Cami

Camille let her backpack thud to the floor. “Dad, I’m home.”

The pitter-patter of feet came trotting around the corner to greet her. “Poo!” Camille squealed picking up her Yorkie and squishing him to her face so the tiny dog could shower her with kisses.

Camille had gotten Poo for Christmas when she was eight—hence the childish name. But eight-year-old Camille thought, Poo LaRue, was the best name in the whole world. And it might be. It still made her giggle when she heard her father say it. Especially when scolding the devious pooch.

As lame as it was, Poo was Camille’s best friend. The dog had been through everything with her. Chemotherapy, immunotherapy, radiation, stem cell transplants, biopsies, surgeries and countless clinical trials. Camille confided all her secrets and fears in the pint-sized pup, knowing Poo was a vault that could never betray her.

“Hey, baby girl,” her father called from his office. “It’s just you and me for dinner tonight. Whatcha feel like having?”

Camille perked up. Whenever her mother worked late it meant Camille and her father could eat all the delicious rich foods they loved. Her mother never let them indulge, keeping the whole family on a strict cancer-friendly diet.

With Poo cradled in the crook of her arm, Camille wandered into her father’s office. Music room was a better word for it. She stepped carefully over stacks of sheet music and piles of records until she reached the red antique sofa. She sat down, listening while he pounded out a song on the piano. Camille’s father was a music teacher at a local high school by day, music producer and sound mixing extraordinaire by night. He had a personal office in the house where he gave music lessons and a small recording studio across the courtyard in the converted carriage house. There was always all manner of musicians stopping by to ‘lay down tracks’ with her dad. It was an entertaining way to grow up.

Camille loved that her father was so passionate about his job. Unlike her mother, the high-powered real estate attorney, Camille and her father could bond over music. But it was Camille’s mother who kept them afloat. Her job afforded them their sprawling French Quarter home and covered Camille’s never ending medical expenses.

Her father finished up his song and faced her. “Are you in the mood for crawdads?”

She laughed. “Always.”

“How ‘bout I make my famous crawfish crepes smothered in goat cheese?”

“Oh my God, Dad that sounds awesome, but I have an appointment tonight.”

He frowned. “That’s right. The oncologist?”

She nodded, fighting against the prickling guilt she felt lying to her father. She’d stopped going to her appointments three weeks ago.

“You feeling okay, sweetie?”

“Fine.”

“Good. Well, I can make you something to go if you want?”

“That’s okay, Dad. I wanna swing by the café and pick up my paycheck. I’ll grab something there.”

“Are you sure?”

Her father looked disappointed and if she stayed in his office one more minute she’d cave. “I’m sure,” she said kissing him on the cheek. “I’m gonna get changed and then I’m off.”

Camille practically ran to her room. She hated lying, especially to her father. She loved the time they spent together, and knowing they had so little of it left made things even harder. But as she stared at the unchecked boxes on her wall, she knew she didn’t have a choice.

When Camille was first diagnosed with cancer, her father helped her paint one entire wall of her bedroom with black chalk paint and told her to make a wish list of all the things she wanted to do. At first it was great—a distraction from the cancer. Every time she had a bad day or had to go in for a treatment she didn’t want, he’d tell her to pick something off her list and they’d do it as soon as she was well enough.

But as she got older, Camille began to realize it wasn’t really a wish list at all, it was a Goodbye List—a morbid bucket list of things she’d get to experience once in her lifetime, if she was lucky, which she wasn’t—hence the cancer.

That realization turned the wall from a list of dreams to a countdown of tasks she had to carry out before she died. And that date was ticking closer every day. Camille had already outlived her disease’s life expectancy, but only because her mother signed her up for every clinical trial under the sun. Last year, her oncologist told Camille and her parents that they’d hit the end. There was little else the medical world could do for Camille. Her lymphoma had reached stage four. The growth was accelerating and even with extensive treatment, they could only buy her another year or so at best.

But Camille knew what that borrowed time would be like. She’d spend it in pain and bedridden, too sick and weak from the medication to even enjoy the time she had left. It prompted her to take matters into her own hands.

She made a plan. Yes, it was a plan for dying, but what other option did she have? Cancer had ruled her whole life. And Camille was determined not to let it rule her death, too. It was the last thing she had control over and she wasn’t about to let that go. That’s why she created her plan. ‘Camille’s Plan for Dying.’

She knew it was morbid. But ignoring the fact that she was dying wouldn’t change her fate. Camille was going to complete her bucket list and then end her life, on her terms—not cancer’s.

She estimated she could make it to graduation if she cut back her treatments and medications on a regimented schedule. And currently things were going according to plan. She was now off all medications and had stopped treatment completely three weeks ago. Strangely, she never felt better. She knew it was false hope. It was just her body’s natural reaction to not being pumped full of poison. But Camille needed to feel her best if she was going to accomplish her goals.

She stared at the empty checkboxes on her Goodbye List. They mocked her indecently. She had 66 days left to say goodbye to everything and everyone. And she was gonna be damn sure she spent every minute she had left living to the fullest.

Nate

Lightness filled Nate’s heart as he rode the streetcar to Jackson Square. The sun was starting to set and the muggy air clung to him, ruffling his brown hair. It was just long enough that it was starting to curl at his neck. He knew he needed a trim, but he liked the way his hair looked when it was shaggy. It made him think of Ty. His brother had always worn his hair longer. Tyler had a devil-may-care attitude that Nathan had been so envious of. Nothing ever scared Tyler. He was only eleven months older than Nate, but sometimes he’d seemed a lifetime wiser.

Nate missed his brother every day. They’d been best friends. They did everything together—chased girls, played music, skated, surfed, and got into all kinds of trouble. Every moment spent with Tyler was a vibrant one. He’d been more full of life than anyone Nate had ever met. Ty used to say, “One day I’m gonna show you the world, little brother.”

They were supposed to have a lifetime to explore the world together. And now, Nate felt that weight heavy on his shoulders. It was Nate’s duty to live well, for the both of them. He was still alive and though Tyler wasn’t, Nate could feel his brother with him. And he owed it to Tyler to blaze a path through the world. Because if Tyler were still here, that’s what he’d be doing.

With that thought driving him, Nate planned to seize every opportunity that came his way in the hopes that Ty could experience everything through him. Nate could still feel Ty in his heart. So maybe it wasn’t crazy that wherever Ty was, he could feel Nate, too. So many little things reminded Nathan of his brother. It could be a song, a bird, a laugh. Certain things conjured Tyler so realistically that Nate couldn’t catch his breath. Sometimes, when he was feeling hesitant about something, he could almost hear Ty saying, “I’m right here, bro. Go for it. Grab life by the balls.”

Nathan had definitely heard that today when he approached Camille. Three years ago, Nate never would’ve dreamed of talking to a beautiful girl like Camille. But losing Tyler had taught him a lot of things. Mainly that life was short, and sometimes you didn’t get a second shot at it.

That sentiment had changed Nate’s life. Already, he was glad he’d moved to New Orleans, and now talked to Camille. She was enchanting and Nate hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Even now, as he exited the streetcar and walked along the Mississippi, he couldn’t help but see her in the fading light that shimmered purple across the muddy water. He wished he could tell Tyler about her and thank him for making him courageous.