| Emma Taylor Gallo came to visit me at ten, to about twelve, every day. She basically caught me right after I took my shower, or after I got dressed. Either way, She would stay, take her medication, and come back until my tutor came. Then she was off to radiation.
God, did I hate it.
Not only was she the only, true friend I had made since birth leaving, but the treatment made her frail; weak. Her lightly tanned skin turned to a milky white. And her gorgeous curls would soon disappear. The tawny gold locks that lined her face. Porcelain. Her eyes bright. Endless pools of evergreen.
Oh, wait. I'm not supposed to mention how utterly hot I think she is.
She says it makes me that much more of a perv.
Whatever.
She's gorgeous, and that's my two cents. * * * "I think I'm a little bit jealous."
Emma and I were both on reclining chairs. Her, on her stomach, me sitting up. Books and magazines piled high on her side of the glass, a sketch book and some pencils on mine. This was a typical afternoon.
"Why's that?" She didn't look up until she finished the sentence she was reading, soft bronze curls swishing with the turn of her head.
"Everyone else besides me can get up and follow you around. Annoy you, talk to you, make you eat horrible food. But I can't," I sat cross legged, trying to get the curve of her calf just right. She kept swinging her legs around, and it was beginning to get irritating, "Would you stop moving your damn leg, you annoying ape?" I tried to glare at her, and reach into the depths of her being, and force her leg to stop twitching.
No luck.
"Oh, leave me alone. Go draw someone else," She went back to her book.
"Excuse me Em, but I don't think I can just get up and waltz around the hospital lobby. I'm kind of allergic to the air." She pouted at her book.
"Poor bay-bee," she shifted slightly and flipped the page.
"Look, I have your leg, and the books to go, would you just quit it for like. A minute. Please? Please?"
I made my 'Comon', you know you wanna give in to what I'm saying, because I'm pretty cute', face. It never really worked on her, but it was worth a try.
She looked at me for a moment, and glared, "Guh, fine. Hurry up."
I grinned and said nothing more.
Before I could even blink my pencil touched the paper, the small curve of her inner thigh running to her knee. The curve of her leg. Five toes. I let my hand estimate where the lines should start and stop. I smiled down at my page after a minute. I got it.
Not exactly perfection, but it was enough. Even for Emma. She was baffled as to how I got her posture just right, or how the light hit her. She didn't realize I had more time to stare at her, than the time I had when drawing. I tried to absorb her eyes, her face, her hair. The way she held her hand over her page as she flipped. The way her eyes move when she blinks. The way her eyes smolder, bore holes into me, and make the pit of my stomach feel like molten lava. I tried to capture her essence, so that maybe I would never forget.
Emma turned around after a moment, when I continued to stare at her, my pencil down. She blushed, I blinked, and then she got up.
"Show me," She demanded.
Whatever she wanted was hers. I got up, coming to the glass. Emma's face was blank, as it always was, until she found something wrong, or was dazzled by something. She didn't say anything, she just looked up and smiled.
"You're really good, Ashton."
"Ah, you're too kind," I pushed myself from the glass, and walked back to my chair. I pushed it closer to the glass, so I was right next to it. Just like Emma had done with hers.
"I'm serious. You're really good." She took a seat and leaned back.
"You say that every time."
"I mean it," She laid her head down, pushing the recliner back all the way. I leaned over too, so that my recliner matched hers. We stayed silent for a while, looking at each other. The silence was nice, light.
"What's it like?" She asked. She asked this so many times, she could probably recite my answer, without hesitation. I smiled lightly and answered anyway.
Her expression was so cute as she laid down, eyes closed.
"Like a prison. A holding cell. I can't run away, I can't hide. Lonely, and pathetic. I can't smell the fresh air, I can't see the world, I can't go to college," I hesitated; she opened one eye, "I can't hug, or kiss anyone, I'll be nothing but a soul in a bubble."
She searched my eyes for something, but she closed her eyes again. I could tell she was doing this, by the look reflected in her eyes. She was hoping to read my soul like a picture book. Read my thoughts like an index.
Thoughts on Future, see page 114. But she couldn't, so she gave up. She mumbled something sleepily, probably thinking that I couldn't hear her. Sounded something like, "Would you kiss me?"
As if she really needed to ask. * * * When I slept, I'd dream.
And when I would dream, I'd dream of a black room. Everything was black, including the space around me; all I could see was my body, that was suspended in air. I was floating in this black abyss; just floating, as I moved and slithered, and flailed about. My body would soon be propelled forward into what seemed like a bright light, but it was just a room again, a solid white room, where there seemed no end to the white. And my body would be set down to what seemed like a floor, and piece by piece my body would disintegrate into dust.
Sometimes in that dream, I try to move about, but I only stayed in the black room or the white room. If there was any other color room, or any other kind of world beyond those two rooms, I never went there, in my dream. I only saw the white, and the black room. And no matter what I did, or what I said, my body would be hurled into the white room, and my body would turn into dust. Sometimes I said odd things as my limbs dripped with ash, and sometimes the things I said made sense.
But as the very limbs of my body turned into pale coal dust, I knew my dream would end with my death, and I would not come back in his dream. The death was not painful, or cruel. My face didn't show any pain, or discomfort. I looked down at my body, my ash, and stared with a blank face. The air that was nonexistent in the black room, was present in the white room, swirling the dust that rose up my bones down to the ground, like sand in an hourglass.
And as the dust reached the last of my flesh, I could make out a smile on my face.
* * *
Tonight my dream was different, in the black room. I heard a voice. It was a voice from a girl, but I didn't see the girl, and in the pitch black of the room, I saw no hint of a girl ever being there, but I could hear. She whispered softly, syllables I couldn't hear, and soon her voice felt like it was coming from right behind my ear. As if this girl was breathing down my neck.
I could make out what she was saying now, even if she was still whispering.
"Ashton," the voice cooed, "Ashton, don't go into the white. Don't go into the white room."
Pale arms wrapped themselves around my waist, latching to my hips.
The coos continued, "Stay here in the dark, Ashton, don't go."
Before I could respond, my body was thrusted forward into the white room. The voice I heard was a mere voice in my head now.
And when my body disintegrated, the voice called to me over and over, "Ashton stay, Ashton."
My body slowly turned to dust, and I frantically attempted to gather the dust that was falling from my limbs, try and stop my inevitable death. And different from any other dream, with every fiber that turned to ash, it brought more pain. This pain was severe, and my face was twisted in agony. I cried out every now and then, and the voice called out again, "Ashton, don't leave!"
My legs gave out, and the pain washed over my senses. I cried out, and the ash took my body. The pain lasted until my body was no longer flesh, but dust. Coal dust.
The voice still pleaded, "Ashton," her voice begged, "Ashton!" "Ashton! Wake the fuck up!" Emma called out my name so loud I nearly fell off my bed. But I wasn't that surprised, and my body was too weak to move, and I was took tired to get up just yet.
"Ashton, you promised to get up early with me, remember? I have to go back home for thanksgiving," She was standing on her tiptoes, in a red turtleneck, and some jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a loose pony, and she was making that face. The 'excuse me, Ashton, you're an ass' face.
I saturned out of bed, analyzing my surroundings. This was my room. She was my friend. That was my dream, and that voice was hers.
"Yeah. . . Yeah I know," I made my way over to the hallway to the bathroom, "Sorry." I must have sounded groggy, because her face let up, and she got down to the balls of her feet.
"It's fine. Go take you're shower, I'll be here." She turned on her toes, and bent down to grab her bag.
Damn, what an fine piece of ass.
I brought my eyes up to her face, when she turned back around to sit in one of the chairs. She had a book in one hand, and the other placed on her lap. She waved me off as if to say, 'go'. I then proceeded to throw off my shirt in the hall.
Waving my hand in the air, "If I can't make the switch, go tell the nurse t-" Emma cut me off.
"Tell them to open it for you, I know, Ash."
She smiled, I walked away. I slammed my palm onto the button that opened the door, and went inside the bathroom. I needed to wake up from my dream; a cold shower would do me some good.   |
