Chapter 17
Accept that I’m going to die
Accept that I’m going to live
Funerals suck.
There’s nothing more I despise than hovering over a casket with a shell of a body laying prone inside. I hate them so much, I would have skipped my own father’s if I’d been allowed. It’s not that I’m heartless, it’s that I don’t want to remember the person in a casket, as a weird, pale reflection of who they had been.
But society says we have to go to pay our respects. If we don’t, we’re horrible people. And so I’m there in the same black dress I wore when I was with Christian those months ago at the concert in Bergen, where he played the piano for me. But this time it isn’t to celebrate but to mourn.
Almost three months. It’s been almost three months since I left Christian. Two weeks since I found out my cancer was going into remission. One week since Zach died. I count the weeks like a new mother counts her baby’s days.
And even though Scandinavia should feel like a fantasy, it feels more real than anything else. The remission, Zach’s death, this world…it feels like the hazy, muted reality of a dream.
I glance at my phone, opening my texts. Jessica wrote just two days ago: I hope you’re doing okay.
Did Gabby talk to her? Did she tell her about the remission? How badly I want to have a conversation with Jessica, ask her about her boyfriend, beg her for information on Christian. Did he change his major? Have things with his father improved? Is he dating anyone? But how can I? How can I admit I’m in remission, probably going to live, when her boyfriend is dying? How can I ask about Christian when I betrayed him, left him heartbroken?
Beth steps closer to me, sliding her hand into mine. It’s comforting to feel the heat and energy of her body. I give her fingers a gentle squeeze. My sister is trying to help cheer me up; always chatty, always asking me to take her to the movies, get me out of the house. But she’s young. She doesn’t understand.
I miss Gabby. She went back home to New York to see her dad, and I wish with all my heart I could have gone with her. To get lost in a city where no one knows me or my life story. A redo, since Scandinavia turned to shit.
“Zach lived life to the fullest,” the pastor says.
Will they say the same at my funeral? I release a soft snort. More like, that Hope….she really knew when to quit.
“He saw the positive in everything.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Did he? Zach was a typical teenager. He could be grumpy, selfish, and arrogant. He never saw the positive in anything. He loved to argue. Was always pessimistic. It was part of his charm. This idiot doesn’t know Zach at all. But his parents are drowning in grief, huddled together near the casket as if they’re thinking about jumping in the grave with him, and too overwhelmed to notice the pastor’s lies.
“He loved his family, and his society.”
No, he didn’t. He hated society. Mocked it every chance he got. I wish someone would butt in and tell the truth. I wish we could share our memories of him, real memories, and laugh as he would want us to. But no one is speaking up. Not his cousins. Not his aunts or uncles. And suddenly I’m pissed at the entire play. My hands fist in my lap. Fury races through me, burning in my veins. It’s sunny, and hot and I feel almost dizzy.
Why isn’t anyone speaking up? Why aren’t they saying that he was a recluse who loved books more than people? Why aren’t they talking about how when he was six his parents had to force him to trick or treat because he thought it was a silly waste of time? Why is no one talking about how he even hated pizza? I mean, who hates pizza? But that was Zach, and all of his awesome weirdness.
As the pastor’s false speech ends, I can’t sit here any longer. As people mill about, offering comfort with practiced words, I scoot around my mom and sister, and scurry down the make shift aisle. They’ll all eventually move on with their lives, leaving Zach’s parents behind at the grave, I just do it quicker than the others. I don’t pause until I reach the large elm where I hide like a baby behind its thick trunk. It’s only once I’m hidden away that the tightness in my chest eases.
A graceful, white egret is walking slowly amongst the headstones, like the ghost of a loved one haunting the cemetery.
“Zach,” I whisper. “Where are you?”
The warm wind rattles the leaves. I can still hear the soft murmur of the pastor as he tries to comfort Zach’s parents. Somewhere in the distance a car honks. Zach is gone, but I’m still here. His parents are still here. That damn egret is still here. I sink against the rough bark of the tree. Why do I feel so guilty? Why do I get to live but he doesn’t?
“Hey.” Beth pauses next to me. “Tell me what’s wrong, Hope.”
The world around me comes harshly back into focus. I can’t burden my sister. I won’t. She only just turned fifteen. She doesn’t need to deal with this shit. Zach is dead. But life goes on. I will have to go on too, somehow. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong.”
“Hope, please.”
I look at her. Truly look at her. She seems older, in some way, as if she’s aged. Her full, baby face has slimmed down in the last few months. Her pretty hazel eyes have taken on a world-weary look because she knows now. She knows how shitty life can be. But there’s also innocence still, lingering along the fine edges. Do I want to destroy the last of her innocence?
I think about how I hated when my mom would treat me like a fragile doll, who couldn’t handle the facts. I don’t want to treat Beth that way.
“Hope?”
I sigh. “Fine. You want to know the truth?”
She nods solemnly. “Yes.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…I’ve ruined everything.” My throat grows thick. Tears burn my eyes. I hate myself for them. Hate that I can’t control my emotions. Angrily, I swipe at my cheeks. Christian tore down my emotional wall, and I’m not sure how to protect myself anymore. “I have nothing.”
“Nothing?” She hesitates, stunned. And this is why I’ve kept my mouth shut. “How can you say that?”
I know what she’s thinking. I just found out I’m going to live. I should be kissing puppies. I should be dancing in the rain. Embracing life. So why do I feel so depressed? Why am I not praising the heavens?
She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
“I barely graduated high school. I can’t get into college. I gave up on life long ago because I thought life had given up on me. And now…now the bitch is back? Seriously? And I have to pick up the shitty pieces?” I look up at the sky. “Well, fuck you!”
She reaches out tentatively, as if she’s afraid I’m going to go over the edge. “But you’re one of the smartest people I know. You’ll find a way to go to college. And with grandma’s insurance money, you won’t have to worry about tuition for a couple years, at least.”
“That doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is if you’ve taken advanced classes, if you’ve volunteered places, how many connections you have, if you did great on your SATs. I haven’t even taken them!”
“But none of that is your fault.”
I pace angrily in front of her. I know I’m ranting, but since I started, I can’t seem to stop. Every worry I’ve had comes tumbling out. “You think colleges will care that I had cancer? And just because I don’t have cancer doesn’t mean I’m healthy. I can’t even walk a mile without panting. I still get sick way more than most people.”
Her face is flushed, her eyes bright with confusion. She isn’t sure whether to feel pity or anger, and I wish I’d never opened my mouth. “So what are you saying? You’d rather be dead?”
“No!” I cover my face with my hands. “But at least…at least I knew when I was going to die. At least I could prepare. Predict. Now…now I have no idea what will happen. Will I ever be able to support myself? Will the cancer return? What if I mend the pieces back together, and suddenly have a relapse? I don’t know if I could take that.”
Spent, I slump back against the tree. Hell, she looks like I just slapped her across the face. I know she doesn’t understand. And I know I sound selfish. I feel like I’ve disappointed her in a way. Like I’m no longer the person she looks up to. Strong, saintly Hope who accepted her death so peacefully.
“I’ll always be here for you, Hope. So will Mom.”
I know they will, but to what extent? Beth will grow up, move away, have her own life, as she should. As my mom should. They can’t look out for me forever.
Zach’s funeral is dispersing. People are headed to their cars. Now the real hardship begins, and it’s his parents who will have to go on day, after day while everyone else goes about their lives.
“For years now I’ve known what my future would be. I was prepared. I knew what would happen. And now…”
“Now, you’re just like everyone else. Wondering?”
I nod. Maybe she does get it. Mom is talking to Mrs. Jackson. They hug. Bonded together by grief and death. I haven’t told Mrs. Jackson yet that my tests came back clean. I can’t. I feel too damn guilty, even though I know she’ll only be thrilled for me.
Beth sighs. “Heidi and I were talking about your Scandinavian Hottie.”
My annoyance flares. “You shouldn’t have.”
Her hands fist at her sides. She’s annoyed now. Good. I’d rather she be angry than see the pity in her gaze. “We did because I demanded to know what was wrong. You broke it off on purpose, to save him. Just like you did with Matt.”
I admit I’m surprised by her astuteness. Okay, maybe Beth does really get it. In fact, she knows more than I give her credit for. She’s not a child any longer. “Maybe.”
“Or maybe it was to save yourself from heartache.”
“Maybe,” I whisper, my chest growing tight.
“You love him.” Her words make my heart leap. Am I that obvious or is she just that much of a romantic? She takes my hand, playing with my fingers like she used to when she was a toddler. “You thought you were saving him, but now… now…”
I release a harsh laugh. “If I would have held on a little while longer… If I wouldn’t have broken things off…”
Mom is headed our way.
“You could have continued the relationship.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe not.”
Truth is, I’ll never know. Half the attendees have already left. They’re going to a banquet hall for a meal. There’s no way I can eat right now. Zach’s mom is still by the casket, her hand pressed atop the lid, her lips moving as she says her goodbyes. We’ll leave and they’ll lower him into the ground. Gone forever.
Mom is suddenly in front of us, her worried gaze on me. Hell, she barely looks at Beth. It’s as if I’m the only one here. “You guys ready?”
I nod. Beth slips her arm through mine. While I was in Scandinavia, Beth had mentioned that she and Mom had movie and pizza night every Friday. I’ve noticed that since my return the routine has stopped. Beth has been pushed to the sidelines again because of me. Mom starts toward the car and we follow.
“Don’t worry,” Beth whispers. “We’ll figure something out. I promise. We always do. Just…don’t give up on life, okay?”
“Hope,” my mom says. “Mrs. Jackson told me to give this to you. Said Zach wanted you to have it.”
She hands me a book.
Walden.
Beth and my mom start toward the car. The entire world disappears as I stare at that book. Such a simple thing, but it means so much. It’s a connection to Zach. A piece of him. With trembling fingers I flip open the cover.
Dear Hope,
I know it’s difficult for you to try a book that’s above your reading level, but we all have to start somewhere. Just take it slow and use a dictionary. And this time, don’t lie about reading it. I’m dead, I know all, see all.
P.S. Below is my favorite quote.
A startled laugh escapes my lips. He just couldn’t let it go, had to have the last word. And in this moment, it feels as if he’s standing here with me.
I take in a deep breath and read the quote.
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”
Live for me, Hope.
Love,
Zach
****
“Hope, it’s nice to see you.”
I give a small nod to the counselor in front of me as I settle on her familiar sofa. It’s hard, kind of uncomfortable. But I suppose she doesn’t want anyone to fall asleep. Mom forced me to make an appointment. I told her I didn’t want to go, but she begged me. Guess she’s had enough of my melancholy.
“Your mother said you took a trip to Europe.” She crosses her legs, looking prim and proper and very Zen in her white blouse and black skirt. “That’s exciting.”
I drum my fingers on the arm of the sofa. One hour. We have an entire hour. “Yes, it was.”
There’s a moment of silence, as she waits for me to continue. While I look out the window, she’s looking at me. I might have agreed to this appointment, but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it. Don’t they realize I just want to be left alone and figure this out on my own?
“You look tired,” she says.
I hate when people make that comment. They might as well say I look like shit. But I am tired. And that’s because Zach’s quote keeps running through my head. Why? Why did he write it down for me?
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
Did he think I wasn’t living? I wasn’t trying?
“Why do you think your mother made you an appointment?”
As if she doesn’t know. I’m sure my mom has already given her the lowdown. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I fainted at the doctor’s office and ran away from a funeral.”
She tilts her head quizzically to the side. “And why do you think you fainted?”
Why is everything a fucking question with this woman? Why can’t she just tell me what’s wrong with me, and how we can fix it, so we both can move on? “Because I just learned…”
I can barely say the words. I’m still too confused. Too worried that it’s all a lie. Worried it’s the truth. Hell, I don’t know what I’m anxious about. She waits. The silence stretches. I can either leave, or answer.
I swallow hard. “I just learned that I might actually…live.”
She nods slowly but doesn’t respond, as if she’s letting me digest what I just said. Have I really accepted it? That moment I fainted in the doctor’s office was real. All too real. The emotions that bombarded me were overwhelming, to say the least. It was scary to wake up on a cot, having no idea what had happened. I can’t lose control like that again.
“The man you met in Copenhagen…have you told him?”
I release a harsh laugh and surge to my feet. Mom told her about Christian? Unbelievable. I pace to the windows that overlook a retention pond. Two ducks are floating across the water. “No. I haven’t told him.”
“Don’t you think he deserves to know the truth?”
“Deserves?” I cross my arms over my chest. Her office is cold, the air on full blast. “I hate when people say that. It’s not always a privilege to know the truth. Sometimes it’s a privilege not to know.”
“You think that by not telling him, you’re helping, protecting him?”
I turn to face her. “What the hell am I supposed to say to him? Sorry I left you heart-broken, lied, kissed my ex in front of you, but good news…I’m fine so we can start back up again? And then what? He feels like he has to forgive me because I have cancer?”
“Had cancer.”
Her words confuse me, and for a moment I’m left bemused, speechless, thinking she’s speaking about someone else. Illness has been a part of my life for so damn long. Are the bad cells really gone? Is my body truly normal again? I don’t feel normal.
“It sounds to me that you believe as if people are with you merely because they feel bad for you because of the cancer.”
I shrug and walk to her bookshelf, picking up a small ceramic dolphin. “Maybe I do. With some people. But he wasn’t. If I didn’t tell him about the cancer, if I became this person who didn’t have cancer, he was with me just to be with…me. If I tell him the truth, I’ll never know why he’s with me.”
She gives me a soft smile. “Maybe because you’re a great person.”
Zach would find her comment hilarious. The sadness I’ve been trying to keep buried surges forward. Zach. No more texting him about the ridiculous things I see or hear. No one to mock me. Make me feel old. I haven’t read Walden yet, and I can practically feel his frown of disapproval in the very energy that surrounds me.
I replace the ceramic dolphin. “Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m selfish. Rude. Cynical.”
“Aren’t most people to some extent?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. For so many years it’s always been about me. Me. Me. Me. Hell, if I know how most people act. I don’t know anything anymore. I’m a social misfit. “People have been nice to me because they had to. And when they couldn’t handle the stress of my existence, they trailed off. Fact is, I’m not even sure who I am without my illness.”
She pushes her glasses up her slim nose. “Who were you before the cancer?”
“I hardly remember. I was just a kid.”
I move to the sofa and settle on the firm cushions. Who am I if not the cancer? If not the fear? The anger? Who was I? A kid who loved to be active, who loved to explore. A kid who loved to find rocks, shells, fossils to collect like treasure. A kid who loved nature and other cultures, who saw the beauty in so many things. A girl who believed in magic. Could I be that girl again?
“I was prepared,” I say, picking at a thread on the hem of my tee. “I was prepared to go. To die. Bags packed. No looking back. I knew what would happen. Knew my future, and that future was death.”
But I did look back. I looked back in Copenhagen. In Norway. When I was with Christian. Going to Europe was taking the road less traveled. It led me away from that path I was supposed to take…my one-way ticket straight to death. A sidetrack to “what if?”
She sets her notepad down and looks at me. Truly looks at me. “Are you angry that you’re not dying, or angry that you weren’t living all these years?”
I stiffen, startled by her comment. “I was living…I went to Denmark.”
She nods. “You did.”
It’s silent for a moment as I mull over my thoughts. I went to Europe. But before that, all those years, had I been living? No. Not in the least. I’d been surviving, but certainly not living. Oh god, she’s right. All those years I was preparing to die.
“Death was so sure,” I say. “Living isn’t a sure thing. You don’t know what will happen in life.”
“Some say that’s the fun of it.”
I snort. “Fun? Fun in what? No. It’s not fun realizing I barely got through high school and have no college degree or job. That I don’t know how I’ll support myself. It’s not fun wondering if the cancer will return. It’s not fun having no friends because all of mine have moved on. What sort of future do I have here?”
She’s quiet, as if waiting for me to finish.
“I didn’t plan for a future, Dr. Powers. I have nothing.”
“Or you have everything, and that scares you? You can start at a community college. You can make new friends. You can…live. You can allow yourself to think of the possibilities, Hope. You just have to believe in life, in you. You’re the only one who can do it.”
She’s watching me. Waiting. Waiting for the words to sink in. I shift on the couch, growing uneasy. Can I allow myself to believe? Believe that I’ve been given an extension on life? Hope. Possibility. A future.
Maybe I didn’t break up with Christian just to save him, but maybe I broke up with him to save me.
Hell. She’s right. I haven’t been living.
And I’m terrified to try.
“I have something for you.” She leans over toward her little side table and picks up a postcard. “Here.”
I take the card. It’s an advertisement for an art gallery downtown.
“A friend of mine owns this gallery right on the square. I’ve talked to her, and she’s willing to give you some room for a show.”
“I…I don’t understand.”
She smiles. “Your photographs.”
I stiffen. “What? No. I can’t. I’m not ready.”
“Are we ever?” She leans back in her chair, daring me. “What do you say, Hope? Will you give life a chance?”