, though, I'll need to discuss these things with your parents or guardians. How soon can you bring them in?"
I hesitate, swallowing hard. I can sense Shane and the doctor watching me and make a conscious effort to relax my tense shoulders.
"I'll talk to them." I nod.
The doctor nods too, concluding our short consultation and writing me a prescription. I fold the paper and bury it in my pocket, trying not to think of how I'll tell my parents.
"We're getting breakfast on the way," Shane announces as soon as we leave the hospital and make our way toward his car.
Even though I don't answer, he raises his eyebrows and looks at me. I smile back and nod so he knows I'm up for whatever he's planning already. We get into his Navigator and he turns on the music and lowers the volume as usual, glancing at me as he turns onto the road. Clouds hang low in the sky and winters seem to be approaching fast. Nonetheless, the wind is cool and calms me when I roll down my window.
"You okay?" he asks, probably just to start talking.
I shrug, not really in the mood to talk about anything gloomy. "I need a fucking break."
Shane looks at me. "From what?"
I shrug again. "Everything. Shit. Life, you know?"
He chuckles, nodding. "Well, if you're free after the Friday game or Saturday morning, we can maybe hang out."
Heat sneaks up my face. "Hang out?" I ask.
"Go out, hang out, date?"
My stomach twists into a knot and I find it hard to breathe despite the wind nearly blinding me.
"Friday sounds good," I force out, worried I sound like a duck because of how nervous I am. "I mean, as long as you're buying dinner, I'm all up for free food."
"Free food is the best." Shane nods fast.
"Yup." I nod too.
"Great."
"Yup," I repeat, fighting a smile and failing.
Neither of us looks at the other, neither speaks, neither can stop smiling like a total goofball.
*.*.*.*.*.*
A/N: I did not want to update this yet but here it is anyway because I can't keep this story to myself and love sharing the journey with you.